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Jin and Namjoon had run in the same circles since they were pups, still compelled to hide behind their dams’ skirts at fancy galas. Jin remembered peering at him with a childish curiosity - there weren’t many young people at those events; he’d thought perhaps they could be friends.
And they were, he thought, though they never saw each other casually. They would sit together at dinners, whisper about uncouth chaebols, sometimes eagerly divulging family business secrets that were practically meaningless to their ears but they knew meant something to other people. They would even dance together sometimes, drawn out to the floor by giggling teenagers and gossiping omegas who loved to matchmake too early. They hadn’t even presented yet, they weren’t at an age where attraction was on their minds in the very slightest.
But when they did present—
Jin was older, but he had presented on the later end of normal. An omega, of course, what everyone had expected. He had already begun to bloom into a proper, pretty thing, a lovely omega who would be courted by only the most eligible alphas as soon as his sire felt he was ready for it. Not that his sire would deem him ready until Jin expressed his interest in such matters, and likely not even then. He was only fifteen, after all, and Jin thought his sire’s teasing that he wouldn’t let him within ten feet of a strange alpha until he was thirty wasn’t entirely in jest.
So he was as everyone thought he’d be, that was all well and good, he was quite happy to finally be coming into himself.
But when Namjoon, also newly-presented and suddenly stern-faced, looked right over him at the next event—
Jin didn’t bother trying to not feel hurt, and his dam looked over at him worriedly, but he merely shook his head and did his best to stifle his scent. Not well enough, of course, his older brother elbowed him in the ribs for stinking up the place and he was promptly chastised for daring to injure a delicate omega, no matter that the two of them had been wrestling in the mud not two months before.
Namjoon, thirteen and gangly and awkward and proud, stood with the older alphas like he had no thoughts of gossiping under his breath or giggling at too-drunk adults or anything else that made these events more than just tolerable.
Jin didn’t want to feel like he was forced into the group of young omegas who did the exact same things as he and Namjoon had done, but—it wasn’t the same.
And Namjoon, Jin thought as he stared daggers across the hall, the stupid alpha not even meeting his eyes, did not seem to care.
Jin would never do anything about it. He would never whisper it to an omega, he would never write it in the journal he didn’t keep, he would certainly never tell Namjoon himself—but Namjoon was now his enemy. A traitor to their friendship, to the solidarity of bored chaebol children everywhere, to Jin himself.
He turned his glare away and committed himself to whatever conversation the omegas around him were having. The conversations were new, after all, even if the content was the same. He was now given access to a more mature social circle—he was more mature.
And he would not pay stupid alpha Namjoon any more mind.
-
As the years went on, both Jin and Namjoon grew into themselves wonderfully.
Jin, a lovely, lithe omega with wide, elegant shoulders and plush, beautiful lips and a sense of humor that, regardless of anyone’s tastes, brought an infectious laughter.
Namjoon, a strong, broad alpha with a stern, sharp jaw and a sterner, sharper mind, with an impressive sense of business that had alphas thrice his age faltering in their steps.
They often crossed paths at events, both large ones that grew in the richest, most expensively-dressed crowds imaginable, and smaller ones that were simply a show to reinforce how intertwined their family businesses were, and how truly fucked they would all be with one tiny big misstep.
Namjoon never said more to him than the most frank greeting, never offered his hand to shake or wrist to scent. Jin never did either, but he was a pretty little omega—that wasn’t his responsibility. He was a modern omega, sure, but he was an omega.
He was subtle with his glances across the room, subtle with the snippiness he greeted Namjoon with, subtle with the way he made himself up even more than usual when he knew Namjoon would be there. That part—that was subtle even to himself. Perhaps it was intentional ignorance, his mind saving him from pretending that he wasn’t picking out his most flattering clothes, that he wasn’t wearing the most pleasant scent accentuators, that he wasn’t making an intensive concentrated effort to look his best—to look better than his best, to look better than anyone’s best.
Why would he being doing that, anyways? Surely, if he noticed, it would all be chalked up to coincidence. He was a proper omega, of course he would be trying to look his best. He was an eligible omega, at that, twenty-three and ready to be courted. Why wouldn’t he be trying to appeal to the proper audience?
