Chapter Text
Everything had to be perfectly respectable for Mr. Jeon’s arrival, which meant for Jimin no work, no pants, and no fun.
“Why must Mr. Jeon impose his doubtlessly much sought-after company upon us?”
“Because he has inherited the Goldenrod estate, for which your father is steward,” Taehyung answered dutifully as he yanked on the strings for his corset to cinch it tight, leaving Jimin to grunt breathlessly at every lace. He’d forgotten how much he hated corsets, not to mention dresses.
“As you well know, Mr. Jeon was already the proprietor of a sizeable estate,” Taehyung continued stoically in that smooth, dark tone of his, “which he has managed successfully on his own without a steward, and now he’s concerned with the management of this one.”
“But why does he have to visit us here?” Jimin whined, voice peaking with a plaintive lilt. “He has an entire—ungh, manor where he can discuss all the business he pleases with father.”
Jimin suppressed a sigh, if only because he couldn’t spare the breath due to the enthusiasm of Taehyung, the household’s beta servant and his childhood friend.
The son of the Parks’ longtime cook, Mrs. Kim, he was frequently caught in and around the kitchen causing trouble with Jimin when they were young. Even when he was deemed responsible enough and hired in his own right around the same time Jimin came of age, his mischievous spark had never truly left him.
Taehyung’s duties wouldn’t normally include dressing Jimin, especially not anymore, but as a modest household with few servants, he was often assigned any task that needed doing.
“Well, apparently, he has found it most beneficial in the active management of such estates to familiarize himself with his staff, tenants, and their families.”
“Would that he were more like his late uncle. Father managed everything for him without fault, and in return Mr. Choi left us in peace.”
“I expect he’ll leave us well enough alone eventually,” Taehyung murmured in a low rumble, breathy from the force he was exerting on Jimin’s laces. Jimin wheezed at the restrictive pressure over his rib cage. “And who wouldn’t be gratified to host the gentleman proprietor of their land?” he asked wryly, knowing how they both felt about the disruption to their routines.
“Me. I’m not gratified.” Jimin stared glumly at his reflection in his dresser mirror. He scarcely looked like himself anymore. Already.
Gone were his fitted trousers and waistcoats. Instead, his corset found his tiny waist under his chemise and drawers, usually lost beneath the loose shirts he wore. Perhaps most disappointingly, the corset accentuated the chest he didn’t have, though it strained and pushed at his flesh. As a male omega, fashion had not been designed for him.
Dresses were not meant to flatter his figure, only to trap him in a rigid convention he had never felt he fit.
Male omegas were the outliers, few in number and often undesired or overlooked by society. Grouped with female omegas, but held to their standard and constantly found wanting.
To make matters worse, he’d cut his hair short in a fit of rebellion, the longest strands barely reaching his ears. At least in the past he would get the occasional compliment on his thick curls that draped halfway down his back. Taehyung had done his best to style his hair today, despite its length, but he’d only managed to add more volume to it with tight waves.
He looked positively gauche. He would be the mockery of every soiree. He wasn’t attending any society event this evening, thankfully, but he could only imagine the impression he would leave on his father’s new employer.
He felt old anxieties rise to the surface after years being freed of them. Society had not been kind to him after he was out and presented and, once he was permitted, once his parents deemed he truly had no good prospects, he’d happily left it behind, unmarried and unmated but relieved. That had been five years hence, and now he had passed thirty, truly unmarriageable.
There was another harsh yank and—
“Tae,” Jimin gritted out, “my sunshine, my dearest, most loyal friend of mine, must you have my corset quite so tight?”
Behind him, Tae flashed him one of his signature boxy grins through the mirror, handsome and teasing as always, before he ducked his head of dark curls back down.
“Minnie, my lovely, my sweet, my soulmate, if you want to fit into the dress you debuted in over a decade past with no time for alterations, then yes it must be this tight.”
“It is not a question of wanting,” Jimin said with a sideways glare at the lilac evening dress draped over the chair in his room. “I would burn the purple abomination, but it’s the finest dress I own, unfortunately, and we are entertaining a most esteemed gentleman tonight, after all.”
