Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

PART ONE: LONG LIVE THE HEIR PRINCE

JUNE – AUGUST 2020 / DECEMBER 2022

THIS CHAPTER FOLLOWS THE MAJOR EVENTS OF THE JEON DYNASTY AS OF YEAR 2020, FOLLOWING THE PASSING OF THE HEIR PRINCE, WITH HIS YOUNGER BROTHER, JEON JEONGGUK, NOW ASSUMING HIS DUTIES.

Having never received proper training, he’d always been prepared to become a War Commander, not the King, and notably rebelled against his parents as he refused to take up his royal responsibilities. At the time, many historians noted the impending extinction of the Jeon Dynasty.

It was one of the darkest moments in the history of the Korean Kingdom.

Long live the King! Long live the Queen! Long live the Heir Prince!

Jungkook pushed the door.

There were so many sounds inside his head, almost too many. The monotonous voice of the officer who came with the news. The Queen’s stifled sniffles, pressing her palm against her heart like that pathetic action could prevent it from stopping. The door as the King banged it shut. The blabbering of the news channel in the dark room.

The chants were the worst. This horrifying weeping of the nation refused to leave Jungkook’s lungs, refused to let him breathe, as if he was the one who choked on his pleas.

Long live the King! Long live the Queen! Long live the Heir Prince!

Could people really cry for him so desperately, despite barely knowing him? Could people really love him, really wish for his prosperity?

When Jungkook closed his eyes, he still saw thousands of people getting on their knees at the Courtyard in front of the Palace to bow to him, to take their oath for him.

When he closed his eyes, their voices in his head got louder, more disturbing, and Jungkook thought he was going crazy. If not now, then soon.

So he preferred to keep his eyes open. Which meant that at the ungodly hour of twelve midnight, he was marching down the corridor, fully dressed, sneakers in one hand, backpack slung over his shoulder. He didn’t try to be discreet about it — eyes were all over the Palace anyway. What was the fucking point?

Jungkook just wanted everyone to leave him alone.

He had already made it to the backdoor without any servants interrupting him, hoping that everyone had finally taken a hint and left him to whatever he was up to, when he saw a figure at the end of the corridor, right in front of the door.

Even in the dimmed lights of the sleeping Palace, even in her black attire, he recognised the Queen. And if anyone in this world could stop him from leaving, block his way out of this suffocating place, it was her.

Jungkook ordered himself to stay in control. Head clear. No spikes in scent — she was his mother, after all. She could feel every detail off about him and his nature.

“Your Majesty,” Jungkook said as he approached her. He bowed shortly.

She bowed back, a bit deeper, a bit longer — a true Queen. She held herself gracefully, her hands in a loose lock sagging in front of her. “Going for a breather, my son?”

Jungkook put his sneakers down, slid his foot inside one. “Something like that,” he muttered as he bent over to tie a double-knot. Why wouldn’t she stop him? She had waited for him here, knew he would flee the Palace tonight — again, like all the other times before, and now she was just… letting him go?

Something didn’t add up.

Jungkook put on another sneaker, tied it, and staggered up to his full height. He fixed the straps of the backpack, hovering awkwardly in the entrance. He tried detecting  anything off with the Queen, but she had always been too good with her wolf, like it hadn’t even existed inside of her. She restrained it more than the wolf controlled her. 

So Jungkook, having failed, did what he did.

He slipped past the Queen to slide the door open.

“Enjoy your walk,” she said, just behind his shoulder.

Jungkook nodded. “I will,” he said, sternly, and stepped out, the outside air nicely chilly against his skin after a hot summer day. He felt the Queen following him to the doorstep, almost as if she wanted to see, to walk him out.

Jungkook was still fixated on her presence when he stumbled into something. A solid shadow of some sort.

“Your Highness,” the shadow said, their head down, as they took a polite step back to gain distance between them again.

Jungkook trailed his eyes along the figure’s appearance. The black, black everywhere — the black of their hair, the black of their suit, the black of their button-up, the black of their shoes.

When they looked up at Jungkook, there was the black of their eyes, too.

It took Jungkook another second to realise who it was.

Jungkook knew from the growl that scratched the back of his throat that the man in front of him was an Alpha.

Jungkook bristled, taking a step back. It was strong, the man’s scent. Too strong for someone like Jungkook to take, who only ever had to deal with Betas around the Palace and the Alphas of his own pack.

“Why are you not wearing scent blockers?” Jungkook hissed, unable to control himself.

The bodyguard remained silent, head low again, hands in a lock.

The Queen’s hand squeezed Jungkook’s shoulder. “Everyone should feel him around you. He might not look like much but his presence is a lot.” She had come out to the porch barefoot. Jungkook stared at her and tried to ignore  her red eyes, how puffy they were, the black circles under them.

“That’s — crazy,” he said. He shook his head. “I don’t need — ”

The Queen cupped his cheek, cutting him off. Her thumb gently wiped at his dry skin. “Please. We can’t afford to lose you, too.”

Harsh, calculated words. His worth, defined by the prosperity of the dynasty.

“You won’t lose me,” Jungkook said.

“It’ll make me feel at peace if I know Yoongi-ssi is with you,” she whispered. She fixed a hair strand behind his ear, and pressed her forehead against his chin, so small with him having a head worth over her, and yet powerful with her Alpha presence and yet so helpless again as she whispered, “Please, Jungkook-ah.”

He struggled out of her touch, hating the fact that he was actually comforted by her. Just wolf pack shit. Just the pup liking the attention of its mother. Stupid.

“What are you talking about?” he spat, taking a step back.

Her eyes were so sad, pleading. “I need to know you’re safe.”

“There’s nothing to worry about,” he said, fixing the hem of his hoodie. “I promise you. We’re just playing games. It’s nothing.”

The Queen bit on her lip. She studied him closely, like she wanted to memorise the shape of his face, as if she didn’t have it engraved into her mind already. She opened her mouth abruptly but no sound left her, and she clamped it shut. Her shoulders sagged back, losing courage.

Her lips made a thin line.

“Min Yoongi-ssi?” she said, her eyes on Jungkook growing harsher.Jungkook suddenly felt like a little pup again, still unaware of the rules of the game in their world.

Joohyun would often make him feel the same way whenever they played together. He was always the one making up the games, and Jungkook was always expected to figure out the rules as they played.

That having said, he’d failed each time. Stupid, naive Jungkook.

“Yes, Your Majesty?” the bodyguard spoke up. He had an even, unwavering voice.

“Don’t leave my son at any cost. If he so much as gets a strand of hair harmed on his head, it’ll be considered treason,” the Queen said, and turned away. She marched back inside the Palace, sliding the door shut, much like the King had done back then, when the news first erupted.

Jungkook gulped tightly. Too many sounds. Too many memories.

“This way, Your Highness,” Min Yoongi said. “Do you need me to take your bag?”

Jungkook clutched  the strap of his backpack as if the bodyguard had tried stripping him off it, although the man never actually made a single move towards Jungkook.

“I’m not fu—” Jungkook stopped himself in the middle of the cuss falling off his tongue. Not the behaviour of an Heir Prince.

The bodyguard didn’t reveal a single emotion at his antics.

“I’m not helpless,” Jungkook repeated, this time more formal, more polite, more composed. “Okay?”

“My apologies, Your Highness,” was all the bodyguard said. “Shall we go now?”

Jungkook exhaled tiredly. He was already done with this man. And he smelled — he smelled terrible. Like garbage, only a little worse. Did every Alpha smell like that?

But at least Jungkook could still go. He could still leave this place.

So he nodded, and Min Yoongi led the way to one of the Palace’s secret backdoors, where the car had already awaited him.

“Hey, JK!” Hoseok exclaimed once he saw Jungkook behind the door. Jungkook immediately relaxed at the familiar nickname. No ‘Your Excellency’ or, the worst one, the one Jungkook still hadn’t grown used to, ‘Your Highness’.

It was just him. Just Jungkook.

Hoseok stepped aside, letting him in.

“We thought you wouldn’t come,” Seokjin said from the far corner of the room. He was making a cup of instant coffee there — it was late in the night even for them.  “Not on a big day such as today was for you.”

Jungkook hummed but decided not to comment further on it. Min Yoongi casually walked in after him.

Hoseok frowned at him.

“Hey, is it — ” Namjoon spoke up from where he’d been playing some game on the computer.

The plastic spoon that Seokjin used to stir his coffee stopped in its motions. Seokjin’s head snapped up in the newcomer's direction. He narrowed his gaze. “And you are?”

Shit. Of course. Hoseok didn’t pick up on Min Yoongi’s scent because Hoseok was a Beta, but an Alpha like Seokjin caught the  stranger’s presence immediately.

The bodyguard remained silent.

He’d been like this the entire ridetoo, always expecting Jungkook to figure out his muteness. They had sat in the car for a quiet five minutes before Jungkook had enough of it and snapped, “What?”

“The address, Your Highness,” Min Yoongi said, fingers hovering over the car’s dashboard, GPS open, as if it had been obvious from the very start what he’d expected from Jungkook.

Jungkook breathed out tiredly. “... Mapo district, Seoul.”

Min Yoongi typed it into the GPS. The car took off softly.

“It’s not a club or anything,” Jungkook explained from the backseat. “Just an internet café.”

The bodyguard didn’t reply. Somehow, Jungkook had heard him loud and clear nevertheless: Didn’t ask, Your Highness.

And now they were here.

Here, as in: the upper floor of an internet café Seokjin and Namjoon owned, having climbed up the staircase from behind the building. The café was quite popular among local high school students during daylight. Jungkook had never gotten the experience of anything lower than international boarding academies but Namjoon always talked about his high school days and visiting an internet café similar to this one almost as if it was his most precious memory stored, sealed forever in the amber’s gleam of autumn days, and Jungkook, quite frankly, envied him a little.

From his own school days, he only remembered studying. English, German, French, and Chinese were mandatory, and Russian and Spanish bychoice; Social Studies, Korean History , World History compulsorily, Logic and Psychology as electives; Political Theory, International Relations, Conduct of Political Inquiry, and State and Local Government. He remembered waking up, suffocating, having to start everything all over. Every damn morning.

This was before he found BS&T. Before he got accepted into B1’s team. Before they told him to come meet them at this internet café.

Before Jungkook became something more than His Excellency, before he became a part of the pack.

His parents used to tell him his pack was his people, that he was to protect them and they were to protect him.

But Jungkook had never felt this way with the population of his country the way he felt with the team.

Like now, when Seokjin was pushing Jungkook behind himself as he glared at Min Yoongi. “Don’t make me repeat myself.” He still sounded calm, collected. He must’ve known that a man in an expensive tailored suit who had come with Jungkook could not possible be of any  danger, but it was primal, this need to protect their territory from strangers, to defend your pack from them.

Still, there was something about Seokjin’s voice that made Jungkook’s Omega concerned.

And it didn’t just bother him. The others had also gathered around in a circle. Jungkook noticed that everyone was dressed in full black, feeling like a fucking Christmas tree in his own purple hoodie and light-wash jeans.

Min Yoongi smacked his lips, a small annoyed motion, and fetched his badge from the inside pocket of his blazer, showing it to everyone around the room.

Seokjin inspected it carefully. He raised his eyebrows. “Min Yoongi, Royal Security?”

Min Yoongi nodded, took the badge away, and put it back where it had been previously.

“Mom assigned him as my bodyguard,” Jungkook explained.

“Thank God,” Namjoon said to Jungkook’s surprise. “You need someone.”

Jungkook breathed out, almost angrily, annoyed, his hands curling into rebellious fists. “I don’t need — ”

“I don’t like you,” Seokjin said bluntly as he still watched Yoongi. “But I guess you are, indeed, needed. Especially since it's Jungkook's mother’s orders, huh?”

They didn’t really talk about who Jungkook was. Never avoided but never confronted, either.