Never mind that the audiences he found himself with made him politely cringe away, and that the alphas who decided to be brave and chance their advances made him feel queasy and flustered in a bad way. Never mind all that. And especially never mind that being close to Namjoon, merely seeing him, sent his heart racing. It was stupid, so surely it had to be a coincidence. Jin was shy, even when he was social. Even if he invited it, all eyes turning to him was nerve-wracking. That was no different.
He and Namjoon hadn’t exchanged more than a hundred words since they presented, even though they had exchanged at least ten thousand every time they saw each other before that. So there was no reason for butterflies to flutter about in his chest, there was no reason for a blush to paint his cheeks, there was no reason for him to feel so— so around him.
Especially when Namjoon, the asshole, wasn’t affected by him at all.
-
Though the butterflies remained throughout the years—no matter how aggravatedly Jin tried to crush them down—they did, at least, make themselves less at home on Jin’s cheeks. He no longer felt the need to cover his cheeks whenever he and Namjoon ended up in the same room, content to let his light foundation do the work for him. He no longer felt the need to very pointedly ignore him, instead ignoring him only perfunctorily pointedly. He no longer felt resentment for his favorite fanciful friendship disappearing into the ether like it meant nothing at all just because of measly presentations.
He no longer thought about why he rejected every alpha who approached him. Their gifts were not to his liking, their scents bothered his nose, their posturing gave him a headache, they weren’t Nam—
“Seokjin-ssi.”
Jin just barely stopped himself from whipping around, caught off guard. He was just leaving the building, he’d already exchanged terse formalities with the alpha before the shareholders meeting. For him to greet him now, after they weren’t required to be in each others’ presence, when Jin was nearly to his car, away from all the business alphas who looked down on him for his subgender being involved in their territory, the business omegas who were almost as shrewd to make up for what they were perceived to be lacking, the betas who were content to be neutral in it all—
“Namjoon-ssi,” he returned, lips pouting suspiciously no matter how much he wanted to keep a pleasantly blank face.
Namjoon didn’t say anything for a long enough moment that Jin felt the itch to shift uncomfortably. But when Namjoon held out a wrapped box, white with a gold bow, otherwise unmarked, Jin blinked. He took it slowly, feeling almost as if it were a mirage. Why would Namjoon—
Before he could ask, the alpha bowed at the waist, meeting his shocked eyes for only a second.
“Seokjin-ssi.” He departed, leaving a baffled Jin in his wake.
It was only when he was in his car that he realized what it was.
He was worried it would be yet another necklace he’d have to reject, a too-forward almost-collar that so many alphas thought appropriate. He was worried it would be an absurdly expensive watch, chunky and unlike anything Jin had ever worn. He worried it would be a scented scarf or something that reeked unwelcomely of alpha. His worries disappeared in a cloud of confusion when he hurriedly unwrapped it, throwing the ribbon carelessly aside, the top of the box following it to the floor, and saw—tarts.
Jin brought one to his nose slowly, sniffing it like it could be anything other than what it was. A flaky, perfect crust with a lemon curd filling. There were other flavors in the box, custard and fruits, all things Jin enjoyed. All things that he had enjoyed years ago, when they were waist-high and giggling under tables while the grown ups mingled and newly-presented teenagers gossipped and they were easily forgotten until it was time to go home.
He took a bite and sat back, staring blankly out the window. There were other people in the garage now, getting into their own cars, driving away like he should be, going about their own lives. Doing what Jin should be doing.
Instead, he ate a tart, and then another, thinking of Namjoon’s stupid, mysterious-but-familiar, stern-but-shy, unable-to-hide-from-Jin-no-matter-how-many-years-he’d-practiced alpha face.
Stupid.
-
Namjoon didn’t smirk when he saw him the next week, happening upon each other while Namjoon was out with colleagues and Jin was out with his mother at a fancy French restaurant with tiny servings. He didn’t leadingly ask if he’d liked his gift, if he’d enjoyed the taste, if he wanted more. He just—nodded politely, silently, and turned back to his table.
