Chapter Text
“That was the summer of 2021. The summer when the world was still holding its breath. When masks were coming off, but people still hesitated to touch. The summer we thought we were finally free again. I didn’t know it then - but it was the summer I would lose everything I thought I was… and find something else entirely...”
The private van curved up the winding road toward Seesaw Resort, nestled between the cliffs and pine forests of Jeju Island. The scent of salt and hibiscus hung in the late-afternoon air, dancing through the half-cracked window beside Jimin.
He could hear his mother fussing in the seat across from him, adjusting her earrings for the fifth time. “Do I look alright, Baby?”
“You always do, eomma,” Jimin murmured, resting his chin on his hand as the wind played with his hair.
“I wish you wouldn’t call him that,” his father said from the front seat. “He’s twenty-one. He’s not a child anymore.”
“Well, I think it’s sweet,” she huffed, smoothing out her floral dress. “He’ll always be my Baby, even if he grows wings and flies away.”
“Then let him fly,” Taehyung muttered beside Jimin, earning a sharp nudge from Jimin’s elbow.
The van pulled through the tall wrought iron gates, and suddenly Seesaw Resort came into view - grand, pristine, almost too clean. Rows of white-painted cottages spread like lace across the hilltop, with the main lodge building rising like a palace behind them. Everything gleamed.
And Jimin hated it.
It was beautiful, sure. But it was also suffocating. Pristine like a glass box. The kind of place where omegas wore soft smiles and polite dresses and laughed at jokes that weren’t funny.
He wasn’t even sure why he’d agreed to come this year.
Maybe because it was the first time in a long time that his father hadn’t been on-call. Maybe because his mother looked so happy when she made the reservation. Maybe because Taehyung was coming, and that meant Jimin wouldn't have to pretend to be the perfect doctor’s son every second of the trip.
He stepped out of the van and stretched. The air was warmer than expected. His body still felt cramped from the ride. A bellboy took their luggage. Another handed them welcome drinks.
“Dr. Park, welcome back,” said a well-dressed beta in a cream suit, striding toward them with an assistant’s clipboard in hand. “Director Cha Minhyuk, guest relations. You’ll be in Cottage A2. Same as your last visit. It’s a pleasure to host you again.”
Jimin watched as his father greeted the man with a firm handshake. His father had always commanded respect, especially among other alphas. And Director Cha practically bowed.
Taehyung leaned in and whispered, “Place still smells like money and secrets.”
Jimin snorted quietly.
They were escorted through manicured paths toward their cottage. Staff members lined the walkway, bowing and offering greetings. Jimin caught the flash of name tags - beta, omega, beta, alpha - so quick he couldn’t register faces, just roles.
He hated how obvious it was here. The invisible caste system. The performance of it all.
And yet… something tugged at him.
A presence.
A scent?
He paused for a moment, glancing to his right where a wide-open archway revealed the edge of the staff quarters—an outdoor corridor between the training studios.
And there…
He saw him.
Just for a second.
An alpha, standing in the shade, one hand raised to his neck, shirt half undone, towel slung over his shoulder. Black clothes, dark hair, pale skin. He was talking to someone, back half-turned, profile sharp.
Yoongi, the name on his badge would later read.
But in this moment, Jimin didn’t know that. He only knew the way his breath caught in his throat. How his heart skipped - not like a flutter, but like a warning. Like instinct had snapped its fingers and said, Look.
And then he was gone - slipping behind a door, out of sight.
“Coming, Baby?” his mother called from up ahead.
Jimin turned quickly, realizing he had fallen behind. “Yeah. Coming.”
He didn’t mention the man to anyone.
He didn’t know why.
But something inside him whispered that he’d see him again.
And when he did - everything would change.
Dinner was served on the East Lawn, under cream-colored tents trimmed with fairy lights. Crystal glasses clinked. Soft jazz hummed in the background. Everything was curated - intentional. The white linens, the flower arrangements, the carefully positioned name cards at every table.
And yet, Jimin still felt out of place.
He sat between his mother and Taehyung, quietly pushing a leaf of baby spinach around his plate while his father chatted easily with a trio of fellow alphas from Seoul. Everyone was dressed like they’d stepped out of an elite magazine spread. Every smile was polished. Every comment practiced. He wasn’t sure if the wine was too dry or if his skin just didn’t sit right under the spotlight of these people.