“I am to not leave His Highness at any cost,” Min Yoongi said, and added in a nonchalant voice, “A hair falls off his head, and it’s treason.”

“Relax, man,” Hoseok said, in a way only he could. “We’re just playing games here.”

Min Yoongi hummed. He turned away and walked towards the window located right next to the door they had come in through.

“In position,” he said, two fingers against his ear, and a mortifying realisation dawned on Jungkook that it wasn’t just Min Yoongi who had been assigned to protect him.

It was a whole squad, and Min Yoongi was the captain.

Namjoon, who could feel the Jungkook’s distress, gently guided him to his designated place. A cup of ramen had already been made for him, still steaming with its lid on in front of the computer screen, kept flat by a pair of wooden chopsticks.

Better than any dish ever made in the Palace.

They started up BS&T, played some warm-up rounds, and then couldn’t find anything in them to stop even hours later, as dawn showed its first colours. Jungkook tried catching if Min Yoongi would yawn or not, but either the bodyguard was a robot who didn’t need sleep or he repressed all his yawns.

A couple of times Jungkook stood up to move a little and go to the bathroom, and Min Yoongi made sure not to leave him alone just like he had promised the Queen. When Jungkook cocked his eyebrow at him in front of the bathroom door, asking if the bodyguard would follow him inside like some creep, Min Yoongi looked at him all kinds of impassive and made Jungkook feel like a fucking pathetic kid.

Then, as the sun had risen, the high schoolers waking up to go to their classes and the white-collar workers moving in the direction of their offices, Jungkook decided it was time to return to the Palace.

Min Yoongi was already waiting for him at the entrance, with Jungkook’s backpack in his hand. Namjoon volunteered to walk them out and close the door after them.

“Long live the Heir Prince,” Namjoon said, saluting him goodbye, two fingers against his temple as he rested his shoulder on the doorjamb.

Jungkook bumped his shoulder playfully. “Fuck you, dude.” He smiled generously and had already turned away and couldn’t possibly see Namjoon’s smile fading.

—

THE FOLLOWING RECORDINGS WERE ACCESSED WITH THE ASSISTANCE OF THE KINGDOM’S GOVERNMENT AND ARE PUBLISHED WITH THEIR AUTHORIZATION DUE TO THE VALUE OF THESE RECORDINGS TO THE INVESTIGATION OF THE BONGHWANG UPRISINGS

Tape #031222

Voice A: Is everything alright? Is it recording?

Voice B: Yes, sir.

Voice A: Let’s begin, then. Tell us everything about what happened, from the beginning.

The suspect: Go to fucking hell.

—

Taehyung gave Min Yoongi a quick look-over, then leaned over to whisper into Jungkook’s ear, “Is he always like that?”

The bodyguard, as always, was in position near the window. He had his arms crossed over his chest and looked, in Jungkook’s humble opinion, bored. It wasn’t surprising — nothing was going on at all. Just two Omegas meeting up for coffee. They had rented the whole place out so nobody could interrupt them, the Heir Prince and the son of the Duke Kim of Gyeongju.

“I don’t know,” Jungkook sighed, tired of repeatedly explaining it to everyone. “Looks like it. It’s his job. What else is he supposed to do?”

“Hm. That’s true, I guess,” Taehyung hummed. He leaned back in his chair, hands over his stomach. He was dressed in full black, just like the rest of the nation was these days. Casual oversized sweatshirt and loose slacks. Hair a little messy, a little dishevelled.

He smelled familiarly, like cold evenings spent in a study room in Switzerland, like sweaty mornings on Jeju Island where the first thing they did was swim in the ocean. He smelled like days spent in stables, learning how to ride horses together, two young pups who didn’t have to worry about anything.

Taehyung still smelled familiarly, but today — something was off. Jungkook breathed through his mouth.

“Heat soon, huh?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung said. He picked on a speck on his knee, dusted it off. “You?”

Jungkook shook his head. “Not a hint of it.”

Taehyung’s lips made a thin line. “That’s not good. What did your doctors say?”

“They told me to wait. My tests are all good, I’m healthy. It’s just — not the right time, I guess,” Jungkook shrugged, like the absence of his heats, something that was natural, a cycle, didn’t bother him at all.

Their biggest concerns used to be if Taehyung actually ate Jungkook’s piece of carrot cake or not, if Jungkook stole a sword toy from Taehyung or Taehyung had stolen it from him first, but these days everything seemed to purposely make them anxious.

They talked about presenting and heats andmating and how absolutely terrifying the mere idea was. They talked about actual politics, not the theory shit but how the whole world seemed to be turning against them, and it was scary, too. They talked about mourning and grief, about  how nauseating the funerals felt.

“You don’t wear black,” Taehyung said carefully.

“Don’t feel like it,” Jungkook said bluntly. Taehyung’s eyebrows knitted in this upset way where he was both disappointed in Jungkook and understanding of him, and Jungkook pushed, “He left me, hyung. He left me.”

Not a single hint of strain heard in his voice. He had come to accept this fact. Joohyun had been meaning to leave him since day one.

“Look, Jungkook — ”

“End of the fucking story. I don’t wanna talk about that traitor.”

Taehyung grit his jaw. “You shouldn’t badmouth the dead, Your Highness.” The title he was addressing Jungkook with, as if Jungkook really was a stranger to him. As if Jungkook was now unrecognisable to him.

Well, maybe these changes were just what followed naturally after your older brother had taken his own life.

Jungkook sipped his iced coffee, the straw aggressively shoved into his mouth. Just to busy himself, just to not have to respond.

Taehyung sighed. “Ok, last question and I swear I’ll fuck off — You’re still playing that game, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I’m still playing that game.” Jungkook snapped. Taehyung was barely two years older, one and a half to be exact, and Jungkook was often irked than not by his smothering.

The game was rather simple. Two opposing teams. The goal was to conquer the city the game randomly generates for your team, and the team with faster and fewer losses won the match. After you conquered one city, you moved up in the tournament table and travelled on the map in the direction of the next town.

Similar to any competitive team sport, each BS&T player had a designated role in the team. The Striker and the Supporter, positions played by two Omega girls on their team — Hyuna and Mina. They weren’t at the internet café that night because, well, they had a normal sleeping schedule and weren’t willingly sacrificing a good night’s sleep for a stupid game (even though this stupid game earned them money and placed a roof over their heads). The role of Sentinel, a defensive anchor, was assigned to Namjoon. The Healer was a position almost specifically tailored to Hoseok.

And, finally, the Operator — he was taking part in the battle too, but his main reason to be there was to carry out the tactical plan. Everyone stuck to the Operator’s decisions, no matter how outrageous or bizarre  they might be. In their team, Seokjin usually took on this role.

Jungkook, perfect for it with his studying background, was currently being trained to take over Seokjin’s position.

You see? Simple.

Taehyung stared at him with a wide-eyed gaze, a spoonful of strawberry cake frozen mid-air between the plate and his open mouth. He got a hold of himself quickly. “You’re not even on the actual team,” Taehyung said, stunned.

“I will be,” Jungkook argued. “Namjoon says I’m ready. In the next tournament or something.”

“Do your parents know?” Taehyung prompted.

Jungkook raised his eyebrows. “Do they need to?”

The answer was, Yes. But Jungkook had deluded himself a long time ago into thinking that it was a No.

Jungkook parted  ways with Taehyung a bit awkwardly. Taehyung left first, having been called by his father, and Jungkook watched his car round the corner to a busier street.

Once it was out of sight, Jungkook sighed, tired. “Get the car.”

Min Yoongi got the car right to the cafe’s entrance. He opened the door for Jungkook. Wordlessly, Jungkook climbed in, settled in the backseat. Wordlessly, Min Yoongi rounded the car and got into the driver’s seat.

The silence around him and Jungkook wasn’t unusual. It was welcome, even. Whenever Jungkook left the Palace, Min Yoongi was always there, three steps behind, ready to help. He stood beside Jungkook’s chair during meetings at the Conference Hall, chaperoned when Jungkook promenaded along the waterfront in the evening, drove him around the city, and frankly, they had grown accustomed to each other. Unwillingly, but they did.

So Jungkook could tell from the heavy atmosphere in the car that something was wrong with this particular silence.

“Do you have something to say to me?” Jungkook snapped, finally. They were stuck in traffic. Jungkook hated waiting.

The bodyguard remained silent.

“Reply when I speak to you.”

Jungkook heard a sigh. From where Jungkook was seated, he could see the calm set of Min Yoongi’s jaw, pink lips drawing an even line, one finger rubbing under his nose as if in deep thought. His fingers tapping three times on the steering wheel was the only piece of evidence that betrayed his air of nonchalance towards Jungkook’s attitude.

“No, Your Highness,” Min Yoongi said, finally. “There’s nothing I have to tell you.”

God, was he really an Alpha with how placid he appeared to be, how composed and serene?

Jungkook breathed out tiredly, his lungs filling with the Alpha’s irritating scent. Of course he was an Alpha — he really couldn’t be anything but, not with the way everything around him reeked of whatever shit God had put into them, and Jungkook sometimes felt like he would go crazy if he spent another second next to Min Yoongi.

At least he had the same effect on the bodyguard. At least they were even.

The car entered Wonhyo Bridge. Traffic eased here, and the vehicle gained speed.

“Just say it,” Jungkook scoffed. He looked out of the window, at the river, at the Namsan Tower. Sickening. “I hate silence,” Jungkook said, looking away, his gaze wandering back onto Min Yoongi’s face, his hands, his knuckles. “If you don’t have anything to say, then talk. About anything.”

He watched Min Yoongi shifting in his seat. “What I wanted to tell Your Highness earlier — ” He cleared his throat quietly, barely there. “With all due respect, I think… I think Your  Highness needs to stop battling his grief. It’ll be easier if you accept it, Your Highness. There are things in life we need to fully live through in order to survive.”

Jungkook stared at him in wonder. How dare he utter  those words to him? He wanted to tell Min Yoongi to watch his tongue and to not overstep but — somehow only found himself in the middle of a sigh and a tired, “You’re a shitty talker, you know that? Just put on the radio or something, then.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

—

Tape #041121

Voice A: You really aren’t talkative, huh? 

The suspect: …

Voice A: Let’s wrap it up for today, then.

—

“Ok, I’ve had enough of this,” Seokjin suddenly said as he took his  first bite of instant ramen. His chopsticks clanged against the plastic surface of the folding table. He turned around in his chair. “Min Yoongi-ssi? Come join us.”

The bodyguard looked away from the window to the table in the further corner.

“It seems to me like Jungkook starves you on purpose,” Seokjin said. “We eat like pigs during our time here, and you just stand there for hours with no rest or food.”

“Yah,” Jungkook protested. “I don’t do anything to him — ”

“I think Jin-oppa is right,” Hyuna shrugged. She took a sip out of her Coke can, sprawling in her chair, legs spread wide. She always did that — she lounged and hunched and reclined.^[1] Not very Omega-like behaviour — they were usually nuzzling, folding into themselves, nesting — but Hyuna never seemed to care.

Ever since Jungkook had come to know her, he thought that maybe not fitting into your own subgender wasn’t something to care about.

“Hey, Yoongi-ssi, do you at least have, like, a lunch break included in your contract or something?” Hyuna asked cheekily, one arm thrown over the back of her chair.

“Classified,” Min Yoongi replied dryly, but Jungkook could fucking feel the smirk hidden somewhere in the corners of his mouth, like he was amused by the whole situation, like Hyuna made him smile, and Jungkook — he didn’t like that feeling.

“Join us,” Jungkook grumbled, freeing a chair next to himself. “There are others in position, right? They won’t miss a Heir Prince’s offender if you sit down for a minute? Or is your troop that bad?”

Min Yoongi frowned at his antics. “They’re the best men out there,” he said. Jungkook thought he caught a glimpse of a surprised look crossing his features, like Min Yoongi didn’t expect Jungkook to know about the troop and it made Jungkook scorn.