It was infuriating.
“Jinnie, dear,” his mother said, “what’s that face for?”
“It’s for being beautiful, mother. You should know, you gave it to me.”
She rolled her eyes and sipped her tea and did not glance at Namjoon only a few tables away. “Don’t sass your mother. Now—let me tell you about this lovely alpha I met the other day—”
“I’m sorry,” he interrupted. He could feel Namjoon’s attention on him, and he willed his ears to not show that he knew it. “I’d rather not hear about them.”
His dam squinted at him, taking another demure sip of her tea. “Would you like to tell me why that is? You usually at least entertain the idea, even if you spurn them all in the end.”
“I haven’t met anyone not worth spurning.”
“But—?”
Jin’s ears were definitely burning, just as much as Namjoon’s eyes on the back of his head. He pursed his lips, thought of the tarts, and shook his head.
“You went shopping with Auntie yesterday, yes? Any family gossip I should know about?”
She kept squinting, and Jin nearly sagged with relief when she hummed, letting it drop. “She suspects your cousin is with pup—unmated.”
Jin let out an appropriate gasp, and did not feel Namjoon’s attention leave him until they walked out the door.
“What’s gotten into you, Jinnie?” his mother asked, linking their arms as they walked. “You’re not yourself.”
“I am, mother,” he said, taking a steeling breath and leaning into her side for just a moment. “I fear I’m as myself as I have ever been.”
-
When Jin’s doorbell rang the next week, he was met with one of the doormen nearly hidden by a huge bouquet of some of his favorite flowers. But it wasn’t a bouquet, he realized when he took it, setting it on the table. They were in a pot, not a vase, planted carefully and healthily with enough space to thrive.
Of course they were.
He didn’t like cut flowers, their lives snipped too short, their beauty destined to die. But plants, rooted plants, ready to be set near the window to drink up the sun—
There was no note attached, but there didn’t need to be one.
He set them in a semi-shaded spot, almost too eager to see the flowers turn towards the sunlight.
He pursed his lips and found himself staring at those flowers more than anything else.
Stupid.
-
The next week, dinner was delivered right to his office door.
He had to stay late to edit a proposal, and he only realized how he would know that when he realized who all was in the list of email CCs.
It wasn’t fancy, it wasn’t small-portioned banchan or one bite entrees, it was just—udon. Nice, hot udon, filling and tasty and good.
It had to be a guess, this time, there was no reason for Namjoon to know he liked udon, not like he knew Jin’s favorite flowers or his favorite desserts. It was a guess, and a very good one.
He ate in front of his computer, and finished up the proposal with a pleasantly full stomach, no hunger or thirst headache like he often experienced on these long work nights. When he sent the final email, Namjoon responded with a thumbs up emoji.
Stupid. So stupid.
-
When the next gift came in, an incredibly comfortable, slouchy sweater that was exactly Seokjin’s style, he huffed and made an appointment with Namjoon’s secretary.
He went up to Namjoon’s office the next day, taking the elevator to the third highest floor, dressed in his most flattering, well-fitted suit that accentuated his waist just so, with a delicate, scalloped-edged handkerchief in his chest pocket that was perfectly omegan. Scented, of course, chastely and demurely, but enough to retain Jin’s natural scent.
Namjoon looked undeniably nervous when he opened the door for him. It made Jin almost preen to see. For all that Namjoon acted cold and uncaring in public, ignoring Jin for so many years, stoic and solid and professional and whatever else, here he was—brought to subtly shaking hands by the mere presence of an omega.
Not that Jin was just an omega.
He pushed past Namjoon when he seemed to forget an invitation, just barely brushing against him as he made his way to one of the armchairs in front of Namjoon’s desk. Namjoon closed the door behind him and slowly took his own seat. They stared at each other for a moment, and Jin was rather sure that it was more pointed on his end and more nervous on Namjoon’s.
He waited until Namjoon took a deep swallow to speak.
“You’re supposed to inform an omega when you intend to court them,” he said matter-of-factly. “It’s the proper thing to do.”
