Chapter Text
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PJM
The studio pulses with life, the steady thump of music merging with the rhythmic squeak of sneakers on polished wood and the bright, unfiltered laughter of students refining their movements. It is Thursday, and I'm leading a contemporary dance class, stepping in for Minji who called in sick this morning.
As co-owner and manager of Hope on the Street for the last two years, I have shifted to more behind-the-scenes work, like scheduling, budgets, and planning therapy workshops, but I still teach three classes a week and fill in whenever needed.
Today, the kids are electric, their movements sharp, eager, and full of life, echoing the choreography I have drilled into them. Sweat beads on my forehead, and my muscles burn with that familiar, satisfying ache. Still, a bone-deep exhaustion clings to me, an undercurrent of fatigue that has been following me for a few weeks now. But I smile, my Omega purring with pride as I guide them through the final sequence. Their energy is infectious, and despite everything, I can't help but feel a surge of happiness.
"Keep those arms fluid!" I call out, clapping along to the beat. My voice rings bright despite the weight of exhaustion in my bones. "Feel the music, let it carry you!"
The class ends in a burst of applause, the students faces flushed with the joy of accomplishment. I clap back, laughing as I wipe my brow with a towel.
"You guys were incredible today," I say, my heart swelling. "Keep practicing that turn sequence. I want it razor-sharp for next week, okay?"
"Yes, Seonsaengnim!" they chorus, their voices playful, and I grin, feeling my chest tighten with affection for them.
A few students linger afterward, asking about foot placement or stretching tips, and I answer patiently, my love for teaching grounding me even as my body screams for rest.
Soojin, another teacher, who has been with the studio for years, catches me as I'm packing up my water bottle. Her jasmine scent lingers softly around her, her smile warm but edged with concern.
"Jimin, you look exhausted," she says, her voice gentle. "You have been pushing yourself hard lately. Is everything okay?"
I nod, forcing a smile, though my limbs feel like lead.
"Just a busy week," I say, trying to sound light. "Yoongi is in Japan, and I'm juggling the studio and Bora alone. I will survive."
She tilts her head, her eyes soft with care, searching mine.
"You sure? You have been off for a while now. Maybe see a doctor? Or let me take one of your classes next week, just to give you a break?"
I laugh softly, touched by her concern.
"I will think about it," I say, squeezing her arm. "Thanks, Soojin. You are a lifesaver."
She grins, waving me off.
"Just don't burn out, boss. We need you."
I head to my office, a small, cozy space adorned with dance posters and Bora's artwork pinned to the walls. The paperwork is piled high, schedules, invoices, and plans for an upcoming therapy workshop, all waiting for my attention. I approach it with a weary sigh, my eyelids heavy from the weight of the day.
Hobi made me co-owner two years ago when he opened Hope on the Street: Neuron across the city, trusting me to run this branch while he manages the new one. His belief in me changed everything, giving me a purpose I had only dreamed of when I went back to college five years ago to finish my degree in Contemporary Dance and Dance Therapy.
This studio, these kids, this life, it is everything I have ever wanted, even on days like today when I feel like I'm running on fumes.
By the time I finish the last of the paperwork, the clock tells me it is time to pick up Bora from school. I lock up the studio, the late afternoon sun casting a golden glow across the street as I make my way to the car.
Yoongi's absence weighs on me like a quiet ache, the space beside me in our penthouse feeling too large without him. He is in Japan for the week, meeting with a global artist for a new project, and I miss him, the way his mint-and-rain scent that clings to his shirts, the steadiness of his presence, and the way he makes everything feel right.
Our penthouse in Gangnam is gorgeous, with high ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows, and extra rooms whispering of future plans, but it feels hollow without him.
━━━━
At the school, I join the group of parents waiting by the gate. Minseo, Lila's mother, is there, her chamomile Beta scent calming and soft. Nearby, Timoteo, Amy's father, stands with a sharp, cedar-and-smoke Alpha scent.