Min Yoongi accepted the lunch surprisingly easily, with no fight. Maybe he really was hungry. Maybe Jungkook really did just use and starve him.

Was it really his fault, though? He never had anything to do with Min Yoongi’s existence. It was all the Queen. If she had told him that his bodyguard needed a lunch break somewhere in the middle of his work schedule, Jungkook would’ve arranged it earlier.

“Wow, easy,” Seokjin laughed as Min Yoongi took the first bite of his ramen. “Nobody’s taking it from you.”

Min Yoongi nodded, and continued to aggressively suck on the noodles. Jungkook passed him a napkin, trying to coolly play it off, and Min Yoongi accepted it blindly. He wiped at his mouth, where the soup had splashed onto, and, still chewing, took off his blazer. He was left in his black button-up.

Jungkook definitely didn’t watch Min Yoongi roll up his sleeves. He was busy talking to Hyuna about the BS&T device he came up with recently, explaining to her how she and Mina should use it so it’d work perfectly, and didn’t fixate on neither his delicate wrists nor his prominent forearm muscles  at all.

“Thank you for the food,” Min Yoongi said, standing up. His voice sounded warm, thick.

“You’re quick,” Seokjin commented.

“Have to be back on my watch,” Min Yoongi explained. He bowed, collecting the empty ramen cup. “Thank you for the food, once again. Where can I — ”

Seokjin’s hand stopped him. “Don’t worry. Just leave it.”

The message, clear: We feed you but you’re still an outsider. You’re still just a guest of the pack.

“Of course,” Min Yoongi said. He put the cup down, picking up his blazer from the back of the chair. There was something solemn and stupidly prideful in his steps that only Alphas had as he treaded back in position.

As he watched Min Yoongi walk around the room in a circle, checking every window, Jungkook wondered if he belonged to a pack too, or if his troop was his pack, or something else entirely.

Hyuna’s foot softly nudged Jungkook’s shin under the table. “Jungkook-ah, you were saying…?”

Jungkook whirled his head back around. “Ah, right,” he snapped his fingers. He felt his ears reddening as Hyuna gave him a knowing smirk. “We should — I think the point of the game, like, at the very last tournament — if we get there, of course — we’ll have to assassinate the Prince. I think that's the point of the game. To put up a new dynasty.”

“What?” Namjoon’s surprised voice reached him. He was walking up from the first floor, empty ramen cups in his hands — it was a hot summer midday, all the students were on break now and preferred to spend their time under the AC of the internet café. Namjoon and Seokjin were booked, busier than ever, and the team usually practised with only one of them present.

Namjoon strolled towards the outside staircase, where the garbage cans were located. “Go on.”

“As we conquer the towns, we move further in the map, right?” Jungkook explained. “And I think the point is that there should be some grand finale at the last tournament, yeah? It must be the capital. And based on the lore of the game, I think the only way to capture the capital would be to end the ruling dynasty. Nobody is satisfied with the monarchy anyway.” Jungkook scratched his nose. “It’s too old-fashioned, you know?”

He felt the eyes of the rest of the team growing more serious on him. Even Min Yoongi seemed curious about what Jungkook had to say.

“And…?” Seokjin said. “Shouldn’t we kill the King for that?”

“Yeah, or the Queen?” Hyuna added.

“Guys, are you serious?” Jungkook raised his eyebrows. He smiled, finally feeling useful. “Okay, we know that the King and the Queen are too old to have kids now. They’ll die soon either way. So — to really win, to really  destroy the monarchy in its entirety, there’s only one way to go. We eliminate the Prince.”

“Your Highness?”

They were on their way back to the Palace. Min Yoongi, as usual, had been driving in silence for most of the time from Mapo District to the Palace. Jungkook was surprised to hear his voice. Min Yoongi himself seemed to be surprised to be speaking up, and his voice came out a bit gruff, a bit too low.

Jungkook looked up from his phone — he’d been scrolling through social media for the last fifteen minutes. Just mindless articles, mindless tweets, some updates on the game, on the tournaments, rumours about idols, new music singles, new dramas.

All so fucking boring.

Jungkook flipped his phone shut. “What is it, Min Yoongi-ssi?”

Min Yoongi rubbed a finger under his nose, a habit he had when he was in deep thought. He was looking straight onto the road, butJungkook could tell that his mind was on  something else.

“Could Your Highness tell me more about the game? BS&T?”

“What do you want to know?” Jungkook said. “Actually, no — why are you asking, Yoongi-ssi?”

“Your Highness seems to be mesmerised with the game. I’m curious as to why. What’s so special about it?”

Jungkook curled deeper into himself in the corner of the car and sighed. “It’s special because it gave me a pack.” He didn’t expect to give out the real, honest answer but the words had left him faster than he could’ve stopped them.

Min Yoongi hummed thoughtfully, warmly, like he understood, like he got it. “Has the game existed for a while?”

“Uh, I’m not sure. But I got into it almost after it was released. I’ve been here since day one. I was about sixteen, maybe seventeen?”

“So it’s been — ”

“Six or five years, yeah.”

Min Yoongi chuckled. It seemed to humour him. “Well, if you were about that age, it’s understandable why you feel this way. It’s important for pups to belong to something.”

Jungkook wanted to ask him if he had a pack, too. If he, as a pup, had had this itching desire under his skin to be claimed as someone’s family. But they had arrived at the Palace, and Min Yoongi was busy with showing his ID to get them through the security blockpost. By the time they were alone again, Jungkook felt like the momentum of their conversation was lost.

Min Yoongi parked just outside the Prince’s quarters. He didn’t even turn the engine off, knowing that it’d merely take several seconds for him to open the car door for Jungkook and escort him to the porch.

“Good night,” Jungkook muttered as he walked back towards the Palace.

“Good night, Your Highness,” Min Yoongi said, head bowed politely, gaze averted to the ground. Jungkook thought he heard a hint of surprise in his voice.

—

Tape #051222

Voice A: Let’s try one more time. Everything from the beginning, please. It was summer when you first met him, right?

The suspect: Go fuck yourself.

Voice A: …

The suspect: Let me try one more time, too. Go. To. Fucking. Hell.

—

Forty-nine days had passed, and the day for mourning to stop had come. It was a big day for the nation. The Royal Court organised the event in a temple just outside of Seoul, and everyone was headed there on that day like it was some sort of dumb show, a mere perfomance.

The whole country seemed to be drowned in black on that day. Stylists had even managed to dress Jungkook in mourning clothes — the first time since the funerals and the coronation day.

Traffic was downright terrible. The Royal Police escorted the passage from the Palace though, and everyone on the road just honked at them enthusiastically, supporting the Royals on their safe drive.

Jungkook was in a car with the King and Queen. He didn’t particularly like to participate in the conversation they held. Something about taxes. Something about being careful with the steps at the temple. They laughed, even. Jungkook didn’t understand the joke.

“You should resume your studies,” the Queen said, addressing him. Jungkook hummed like he would actually follow her advice and do it.

They let it go. They had never been too hard on him, not the way they had been with Joohyun, and now that he was gone, they seemed almost clueless, lost.

What were they supposed to do with Jungkook? Push him until he breaks like Joohyun? Treat him like ivory, place  him behind glass, never to be touched so he never has the opportunity to form a single crack?

“Is your bodyguard treating you well?” the King asked Jungkook.

“Uh?” Jungkook stirred up.

“Some of them talk too much,” the King elaborated. “Or you simply don’t click. If you don’t like your bodyguard, we can change him. You must trust him to protect your life, okay? You need to be sure he’s going to sacrifice himself if it comes to it.”

For a second, Jungkook really considered the prospect of replacing  Min Yoongi.

He asked questions. He accepted their ramen. He thought Jungkook needed his advice. And honestly, all in all, Jungkook would prefer an Omega bodyguard. They were just as fierce, just as dangerous as Alphas, but Jungkook would be much more comfortable with an Omega.

But if there was something about Min Yoongi, it was that Jungkook could feel the devotion in him. If not to Jungkook, then to his job. Sometimes, when on duty, Min Yoongi got this look on his face like he would jump into fire if Jungkook needed him to.

So he said, “It’s ok. Min Yoongi-ssi’s alright.”

The King smiled. “I’m glad. You should appreciate him a bit more, you know? He’s a great man. His heart is devoted to the crown. He’s the best out there, my son.”

“We can’t afford to lose you,” the Queen repeated. She looked more scrawny, but less red-eyed. The grief had worn off a little but some of it still settled deep in her bones  and refused to leave.

“You won’t lose me,” Jungkook told her the same thing he always did. “I’m not my hyung.”

The Queen nodded sternly, in a way  Alphas often did to bring comfort to Omegas. “Maybe it’s for the better.” She looked away and out the window.

Jungkook wasn’t him. They had always been too different. One was brought up to reign, the other was brought up to  command the royal guard. Now that the firstborn  was gone, Jungkook had no choice but to ascend to the throne and he wondered if he could do it. If there was anything in him to succeed up there, on the imposing seat with the infamous painting  of the Sun, Moon, and five peaks behind it.^[2]

Once they arrived at the temple, Min Yoongi seemingly appeared out of nowhere, his black suit a suffocating sight that blended in perfectly with the rest of the country. He helped Jungkook out of the car, hand protecting Jungkook’s head from hitting the rim, and never really left his side from then on. There were a lot of people gathered at the temple’s entrance already, waiting for the Royal family to arrive and begin the ceremony. So many cameras, they made Jungkook sick.

“Sorry,” Min Yoongi grunted into his ear as he guided Jungkook through the crowd, “they- fuck- something went wrong, and they couldn’t clear the passageway here. In front of the temple, it’s all good. Good distance between His Highness and the people.”

His body shielded Jungkook but never quite touching nor brushing. Min Yoongi felt like a rock the waves crashed into, like an actual shield. He was too close, but Jungkook was thankful at the terrible familiar smell filling his nose. At that moment, overwhelmed, almost scared, nearly whining like a pup from how many people were around him, suffocating him with a noose, Jungkook felt that he would follow Min Yoongi to the end of the world without hesitation.

The afternoon sun was hot and blazing. Thousands of hands were reaching out to him in reverence — to touch him, to claim him. A few fingertips brushed Jungkook’s sides, his shoulders. Jungkook tried to bow simply because that was what he was taught to do.

When people saluted you, you bowed and thanked them. When your nation wailed for your prosperity, you got on your knees and bowed as deep as you are able to.

“Your Highness! Your Highness!”

Min Yoongi pushed past the people. His hand hovered over the  small of Jungkook’s  back as he gently nudged him further. “Don’t pay attention to them, Your Highness. Not now. Let’s get out of here.”

Jungkook agreed. So he gathered his  remaining sane thoughts and pushed through after Min Yoongi.

“Long live the Heir Prince,” some woman told him in passing. Jungkook bowed to her too, but —

That was weird. Long live the Heir Prince was the phrase used for Coronation Day. Not for the 49th Day Rite.

It was then that Jungkook realised — it wasn’t just that woman.

“—Long live the Heir Prince,” the crowd whispered.

So it made Jungkook blanch in a stupor.

So it made Min Yoongi wrap his arm around Jungkook’s frame and drag him out of that hell.

Jungkook only realised he was suffocating in the pushing crowd under the hot sun when he finally took his first breath of fresh air with no people in sight, only a clear path to the temple in front of him. Min Yoongi regarded him with concern.

“Your Highness,” the servants ran up to Jungkook, fretting. They offered water and reached to touch up his makeup. They fixed his bangs and the tailored collar of his modernised hanbok.

Because no matter how much Jungkook denied it, it was, in fact, a show. Just a show. And the cameras would start in ten minutes, so he had to get ready.

Min Yoongi was nowhere in sight.