Namjoon seemed taken aback, lips parting a little like he wasn’t sure what to say. And that wasn’t good—Jin had just told him what to say. But what if—
What if that wasn’t what Namjoon wanted to say? What if that wasn’t what he had intended in the first place? What if he was only trying to rekindle their old friendship? What if it was nothing more than gifts to show goodwill in business? What if—
“Seokjin-ssi,” Namjoon said, interrupting his quickly-approaching spiral, “I wish to court you, if you’re amenable.”
“‘Amenable,’” Jin snorted. He took a deep breath and stood, throwing his handkerchief on Namjoon’s desk as he did so. Namjoon blinked at it. “You know my address. I’ll be ready at eight.”
He ignored the start of Namjoon’s spluttering in favor of walking elegantly out, bowing to the receptionist as he took his leave.
-
The doorman called him at 7:50 that night, informing him that Kim Namjoon was on his way to his apartment, having been pre-approved to do so. Jin had, of course, been ready since seven and was not too annoyed at his early arrival. But when 7:55 passed and there was no knock on his door—
He looked through the peephole and nearly laughed. Namjoon was standing outside in a very fine suit, shifting nervously and muttering to himself. There was a bottle of something in his hand, some expensive wine or champagne, and Jin did laugh when he saw Namjoon quickly hide it behind a potted plant in the hall, only to fetch it again a few seconds later, and only to hide it again a few seconds after that.
Namjoon glanced at his watch every few seconds, shifting and just barely stopping himself from wringing his hands. It was a wonderful thing to see, Jin thought; an appropriately nervous alpha waiting obediently at his doorstep, punctual and patient.
And when Namjoon rang his doorbell at eight on the dot, Jin was all too happy to make him wait. Not too long, of course, and he refused to acknowledge it was because he was too anxiously impatient himself.
He checked to make sure his light makeup was appropriately perfect and his outfit was appropriately flattering before opening the door.
“Namjoon-ssi,” he greeted. “You’re right on time.”
“Ah, yes, well,” Namjoon said, a nervous laugh on the tip of his tongue. “I didn’t want to keep you waiting.”
“I hope you’ve made satisfactory plans,” Jin said, stepping out. He pointedly caught sight of the out-of-place bottle before he closed his door, though. “Oh, what’s this?”
Namjoon let out a strangled noise, cupping a blushing cheek when Jin picked it up. “I—uh.”
“Hm?” Jin inspected the label. A very lovely red. Vintage. One he would certainly appreciate, if only Namjoon had handed it to him.
“I didn’t want you to presume I was inviting myself in,” Namjoon rushed out. “I thought you might enjoy it, but I wasn’t after a nightcap, I assure you—”
Jin hummed again before turning, putting it on the foyer table. “Let’s be off.”
Namjoon led him silently to the waiting car outside of Jin’s apartment building, opening doors for him like a good alpha. When he didn’t immediately give instructions to the driver, though—
“You made plans, didn’t you, Namjoon?” Jin asked, squinting at him shrewdly. This was a test, and he assumed Namjoon had known it. But if he hadn’t, if he’d failed—
“I made too many,” Namjoon admitted with a mumble. “I’m not sure which you’d like more.”
“Well,” Jin huffed, “I’m not sure, either, considering it was your responsibility to—”
“Lotte World, please,” he told the driver. With a nod, the beta began to drive, and every single thought, every single word, disappeared from Jin’s head.
Lotte World, Jin managed to think eventually, staring at Namjoon’s quickly-pinking face. Lotte World?
“Lotte World is closed,” Jin blurted, because of course he knew the hours. He was a season pass holder.
“I—yes,” Namjoon said, shifting. “I rented it out.”
“You rented—” Jin stared.
“I also made reservations for an Italian restaurant?” Namjoon said, a tinge of desperation in his voice. “It’s nearby, if you’d like to just—”
“If we don’t ride roller coasters so much that you throw up, I’ll throw this courtship right out the window.”
"You wouldn't throw up?”
“Of course not,” he scoffed.
“I don’t—if I don’t, but I still go on them with you—”
He squinted. “Acceptable.”