Yoongi teases me about Timoteo's lingering glances, but I always keep things professional, clear in my devotion to him. We trust each other completely, discussing every insecurity, and I know nothing will ever come between us.
"Hey, Jimin," Minseo says, smiling warmly. "How is the studio?"
"Busy," I laugh softly. "Minji is out sick, so I'm wiped. You?"
"Same old," she says with a shrug. "Lila has been raving about Bora's new dance routine. Those girls are glued at the hip."
I grin, my heart swelling with warmth.
Bora, Lila, and Amy are a trio, inseparable, their friendship a bright thread woven into the fabric of Bora's life. Amy's Omega mother passed away during childbirth, and Timoteo has been raising her alone, a challenge I understand from my own past. He is a great dad, kind, attentive, but unfortunately Yoongi's teasing isn't entirely baseless. Timoteo's eyes linger a bit longer than necessary when he smiles at me.
"Speaking of the girls," Timoteo says, his voice casual but warm, "Amy has been begging for a sleepover with Bora and Lila this weekend. Maybe we could set it up?"
I nod, keeping my tone light.
"That sounds fun," I say. "I will talk to Yoongi and let you know."
The school bell rings, and the kids spill out, a wave of chatter and laughter.
Bora spots me immediately, her face lighting up as she runs over, her backpack bouncing. At nine, she is a bundle of long limbs and bright eyes, her curls tamed into a ponytail. Her pup scent is sweet, tinged with the faintest Omega traits, caring and nurturing, just as I have come to suspected she will present as in a few years. She throws her arms around me, planting a kiss on my cheek.
"Amma!" she exclaims. "I got an A on my math test!"
"That's my girl," I say, hugging her tightly, my Omega purring with pride. "You are so smart, puppy."
Lila and Amy join us, giggling and chattering, and I nod to Minseo and Timoteo as we say our goodbyes. Bora waves enthusiastically as we head to the car.
"See you tomorrow!" she calls, squeezing my hand as we make our way home.
━━━━
Back at the penthouse, the space feels grand yet cozy, the city skyline sparkling through the windows. Bora helps me with dinner, chopping vegetables with careful precision. Her love for cooking, a gift from Jin's influence, shines through, and I can't help but admire her focus.
"You are getting so good at this," I say, watching her slice a carrot, her tongue poking out in concentration.
"Uncle Jin says I'm going to be a chef," she says, grinning. "But I wanna dance like you too, Amma."
I laugh, ruffling her hair.
"You can do it all, puppy. Dance, cook, make music like Appa, or paint like Uncle Tae. The sky is the limit."
She beams at me, and we finish preparing a stir-fry, the kitchen filled with savory scents.
After dinner, Bora settles at the dining table with her homework, her brow furrowing over a math problem. I sit beside her, guiding her through a tricky equation, my own knack for numbers helping. Yoongi typically takes charge of language or music assignments, but when it comes to math and natural sciences, I have got it covered, and with Bora's sharp mind, it is never a real struggle.
"Got it!" she exclaims, scribbling down the final answer.
I high-five her, my heart swelling with pride.
We curl up on the couch afterward, watching Spirited Away, one of her favorite Studio Ghibli classics. She snuggles against me, her head resting on my shoulder, and I feel a pang of missing Yoongi. I wish he were here to share this moment.
As the credits roll, my phone lights up with a video call from Yoongi. His name flashes on the screen, and Bora squeals with excitement, grabbing the phone.
"Appa!" she says, her face glowing as Yoongi's image appears, his hotel room in Japan softly blurred behind him.
"Hey, puppy," Yoongi says, his voice warm and soothing. "How is my favorite baby girl?"
"I'm nine, Appa," she says, pouting playfully. "Not a baby anymore."
Yoongi laughs, the sound low and comforting.
"You will always be my puppy. How was school?"