The ceremony went by quickly: Jungkook got on his knees and bowed, deeply and with resentment. Varying piles  of food and traditional delicacies were placed on the table he bowed to, along with some thin candles and a framed photo with a black line over the corner. He knew he was supposed to cry but he really couldn’t make any feelings stir within  him.

He just felt — empty. And so angry at Joohyun.

Hopefully, the Queen and King’s weeping and wailing made up for his muteness. Then, the whole nation joined them just outside the temple, and it became almost impossible to accuse him of anything — the crying sounds were tremendous.

Jungkook wondered if Min Yoongi was somewhere in the crowd, too, if he too had gotten on his knees and wailed. Somehow, it was a weird image in Jungkook’s mind. He couldn’t imagine the bodyguard doing something so ungraceful and humiliating as bowing to the deceased.

He caught Min Yoongi later in the dining hall. The farewell meal was to be served soon, but Jungkook was too tired, too sick of everything. The meat looked unpleasant and raw, the noodles were slimy, the rice was too chewy, and Jungkook’s entire body shuddered just thinking about pushing any of that down his throat.

“Let’s go home,” he said to Min Yoongi, one hand gripping tight at the bodyguard’s sleeve. “I’m sick.”

Min Yoongi gave him a look-over. “The car is outside, Your Highness.”

Jungkook liked that about him — the way he didn’t fret around him as a royal figure and yet, there was a hint of worry about Jungkook’s being in the smallest of his actions.

Like him guiding Jungkook out of the dining hall, acting as a protective wall as they pushed through the crowd of nobility chatting, laughing, sipping champagne, wearing the brightest smiles on their faces, all fully dressed in black.

Min Yoongi opened the backseat door for him. Jungkook’s forehead lightly grazed his palm which  once again covered the rim  protectively.

“I’ll drive carefully,” Min Yoongi said as he got into the driver’s seat and turned the engine on. “Would Your Highness like me to bring him to the doctor?”

“Just — to the Palace,” Jungkook sighed. He fastened his seatbelt, curling into the corner of the car, forehead falling tiredly against the nicely cool  window. “I need some sleep, ‘s all.”

The car took off gently. Jungkook liked that about Min Yoongi as well — he drove well, always in the same smooth rhythm, never too fast, never too slow. He didn’t use the brakes too harshly, usually letting the car slow down on its own naturally.

Jungkook sighed again. He looked out of the window at the full moon, something inside him rising anxiously. He closed his eyes, just for a second as he told himself, and dozed off.

He thought he dreamed of something nice. Or perhaps of nothing. Of darkness.

He woke up to the car pulling over at the freeway. The car rumbled quietly with the AC on. The flashing hazard lights made a calming, rhythmic sound. The door was open, letting the night’s air drift in. It smelled of gasoline and of night dew.

Jungkook looked down, and —

Min Yoongi was kneeling by the open door nearest Jungkook. His hands hovered over Jungkook’s knees and arms — not quite touching, just a ghost of the pressure of warm rough palms.

“Your Highness?” Min Yoongi’s voice sounded weird. Almost panicked, like he didn’t know what to do, and yet, still collected, like he was willing to get a grip for him, to pull himself together.

How, Jungkook wondered, could he ever doubt that Min Yoongi was an Alpha? If everything about him was just so —

“Hey, hey. Stay with me. Ok? Stay with me, Your Highness.”

“What — ” Jungkook rasped. His fingers ghosted over Min Yoongi’s knuckles, too, maybe they actually brushed his skin. He sucked in his breath harshly, and reality crashed into him: this wasn’t normal, what was happening. He was pretty sure you couldn’t park at the freeway, it was fucking dangerous, and Min Yoongi would never risk a royal’s life like this, would never put Jungkook at risk if he wanted to live with his head on his shoulders, if —

Nothing much more dangerous happened to Jungkook so he was willing to sacrifice.

Jungkook’s eyes widened. This time, he gripped onto Min Yoongi’s hands for real, letting the warmth of them sink into his own.

“Why — What — How — ”

Min Yoongi looked so relieved. “Your Highness — ” he breathed. His head fell, his gaze sinking down to the ground. “Your Highness, you had — a nightmare. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Jungkook whispered. “I’m not mad. Just — why… why are we here?”

The hazard lights blinked repeatedly two times before Min Yoongi replied, “Your Highness had a nightmare and… You were crying. In your sleep, you were crying. Wouldn’t calm down. I had to stop.”

“It’s okay,” Jungkook repeated. “Thank you, Yoongi-ssi. I’m okay. You see? I’m okay.”

It hit him all of a sudden that both of them were trying to calm each other down. Even with the AC on and the fresh air coming from the fields by the freeway travelling into the car, it could still be felt. The calming pheromones.

Jungkook watched Min Yoongi swallow a lump down his throat, his Adam's apple bobbing. “Is Your Highness feeling better?”

“Yes,” Jungkook said. “I’m sorry for scaring you. Let’s go to the Palace now.”

Min Yoongi hummed. He started rising from where he was kneeling, and his joined hands with Jungkook accidentally brushed Jungkook’s knees for a moment, and —

Oh, God.

It was good.

Being touched by an Alpha. It was so good. So warm. So rough. So grounding.

Jungkook let go of the bodyguard. Min Yoongi cleared his throat, and passed Jungkook a tissue.

“Oh,” Jungkook said. He only now registered his runny nose, wet cheeks. “Thank you.”

It was past midnight when the car parked next to the Prince’s quarters. Jungkook climbed out of the car without the bodyguard’s help, desperate and rushing for fresh air again.

Min Yoongi awkwardly hovered near Jungkook, hands clasped. Jungkook thought he still remembered the texture of these hands, the way they felt against his.

Neither of them made a move towards the Palace.

“Can I ask you a question, too?” Jungkook said.

Min Yoongi’s head lowered to the ground. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“Do you miss him? The Heir Prince.” Before Min Yoongi could open his mouth and say things like But you are the Heir Prince, Jungkook added, “The real one. Be honest.”

Min Yoongi looked back up at him, in an abrupt motion, kind of hastily, and his eyes, usually so small and non-expressive, grew wider. “Yes. Of course.”

“He was better, wasn’t he?”

The bodyguard remained silent.

Jungkook looked up at the sky. The full moon. So beautiful. He felt his head weighing him down, something in him making it spin. Despite the discomfort, he was still looking up when he said, “Why is it always that the best of us want to leave the world so badly? Is it because when their kindness meets the evil of it they break?”

The bodyguard opened his mouth.

“Don’t answer,” Jungkook cut him off. “It was a rhetorical question.”

So Min Yoongi asked, “Do you want me to take your backpack, Your Highness?”

Jungkook considered it for a second. How did his backpack even end up in this car, when initially it was loaded with the Royal Escort? Min Yoongi must’ve transferred it somewhere between the ceremony and the dinner.

So Jungkook said, “Yes, please.”

—

Tape #091222

The suspect: …Is he alright?

Voice A: He’s doing great, I think. You can be too, if only you tell me your side of the story.

The suspect: I don’t believe you.

Voice A: (sighs) You’re a difficult one. I’m starting to like you, I’m afraid. Okay, how about this — for every question that you answer, I answer one of yours about him?

The suspect: …Deal.

—

“Hey, Yoongi-ssi,” Hyuna called out.

“Yeah, Hyuna-ssi?” Min Yoongi spoke up, tone to tone with her. Jungkook watched him from where Jungkook was sitting in the swivel chair, the way the corners of his lips twitched amusedly at Hyuna’s words.

Jungkook didn’t really like what he felt during this interaction. Didn’t like the way he couldn’t name exactly what seemed to be wrong with it.

Maybe it was something about how warm Min Yoongi and Hyuna addressed each other, something about their mutual affection, fondness for one another that developed in such short time and in between all the little moments: when Hyuna opened the door for them and always teased Min Yoongi with her ‘Good day, bodyguard-nim’; when Min Yoongi scoffed at her antics whenever they played and Hyuna was constantly yelling nonsense. Maybe it was something about how distant Jungkook felt from Min Yoongi, how they only grew further  apart from each other ever since Min Yoongi had comforted him on the Rite Day.

It wasn’t that Jungkook wanted to be close with Min Yoongi. No. Not at all. He’d actually prefer if Yoongi didn’t exist in his life at all, but —

Maybe it was just…

Just — two Omegas and one Alpha. Just stupid nature shit. Nothing more.

“Is there anything you’re craving right now?” Hyuna said, her eyebrow quirked at Min Yoongi. She had her arm thrown over the chair, reclining in her seat in the laid-back way only Hyuna could, one knee tugged up to her chest. She rested her chin on it as her thumb scrolled through the delivery app on her phone. Now that the mourning period was over, she was back to wearing her funky, bright-colored clothes, baggy shorts and oversized t-shirts for summer, and maybe Jungkook really couldn’t blame Min Yoongi for always beaming and lighting up at her when she was just so… sunny.

The team had just finished the practice game, and decided to order some takeout. Ever since Seokjin suggested Yoongi join them for lunch, Yoongi always had a break for food with them.

“You know what?” Yoongi said, and there was something about how wide his smile was that got Jungkook’s blood boil. Wasn’t he on work duty? Yoongi leaned his back next to the window he usually monitored. “Cold noodle soup sounds very tempting right now.”

Hyuna snapped her fingers at him. “You’re reading my mind, Yoongi-ssi. Anyone else?” She looked around the room.

“Stop terrorizing Jungkookie’s bodyguard, eh?” Mina said, walking up from the first floor to Hyuna. She planted a kiss on Hyuna’s forehead, and Hyuna smiled up ever so softly at her, and the sight of them made Jungkook weirdly self-conscious and he looked away.

Okay, another reason why Jungkook’s feelings had no basis: Hyuna wasn’t interested in Alphas. Hyuna wasn’t interested in anyone other than Mina, actually, despite both of them being Omegas. Jungkook didn’t really understand the way they worked since it was something against nature but then again, was he really one to judge?

Min Yoongi definitely wasn’t interested in Hyuna, either. If he was, everyone in the pack would pick up on it immediately. But Hyuna and Yoongi simply hit it off. They were amicable. And them being on good terms played a big role in Yoongi hanging around the pack more peacefully.

In a way, their friendship was what they needed. Why couldn’t Jungkook get over it?

“Jungkookie-yah,” Hoseok called for him softly. “What about you? Is there anything you’d like to eat?”

Jungkook thought about the salty sweat gathered under his nose and bottom lip, the stickiness of his palms, the annoying feeling under his armpits, how the air was especially dry and hard to swallow today. “Cold noodles sound heavenly right now.”

“Exactly what I’m talking about,” Hyuna said, sending him a smile, and Jungkook suddenly felt included, felt like both he and Min Yoongi fit in. “So, a portion of naengmyeon for everyone?”

—

Tape #091222

Voice A: How close were you with the members [of B1]?

The suspect: I’d say we were pretty close. They were a very closed off pack, but I think — I think I fitted in, I don’t know.

Voice A: Did you like this feeling?

The suspect: Next question.

Voice A: Is there a pack you belong to, [the suspect’s name]-ssi?

The suspect: Next question. (Pause). Don’t look at me like that. This information won’t help the investigation.

—

“Okay, are you ready?” Seokjin asked. He jumped a couple of times, warming up. “You’re not nervous, are you? Your hands aren’t shaking? It’ll be bad for us if you’re even a slightly bit worried—”

Jungkook looked at him sceptically. He raised his eyebrows. “I think hyung is the one who’s nervous.”

“You’re right,” Seokjin laughed. “I’m so anxious I could throw up.”

“Not here,” Jungkook scrunched his nose. He pointed somewhere behind himself, in the direction of the restrooms, hopefully. He’d never really been in this place before — neither in this preparation room nor in the Gaming Centre in general.

Seokjin gave him a quick lookover, and suddenly appeared more calm and collected. He squinted his eyes at Jungkook as if soaking him in. “No, but for real — are you nervous, or not? I can’t really tell.” Jungkook saw him trying to sneakily breathe in Jungkook’s scent.

