Chapter Text
Yoongi walked into the office already tired.
Not the kind of tired that came from lack of sleep but the heavier kind. The one that sat behind his eyes and made everything feel a little duller than it should have. He adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder and scanned his keycard. The familiar beep echoing softly through the quiet floor. It was still early. Too early for Seokjin to be in yet or for the phones to start ringing nonstop.
He would rather be at home.
Curled up in bed, half asleep, scrolling mindlessly or staring at the ceiling just pretending the world didn’t expect anything from him today. But secretaries didn’t get that luxury. Secretaries showed up, smiled politely, answered emails and made themselves useful.
Yoongi slipped behind his desk and powered on his computer, shrugging out of his coat. His phone buzzed just as the screen lit up.
He didn’t even have to look to know who it was.
Mom: Date on Friday evening. 6pm. Le Riche restaurant.
Yoongi stared at the message, his jaw tightening. Of course she hadn’t asked. She never did. His thumbs hovered over the screen before he started typing.
Friday evening’s were sacred to Yoongi.
They were the one thing he looked forward to all week, the quiet reward for surviving five days of being useful to other people. Fridays meant dragging himself home, running a long bath until the water went lukewarm, eating something decent instead of instant noodles, and have a masturbation marathon to sleep. No expectations and pretending. Just him and the silence he craved.
And now she was taking that too.
Instead of comfort, he’d be forcing himself out of his routine. Squeezing into a too-tight dress that made him painfully aware of every inch of himself, sucking in his stomach and holding it there for hours. Smiling politely and nodding along. Pretending to be interested in yet another entitled misogynistic alpha who thought rudeness counted as confidence.
All because his mother said so.
Yoongi clenched his jaw and stared at the black screen of his phone. Friday evening. Le Riche. He already felt exhausted.
I told you I’m busy this week. I don’t want to go.
The reply came almost instantly.
Mom: Busy doing what? Sitting behind that little desk of yours? Don’t be dramatic. He’s a good boy, from a good family. You need to start thinking about your future. No one wants an omega past their prime. Some omegas have their looks to give them an advantage, but you don’t offer much.
Yoongi stared at the screen.
The words sat there, ugly and deliberate, like she had weighed them before sending and decided they were acceptable. His throat tightened, heat creeping up his neck as something sharp twisted low in his chest. He pressed his lips together, jaw locking, his fingers curling hard around his phone until the edges bit into his palm.
His eyes watered slightly. Fuck.
He was used to the sharp comments thrown his way. He had learned to brace for them, to expect them but that didn’t make it hurt any less. Every time, he told himself he wouldn’t care. That he shouldn’t let his mother’s words get to him.
And every time, they did.
You don’t even know him. He types back.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Then her reply came through, shorter this time but effective enough to make him agree.
Mom: I’m your mother. I know what’s best for you. You always make things difficult, Yoongi. Just once, can you do what I ask? After everything I’ve done for you.
There it was.
The familiar twist of guilt settled in tight and uncomfortable sinking deep where it always did. He hated that it still worked. Hated that no matter how old he got, no matter how independent he tried to be, she still knew exactly which strings to pull.
Yoongi locked his phone and set it face down on the desk.
Friday evening. Le Riche.
He rubbed his face with both hands, already dreading it, just as the elevator dinged and footsteps approached.
Another day had officially started.