She launches into a detailed story about her day, her friends, a new art project, and all the things she is excited about. I watch, my heart full of love for both of them, aching from the distance but grateful for this connection.
When she is done, Yoongi looks at me, his eyes softening.
"Hey, how are you?" he asks, concern lacing his tone.
"I miss you," I reply softly, my throat tight. "But we are good. How is Japan?"
"Busy," he says, running a hand through his hair. "The artist I'm working with is intense, but it's going well. I will be home soon, promise."
"I know," I smile, though it feels bittersweet. "I love you."
"I love you too," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "Time for bed soon, don't you think, Bora?"
"Okay, Appa. Goodnight! Love you!" she says, blowing him a kiss before handing me the phone and skipping off to brush her teeth.
"Sweet dreams, puppy."
━━━━
I tuck Bora into bed, her room cozy with books, art supplies, and dance posters. She is clutching her bunny, the same one from years ago, a little worn but still cherished, her eyes heavy with sleep.
"Night, Amma," she murmurs. "Love you."
"Love you too, puppy," I whisper, kissing her forehead.
My Omega purrs softly, comforted by her warmth.
Back in the living room, I video call Yoongi again, needing his voice before sleep. His face appears, and I smile, my heart easing despite the ache.
"Hey," I say, settling against the couch. "You made it through another day."
"Yeah," he replies, his voice warm. "Just got out of a meeting. How was your day?"
"Exhausting," I admit with a soft laugh. "Taught a class, did paperwork, picked up Bora. Oh, and Timoteo suggested a sleepover for Bora, Lila, and Amy this weekend."
Yoongi raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips.
"Timoteo, huh? Is he still grinning at you like a lovesick puppy?"
I roll my eyes, grinning.
"Stop it, hyung. It's just a sleepover idea. I told him I would talk to you."
He chuckles, the sound easing the fatigue in my body.
"Sounds like fun for the girls. Bora would love it. What do you think?"
"I think it's a great idea," I say, my voice softening. "She has been so happy with her friends. But I'm so tired, Yoongi. I don't know what's wrong with me lately."
His eyes soften, concern flickering in them.
"You have been pushing yourself too hard lately, Jiminie. Maybe see a doctor? I will be home soon, and we will figure it out together, okay?"
I nod, swallowing past the lump in my throat.
"I miss you so much," I whisper.
"I miss you too," he says, his voice thick. "Every second. I love you."
"I love you too," I reply, my heart full yet heavy. "Goodnight, hyung."
"Goodnight, Jiminie," he says, and I end the call, the quiet of the penthouse settling around me.
I slip into our bed, the sheets cool without him beside me.
The past five years flash through my mind in a vivid blur. Yoongi officially claimed Bora as his daughter, stepping fully and confidently into the role of Appa, with every right and privilege it brings. I have watched her love for dance, music, art, cooking, books, and movies blossom, shaped beautifully by the influence of those around us. Namjoon and Jin's family has grown too, now brightened by their spirited three-year-old pup, Soobin. Taehyung and Jungkook are finally planning to mate during Tae's next heat, and Hobi and Junghon's quiet, steady love continues to deepen with each passing day.
I close my eyes, Yoongi's voice still echoing in my mind, and drift into a restless but hopeful sleep, dreaming of the day when he is finally back in my arms.
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The next morning unfolds with a soft golden light spilling through the penthouse windows, warming the hardwood floors as the sun climbs higher in the sky. The world outside seems alive with energy, but I'm still dragging from yesterday, my body heavy with the lingering exhaustion that clings to my bones. I know I need to push through, today is special for Bora, and I refuse to let fatigue steal that moment.
After school, we have an appointment at the hair salon, a promise I made when she aced her math test. In a moment of reckless confidence, I told her she could choose my hair color if she got an A, thinking it would be a fun motivator. At the time, I thought it was a harmless challenge, something lighthearted. But now, knowing her love for painting and colors, skills that have been influenced by Taehyung's artistic flair, I can't help but feel a little nervous. Bora has always been great at school, but what if she decides I need neon green hair or a white streak down the middle?