Seokjin will be met with no success. With Jungkook’s training and upbringing, there was no way of telling what his emotions were.

Because Princes don’t hurt. Princes don’t get nervous. Princes always know what they’re doing. Princes are graceful. They are the ones in control.

“I’m not nervous,” Jungkook assured him, and squeezed Seokjin’s shoulder gently. “It’s gonna be ok, hyung. We’re gonna win.”

“Okay,” Seokjin breathed out, but it seemed a bit fake. Like winning was the least of his concerns. To be fair, he did seem unreasonably tense and wound up — even more than Jungkook could ever possibly be.

“The match begins in five minutes,” a manager announced, her head in the little opening of the door gone in a second, not a look at the team members spared.

Seokjin nodded. Jungkook could feel him trying to pull himself together. Alpha behaviour.

There was something unnerving about him, and Jungkook wanted to ask him if there was anything Seokjin was not telling him, something that Jungkook should know about their opponents —

Seokjin grabbed Jungkook by the shoulders, tugging him into one of the most comforting hugs Jungkook had ever received.

“I really don’t want to say it but — I’m betting my whole life on you right now,” Seokjin whispered, swaying them both a little from side to side, pressing Jungkook impossibly closer to himself. Jungkook stilled as he almost half-hugged Seokjin back, his heart sinking.

His whole life?

On a game? On a stupid game?

On the other hand, this game fed Seokjin. It gave everyone in the team money to survive. Moving up the tournament scoring board meant more money in the next win.

Of course Seokjin, letting Jungkook step in as an Operator, was betting everything he had.

“You can count on me,” Jungkook told him sternly. “I won’t disappoint.”

Seokjin barked a laugh. His warm breath brushed Jungkook’s neck. “Thank you, Jungkook-ah,” he said and stepped back. “Let’s go. It’s time. Keep your head up. You’re a member of one of the best BS&T teams out here.”

You’re the Heir Prince, he meant to say.

“Lead the way,” Jungkook said.

They stepped out into the corridor and proceeded to the gaming hall. Other members of their team were already gathered in the wings, waiting for the cue. The spectators had taken all of their seats already, and everything was just so — blaring, scents overflowing, excitement rumbling in the room.

The MC announced the opposing  team. The hall roared. The members stepped out and  took their seats at the computers.

“Let’s welcome — B1!”

Seokjin pushed lightly on his shoulder. Jungkook walked out after Hyuna, waving at the crowd shyly. It was the first time he presented himself as Jeon Jungkook to the crowd, not as the Heir Prince, and yet he couldn’t help himself as he bowed in grace, his royal manners flowing out of him in the most natural way possible. No matter how much he resented it, he was who he was.

The whispering came over the hall as a wave. Is that His Highness? Is that the Heir Prince? What is His Highness doing there? Even the MC seemed lost — the managers must have thought Jungkook’s name was just a stupid coincidence.

“Smile and wave, Your Highness,” Mina giggled into his ear happily as everyone on their team realised just how much fuss they had made with his appearance on the team. “Smile and wave.”

The hall was overcome with joy. It was the Heir Prince right in front of their eyes. Nobody had expected him here but the news was about to travel, and it would travel fast. The news articles appeared in front of Jungkook’s eyes.

Jungkook should play his best tonight. If he failed, it would be the end. That must be what Seokjin had meant back then, at the preparation room.

Jungkook took his seat between Hyuna and Mina. The swivel chair comfortably embraced him. The game was already on, the computer running smoothly.

Jungkook caught Min Yoongi’s figure in the corner of his eye. Earlier, when Jungkook had taken his seat in the car, Min Yoongi had asked, The usual? — meaning the internet café, and Jungkook had told him, barely fighting a cheeky smile on his face, Not at all, he appeared to be so —

Weird.

Jungkook would call this emotion close to annoyance, except it was more. Anger, maybe. Min Yoongi was angry that Jungkook hadn’t warned him beforehand about the match. His scent seemed all weird too, very musky and unpleasant. Jungkook had thought he’d grown used to the Alpha’s scent but this was much, much worse, and for a second, back in the car, he suddenly felt afraid that Min Yoongi would just… disobey his orders. Refuse to drive him here, not let him participate.

Instead, Min Yoongi had just breathed out tiredly, like he was promising himself to resign right after he finished this task, and put the car into drive.

And now he was standing there, in the shadows of the gaming hall, close to the wall, two fingers against his ear, his mouth moving inaudibly. In position. How could Jungkook ever doubt Min Yoongi?

Their gazes locked.

Min Yoongi seemed to be unable to take his eyes off of Jungkook.

Under his gaze, Jungkook felt his facade breaking a little, like a fracture cracking on the wall, and for a moment, he allowed himself to be vulnerable.

God, he was so anxious he wanted to crawl out of here and curl up in the corner and cry.

But then — Min Yoongi’s gaze grew a bit more stern yet not cruel, and he nodded at Jungkook shortly. As if to say, You can do it.

So Jungkook did it.

They would leave through the backdoor.

“Ready?” Min Yoongi asked. “There are a shit ton— I mean, there are a lot of people, Your Highness.”

Jungkook was still giddy from the game, from commanding and carrying out the whole operation and winning. He smiled brightly at Min Yoongi, feeling like he’s on top of the fucking world. Being a Prince never gave him so much joy. It had never been so nice to Jungkook, only pushing and pressing and pushing again.

“You should talk to me in a way you’re most comfortable with. No need to choose the wording, alright?”

Min Yoongi frowned at him. “Did you hear what I’ve just told you, Your Highness?”

“There are a shit ton of people out there.”

Min Yoongi’s lips made a thin line. Jungkook suspected it was to refrain from smiling. “Right.” Min Yoongi’s hand gripped the door’s handle tightly. “I’m sorry if I touch you accidentally out there, Your Highness.”

“Just get me to the car safe and sound,” Jungkook told him. Min Yoongi breathed out again, just like he did back at the café, as if he was already tired of this whole thing, and then he — pulled Jungkook carefully by the sleeve on his elbow, closer, so much closer, and pushed on the door, and they both presented themselves to the crowd that had already gathered at the back entrance.

Min Yoongi’s one hand was hovering near Jungkook’s back, the other in front of them to prod through the sea of people. Some other bodyguard, a man dressed exactly like Min Yoongi, joined Jungkook on the other side.

Everything resembled the situation back at the temple, except this time these people didn’t care at all that there was security with Jungkook. Everyone just wanted to get a piece of him. Any inch of his skin that they could touch.

“Yoongi — ” Jungkook breathed, suddenly suffocating, and he clung onto Min Yoongi’s blazer sleeve.

Min Yoongi whirled his head around to look at Jungkook. Jungkook remembered wondering what Min Yoongi saw in him that had his eyes widening, crazy.

That got him making that kind of growl. That got his scent so bitter that even Jungkook had to bring his sleeve up to cover his nose.

Everyone stepped back. A line of free space formed, right to the car.

He might not look like much but his presence is a lot, Jungkook’s mother had told him about Min Yoongi but Jungkook — he never really gave much thought to just how much power was gathered within the Alpha.

“Let’s go,” Min Yoongi whispered, voice so gentle compared to how he had just acted. “This way, Your Highness.”

Jungkook nodded, struck. Min Yoongi’s hand lightly pressed against his back. Jungkook moved his feet.

“Long live the Heir Prince,” someone said suddenly, voice barely heard, and yet —

“Long live the Heir Prince,” another voice joined, and soon enough, the whole crowd chanted for him.

“Long live the Heir Prince!”

—

Tape #111222

Voice A: What does this phrase mean? ‘Long live the Heir Prince’?

The suspect: …

Voice A: …

The suspect: (scoffs) It means what it means. A wish for prosperity.

—

He knew nobody in the Palace was pleased with what he had done. That he hadn’t notified anybody about his public appearance beforehand. But neither the King nor the Queen dared to say anything because — he was the Heir Prince, after all. The only one left.

“You should’ve at least warned me,” Min Yoongi dared to say. They were just outside the car, under the backdoor staircase of the internet café, about to go inside if not for Min Yoongi’s sudden urge to lecture Jungkook. “I’d organise better security there if only you'd told me at least a couple days earlier. Did you know nobody checked the bags in the Gaming Centre? What if someone brought a weapon with them? For God’s sake, I barely gathered my people at the outskirt —  ”

“You’re rambling, Min Yoongi-ssi,” Jungkook said quietly.

“Is there no better place for a fucking game tournament than this shithole— Sorry, what?”

“You’re rambling,” Jungkook repeated, this time louder, more cheekily. “Calm down, will you? Nothing happened.”

Min Yoongi frowned. Jungkook imitated him, frowning back. They debated with each other silently, solely through their glares.

Eventually, Min Yoongi laughed weakly in defeat, his arms falling against his sides. “It doesn’t mean nothing will happen next time. So please, Your Highness, make sure to warn me, ok? It is in your best interest.”

“Yeah, yeah, ok,” Jungkook smiled. He tapped Min Yoongi’s breast pocket. “Have a smoke and stop nagging me, alright?”

Min Yoongi’s mouth hung open abruptly.

“Let’s go inside. Everyone must be waiting for us. Hyuna said she is keeping everyone off your piece of cake,” Jungkook said, turning away in the direction of the staircase. He felt Min Yoongi’s gaze lingering on his back. It was warm, somehow. Impossibly warm.

“Your Highness,” Min Yoongi called out. He was still by the car, a cigarette pack in his hand.

“Yeah, Yoongi-ssi?” Jungkook said, one hand curled at the staircase’s metal fence. It was hot from the sun, irritating Jungkook’s inner palm with the uneven texture.

“How did you know I smoke?”

Jungkook tilted his head at him. He wondered if he should just say it, just come clean — if he should tell Min Yoongi that the first time he saw him, he thought that the Alpha smelled like garbage, that he still sometimes did, and that it took Jungkook a while to figure out that it wasn’t his natural scent and just the stench of cigarettes lingering onto him.

“Just a lucky guess,” Jungkook shrugged. “Your job is stressful. Surely you must have some addiction to mitigate it.” A pause. Jungkook watched Min Yoongi put a cigarette between his lips. Watched the column of his pale neck, wondering where that growl from two nights ago travelled from. Jungkook coughed to clear his throat. “Come inside soon.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Yoongi mumbled, lips curled around the lit cigarette. He took a drag and a cloud of smoke appeared in front of him. His shoulder sighed in relief, some weird euphoric look to him, like this cigarette was everything he had ever wanted.

Jungkook had to swallow and hide inside the internet café, everyone congratulating him on the win — Min Yoongi had dragged him away right after the match ended, not a second spared to celebrate. Hyuna and Mina nuzzled into him, hugging him, jumping around in a happy little circle, but —

The image of Min Yoongi smoking was burned into his mind.

—

The suspect: Where’s he now?

Voice A: Here. In Seoul. At the Palace, probably.

The suspect: Got it.

Voice A: You’re wondering why he’s not coming for you, aren’t you?

—

It happened again.

This dream.

The one that had him suffocating, waking up in tears. He couldn’t breathe in, and it scared him, it scared him to the point he curled up and only coughed, like there was water in his lungs he couldn’t get rid of.

“Your Highness?” the servants fretted around him.

“Yoongi?” he fretted around them, pleading eyes all crazed. He clung onto some poor servant’s sleeve. “Yoongi.”

“Your Highness — ”

“Min Yoongi,” Jungkook whispered. His hands kept trying to find something that wasn’t there. “Bring me Min Yoongi.”

He came a bit mussed up, like he got called right out of bed. Jungkook watched him rush through the corridor with big striding steps. He was wearing a suit, and was still fixing the cufflinks of his shirt as he hurried through the Prince’s quarters.