He was glad he conceded, in the end. While neither of them threw up, they did brush hands at the very top of the ferris wheel, looking out over the otherwise-empty theme park and the relatively quiet area around it. Namjoon, stoic and cold, stupid and too smart for his own good, let out an almost overpowering wave of relief-excitement-nervousness at their touch.
Jin pretended that he did not smell the same.
“If they forgot us up here, do you think you could climb down?” he mused, peering out of the windows.
“Do you?”
“I asked you first.”
Namjoon pursed his lips, peering out as well. It was then that Jin noticed it was the first time Namjoon had looked down.
“You’re afraid of heights,” he gasped.
Namjoon went tell-tale pink. “Well—”
Jin stared at him for a long moment while Namjoon resolutely stared at the floor. “We didn’t have to do this.”
“You wanted to,” he said, like it was as simple as that.
For other alphas, it wouldn’t be. For other alphas, they would rather hurt an omega’s sensibilities than show weakness. They would rather drag omegas along to do whatever they wanted instead of indulging them. They might have said they knew better than the omega themselves, the superior subgender able to think for them. But Namjoon—
“You’re stupid,” Jin said.
“You’re stupid,” Namjoon immediately countered. He didn’t even look too recalcitrant about it.
“Did you rent out the restaurant, too?”
Namjoon winced and shook his head. “No, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Jin dismissed, “I want two funnel cakes.”
“Two—” Namjoon made a face, so much like the ones he used to make under the tables at fancy galas or across the room at obligatory events. “How can you stomach that? I have a headache just thinking about it.”
“I don’t have a weak spirit,” he sniffed.
“Is that what it is? Not a stressfully short-sighted sweet tooth? We might not have gotten sick from roller coasters, but don’t blame me when you wake up with worse than a hangover tomorrow—”
Jin just barely hid his smug smile when Namjoon looked out the window, surprised to see that they were nearly to the bottom. “I’ll be sure to let you know when I wake up as spry as ever.”
-
He woke up feeling like shit—thirty was, apparently, too old to be running himself ragged and eating an absurd amount of sugar. He groaned at the headache he had as soon as he opened his eyes, but still poutily began to text Namjoon that he was ‘Even more spry.’
Except—
He felt weird sending an email from his work address to Namjoon’s, but he didn’t have his personal number. But still—Namjoon replied with a thumbs up. A few moments later, enough that Jin could practically feel his hesitance from miles away, he replied with his phone number.
His fingers hovered over his phone keyboard as he tried to decide what to save his contact as. Kim Namjoon, Kim Corp. seemed too formal, Namjoon seemed too personal, Alpha, Do Not Answer was too much of an almost-joke that Namjoon probably wouldn’t text him anymore if he saw. Kim Namjoon was as good as anything, he supposed.
Even more spry, he texted.
Namjoon replied with a thumbs up emoji.
Jin groaned and tossed his phone to the side. He refused to spend his Saturday fretting over what he should say to a stupid alpha. It wasn’t his responsibility to say anything anyway; he was an omega. If alpha Kim Namjoon didn’t get on his level, match his modernity with pick-and-choose traditionalism, he wasn’t worth fretting over at all.
He thought he’d already done all of his picking and choosing, though.
His values had remained relatively steadfast since teenagehood, molded by his omega mother and friends and romance webtoons and the internet alike. He was an omega who could provide for himself, who absolutely did not need anyone to support him, much less an alpha. He didn’t need, want, or require some dominant presence to make decisions for him—he was lucky to live in a time where he wouldn’t be coerced into some sort of house-omega role he didn’t want, too. He planned on taking full advantage.
And part of that privilege was being able to say that yes, he wanted a relationship, yes, he wanted an alpha, yes, he wanted to be courted.
He didn’t realize it meant he wanted to do the courting, too.
The box in his pocket felt heavy as he walked through the restaurant, meeting Namjoon for an hour-long lunch during the work week. He’d taken the liberty to order ahead for them both, pleased when Namjoon hadn’t argued against the idea at all. And though there were plenty of options on the menu, he hoped Namjoon would notice that he hadn’t ordered seafood for him. He knew him still—or, at least, he still knew what teenage, pre-presentation Namjoon liked. It wasn’t his fault if those things were no longer the same.