Taehyung, bless him, looked just as bored. He wore a cream suit with no tie, long hair tied at the nape of his neck. Occasionally he whispered sharp little comments that made Jimin laugh softly behind his hand.
“You’d think they’d feed us something that doesn’t look like it came from a spa menu,” Taehyung muttered.
“Shh,” Jimin said, but he was grateful. Taehyung’s voice always felt like an anchor when everything around him felt too performative.
“Dr. Park,” a warm voice interrupted from the edge of the lawn. “What a pleasure.”
Jimin looked up just as a tall, well-kept man approached. His slicked-back hair glinted under the lanterns. Pale linen suit, silver pocket square, perfect teeth.
“I hope everything is to your satisfaction,” the man continued.
His father stood immediately. “Ah, Director Cha. Of course. It’s been years.”
Director Cha Minhyuk, Jimin remembered. The resort’s manager. A beta, respected in the hospitality circles, known for his precision and devotion to the ‘guest experience.’
Director Cha turned toward Jimin with a smooth smile. “And this must be your son. Everyone still calls him Baby?”
Jimin stood out of politeness, giving a small bow. “Yes, sir. Park Jimin.”
“A pleasure,” Cha replied. Then he gestured beside him. “May I also introduce my son - Cha Eunsung.”
The young man who stepped forward was every bit the alpha stereotype. Handsome, broad-shouldered, just a bit too sure of himself. He wore cologne that was too strong - something woody and synthetic that hit Jimin’s nose before Eunsung even spoke.
“Pleasure,” Eunsung said smoothly, holding out a hand.
Jimin accepted the handshake only because he had to. The moment their skin touched, his inner omega bristled - quietly, instinctively.
Not in fear.
But in rejection.
Eunsung’s scent was sharp and clean, but empty. Jimin couldn’t feel anything beneath it - no warmth, no calm, no pull. Just the scent of a predator used to getting what he wanted.
And Jimin didn’t want him.
Not even a little.
“Mind if I sit here?” Eunsung gestured to the empty chair on Jimin’s other side. He was already pulling it out before Jimin could respond.
“Of course!” his mother said with a delighted clap. “What a wonderful surprise.”
Taehyung raised one eyebrow. As Eunsung took the seat, Jimin felt it again - wrong. Too close. Too much. The alpha leaned in as if they were already familiar.
“So, Baby, how are you liking Jeju so far?”
He hated the way his name sounded in the alpha’s mouth. “It’s… peaceful,” Jimin said, keeping his voice light. He smiled, but not sincerely.
“I can show you the better spots,” Eunsung offered with a wink. “There are places on the cliffs the staff won’t tell guests about. But I know them all.”
Jimin nodded once and took a sip of his water. He could feel his parents watching - approving. His mother already looked like she was imagining the holiday photos. But every time Eunsung leaned closer, Jimin’s shoulders tensed. He didn’t like the way this alpha took space. How he assumed Jimin would welcome it. How he was clearly used to taking without asking.
It wasn’t fear, exactly. It was discomfort.
Like wearing a shirt that looked fine but didn’t breathe right. Like dancing to a beat that didn’t match the rhythm in your head.
And for the first time, Jimin wondered…
What if it wasn’t just about finding an alpha? What if it was about finding one who felt right?
A sudden low hum of bass rolled across the lawn. The jazz quartet had stopped. Someone had switched to a slow R’n’B track.
Then he saw him again.
Yoongi.
Dressed in all black, shirt sleeves rolled, walking toward the dance floor as if nothing mattered - not the guests, not the owners, not the rules. And beside him… a male omega – Hoseok was written on his tag - smiling as he followed Yoongi’s lead.
The scent changed. Even from across the lawn, Jimin could feel it: something warm and electric. A ripple through the air like static before a storm.
“Who’s that?” Jimin asked before he realized he’d spoken aloud.
Eunsung looked up. “Oh. That’s one of the dance instructors. Yoongi, I think. And the other one’s Hoseok. The omegas love their performances. Too much touching, if you ask me.”
But Jimin wasn’t listening anymore.
Because Yoongi was stepping onto the floor.
And the night was about to start.
The music changed the air.