Jungkook remembered thinking that white complimented his skin. It was thought that lingered constantly in his mind ever since the mourning was lifted and everyone stopped wearing only black. Min Yoongi looked good in white button-ups. Better than he did in black ones.

He barged into Jungkook’s room, pushed right past him, like he wasn’t here for him but for something else completely. There was a moment of hesitation where he seemed lost, probably taking in the new surroundings, the unfamiliar scents, the interior. He started inspecting the room, looking through it like he was searching for something specific. And then he —

He — fucking — tossed the blanket off of Jungkook’s bed.

“Hey — ” Jungkook protested, a hard grip on Min Yoongi’s wrist faster than he could stop himself. “Don’t touch my fucking nest.”

Min Yoongi glared at him. Jungkook felt panic flowing from  him because the Alpha thought he had just disturbed something, and of the Omega Prince, no less. But he continued to glare nevertheless. He was glaring despite his nature.

“How else am I supposed to find the source of danger in your room if I don’t look through it?” he spat.

Jungkook’s eyebrows knit. “There’s nothing dangerous in the room.”

“What?”

“I just had a nightmare, ‘s all.”

“What?” Min Yoongi whispered again. He let go of the blanket. It sank back down onto the bed. He swallowed thickly, and Jungkook couldn’t understand if the Alpha was mad or was simply  in shock. “I’m here — Your Highness — nightmare?”

“I had a nightmare,” Jungkook repeated. He let go of Min Yoongi’s wrist, and wiped the sweat off his pyjama pants. “I wasn’t in my right mind. I called for you because… the last time, in the car. I think it’s because you comforted me. It was — ” Jungkook sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “It was stupid. I just couldn’t stop them. You know how they are in the Palace. I say one thing, they bring it to me immediately. And — I don't — It's just… I don’t know, look, I’m sorry, I know it’s early in the morning, the call must’ve disturbed you — ”

“Why doesn’t Your Highness get back to bed, hm?” Min Yoongi interrupted him softly. Something in Jungkook’s chest whined.

Yeah. There was a reason he called for him.

He needed someone to comfort him. And only Min Yoongi had proven himself so far.

“I can’t. Yoongi-ssi ruined my nest,” Jungkook whispered, suddenly quiet, suddenly not himself.

“I’m sorry,” Min Yoongi said gently. “I’m gonna turn around and let you fix it, okay? And then we’ll get you to bed. How does that sound, Your Highness?”

Right, Alphas weren’t allowed to look at Omegas when they nested.

Jungkook nodded, and Min Yoongi’s soft gaze fixated on him for a second too long as if he was trying to confirm something for himself. Then, he turned his back to Jungkook, looking everywhere but the bed.

Jungkook fixed his nest pretty quickly. He was being more dramatic than he should’ve been. Nothing much was ruined, after all.

“Done,” Jungkook announced softly. Somehow, he was nervous but he couldn’t really tell why. He was sleepy. He wanted to go back to bed. His lungs still held the false memory of water in them.

Min Yoongi turned back around. “It’s a lovely nest, Your Highness,” he told Jungkook, and it felt like finally being able to take a breath after being drowned for God knows how many years. “I’m sorry I ruined it.”

Oh.

Fucking validation.

Of course he wanted this. Of course he needed some stupid Alpha to tell him his nest was the most perfect thing ever made.

Jungkook carefully settled back in bed. His own scent comfortably embraced him.

“Close your eyes, Your Highness. I’ll be on guard,” Min Yoongi said. He didn’t hover over Jungkook — instead, he stood upright next to Jungkook’s bed, hands firmly clasped, looking as if the world was ending, and he’d make sure Jungkook would not be scared about it even for a single moment. “No nightmare will dare disturb you.”

It sounded like I’m gonna stay with you.

But then Jungkook woke up later, the sun in his eyes, and he wasn’t there. In fact, nobody was there, which was strange. In the Palace, he’d never truly been alone like this.

Jungkook slipped out of his bed and  staggered to the door. He looked out into the corridor. Min Yoongi was there, talking on the phone, pacing back and forth, and his presence, his figure alone, his shadow growing long at the first ray of glimmering sunrise, calmed Jungkook down. He rested his shoulder on the doorjamb, letting his head fall tiredly against it, curling deeper into himself.

He didn’t mean to eavesdrop. He just wanted to call Min Yoongi back. Ask him what’s wrong. Why he’d left when initially he promised Jungkook he’d stay on guard.

“Where am I? You’re asking me where I am? I’m at the Palace, you idiot. Why? Because the Heir Prince called for me. Some of us have actual jobs, you know.”

Some murmuring.

“I’m not a fucking nanny, Park Jimin, I’m a bodyguard,” he heard Min Yoongi snap.

Jungkook didn’t even know it was possible, not after Joohyun’s death, but oh —

That phrase. It broke his heart.

—

Tape #181222

Voice A: I see the bite mark on your neck.

The suspect: …

Voice A: It’s a lovely one. Very delicate. (A muffled noise and the rustling of fabric). Mine is not that great. She bit me wrong. (Laughs). [Did] you know it might happen? Mating gone wrong?

The suspect: …

Voice A: I saw his mark, too.

The suspect: If you lay a finger on him, I swear to God —

—

“Your Highness.”

Jungkook’s gaze shifted lazily from the champagne he was swirling rather than sipping to the voice that had called to him.

“Min Yoongi-ssi,” he murmured, acknowledging the intruder.

Min Yoongi bowed. Jungkook bowed back. He was leaning against the wall a little — not quite the way a royal figure should act at a banquet but he had been  on his best behaviour the whole evening and thought he deserved some rest, away from the nobility.

It was a banquet organised out of the blue anyway. Jungkook wasn’t supposed to be here. He was supposed to be at the internet café, preparing for the next tournament, eating cheap ramen from the supermarket down the street and laughing warmly with Mina about this one TV show they were both invested in these days.

But — here he was. At the fancy dining hall, decorated heavily in  gold, a picture of the blood red  sun and the pale dead moon and the mountains beside the Queen’s back, with turkey pushed down his throat, champagne nipping at his tongue. The quiet talks about the villages around Busan still hummed in his ears — Jungkook hadn’t paid enough attention to learn what was going on.

Joohyun really was missing here. He was taught to be attentive and courteous and gracious. Was taught how to be the Heir Prince that this nation needed.

Jungkook was never supposed to be anything more than a commander. And commanders really had no place at banquets. Their hearts belonged on the battlefield.

“Your Highness seems bored,” Min Yoongi said. He mirrored Jungkook’s pose, leaning his back against the wall next to him. Like they were something more than a royal figure and his guard. Almost like they were — friends.

“Maybe I am,” Jungkook said. He was a little tipsy, and a little  up to no good. “Why are you here? I’m pretty sure the security here is quite alright.”

Okay, maybe he still was a bit hung up over the whole ‘I’m a bodyguard, not a nanny’ thing.

Min Yoongi blinked at him. “It’s my squad.”

Jungkook blinked back at him. “What?”

“I’m the Head of the Royal Security.”

“No way.”

Min Yoongi smiled at him, the corners of his lips lifting  bashfully. It was a nice look on him, that kind of smile. He searched his hidden pocket in his blazer, and offered Jungkook his badge.

Jungkook carefully took it from his hands. Their fingers didn’t brush.

The badge had Min Yoongi’s picture, younger, much younger, hair shorter, cheeks more hollow, gaze serious, almost grim. Name: Min Yoongi. Date of birth: 09.03.1991. Joohyun’s age. Six years older than Jungkook. Position: The Head of the Royal Security.

“Did you become the head when you were twenty or something?” Jungkook asked, handing Min Yoongi his badge back.

“Nah. I was just too lazy to take another picture for my ID, and gave the Office the one I already had,” Min Yoongi said as he took the badge away. Even his voice sounded  as if he was smiling. “I kinda regret it now, I gotta be honest,” and he laughed, his eyes forming crescent moons.

Jungkook was too tipsy to deal with everything right now. He leaned his head back, until the crown of it touched the wall.

“You should stop smoking,” he told Min Yoongi. Just because he could. Just because he was tipsy and up to no good.

“Is my smell bothering you?” Min Yoongi asked.

“Yes,” Jungkook lied.

“I’ll try my best to quit, Your Highness,” Min Yoongi answered in a tone that didn’t make Jungkook believe he was even going to try smoking less.

They let the silence hang between them. Muted melodies  of live music in the dining hall reached them. People were dancing amidst something happening in the villages of Busan.

Jungkook should probably head back. His parents and the nobles might think they lost him.

He sighed, closing his eyes.

Dear God, he just wanted to be anywhere but here.

“If Your Highness is bored, why don’t you go hang out with other Omegas?” Min Yoongi asked. He sounded almost kind.

“I don’t fit in,” Jungkook said. Being honest was so much easier with his eyes closed. “Not exactly Omega material.”

“You speak of them as if being Omega is something bad. Wrong.”

“It’s not — wrong,” Jungkook argued. “And I like being an Omega. I’m just — as I said, not exactly Omega material. I don’t do well at… I don’t know, Omega things. Like, I don’t do them.”

“Really?” Min Yoongi said, a surprise in his voice.

Jungkook popped an eye open: Min Yoongi had his head tilted, like he was trying to take Jungkook in. A lot of Alphas looked at Omegas like they were something to own; with Min Yoongi, it was a different case. He looked at Jungkook like he deserved to be regarded with care.

It was a weird feeling.

“I think you’re pretty much always doing something Omega-like,” Min Yoongi said, a bit too simply for a loaded sentence like this.

Both of Jungkook’s eyes snapped wide open. “What do you mean?”

“Like, when you play BS&T — you tend to sit up and hug your knees. Or in the car, you always like to nuzzle in the very corner. You nest. You’re very clean. Oh, Your Highness snarls at me all the time. You once told me you like when it smells of pine in the car, so I can assume you like good fragrance, and — ”

“I don’t — snarl,” Jungkook said, choosing to focus on one thing at a time.

Min Yoongi smiled. He’d never smiled like this at Jungkook before — at Hyuna, maybe, at his other friends, or at his pack members. “Oh, you absolutely do, Your Highness.”

“Well,” Jungkook said. “I mean, I just, I don’t know, I’m also big and hefty and I’m about… the same size as Betas and Alphas, and I like, I don’t know — ”

“It’s not a conversation I’d want to have without a smoke,” Min Yoongi interrupted him. He pointed somewhere behind himself. “Does Your Highness wish to get out of here?”

Oh, Jungkook would love to. But — “You said you’ll quit smoking, Yoongi-ssi.”

“It’s my last one,” Min Yoongi smiled. He spoke in a fake courteous tone. “I swear, Your Highness. Will you do the honours to accompany me on my last smoke?”

Jungkook felt his smile grow impossibly massive no matter how hard he tried to repress it. “I don’t think I’m allowed to leave, though. Neither are you.”

“Oh, please,” Yoongi rolled his eyes. “Your Highness got a headache, or — I don’t know, you felt a bit sick? Drank a bit too much? And it states clearly in my contract that I put you above anything else. My troop is a great team even without me. I have my right hand operating here. They won’t need me.”

So Jungkook let himself be led out of the dining pavilion. It was a familiar position, with Min Yoongi’s hand ghosting over the small of Jungkook’s back. Such a small motion but how safe it made Jungkook feel.

“Would you like to walk, or should I bring the car, Your Highness?” Min Yoongi asked quietly as they exited the suffocating place, now outside, greeted by a warm August night.

The dining pavilion was just a fifteen-minute walk to the Prince’s quarters, located right at the Palace territory.

Jungkook admitted that he, in fact, did feel a bit sick and too tipsy, so they decided that walking would help Jungkook clear his head a bit.

They set a slow pace, more strolling than truly heading somewhere. As soon as they were out of sight, Min Yoongi lit his cigarette. He huffed out a cloud of smoke, shoulders sagging. Every time he smoked, he made it look like he was welcoming  a breath of fresh air to his lungs.