It seemed that Namjoon had arrived only a few moments before Jin; when he saw him, he stood immediately, going around to pull his chair out for him like a proper alpha. Jin preened only a little. He didn’t thank him. He didn’t want to start a precedent of thanking him for expected behavior.
He did thank the waitstaff when they brought out their food exactly when Jin had asked them to, and was pleased when Namjoon did the same. That was different expected behavior. He would hardly want to be with an alpha who ignored the service of others.
The box sat heavy in his pocket as they ate, exchanging pleasantries and small talk before Jin could see Namjoon holding his tongue. He knew he’d had a call early that morning, one that he’d hadn’t said he was dreading, but—Jin was very good at reading people, especially when it came to business. That was what made him successful with minimal effort, which was all he was truly willing to give for something like that.
He quirked his lips and gave him what he would refuse to say was an indulgent look. “Go on.”
Namjoon blinked. “What?”
“Tell me about it. Give me the dish, the gossip.”
Namjoon hesitated. “I don’t want to bore you.”
“We used to gossip all the time,” Jin dismissed with a wave of his hand. “And we have much juicer tidbits to keep between ourselves now. I know someone must have said something to drive you crazy.”
Namjoon hesitated for only another moment before launching into a quiet tirade about older alphas who refused to acknowledge times had changed and international partners who clearly looked down on Namjoon’s employees they were working with and even went after his father who’d established this annoying business relationship in the first place.
When he was done, their lunch was almost over, and he looked suitably bashful about taking up so much of their time. Jin was smiling, and it was fond, and the box in his pocket felt lighter than before. Not that it had been actually heavy to begin with—the bracelet that had come from his own jewelry collection was light and pretty and omegan, but would also look nice around Namjoon’s wrist.
He handed it to him as they walked out, after Namjoon helped him into his coat.
Namjoon took it, blinking in surprise. “Oh—”
Jin gave into his terrible, odd, annoying impulse and kissed Namjoon’s cheek, a quick peck that had him blushing even more than the alpha.
“Begone,” he said dramatically, the potential seriousness of the situation too much to bear. “Back to the mines with you, to the cubicles and meetings and—and fax machines.”
Namjoon did not respond in kind. He stood there, instead, looking at Jin with something unreadable in his eyes, the both of them in the chilly afternoon air. “May I?”
He would have said yes no matter what it was at that point. But—
He nodded once, shyly, and Namjoon came closer than he ever had before, pressing a chaste, lingering kiss to his lips that chased the cold away entirely.
“I’ll see you later, Seokjin-ssi.”
Jin stood in the same spot until Namjoon disappeared around the corner, not looking back once.
-
He was wearing the bracelet the next time they met. He was also wearing gray sweatpants.
Jin did not gape at Namjoon’s door, he did not flounder as he mind went blank, he did not nearly go lax enough to drop his bag, only for Namjoon to catch it before it could fall.
“Come in, please,” Namjoon said, like he wasn’t—
“Uh,” Jin said eloquently. “Yeah, thanks.”
Jin was wearing pajamas, sure, one of his favorite silky sets that he hadn’t wanted to change out of, especially when he texted Namjoon that he was bored and Namjoon had invited him over and said he’d love to do nothing with Jin and Jin had screamed into his pillow because that of all things made him feel a rush of affection and attraction and lo—
But that was different. He looked cute. Namjoon looked—
“Bastard,” Jin muttered as soon as he saw Namjoon’s badly-hidden smirk.
“No idea what you mean,” Namjoon said.
Jin ended up with his legs thrown over Namjoon’s gray-sweatpantsed lap later, Namjoon reading a book with a hand around one of Jin’s slim ankles, Jin with his Switch held up until his arms got too tired to hold it up.
Namjoon looked over when Jin shifted after putting it on the coffee table, and Jin forced himself to not think about it before holding a hand out to him.
“Hm?”
“Lay down with me,” he mumbled. “Please.”