The possibilities feel endless, and that idea both excites and terrifies me.
I’m in the kitchen, sipping coffee and half-heartedly scrolling through studio emails when Bora bursts in like a spark of sunlight. Her ponytail bounces with every step, and her school uniform, her shirt untucked, and socks uneven, is proudly disheveled from dressing herself. In her arms she cradles her favorite sketchpad, its cover soft from use, the corners frayed and curling. The pages inside bulge with layers of drawings, some bold and finished, others half-born in swirls of crayon and watercolor.
She skids to a stop beside me, cheeks flushed, eyes alight with the kind of fierce excitement only a nine-year-old can carry.
"Amma, it's hair day!" she announces, practically hopping onto a barstool.
Her legs swing in the air as she looks up at me, her voice brimming with energy.
"You are going to look so cool!"
I laugh, setting my mug down, though a wave of nerves flickers in my chest.
"You are way too excited for this, puppy," I tease, ruffling her curls. "You sure you are not going to turn me into a rainbow?"
She giggles, scrunching her nose.
"It's a surprise, Amma!" she says, her tone conspiratorial. "You will love it, I promise."
I raise an eyebrow and lean in, my Omega purring softly in response to her enthusiasm.
"I trust you, but I'm watching you, little artist. No glitter, okay?"
She sticks out her tongue and flashes a mischievous grin.
"No promises!" she says, her laughter infectious.
I shake my head, still smiling, though the weight of my fatigue makes it harder to enjoy the moment fully.
For weeks, I have been battling this lingering exhaustion, something that doesn't seem to let up no matter how much sleep I get. I haven't had a chance to see a doctor, between teaching classes, managing Hope on the Street, and keeping up with Bora's boundless energy, I barely have time to breathe. Yoongi's absence in Japan only adds to the pressure, the space where he should be feels painfully empty.
I miss him terribly, but I remind myself that we will talk again tonight, and that thought keeps me going through the day.
━━━━
After school, I pick up Bora, and her face lights up when she sees me, her backpack bouncing with every step.
"Ready, Amma?" she asks, grabbing my hand with a quick tug.
"Ready as I will ever be," I say, squeezing her hand as we head toward the car.
The salon is a place I have come to cherish, a familiar space of comfort. Euphairia, sleek and modern with its warm lighting and the soft hum of blow-dryers in the background, has been our go-to for years now. Since Yoongi and I moved in together, it has seen countless changes to our hair, Bora's first professional haircut marking the beginning of so many small but significant moments. That haircut had me in tears as I watched her baby curls fall to the floor.
When we walk in, Hana, the head stylist, is waiting for us, her hibiscus-and-rose scent wafting toward me as she greets us with a hug. Her Beta energy is always warm and familiar, like family.
"Jimin! Bora!" she calls, her eyes lighting up as she wraps us in a welcoming embrace. "Ready for the big makeover?"
Bora nods enthusiastically, clutching her sketchpad like a prized possession. Her eyes gleam with excitement, and she leans in closer to Hana, her voice dropping to a whisper.
"It's a secret, Hana-unnie!" she says, her words conspiratorial. "Amma can't know yet!"
Hana laughs, her eyes sparkling with mischief, and winks at me.
"Oh, this is gonna be fun," she teases. "Are you sure you trust this little artist with your hair, Jimin?"
I groan, sinking into one of the plush waiting chairs.
"I'm starting to question my life choices," I joke, though my smile betrays me. "Just... no permanent damage, okay?"
Hana's grin widens, and she begins gathering her supplies.
"Don't worry," she reassures me, her voice light. "We will take good care of you. Right, Bora?"
Bora nods, looking completely serious as she follows Hana to the styling station. I try to eavesdrop, but they are too clever, positioning themselves so I can't catch what they are saying. The only words that make it through are "vibrant" and "bold," neither of which do anything to calm my nerves.