Jungkook scrunched his nose, and took a step away from him.

“Are you mated to anyone?” Min Yoongi asked. It sounded abrupt, completely out of the blue. Jungkook’s heart skipped a beat. He tried pretending not to notice Min Yoongi’s ears drowning in red. Min Yoongi bowed, his head sinking down. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me, I overstepped, Your H— ”

“I was supposed to get married to Taehyung,” Jungkook said. He tried looking only at his boots. “Until we both presented. I was — a pretty active kid? I don’t know. Was born pretty big, too. I liked all the toys and games Alphas usually like. Everyone just, I don’t know. I guess they assumed I’d present as an Alpha. Presenting as an Omega wasn’t really in their plans.”

Min Yoongi’s head tilted. “Does it feel like failing people around you?”

“I guess,” Jungkook shrugged. “Like I didn’t — I don’t know, like I didn’t try hard enough?”

“You know what I think is the problem?”

“Hm?”

“The problem is that we grant our subgenders too much weight,” Min Yoongi said. “We love to define ourselves with it. When, really, an Alpha is just the one who bites first when mating, and an Omega is the one who secures the bond, makes it complete. Nothing more and nothing less.”

Nothing more and nothing less. He put it so simply, Min Yoongi — like his whole life had been figured out for him, like there were no decades of inequality, no prejudices, no stereotypes.

Jungkook really wished it was as easy for him as it was for Min Yoongi.

He wished to be with someone who was as open-minded and well-spoken and just as open,  as raw, as bare as Min Yoongi.

Min Yoongi cleared his throat, embarrassed. Jungkook hadn’t noticed he was silent for the last few moments, with his mouth uselessly parted instead of actually replying.

“What I wanted to say is — just find an Alpha who wouldn’t mind being with you as you are. Or can handle you,” Min Yoongi grumbled as he made the last drug on the cigarette and put it out on the nearby bin. “Is Your Highness allowed to do it? Choose his own partner?”

Jungkook stared at him. “There was one, once,” he blurted.

“That’s nice,” Min Yoongi smiled. “Where did they go?”

“We broke up,” Jungkook said. “We were just teens. We liked dating, and, um, physical stuff?”

Min Yoongi raised his eyebrows almost mockingly. “Physical stuff.”

“Kissing,” Jungkook specified. Even tipsy and up to no good, he was in the right headspace to realise that telling your bodyguard about your sexual experiments wasn’t something to talk about. “But, I don’t know. We grew up, and we broke up. No drama. I moped a little just to be polite.”

Min Yoongi stopped in his tracks — they had arrived at the Prince’s quarters already. Jungkook awkwardly stopped next to him, suddenly feeling too self-conscious, too seen.

“Too trivial for a royal figure, isn’t it?” Jungkook smiled. He thought it must be a sad smile.

So he was surprised when Min Yoongi smiled so happily, gums on display. “No, not at all,” Min Yoongi said. “I’m glad Your Highness had a normal teenage experience with dating where both of you just enjoyed dating for the sake of it. Our teenage years exist exactly for that. It’s only after we grow up and learn the big word love that it gets complicated.”

“That’s true,” Jungkook said. He played around with the rings on his fingers.

“You should go to sleep, Your Highness,” Min Yoongi said. He gestured at the  sliding door behind Jungkook’s back, the one Jungkook had slipped out from on the night they met. “Head inside, Your Highness.”

“Yes,” Jungkook whispered.

Min Yoongi smiled again, this time shortly. Jungkook took a small step backwards. Min Yoongi nodded, as if to say, Yes, that’s right. That’s what you need to do. He had his hands shoved into his pockets, and overall looked like a dream.

Jungkook gave him a small wave. Min Yoongi waved back.

For a moment, Jungkook really wanted to do something reckless.

“Good night,” he said, overpowering himself, and taking yet another step away.

“Sweet dreams, Your Highness. Sleep well.”

—

Tape #201222

Voice A: So it was love?

The suspect: This has no relevance to the investigation.

Voice A: I don’t know who you’re trying to fool.

The suspect: (angry) It was. Of course it was. Look, would I really have done everything that I did if it wasn’t?

[Silence.]

The suspect: That’s what I’m talking about.

—

“The meat is not cooked properly,” Jungkook grumbled under his breath. He made another slice, saw the raw red, and groaned again. “Seriously?”

Heads around the table perked up. “What is it?” Hoseok asked, sticking his nose to Jungkook’s plate.

Jungkook pouted at him. “This meat fucking sucks. Who chose the takeout this time?”

Namjoon raised his hand. “I did.”

“You’re banned from ordering takeout from now on,” Jungkook said, his fork pointed at Namjoon.

“I’m afraid your orders don’t work around here, Your Highness,” Namjoon said. It was one of the few times that he actually addressed Jungkook by his title, but there was no respect in his voice. It was more mocking.

It didn’t sit right with Jungkook. He scowled at Namjoon, and came back to dissecting his meat.

“I can’t eat it,” he pouted again, trying to gain anybody’s attention.

Someone snorted.

Jungkook whipped his head around.

Min Yoongi.

By that time, everyone had their assigned seats around this table. Hoseok was always on Jungkook’s left. Hyuna sat in the chair that allowed her to sprawl and sit comfortably. Min Yoongi was usually occupying the chair by the wall. He was always sitting sideways, like he had never learned proper manners, or like he’d finally become comfortable enough around the pack to forget them, and his back rested against the wall. Now he was looking at Jungkook kind of lazily, his small eyes gleaming amusedly.

He grabbed his plate, handing it to Jungkook. “Mine’s cooked through. Take it, Your Highness.”

When Jungkook didn’t make a move, staring at the plate, he sighed exasperatedly and Jungkook thought that that wasn’t the way you sighed at your Heir Prince, and changed their plates in one quick deft motion.

Seokjin barked a laugh. “You really are built differently in the Palace, aren’t you?”

“Anything for the crown,” Min Yoongi confirmed with a tone of tragic self-awareness, his chopsticks picking up one of the pieces of meat Jungkook seemed to despise. Min Yoongi and Seokjin exchanged all-knowing smiles, as if to say, Yeah, you and I understand each other.

Even the Alphas were getting along now. It made Jungkook weirdly happy and content as he chewed on perfectly cooked meat.

“Yah, Kim Seokjin, Kim Namjoon, where are you?!” Hyuna’s voice carried from the first floor .

“Upstairs!” Kim Namjoon yelled, heavy banging steps on the staircase following.

In the doorway, happy faces of Hyuna and Mina appeared. Both of them were smiling wildly, and Hyuna was gripping Mina’s hand tightly, their fingers laced together.

“Guess what!” Mina blurted, giddy, rolling on her feet.

“The second tournament is in two weeks!” Hyuna immediately followed.

Everyone around the table jumped to their feet. “No way!”

And only Min Yoongi’s face grew longer, more serious and collected. “Well,” he said, standing up after the others, wiping at his mouth for the last time with a napkin, “at least not on short notice like last time.”

Jungkook pouted at him. “C’mon, Yoongi-ssi, I already said sorry a million times for that.”

Min Yoongi stalled. “You didn’t say sorry a single time, Your Highness.” Which made Jungkook pause, too, because — oh, why did it feel so shitty? Min Yoongi took his blazer off of the chair, putting it back on in a quick motion, a slide of his arms and a fix-up and he was all official and in position again.

“Hyuna-ssi,” he said. “Will you send me the time and location of the tournament?”

Hyuna shrugged. “Sure.”

It wouldn’t let Jungkook live. He played worse than usual that day, and blew most of the rounds. Even Seokjin had to tell him to get a grip. And Min Yoongi, Jungkook’s main problem, was still just standing next to the window, two fingers against his earpiece, in position.

It wasn’t until late morning that they went back to the Palace, and Jungkook asked, “Did I really not apologise a single time for the inconvenience I caused you?”

Min Yoongi laughed. It wasn’t mocking nor cruel. “It’s okay, Your Highness.”

So Jungkook really didn’t. And it really wasn’t.

Jungkook bit on his bottom lip. In the early promises of the sun, Min Yoongi looked even paler than he usually did. The orange light hit him softly. His eyes were trained on the empty road.

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook said. His eyes travelled from the slope of Min Yoongi’s forehead to his jawline to his neck, unmated, unbitten. Jungkook wondered if there had ever been anyone who came close to this spot, an Omega who had their teeth bared next to his silky skin.

“Don’t sweat it, Your Highness,” Min Yoongi said, drawing him out of his reverie. “But if it’s something you want to hear — I forgive you.”

“Thank you,” Jungkook bowed his head deeply, gracefully, like his mother often did. He remembered the feeling of Min Yoongi looking at him through the rearview mirror, a bit eerie but also magical, like something had just shifted between them, like it was something they wouldn’t be able to come back from.

—

Tape #231222

Voice A: Is there really anything to love him for?

The suspect: When will you start asking questions that actually have any relevance to the investigation?

Voice A: Once you start actually answering them. I like you, but I have a limit, too.

—

“And — B1 wins again!” the announcer yelled in the microphone, and the gaming hall drowned in noise.

Jungkook’s screen lit up with Congratulations. You won the match.

What had led him here? He couldn’t quite remember, the whole day was a blur to him.

Seokjin gripping his shoulders gently. I’m still betting on you.

Namjoon saluting him at the start of the game, his two fingers against his temple. Long live the Heir Prince.

The Queen blocking his way out of the Palace. Where are you going?

Min Yoongi stepping in. Your Majesty, I have everything under control.

Min Yoongi nodding at him right before the match again. Min Yoongi driving him here, his wrists, palms steering the wheel. Min Yoongi in the darker corner of the gaming hall, his back straightened, eyes scanning the surroundings. Min Yoongi’s people everywhere, all dressed similarly.

Min Yoongi, everywhere, in every corner of Jungkook’s mind, his scent lingering on Jungkook’s clothes, his voice occupying Jungkook’s skull, suffocating, seizing. Like a mantra. Min Yoongi. Min Yoongi. Min Yoongi.

“Let’s go,” Min Yoongi nagged him now, gesturing for him to stand up from the swivel chair. “Let’s go, Your Highness, we need to leave.”

Jungkook followed him almost blindly. He caught the questioning gazes of the team, and something in his head whispered that it wasn’t normal, what his bodyguard was doing to him — controlling and commanding him, that is. But Jungkook only realised it when Min Yoongi’s hand brushed the base of Jungkook’s spine, and Jungkook jolted and bristled, halting in the middle of the corridor that led to the Gaming Centre’s backdoor.

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

Min Yoongi frowned. “I’m — literally doing my job,” he muttered. “What’s up?”

Jungkook pursed his lips. The skin-to-skin contact felt burning, setting Jungkook’s skin on fire. That was what was up.

Nothing more and nothing less.

“Nothing,” Jungkook swallowed thickly. “I’m sorry.” He took a step back, his head sinking down, revealing his neck.

It was a subconscious move. It would’ve happened one way or another, both of them knew it’d come sooner or later.

Because they were who they were. Because it was just stupid nature shit.

It was still so fucking pathetic. Why didn’t he just get on his knees and present himself to Min Yoongi right then and there?

Min Yoongi gave him a weird look. “Let’s go, Your Highness,” he said gently. His hand twitched as if to touch Jungkook just as delicately as his voice had sounded but he got over it in the middle of the action and instead said, “I’ll try not to touch you anymore, okay? But we have to hurry before more people get here.”

Jungkook nodded. “Stay back,” he said. “I’ll be fine.”

He marched towards the backdoor, pushed on it before Min Yoongi could even try reaching out and ghosting his hand over the small of his spine, too embarrassed with his previous action to even wait for his bodyguard.

“Your Highness — ”

So many people. Almost as many as there were on the Oath Day. Everyone cheering for him. The flashing lights blinding him. Pictures taken of him. It was controlled, this crowd, Min Yoongi’s people arranging a line for Jungkook to the car.