Namjoon’s couch was very nice, Jin thought, especially for this. Namjoon laid beside him, trapping him between Namjoon’s chest and the fluffy cushions, his arm thrown around Jin’s waist like it belonged there. Jin brought Namjoon’s hand up to his chest, playing with the familiar bracelet.
“I like you,” he mumbled. “Even though you’re a stupid alpha.”
Namjoon huffed a laugh, his breath tickling Jin’s neck. “I like you, too. For more reasons than me being a stupid alpha.”
Jin turned in his arms, nuzzling into his chest—and quickly realized that nuzzling into his chest meant nuzzling between his pecs, which was beyond pleasant and also close to being beyond being chaste but it would take more willpower than he had to pull himself away. And when Namjoon held him closer, throwing a leg around both of Jin’s, pressing a kiss to his hair—
He made an unintelligible, muffled sound, and Namjoon kissed his hair again.
When they woke up from their impromptu nap hours later, the moon shining in the window, Namjoon made him dinner. Or attempted to, really, before Jin hip-checked him away from the stove and told him to sit down and let Jin do the cooking.
“Because I like to,” he said, turning to point at Namjoon with a sharp knife, “not because I’m an omega.”
Namjoon nodded easily. “I know. Thank you. But I swear I’m better at it than I look—”
Jin gave him a skeptical glance before getting back to work.
He watched Namjoon devour his food with a smug smile, and ignored the blush that painted his face when Namjoon hooked their ankles under the table.
He blushed way too often around Namjoon. Stupid alpha.
-
He should have known his mother would figure it out, no matter how thoroughly he scrubbed himself before they went out.
She took one glance at his red ears, quirked one brow at the scarf around his neck, took one single sniff and managed to find the alpha scent that escaped his rose-scented body wash, and hummed.
“This complicates things,” she said.
Jin let his eyes fall closed as he took a deep breath. “Mother.”
“Well, we can’t cancel now, it would be terribly rude.”
“Mother,” he said again. “I said I wasn’t interested—”
“Well, I was uninterested until I met your father—”
“Mother.”
“Who is it, darling? Do I know them?”
“Yes,” Jin said simply. “And I won’t tell you who, either. Serves you right for—”
“Sangyul-ssi,” his mother interrupted, ignoring him in favor of greeting some average looking alpha in an ugly, expensive suit. “How lovely to see you. Thank you for joining us.”
“Of course,” the alpha said with a too-white smile. “How could I not, when you described your son so wonderfully.” He glanced at Jin, and Jin scowled at the look on his face. “And so accurately, as well.”
“Charmed,” Jin muttered.
He fielded every question the alpha asked him with as short an answer as he could manage, deftly dodged every touch the alpha tried to give him. He ignored his mother’s chastising looks, especially when he pulled out his phone.
Mother brought an alpha for me to meet, he texted Namjoon.
Ellipses appeared and disappeared and appeared again. Jin snorted inelegantly. Stupid alpha.
That’s a request for you to save me. He sent the address and pocketed his phone, his answers and looks suddenly polite now that he knew an out was on its way. Or it had better be on its way. He didn’t do well with being ignored.
It was a test, one that had high stakes. If Namjoon didn’t care enough to rescue him from an arranged ‘date,’ if he decided other things held more importance than Jin, if he thought—
“Jin-ah,” Namjoon said, coming close, immediately bending to press a kiss to Jin’s cheek, one that Jin leaned into, tilting his face to give him better access. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
It was so clearly a lie, but Jin appreciated his attempt. “Well,” he said warmly, “here I am.”
Jin’s mother was not gaping at the whole display as he knew she mentally was and merely patted her lips with a napkin, but Jin knew he would be absolutely interrogated about this later.
“Namjoon-ssi,” Sangyul said, eyes wide as he stood. Jin felt a rush of satisfaction at the look on his face; his Namjoon was a force to be reckoned with, as everyone who knew him was sure. And if this stupid alpha knew his stupid alpha—
Namjoon reached across the table to shake his hand, but his other remained firmly just below the nape of Jin’s neck.
He bowed to Jin’s mother, appropriately low. “We haven’t caught up in a while, ma’am, I apologize.”