~
Jimin felt even more ridiculous and breathless once he was fully dressed, if that were possible.
He waited in the drawing room with his parents and tried to draw shallow breaths. Of course his mother would interpret this as nerves.
“It will be fine, dear. You look lovely,” she said encouragingly, but her words fell heavy as stones in his stomach, only adding to his discomfort. She acted as if Jimin hadn’t begged her and his father both for days to let him hide up in his room for the duration of Mr. Jeon’s visit.
And her words rang false. Of the omegas in the room, she was the lovely one, beautiful even in her older age. Though short for an alpha, his father was handsome in his way with a defined jaw and intelligent features, but he was no match for his wife. She had full lips and dark, sparkling eyes that smiled easily and creased at the corners. She was slight of frame like Jimin, but with a proportional bosom that filled out her sophisticated navy dress and accentuated her figure.
Jimin’s dress, in comparison, would lie completely flat over his chest if it weren’t for the loose, gauzy fabric draped over top to give him the illusion of a bosom—a style that had long been out of fashion.
“It is good to see you wearing dresses again, Jimin,” his father added gently, and tears pricked Jimin’s eyes, though he made a brave attempt to conceal it.
His parents meant well, but their words felt cruel regardless. That they would prefer to see him this way when it made him so miserable, he’d known it, but it still hurt to hear. They’d never understood his rebellious choices when he began to flaunt fashion and convention by cutting his hair and swapping his dresses for trousers, but he’d thought they’d at least come to accept it.
He swallowed thickly and did his best to keep his breaths even as he grew uncomfortably flushed and lightheaded.
“I need some air,” he announced, moving toward the back of the drawing room, apart from his parents as they cast him worried glances, to open a window facing out onto his garden.
Snapping his fan open and fanning himself, he leaned out and took a bracing breath—as big as he could manage—of the cool, spring air.
The smell of freshly-churned earth, heady, damp with that afternoon’s rain, and alive with the potential of new growth, calmed him.
~
Jungkook admired the Parks’ residence as he came upon it. He’d decided to walk here, as the rain had stopped and the Park home was situated near enough the manor on his uncle’s estate. No, not his uncle’s any longer, he reminded himself, but his.
Loss washed over him for a moment. He hadn’t known his maternal uncle that well, but he had fond memories of the summer he’d spent here as a small boy, though they were now faded with time.
He could remember playing with two other boys, likely the servants’ children, among the tall fields of goldenrod after which the estate was named. He couldn’t remember the names or faces of his former companions, but they’d left an impression on him with their adventurousness, and he had often returned to the manor muddied and bedraggled.
But rather than scold him, his uncle would simply smile indulgently and ask for a bath to be drawn. He’d always been kind and mild-tempered despite how large and imposing he’d been.
He had also been one of the last links he had to his own mother after she had followed his father in illness and death seven years ago. If not for his younger sister, her husband, and their two small children, he would have almost no surviving family.
He regretted that he had not known his uncle better as an adult, but the alpha had rarely left his library and had become somewhat estranged from society and even his family in his later years.
But as distant as Hyukjae Choi had sometimes been, he had certainly always been generous. The proof lay in Jungkook’s own unexpected inheritance and also in Mr. Park’s wage and home that stood before him.
For a steward’s family, the house was quite grand, two storeys and well-kept, though the garden that surrounded the house impressed him most.
Jungkook took a moment, walking down the stone path that seemed to weave through the garden and wrap around the house, to appreciate it better. Spring had scarcely nudged the first plants awake from winter, and already Jungkook could tell what a thing of beauty the garden would be in full bloom.
Thick hedges bordered and contained the garden in soft curves that expanded outward to encompass an archway or a bench nestled beneath an old fruit tree. The artful disorder to the clusters of herbs and flowers was a refreshing departure from the rigid, ordered lines Jungkook was used to seeing.
This garden invited exploration with the promise of new discoveries at every turn. Unbloomed wisterias hung above the trellised path, snowdrops speckled one corner with their tiny blooms, daffodils brightened and bordered one side of the path, and round balls of allium swayed near the back of the house.