Jungkook really didn’t need this right now. Fuck this. Fuck this royal blood in him, fuck his Omega instincts, fuck everything, fuck everyone, fuck Min Yoongi —

He lowered his eyes, felt a weird stinging in them, and forced himself to move. It shouldn’t have been this hard: one foot after another, a well-learned motion.

Why did it feel like a walk of shame? He fucking won the game. He should’ve felt like he was on top of the world, but instead only the feeling of terrible humiliation lingered. He had presented his neck to Min Yoongi.

He was so deep in his thoughts that he didn’t notice the sudden spur in the crowd. He couldn’t care less about it.

But then there was Min Yoongi’s voice.

“Jungkook — ”

And then there was a knife in front of Jungkook’s face. And then there was Min Yoongi pushing him, hard. And then the knife was right at Jungkook’s feet.

Jungkook staggered to his feet.

“You okay there, Your Highness?” one of Min Yoongi’s people asked him, steadying him. Jungkook pried their hands off him. Only one person was allowed to touch him.

He stared at the knife, couldn’t take his eyes off of it. The possible news articles flashed in front of his eyes: The Heir Prince assassinated. The last in line dead. The untimely demise of the Jeon Dynasty: August 2022. 

But —

Min Yoongi.

He had just rewinded everything. Rewrote the whole future narrative. And he was standing right there, towering over some man whose face was now shoved  into the hot concrete, so nonchalant, his expression weirdly blank, empty, like he hadn’t done anything serious at all.

Min Yoongi squatted down, his middle finger checked on the security of the handcuffs on the man’s wrists. They were too tight, the handcuffs. They weren’t put on to restrict his movements.

They were put on to hurt.

For a foolish second, Jungkook believed that was all. That it would end here. No need to go to extremes, right?

But then Min Yoongi’s expression only grew more serious, and he jerked the man by his hair. They were a weird pair, these two, such an odd contrast between them. Min Yoongi was wearing a suit, with his white shirt and blazer and the black silk of the slacks, while the criminal was all dirty and dusty now, nose broken and blood dripping down his mouth.

Min Yoongi tilted his head. “Any last words, asshole?”

“Long… live… the Heir Prince,” the man spat. His saliva ended up as a clot of blood on the concrete.

“Good choice,” Min Yoongi mused. He sounded like he was smiling. Jungkook saw him reaching for his hip.

“Let’s go, Your Highness,” someone hurried Jungkook again, and Jungkook let himself be led away. Anything to get away from this image of Min Yoongi in front of his eyes.

Anything but to hear the shot.

It reached him regardless.

Jungkook refused to go back to the Palace with anyone but Min Yoongi. He waited around, at the backseat of the car, shaking all over.

Long live the Heir Prince, his ass. If you attempt to kill him, he won’t be able to live for long.

Jungkook used to think it was a wish for his prosperity. Now —

Maybe they were just mocking him. Maybe they wanted him gone.

Maybe they wanted Joohyun gone, too. He never saw the body. His parents could’ve lied to him. It would explain Min Yoongi, why he appeared so suddenly.

Maybe it had never been his mom being paranoid that he’d take his own life away, too.

Maybe it had  been nothing more but politics all this time. Everything. Everywhere. Neverending.

Jungkook bit on his thumbnail, gnawed at the skin there. The more he thought about it, the more logical it seemed.

God, how could he be so blind?

Stupid, naive Jungkook. He still hadn’t figured out the rules of this game.

“Your Highness — ”

He came in almost running, a little mussed up, reminiscent of the night when Jungkook called him in because of his nightmare. Jungkook was sitting in the car with the backdoor open, and he lowered himself on one knee in front of Jungkook, weirdly resembling that time he stopped the car in the middle of the freeway when Jungkook had his first nightmare.

His scared eyes. His scent spiking.

Jungkook’s stomach churned as the realisation dawned on him that it wasn’t because Min Yoongi had almost lost the Heir Prince and got himself beheaded — Min Yoongi got scared because he almost lost him, Jeon Jungkook. The boy he came to grow close with in the past months.

His hands reached out as though to cup Jungkook’s face. His fingertips were merely inches away from Jungkook’s jaw but had never touched nor even brushed Jungkook. Jungkook followed the ghost of his fingertips: he twirled his head left and right as Min Yoongi inspected his face.

Once he was done, he sighed out in relief, his hands sinking down to his knees.

He must really want a smoke right now, Jungkook thought absentmindedly as he gawked at Min Yoongi’s face, taking him in.

Min Yoongi looked Jungkook straight in the eyes. “Not. A. Fucking. Step. Away. From. Me. From now on, I’m even going with you to the fucking bathroom, understand?”

“Blood,” Jungkook said.

“You’ll be in my sight always— Sorry, what?”

“You have blood here,” Jungkook said. His thumb wiped just under Min Yoongi’s eyebrow at a  cut, collecting the blood. Jungkook registered his smooth cold skin. He realised that he’d never actually touched Min Yoongi before — instead, Min Yoongi had always been the one to touch him, to have his arm around Jungkook, his palm pressed against Jungkook’s back. Jungkook stared at the stain left on his thumb. “Because of me. You have blood because you dodged the knife.”

“It’s my job,” Min Yoongi said, a little  dumbly.

“Still.” Jungkook rubbed his index finger against his thumb. He shyly met Min Yoongi’s gaze. “Thank you, hyung.”

The bodyguard as if softened out, nothing remained of the man Jungkook had seen back at the crime scene. “Always,” he said. There was something missing.

“You can address me without the title,” Jungkook said. “Just one time.” He added, “Please.”

By the reluctant look on his face, Jungkook thought he’d say, I’m sorry, I can’t.

But —

“Always, Jungkook.” Yoongi said.

—

Tape #251222

Voice A: Merry Christmas.

The suspect: …

Voice A: I have a present for you.

[Muffled noise. Another tape is turned on.]

Voice C: …It’s recording, right? (muffled sound of confirmation, resembling Voice B) (Voice C takes a deep breath) (pause) Hey, it’s me.

The suspect: No— (crashes into the table)

Voice C: I’m okay. I’m okay, do you hear me? And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can’t come get you.

The suspect: …

Voice C: You have to tell them. Baby, you have to tell them everything. Everything that you know. Stop dodging questions. Just tell them everything as it was. Please.

—

The news had already reached the Palace by the time Yoongi parked the car next to the Prince’s quarters. The Queen was standing there, on the porch, yet another reminiscent image of the past summer: she looked exactly like the first time Jungkook met Yoongi, on the night they went to the internet café and Yoongi was introduced to the pack. She was pacing back and forth, her thumb dangerously close to her mouth. And as Jungkook stepped out of the car, Yoongi opening the door for him, following him like a guilty shadow, he, for the first time in a long while, thought of her as a mother.

“Mom,” he spoke up, voice quiet, a good distance between them.

Her head snapped up at the sound of his voice. She looked old to Jungkook, worn out. The world seemed to still for a short moment as their gazes locked, her eyes scanning him from top to bottom, making sure he was safe, untouched.

And then — she dashed into his arms. Jungkook had forgotten how much smaller she was than him, how much thinner, how much shorter.

“It’s okay,” Jungkook whispered into her hair as if she was the one who needed comforting. “I’m okay. I’m not hurt.”

“I know,” she murmured, her hands gripping his arms. She closed her eyes, pressed into him. “I know,” she repeated, and took a step back. “You’re in good hands. In the most devoted ones.”

His mom shifted her attention to Min Yoongi.

“Your Majesty,” he said, head falling down. “I’m sorry I couldn’t—”

“Yoongi-ssi,” she interrupted him, and Yoongi’s mouth immediately shut, “The Palace acknowledges your service. For your efforts, you’ll be rewarded.” She squeezed Jungkook’s hand, becoming less official, like it was a moment just for the three of them, just a mother addressing her son’s saviour. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Jungkook was the one to give him the merit. The medal was made just for him by the best masters of the Korean Kingdom: a bonghwang^[3] with a tail of fire, covered by a shield. Jungkook had twirled this medal in his hands countless times throughout the week, imagining how the ceremony would be like, how the day would feel against his skin, what he would be wearing, what Yoongi would be wearing.

Nothing had prepared him for this.

They gathered people in the Palace’s Courtyard, right in front of the Throne Hall, the same way they did on the day of Jungkook’s coronation. The Courtyard smelled of different Alphas, Omegas, and Betas, from all over the country, from the low ranks to the high, the military people in the Western region, the civilians in the East. Then there was a path leading to the Throne Hall, with uneven bricks and a staircase, all leading into the Hall where the Queen and the King were seated.Jungkook was waiting for him alongside the highest ranking nobility.

The drums announced the start of the ceremony. Min Yoongi walked in through the Gates — Jungkook watched him through the monitors placed inside the Throne Hall — and proceeded through the Courtyard. It seemed like he was well-known by everyone: people cheered for him, and Jungkook saw some from the West saluting him.

“Get ready,” the director announced, mostly addressing his filming crew. “He’ll be inside in fifteen… fourteen… thirteen…” By the time the countdown was down to three, the director signalled only with his fingers.

Then, Min Yoongi walked in. The sun shone behind him, forming a halo. The picture of the sun, the moon, and the five peaks hung behind Jungkook, carrying a most regal disposition. Min Yoongi’s steps were confident; he held himself like he wasn’t nervous in the slightest.

He was effortlessly beautiful, this Alpha. He had donned his uniform — not an expensive tailored suit but traditional military attire, a blazer heavy with medals and distinctions. They made soft clinking sounds with each step Yoongi took, and Jungkook wondered, for the first time, just how much shit he must’ve gone through before ending up as Jungkook’s bodyguard.

God, Jungkook thought as he scanned Yoongi’s medals, had he really gone through the Seojung War? The Battle of Springs? The Bear Fight? There were so many service medals and ribbons on Min Yoongi’s left side of his chest. Not very many people would go through all of them and make it out alive.

They caught each other’s gazes. Yoongi treaded closer, and fell gracefully to one knee, one arm supporting him.

It was time.

Jungkook stepped down from the throne, the bonghwang medal in his hands. He lowered himself in the way his mother taught him, and fastened the medal next to the others. His fingers shook a little, and his face felt too close to Yoongi’s. He felt clumsy and uncoordinated as he couldn’t pin the medal fast enough.

“It’s okay,” Yoongi whispered, so quietly Jungkook nearly missed it. “You’re doing great, Your Highness.”

So embarrassing. So warm. So safe.

Jungkook finally managed to secure the medal, taking a step back.

“Long live the Heir Prince!” Min Yoongi shouted, devotion spilling out of him, and the people both inside the Palace and outside in the Courtyard, echoed his plea.

Long live the Heir Prince! Long live the Heir Prince! Long live the Heir Prince!

It sounded as if the whole nation was chanting in perfect unison with how loud and blaring the oath echoed.

Time felt frozen. And as Yoongi kneeled in front of him, donning traditional clothes, eyes so dark, Jungkook thought —

—

Tape #281222

The suspect: I really am going to follow him to the end of this world, huh?

Voice A: And in that moment, that’s what you had thought?

The suspect: Yes.

—

Jungkook really is going to follow him to the end of the world, huh?

THIS CONCLUDES THE FIRST PART OF THE BONGHWANG UPRISINGS

^[1] Beach Read by Emily Henry reference

^[2] Also called Irworobongdo. It’s a Korean folding screen with a highly stylized landscape painting of a sun and moon, five peaks which always was set behind Eojwa, the king’s royal throne during the Joseon Dynasty (therefore, for this fanfic, Jeon Dynasty as well). The screen serves to display the majesty of the Joseon royal court.

^[3] Korean version of the phoenix; in the present day, the bonghwang symbol is found on the President Seal and in the Blue House. The bonghwang symbolises immortality / royalty / power.