Hana glances back at me, her smile mischievous.
"No peeking, Jimin! We are taking you to the VIP corner," she says, guiding me toward a secluded area of the salon where there are fewer mirrors.
I chuckle, shaking my head, as they prepare me for the transformation. Hana drapes a cape over my shoulders, and Bora cackles with delight as she covers the remaining mirrors with colorful towels, ensuring that I won't catch a glimpse of what is happening until it is done.
"You two are enjoying this way too much," I say, my voice mock-stern, though my Omega is content at their excitement.
"It's going to be amazing, Amma!" Bora says, her voice filled with confidence. "You will see!"
I sigh, settling back into the chair, feeling the weight of my nerves.
When I made the bet with Bora, I was too caught up in her enthusiasm and the pride I felt over her grades. Her love for colors, fostered by Taehyung's artistic influence, could mean anything from neon pink to electric blue.
I try to negotiate a compromise.
"Okay, you two," I say, my voice playful but firm. "I'm all for fun, but let's make it a temporary tint, alright? Something that washes out in a month or two. Deal?"
Bora pouts, but Hana nods with a smile.
"Deal," she agrees, mixing the bleach with practiced ease. "We will make it bold, but not permanent. You will still look like a superstar."
Bora claps, her excitement palpable.
"It's going to be so cool, Amma! Appa is going to freak out!"
I laugh, imagining Yoongi's reaction, his teasing remarks about my "wild side."
"He might love it," I say, winking at her. "Or he will make me wear a hat for a month."
The bleaching process takes time, but it is worth it. Hana applies the bleach carefully, section by section, while Bora, perched on a stool nearby, chats non-stop. She talks about her school day, her friends, and the latest dance routine she has been working on.
I listen, my heart swelling with pride at her confidence and curiosity, the spark in her eyes so different from the fatigue I feel. As Hana works, the mood remains light, with occasional teasing about Yoongi's past hair endeavors.
"Remember when Yoongi tried that undercut?" Hana asks, grinning. "He acted all tough, but panicked when I got the clippers out."
I laugh, recalling his nervousness.
"He was terrified," I say, fondly. "He kept asking if it would make him look like a 'wannabe idol.'"
Bora giggles, clutching her bunny.
"Appa looked cool though! Like a rockstar!"
"He did," I agree, the warmth of the memory bringing a smile to my face.
As the bleaching process ends, Hana wraps my hair, letting it process while Bora flips through a magazine, suggesting hairstyles she thinks would suit her uncles.
"Uncle Tae should try this!" she says, holding up a picture of a vibrant red bob. "It's like his paintings!"
I laugh, shaking my head.
"Tae would probably love it," I say. "But Jungkook might faint."
Hana, who is rinsing the bleach from my hair, grins.
"Speaking of Jungkook, how is that going? Those two are practically inseparable."
I smile softly, thinking about Taehyung and Jungkook, who have been together for four years now. They are planning to mate during Taehyung's next heat, a step that has had Tae buzzing with excitement.
"They are adorable," I say, my voice gentle. "Jungkook is so smitten, it is almost embarrassing."
Bora giggles.
"Uncle Kookie always blushes when Uncle Tae teases him!" she says, her eyes sparkling.
Hana smiles as she rinses my hair.
"Love does that to people," she observes. "Look at you and Yoongi. Still heart-eyes after all these years."
I blush, my Omega purring at the mention of Yoongi.
"He's... my home," I murmur, my voice soft. "I miss him so much right now."
Hana smiles gently, her tone understanding.
"He will be home soon. And when he sees this hair, he's gonna lose it."
As Hana begins tinting my hair, Bora whispers excitedly, her animated chatter filling the space around me. I try to peek at my reflection, but Hana and Bora are too quick, always positioning me so I can't see.
"No peeking, Amma!" Bora says, wagging her finger at me, and I laugh.