He wondered if the Parks had a gardener and how they could afford such a skilled one if they did. The estate was large, and Mr. Park was paid well, but surely not that well.
Jungkook didn’t want to cast aspersions on the man. As much as he disapproved of how removed his uncle had been from the running of his own estate, Mr. Park seemed to have done an unimpeachable job. Jungkook had found no obvious fault in the accounts but, well, he had never been one to sit back and blindly trust others to do a job he was fully capable of doing himself, and certainly not if he didn’t know the man.
Namjoon would tell him he was stretching himself too thin again, but if that were the case, he wouldn’t have left him back in town to manage their joint publishing business alone. With Namjoon as his brother-in-law turned friend and trusted partner, at least he knew that the business was in capable hands.
Despite coming from a class below theirs, Namjoon Kim had quickly earned his respect and blessing to wed his younger sister. Perhaps their parents wouldn’t have agreed to the match quite as easily, but Jungkook saw how happy he made her, how his poetry and letters comforted her through the loss of said parents, and he could never have been an impediment to such a sincere attachment.
And when Namjoon began speaking with such conviction of wanting to open his own printing business to spread literacy and inform the masses, Jungkook had provided him with the necessary financial backing. Although, of course, Jungkook could never leave it at just that, working himself as hard as Namjoon despite his additional responsibilities, and they became partners in the truest sense of the word.
And he was making an effort to delegate more. He was here to get a better sense of Mr. Park, his home, and his family. He’d practically forced himself on his hospitality, yet the alpha had taken it genially enough, which boded well.
He knew he would never grant Park the same free rein he’d enjoyed under his uncle, but if he could grow to trust him well enough, Jungkook would let him get back to his job with minimal interference. For the moment, however, he wanted every decision going through him.
He was broken from his thoughts when a gentle breeze wafted an enticingly sweet scent his way. He breathed it in deeply and cast about confusedly. He could determine none of the early flowers growing here as the source, and the spring was too new to smell so alluring.
He followed his nose further into the garden and realized what he was smelling the same moment he saw him.
A petite male omega swathed in lilac leaning out of a window, fanning himself, and spreading his scent all over the enchanting garden. He was so pretty he might not have guessed he was male from afar if it weren’t for his curiously short, fluffy hair and, of course, his scent.
Jungkook had rare tastes. Female omegas and their scents had never pleased him in the same way. To be clear, he took no issue with befriending women, if that was what they were truly after, but they stirred no desire in him, much to his parents’ displeasure while they were living.
No, most omegas had no hold over him, but male omegas called to him with their sharper scents and angles to their bodies.
With this omega in particular, his scent pierced his senses like sugar dissolving directly on his tongue and had him salivating for more.
He wondered what he was doing there at the window before he remembered that Park had told him about an unmarried son around his age. Jungkook had simply assumed he’d meant an alpha or beta, which would have been the more likely subgenders.
Suddenly, he was wary. Mr. Park had accepted his imposition too easily and had been too quick to suggest a friendship with his son. Now here the omega was, likely dressed in his finest, delicate waist displayed over the windowsill, and spreading his scent all around the house so that Jungkook was already enticed before he ever set foot inside.
Perhaps rumours of his preference for male omegas had even reached them. How fortunate for them to have a young, unmarried alpha inherit the estate Park had managed for years. How fortunate their omega son was also unmarried.
The omega’s sweet scent turned bitter on his tongue, and he turned away before he could be spotted. He had no wish to be ensnared in marriage with a scheming omega and his family, male or not.
He had plenty of experience with the type. Even when he’d made it clear he had no interest in female omegas, it had not stopped mothers from pushing them on him. Making it clear he also had no intentions of marrying had little effect either.
This was doubtlessly more of the same. More flouncy, trussed up omegas and their wiles. He did not appreciate games and much preferred a direct, honest approach that he could quickly address.
So as much as this omega had attracted him, he resented him that much more for using his beauty and scent to manipulate the alpha in him for his wealth and status.
He made for the entrance he’d passed earlier, eager to leave the garden.