She let out a wry little hum. “We clearly have much to chat about.”
Namjoon joined them, and it took an almost embarrassingly short amount of time for Sangyul to excuse himself. Jin waved him off for the barest moment before turning his attention back to Namjoon, listening to him talk to his mother about everything but them.
It made him almost giddy. It did make him giddy. Especially when Namjoon turned bashful when his mother very pointedly asked, “How long has this been going on?”
“This, ma’am?”
She gave him an unamused look. Jin felt even giddier when Namjoon immediately caved.
“Since I was twelve,” he said.
“What?” Jin said, a little too loud but not loud enough for what he was feeling all at once.
Namjoon blinked, looking over at him. “What?”
“What do you mean, ‘what?’” Jin asked, wide eyed. “Since you were—since you were twelve?”
Namjoon blinked again before a blush began slowly creeping up his face. “I thought—I thought you knew.”
“How could I know that? What? I thought it—I thought it had been a few months, asshole! I thought you didn’t give a shit about me until—”
Jin’s mother glanced between them like they were possibly the most interesting drama she had ever seen.
“Of course I gave—Jin, are you joking?”
“No, I’m not joking! You didn’t give a shit about me until—until—”
“There is no until.”
“Then why—”
“Why didn’t I trail after you like a lovesick little pup as soon as I presented? Why didn’t I try to court you when I was all—awkward and pimply and weird? Why didn’t I—”
“Why did you ignore me?”
“I—” Namjoon blinked, swallowed, and glanced away. “I didn’t. Not—I always—when you were in the room—”
“When I was in the room, you would say hello and move on. Until.”
Namjoon was quiet for a moment. “You’re right. But it wasn’t for lack of caring. It was—I cared about you too much, Seokjin-ssi. I cared about you—inordinately, embarrassingly, and when I finally—tried, finally took the risk, finally—”
Jin looked at him and he fell silent under his stare. “What he means,” he told his mother without looking away from him. “Is that we’ve been courting for three months. And it has not been going on since I was twelve.” He sniffed primly. “I was at least sixteen.”
“And you didn’t think to ask for his father’s permission?” his mother said, and Namjoon’s horrified reaction made it very clear he had a long way to go in learning his family’s sense of humor.
“Oh, sh—I, uh—”
“He’s bold,” Jin said, “I’ll give him that.”
“I’m sorry, I—I thought—”
His mother pursed her lips, shaking her head. “I don’t understand alphas these days.”
“I don’t think alphas understand alphas these days,” Jin sighed.
Namjoon looked between them; even as disciplined as he was with his scent, combined with the scent blockers most alphas wore in public, Jin could smell his stress. He felt an urge, half-omegan, half-Jinian, to comfort and soothe, but he felt an omegan-Jinian urge to tease just as much.
“Your father might deny him after such a shameless display.”
“What can I do to make it better?” Namjoon asked intensely. “I will do whatever it takes to prove to him—and you, and Jin—that I am worthy. As worthy as I can be, at least. Your son is the most wonderful, capable—”
Jin would not be able to survive the praises that were close to pouring out of Namjoon like a broken dam.
“Alright,” he interrupted, “we’re joking, Namjoon, please shut up.”
Namjoon stared at him disbelievingly for a moment. “I thought,” he said slowly, “that you were a product of yourself. I didn’t realize you inherited the ability to give me an aneurysm.”
His mother laughed, a beautiful, chiming, charmed thing. “Oh, Namjoon-ssi. You poor thing. It’ll be a while until you escape family dinners unscathed.”
“If he ever does,” Jin grinned. He found Namjoon’s hand under the table. “But hopefully he’ll learn.”
Namjoon swallowed, squeezing his hand. “Should I ask your sire for permission to court you? Please be honest.”
“Oh, I’ll be offended if you do and offended if you don’t, so—” he shrugged, “your pick.”
“That’s a terrible choice.”
Jin shrugged. “You asked me to be honest.”
“Well,” his mother said, leaning in, “tell me everything.”
Jin would do absolutely no such thing. But—some things, he would be happy to tell.