"Fine, fine," I reply. "I trust you, puppy."
The salon fills with our laughter, the warmth of the moment grounding me in spite of my exhaustion.
When the tinting is finished, Hana dries my hair, and I feel the anticipation building in my chest.
"Ready for the big reveal?" she asks, her voice playful.
Bora claps, her excitement contagious.
"Yes, yes! Amma, you are going to love it!"
I laugh, my stomach flipping with nervousness.
"I'm ready," I say, my heart pounding.
Hana spins the chair so I can see my reflection. The color is bold, vibrant, and it catches the light in a way that makes my skin glow.
"Wow," I breathe, turning my head, amazed. "You two really went all out."
Bora squeals and rushes to hug my legs.
"Do you love it, Amma? It's so cool!"
I laugh, pulling her up into my arms.
"I love it, puppy," I say, my voice warm. "You and Hana are a dangerous team."
Hana brushes her hands together, satisfied.
"Told you we would make you a superstar," she teases. "Temporary, like you asked. It will wash out in a couple of months."
I smile, feeling a rush of gratitude for the fun of today, for this beautiful moment shared with my daughter.
We pay and leave, Bora chattering excitedly about her next haircut as we head home, the evening air cool and gentle against my skin. Streetlights flicker to life one by one, casting a soft golden hue over the pavement. Though the day’s fatigue still lingers in my limbs, I feel lighter somehow, buoyed by the small, simple joy of our time together.
At home, we decide on takeout, laughing as we scroll through the menu, indecisive over too many good options. When the food arrives, Bora insists on setting the table herself, arranging the chopsticks and napkins with meticulous care, as if preparing for a celebration. The aroma of hot food fills the room, and for a moment, everything feels quietly perfect, full of warmth.
"Uncle Jin would be proud," she says, grinning.
I laugh, nodding.
"He would," I say. "You are going to out-cook him soon."
After dinner, we curl up on the couch, the soft hum of the aircondition filling the quiet between us. Bora sketches in her notebook, her pencil moving in quick, thoughtful strokes, the page gradually blooming with lines and color. I scroll absently through my phone, half-listening to the scratch of graphite against paper, the faint clink of dishes in the sink.
A message from Yoongi pops up. A small spark flickers in my chest, subtle but bright, chasing away the dull weight of the day. I don’t open it right away, I just watch the message sit there, a small promise on the screen. Somehow, the room feels warmer, the air softer. Bora hums quietly as she shades in a corner of her drawing, and I lean back into the couch, smiling to myself, letting the moment settle before I tap on it.
Yoongi
Miss you, Jiminie. How is the hair adventure going?
I smile, snapping a quick selfie but keeping the new hair color out of the frame.
Jimin
You will see when you get home 😉
Bora is thrilled. Miss you too.
His reply comes almost instantly, a single heart emoji glowing softly on the screen. It is simple, almost nothing, but it sends a quiet warmth through me, spreading from my chest outward like the first sip of something sweet and hot.
I wish he were here, sitting beside me, his laugh cutting through the quiet, his arms around me, grounding me in that easy, wordless way he has. The thought lingers, tender and bittersweet. I imagine his scent, the warmth of his breath against my hair, the way the world seems to slow when he is near.
Bora shifts next to me, still sketching, the soft scratch of her pencil pulling me back to the present. I set my phone down, smiling faintly, the glow of his message still resting somewhere inside me like an ember that refuses to go out.
Bora yawns, her pencil slowing. I nudge her gently.
"Time for bed, puppy," I say, my voice soft.
She pouts but nods, gathering her things.
"Can we call Appa tomorrow?" she asks, her eyes hopeful.
"Of course," I say, kissing her forehead. "He will want to hear all about your day."
I tuck her into bed, the soft glow of her nightlight spilling over the familiar chaos of her room. Stacks of books lean against the wall, jars of colored pencils and brushes clutter her desk, and dance posters curling slightly at the edges. It feels like her in every corner, bright, alive, full of possibility.