~
Mr. Jeon was crisply dressed, tall, and broad-shouldered in that way many alphas were. He had black, wavy hair and a strong jaw and nose but otherwise surprisingly pretty features. His eyes were large and dark, and his mouth curved attractively. And his scent was rich and spicy, thinning the air that reached Jimin and making it even harder for him to breathe.
When Jimin’s father introduced him, Jimin put on his best smile just as he’d put on his best dress.
He locked all of his sadness and frustration away, mustering as much warmth as he could for the alpha bowing before him and infusing it into his eyes and smile.
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Jeon,” he greeted him breathlessly, despite his best efforts to expand his lungs past his corset, and dipped his head in a graceful curtsy.
“Likewise,” he answered stiffly.
When Jimin was met with a tense, unsmiling expression and cold, judgmental eyes that only hardened the longer he looked at him, Jimin felt his own smile slip and fade into nothing. All the warmth he’d forced cooled into an icy chill that made his limbs heavy.
He lowered his gaze to stare at the hem of his dress as it brushed the polished floor. He hadn’t expected to charm the alpha or even befriend him, but he’d hoped the evening might have at least been cordial for his father’s sake, but even indifference seemed too much to hope for now.
Mr. Jeon, from the first glance, had looked at him with active dislike and disdain, which Jimin could not have possibly done anything to warrant.
No, as had too often been the case in the past, he was simply judged for being a male omega, unmarried, and unmated. And perhaps also for his class, his age, his hair, and his old dress. It would be too difficult to determine exactly which prejudices had instantly set Mr. Jeon against him when Jimin faced so many.
He barely listened as his mother hurried to fill the awkward silence, engaging Jeon in pleasantries.
They all sat in the drawing room and still Jimin gazed off distantly while his parents continued to carry the conversation.
Mr. Jeon answered their queries into his well-being after his uncle’s passing and into how he was settling in at the estate with a smooth, even tone but remained reserved in speech and manner.
“There’s a pretty path that runs through the wood at the north end of the estate that you might wish to explore. Our Jimin often walks along there,” his mother offered unnecessarily. Jimin looked at her sharply, but she simply plastered a smile on and patted his hand where it lay next to her on the settee. “Isn’t that right, dear?”
He stared at her wide-eyed, silently asking why she would choose to torment him further, but eventually he was forced to turn to Mr. Jeon.
The alpha had gained no warmth for him despite his parents’ best efforts, and Jimin could sense how he was slowly shrinking in on himself beneath that withering look.
“Very pretty,” he agreed timidly, muted. “Especially this time of year.”
“You enjoy walking?” was all he got in reply along with a sharp eyebrow raise.
“Yes,” Jimin mumbled, sure he was being judged for this too, and returned to his study of the wall behind Mr. Jeon, following the patterned lines repetitively. Discreetly, he felt over the calluses on his hands, a little rough from working his garden, his gloves only able to protect him so much.
His mother tried a few more times to draw him into the stilted conversation, but when it became clear that Jimin would only answer with minimal responses, his voice growing quieter with every utterance, and that Mr. Jeon’s replies would remain stiff and clipped, she soon gave up.
Jimin was relieved. They could force him to be physically present, but he had no desire to continually insert himself where he was clearly unwanted.
He would sit here silently, resigned, until his presence faded into nothing along with his sense of self.
~
Jungkook couldn’t understand Mis Park.
He’d been so certain the omega had designs on him for marriage. He was breathless and simpering in his greeting and with a smile so radiant it had to be practised, knowing too well how to turn on his charm. But after one disapproving look, he’d completely wilted along with his pretty scent. His eyes stayed downcast thereafter and he only spoke when prompted, though his mother did her best to tempt him.
Jungkook would have thought his demeanour was a shift in tactics to purposefully act demure, trying to appeal by being submissive and obedient, if he didn’t seem so damned sad.
If he were truly after his status and fortune, he surely wouldn’t resign himself so quickly. Besides that aspect, there was an element of hurt to the inward curl of his shoulders and the way his plump lips tilted downward that had begun to inspire guilt in Jungkook.
He had only meant to discourage any pursuit of him that the omega might have been set on, not to wound him. But he remained quiet and sad all the while they conversed in the drawing room and now through most of dinner too.