It started slow, almost like a heartbeat - low bass pulsing beneath a whispered melody. Something R’n’B. Something sensual. Nothing like the polite jazz from earlier. The lawn grew quieter, conversations faltering like a collective breath had been drawn.
And then they stepped into the light.
Yoongi and Hoseok.
Jimin’s eyes locked onto the alpha immediately.
He was dressed in black again - sleeves rolled to the forearms, shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal the smooth dip of his collarbone. No smile. No performance mask. Just presence. Like he belonged to the music before it even began. Beside him, Hoseok was everything opposite - radiant, expressive, graceful in a way that was almost hypnotic. His loose shirt floated with every breath. His body glowed, and his omega scent shimmered faintly in the air, balanced like a note in a song Yoongi had composed without speaking.
They didn’t announce anything.
They didn’t need to.
The music spoke for them.
Hoseok extended his hand. Yoongi took it.
And then… they moved.
The first step was a slide, slow and deliberate. Hoseok’s back arched slightly, and Yoongi’s hand trailed up his side—not possessive, but anchoring. Their hips met in perfect rhythm. Hoseok turned, spinning in place, his leg brushing Yoongi’s, and the alpha caught him - fluidly, easily - like they’d rehearsed that moment since birth.
Jimin’s lips parted, breath caught halfway to his lungs.
It wasn’t just dancing.
It was something else entirely.
A story. A connection. A conversation without words.
The kind of thing Jimin had never seen in his life - not in ballet, not in theatre, not in books. And certainly not at his parents’ charity galas.
Yoongi dipped his body low, lifting Hoseok by the waist for a split-second lift that made Jimin’s chest tighten. Their foreheads nearly touched when Hoseok came back down, their breaths mingling.
It was intimate, but not romantic. Not performative. It was raw - trust made visible.
And Jimin couldn’t look away.
Around him, a few guests shifted awkwardly in their seats. One older omega coughed and looked down at her wine glass. A couple of alphas chuckled in a low, dismissive way.
But Jimin…
He leaned forward.
The movement - the rhythm - spoke to something inside him. Something buried. Something no etiquette class had ever reached. Something he didn’t have a name for. Yoongi's hand brushed down Hoseok’s spine, guiding him into a body roll that ended with Hoseok on his knees, back arched, arms open, submitting in dance without fear. Yoongi stood behind him, perfectly still, gaze distant, powerful. His presence didn’t threaten. It commanded.
And Jimin’s pulse was thundering.
Not in attraction - though, yes, Yoongi was beautiful in the way fire was - but in recognition.
This - whatever this was - meant something.
He felt it like a tug in his chest. Like the whisper of instinct before it becomes voice.
Beside him, Cha Eunsung shifted uncomfortably. “They always go a bit too far, don’t they?” he muttered. “I mean, sure, it’s technically impressive, but you’d think they’d tone it down for the families.”
Jimin didn’t answer.
Eunsung’s scent - synthetic pine and too much cologne - buzzed around him like a mosquito. Annoying. Wrong.
But Yoongi’s…
From across the floor, Yoongi’s scent still reached him. Faint, but unmistakable.
Dark sandalwood. Amber resin. Something wild but clean. The scent of dusk settling over stone. Earthy and magnetic.
And even though they had never spoken, Jimin’s body reacted to it.
Not in heat.
Not yet.
But in awareness.
In awakening.
The song came to a slow end. Hoseok leaned back against Yoongi’s chest, one arm outstretched, the other gripping his shoulder. They stood like that for a beat too long - until the music truly stopped.
Then Yoongi let him go.
The crowd gave a small, confused smattering of applause.
A few people clapped harder.
Namjoon and Seokjin, the owners - seated at a nearby table - shared a look Jimin couldn’t decipher. Yoongi finally raised his eyes. And looked directly at Jimin.
It wasn’t an accident. There were dozens of people, but Jimin knew the moment their gazes met - it was real. That Yoongi had felt him watching. That he had let him watch.
There was no smile. No smirk. No challenge.
Just recognition.
Then he turned and walked away, Hoseok at his side.
Jimin sat frozen.
His fingers trembled slightly around the base of his wine glass.
Eunsung was saying something again - probably about himself - but Jimin didn’t hear it.
He was still watching the space Yoongi had left behind.
And something inside him whispered:
This summer isn’t going to go the way you planned.