The longer this went on, the more Jungkook found his eyes travelling over to where he sat across the dining table from him.
So withdrawn into himself that he scarcely seemed to notice anything around him, Mis Park gave him plenty of opportunity to observe and admire him openly.
He really was lovely, and his style of dress was refreshingly original. He would stand out among any group of gentle omegas. His light, short hair framed his face in a round halo, fluffy waves bouncing with every nod of his head. The pastel purple of his dress complemented the slight flush in his round, sweet cheeks and naturally pouty lips. His shoulders were fine-boned and his hands dainty. And before Jungkook had dimmed their light, his eyes had for a moment been bright and dazzling with his smile.
“I apologize if our dinner is not to your tastes. You must be used to much finer fare,” Mrs. Park said, interrupting his study of her son.
“Not at all,” he said, giving himself a bit of a shake. He took a generous bite from his plate and chewed appreciatively. It would not do to offend another one of his hosts this evening. “Your cook is excellent. I’ve rarely had such nicely seasoned duck.”
He’d made the right choice in praising their cook, as Mrs. Park beamed at him. She had a pretty smile, warm and bright. Though she had fine lines framing her features and signalling her age, it was clear where her son had gotten his beauty from.
“Thank you. We are most fortunate to have had Mrs. Kim cooking for us as long as she has.” She paused and glanced briefly at her son, hesitating before adding, “We are also fortunate to have had her son, Taehyung, be such a good friend to Jimin all these years.”
Mis Park stopped with his fork halfway to his mouth and looked sidelong at his mother, something pleading in his eyes.
Mr. Park chuckled and smiled at him fondly, eyes crinkled.
“They’ve been inseparable ever since they were born. We have little need for servants, but we knew we had to hire him as well, as soon as we could, rather than have him searching elsewhere for employment.”
“Goodness, yes. The boy might have ended up anywhere with his sense of adventure if he had no reason to stay. And then what would his poor mother do?” Mrs. Park added.
Jungkook was processing the fact that Mis Park was such good friends with their servant and that the information had been offered so openly, but he also had other questions.
“Is he the one who tends to your garden? It’s magnificent.”
“Oh no, not at all. He’s far too restless for that.” Mrs. Park’s grin grew wider, and Jungkook only became more confused.
“Then who does, if I may?”
It was then he noticed that he had drawn another pair of eyes to himself, round and a warm brown, as pretty as the rest of him. Mis Park was looking directly at him once more, the first time since their initial meeting, and there was finally something more than hurt to his gaze. Was that curiosity? Caution?
“Why, Jimin does all the gardening, of course.”
“Truly?” Jungkook was startled, and he was certain it showed on his features with how Mis Park frowned at him. Though not technically of the gentry, he was still an omega of good upbringing and moderate wealth, that much was obvious. It was difficult to imagine him toiling with his hands in the sun and the dirt. “Then you must be a remarkable gardener, Mis Park. Your garden inspires wonder.”
It was the omega’s turn to be stunned, frown dissolving as his mouth dropped open. He still seemed wary, but he eventually offered a tentative, “Thank you,” that felt sincere.
“Come now, don’t be shy,” Mr. Park interjected. “You must offer to accompany Mr. Jeon around the garden after dinner since it pleases him so.”
Mis Park tensed and looked nervously between all of them.
“If it pleases you, Mr. Jeon, I will show you the garden.”
Jungkook considered his options. Normally he would avoid any invitation to be alone with an unmarried omega, but he knew if he did that in this instance, he would certainly cause Mis Park to completely shut him out again. And he was surprised to find how much he didn’t want that.
“It would please me greatly,” he answered after taking a moment too long.
Mis Park said nothing more but nodded, and his eyes remained fixed on Jungkook for most of the remainder of the meal, assessing.
~
The sun was setting over the horizon, painting the nearby fields in gold and sharply contrasting light and shadows over the planes of Mis Park’s features.
Jungkook felt they had established a sort of truce after he had complimented his garden, but the air around them both remained charged and awkward as they walked outside.
“For how long have you been gardening?” he asked, trying to ease the tension.
“I suppose,” he began, glancing guardedly up at him, “I have always taken an interest, even as a child, but it is only in the last few years that I have truly had the liberty to devote myself to it.”
He kept his voice low, still breathy and dulcet, but Jungkook no longer thought it all a ploy to seduce him. He wanted to hear him speak more.
“Indeed? What changed for you in those years?”
Mis Park clutched at the fabric of his dress, even stiffer than before, scent spiking sharply and turning sour, enough that Jungkook could smell the shift, and he realized too late that he ought not to have asked that particular question.
“I mean to say,” he floundered in an attempt to remedy the situation, “I mean only, how has your garden grown since then?”
Blessedly, Mis Park relaxed at that, his scent mellowing as well, and though he was not completely at ease, it was a vast improvement. Conversation concerning his garden seemed to be the safest territory for them.
“Well, it is a lot larger,” he said with half a chuckle. “The path was a later addition, as well as... most everything, if I’m being honest.”
His steps quickened until he paused at a new section of the garden dominated by shrub-like plants and new, green leafy ones cluttered together.
“This is the oldest part of the garden and the part that has seen the most use over the years,” he explained. “The herb garden is the only section that has remained relatively unchanged.”
“Your household must be well stocked with such variety,” Jungkook noted appreciatively, surveying the array of plants, largely unidentifiable to him due to his lack of knowledge in such matters, especially so early in the season, but impressive nonetheless. “What is that one there?” he asked, gesturing to a sprawling plant with hairy, sawtoothed leaves and developing flower spikes.
“Vervain,” he answered immediately, adjusting the skirts of his dress a little awkwardly to get closer to the plants.
He began explaining the loose organization of his herbs and their uses in the kitchen or for home remedies when Jungkook asked, all the while growing more excited the longer he spoke. Jungkook became preoccupied with watching him and the way life and warmth had returned to him in talking about his garden.
“And some herbs are beautiful flowers in their own right, like lavender.” He gestured at the row of dense, woody bushes that curled protectively around the bed of sprouting herbs and trailed along the path to the next section of garden.
“And you’ve designed, grown, and cared for all this yourself?” Jungkook asked, genuinely curious and awed at the well-educated omega who seemed such a contradiction.
Mis Park, who had been lovingly leaning over his lavender bushes, looked up at him from under his lashes, the look less coy and more discerning.
“Besides the herbs, there was something of a small, existing garden at the front. But I’ve since replaced the plants or moved them, so yes, for the most part, as you see it now, everything is all my doing.”
Jungkook stood still and cast another appreciative look around. He returned his gaze to the petite omega before him, dressed in finery, and tried to picture him tending to his multitudinous plants under the heat of the sun.
“Forgive me if I find that difficult to believe.”
“And why is that?”
Their eyes remained locked.
“It is a rather unusual occupation for an omega of your standing, is it not?”
That was the wrong thing to say, he again realized too late. Mis Park’s expression, which had gradually brightened and cleared of sadness the longer they spent in the garden, completely shuttered.
“Then forgive me for being unusual,” he breathed, turning and taking small, quick steps away from Jungkook.
“Wait,” he called out, following, “Mis Park, I did not mean to offend.”
“Of course not. A gentleman such as yourself could never mean offence, no matter what he may say or do.”
Jungkook was taken aback by the harsh bitterness infused in his words.
“I beg your pardon?”
Mis Park slowed and faced him then. Taking a shallow breath, he smiled politely and said, “Think no more of it, Mr. Jeon.”
“No, please, do tell me what I have done to earn your ire,” Jungkook insisted, now feeling a little prickly himself at what Mis Park was suggesting. He obviously had strong opinions on his character as a gentleman, and Jungkook would know what they were.
He kept his voice level as he replied, “Nothing at all. It would be unwise for an omega such as myself to even think ill of an alpha who holds the fortunes of my family at his whim.”
Jungkook scoffed.
“Then I’m afraid you’ve parted from wisdom. It is already apparent you think ill of me. If you think it, speak it.”
Mis Park’s chest began visibly rising and falling as he took increasingly harsher breaths, face reddening and scent sharpening. Still, he kept his lips firmly clamped shut, refusing to speak.
“I give you my word that your family will face no repercussions at my hand, but I would hear what you have to say to me.”
At that, Mis Park pushed into his space, angrily huffing now, taking Jungkook aback with his fierceness.
“I am not the one who makes it a habit of insulting others, Mr. Jeon! From the very moment you laid eyes on me!” Hurt returned to his eyes in a bright sheen of unshed tears. “From that moment you decided to despise me, and for what? Because I’m a male omega?”
“What nonsense—”
“Because I’m unmarried? An old maid? What is it I have done to earn such treatment?”
Jungkook snapped his mouth shut, nonplussed and perhaps newly ashamed of how he had acted upon their meeting.
“And then you f-follow me here, to my garden, only to—to mock me.”
The burning scent of distress reached him, and he became increasingly worried with how much Mis Park was struggling to force out his words past gasping breaths.
“I did not mean to mock you,” he said, attempting to placate him, alarm overtaking any previous anger he’d felt.
“Of c-course not!” he squeaked in outrage and swayed on his feet. “You—you!”
Jungkook made a grab for him before he could completely topple, adjusting him in his arms and looking desperately for somewhere he could lay him down without ruining his dress. He spied a bench beneath a tree and decided that would have to do.
“Le-let g—”
“I’m sorry. Just breathe now, Mis Park. Breathe.”
He hefted him into his arms, an arm beneath his back and the other lost in the folds of his dress. Even through all the layers of fabric, he could feel the firm weight and muscle of his legs.
Despite the indignity of the action, the omega barely struggled before going limp, which Jungkook took as a bad sign.
He carefully laid him out on the bench, cradling the back of his head with his hand. His breathing continued to be much too fast and painful sounding, his eyes were glazed and blank, and his scent seared all the way to the back of Jungkook’s nose. He wasn’t calming at all and Jungkook’s instincts were going wild with the need to ease him, to fix this mess he’d made.
“Please just—just breathe, please.”
At a loss and more desperate than before, Jungkook acted without thinking. He buried his face in Mis Park’s neck, nuzzling and releasing calming alpha pheromones in strong waves, covering the scent of his distress.
He twitched at the contact, and Jungkook continued to scent him, from one side of his neck to the other, thoroughly. His scent lightened first, Jungkook knowing immediately because his nose was pressed right up against his scent gland, and then his breaths began to slow and even out. He was still breathing too shallowly, but it was an improvement.
Jungkook greedily inhaled the scent that had turned mouthwatering again and dragged his lips over the source, over warm silky skin, feeling a shiver pass down his spine.
Then he was being shoved back with surprising strength, and he met wide, mortified eyes.
“Apologies,” he slurred.
Mis Park sat up and started scrubbing at his neck with shaking hands.
“What,” he whispered, “why—?”
“You couldn’t breathe. I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”
“No, you certainly did not,” Mis Park snapped, but thankfully this new bout of anger didn’t cloud his scent or hinder his breathing as before. He simply got unsteadily to his feet and made his way back to the house with Jungkook hovering anxiously.
Jungkook didn’t know what else to say. He had no defence. He’d acted appallingly, scenting a gentle omega, barely an acquaintance, without permission and confirming Mis Park’s worst accusations about his character as a gentleman and alpha. And before that, he could see now how he’d behaved rudely, acting on assumptions. He didn’t know how to begin to make reparations.
Once they’d slipped inside the house, Mis Park hurried up the stairs to the second floor but paused on the landing. Without turning to face Jungkook, he said, “Please inform my parents I’m unwell and have retired for the night.”
“I will,” Jungkook agreed eagerly with a nod, but Mis Park had already disappeared from sight, and Jungkook was left only with deep regret and a lingering sweetness on his lips.
He could only be grateful that the scenting had been unreciprocated. Only the barest traces of Mis Park’s scent clung to him as it had not coated his own scent glands, not enough to be noticeable to anyone but himself, and thus would not prompt any uncomfortable questions from the Parks.
~
Jimin stepped on the hem of his dress, stumbling and nearly falling to the floor in his rush to reach the refuge of his room. Taehyung caught sight of him just as he was dashing through the doorway.
“Slow down, no one’s chasing you,” he laughed but fell silent when he followed him into the bedroom and saw Jimin in disarray, twisting his arms behind himself to get at the fastening of his dress.
“Off, get it off of me, Tae!”
Large, steady hands helped him out of the dress and began undoing the laces of his corset as quickly as he could, but Jimin couldn’t calm the racing of his heart or his quickened breathing. He needed out of these restricting clothes that made him feel vulnerable and alien in his skin. He needed to be rid of reminders of what had happened in the garden. He needed space to expand his lungs and breathe.
It was only the lingering cloud of calming pheromones enveloping him warmly that prevented him from slipping into a new fit of panic and distress. And that stung too.
Taehyung froze, hands still at his back, and snarled, “What did he do?”
Jimin knew he must have finally smelled alpha. Jeon’s scent was all over him, thick musk masking his own naturally sweet scent until even Jimin couldn’t smell himself. With every breath, it invaded his airways, tickling down his throat with its spice and heating him from the inside.
And with it, it brought hazy memories of strong arms catching him, firm bands around his body lifting him, his head resting against a warm chest. The feathery feeling of lips trailing across his neck.
“Nothing.”
“Jimin,” Taehyung said, pained, but Jimin stepped out of his reach, removing the loosened corset on his own. “If he compromised you, touched you...”
“He didn’t,” Jimin contradicted him quickly.
“Then he was acting awfully familiar.”
There were no ordinary circumstances under which Jimin would consciously allow Mr. Jeon to scent him, not with how careful he was around strangers and alphas in particular. He couldn’t blame Taehyung for thinking the worst, for thinking of what else an unscrupulous alpha might do to an omega alone.
But the scenting itself was not what upset him most. It was embarrassing, something usually only done with close family and friends, but it wasn’t what had him wanting to shred his corset and scrub the skin right from his neck.
“We got into a fight and... and I became distressed,” he said falteringly. “I couldn’t breathe past my corset, and he used his pheromones to calm me.”
“You’re covered in his scent!”
“I know!” Jimin clamped his mouth shut and forced his voice to a lower volume. The last thing he needed was anyone in the house hearing them shouting at each other. “It was an accident. He didn’t mean it.”
“Your parents wouldn’t approve of him taking such liberties—”
“So they won’t know of this incident,” he finished for him. “As long as I don’t leave my room for the night and you don’t tell them, they’ll have no reason to worry over nothing.”
“Are you alright?” Taehyung asked, a tremor in his voice.
Jimin gulped and tears welled in his eyes, and Taehyung too looked like he might cry with him. He rarely cried. He’d always held himself together by force of will, convinced himself he was impervious to the countless slights he’d faced over the years. He didn’t dwell on them, only divulging them to Taehyung later so they could secretly mock the offenders in retaliation.
But he hadn’t been able to manage indifference to the insults tonight. Perhaps he’d been too long out of practice. He’d lost his composure, and Mr. Jeon had seen him at his weakest, insecurities laid bare.
He’d judged him and despised him, making him feel so small. And the worst of it was that even after all that, Jimin had lowered his guard again in the garden. Mr. Jeon had asked questions and actually seemed interested in what Jimin had to say, and Jimin had been so foolishly happy to share his passion. Had been hopeful for understanding.
He’d been hopeful only for the alpha to take his heart, his passion for his plants, and deride it completely. And it had hurt him much more than he thought possible. He’d retaliated in anger, against all prudency, and in doing so had risked his father’s position and his entire household’s livelihood and security.
He was ashamed that his anger had put them all at risk, even Taehyung and Mrs. Kim. It didn’t matter that Mr. Jeon had sworn there would be no repercussions for speaking. What was his word worth against everything they had to lose? Jimin should never have let it get to him in the first place.
His anger had been disastrous, making it harder to breathe when he’d already been struggling, helplessness exacerbating his distress until Mr. Jeon had essentially been forced to scent him to calm him down. And that was what he could not abide by.
“He had to scent me like a distraught pup,” he whispered before his tears finally broke out. “I’m humiliated.”
Taehyung eased him to sit on the bed and held him tight, whispering comforting words into his hair as Jimin sobbed in his arms.