She pulls her blanket up to her chin, her bunny clutched tightly in one arm. Her eyes are already heavy, lashes fluttering as sleep tugs at her.
“I love you,” she murmurs, her voice barely a whisper, slipping into the quiet like a secret meant only for me.
My chest tightens with a quiet ache, the best kind, as I brush a strand of hair from her forehead.
“I love you too,” I whisper back.
She is already gone, her breathing slow and even, her small world safely tucked into dreams.
I linger a moment longer, the soft rhythm of her breath steadying something inside me before I turn off the light and close the door halfway behind me.
━━━━
In our bedroom, the quiet feels heavier than usual, settling in the corners like a presence of its own. The space carries traces of him, his scent faint on the pillow, his book still resting on the nightstand, half-read. Yoongi’s absence hums through the room, soft but steady, like a note held just beneath hearing.
Despite the exhaustion tugging at me, I push the ache aside. I think instead of Bora’s laughter at dinner, her careful hands setting the table, and the way she whispered “I love you” before sleep. The memory warms me from within, loosening the knots of worry that had begun to take hold.
I slip beneath the cool sheets, the fabric brushing my skin like a quiet reminder that I am still here, still held by all the pieces of love that fill this house. My eyes grow heavy, the day fading into a blur of light and warmth.
As sleep claims me, I dream of us, of laughter spilling through the rooms, of Yoongi’s hand finding mine, of Bora dancing barefoot across the floor. For a moment, in that soft space between waking and dreaming, we are finally together again.
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The morning sun filters gently through the penthouse windows, casting a soft glow across the bedroom, but my body feels heavy, weighed down by a persistent unease that pulls me from sleep. The light, so warm and inviting, only makes the ache inside me feel more pronounced.
I wake with a groan, pressing a hand to my abdomen as the nausea hits, sharp and sudden, twisting inside me. I wince, fighting the rising discomfort, and lie still for a moment, hoping it will pass. But the sensation lingers, gnawing at me with a queasy weight that is both unfamiliar and vaguely reminiscent of something I can't quite place. The exhaustion, too, clings to me like a thick fog, heavy and relentless, dragging me further into the depths of uncertainty. It has been like this for weeks, this slow, insistent drain on my energy, but today, it feels different. More urgent, somehow.
Bora's voice floats in from the kitchen, light and cheerful, like a song that tugs at my heart.
I close my eyes briefly, taking a deep breath, before forcing myself to sit up. Every movement feels sluggish, the soft sweater I pull on doing little to ward off the morning chill that lingers in the air. She is already at the counter, her tiny hands working carefully as she pours cereal into a bowl, her bunny tucked under one arm, and her curls still tousled from sleep.
"Morning, Amma!" she greets, her smile wide and bright, the soft scent of her pup nature grounding me in the moment. "You okay? You look funny."
I laugh weakly, ruffling her hair as I join her, ignoring the way my stomach protests at the scent of her sugary cereal.
"Just a little tired, puppy," I murmur, my voice softer than usual, the heaviness in my chest making it hard to speak with my usual energy. "Big day today, huh? Are you excited for your sleepover with Lila and Amy?"
Her eyes light up, her excitement almost tangible, and she nods enthusiastically, the bright spark in her gaze chasing away the last of my doubts.
"Yeah! Amy's Appa said we can watch movies and make popcorn!" she exclaims, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she eagerly continues eating.
My lips curve into a smile, despite the knot in my stomach. I feel a surge of warmth at the thought of her happiness.
"Sounds like a blast," I say, my voice still a little too faint.
I pour myself a glass of water, hoping the cool liquid will settle the queasiness swirling inside me.
"Let's get your bag packed after breakfast, okay?"
She nods, shoveling more cereal into her mouth, while I take a small bite of plain toast, the only thing I can stomach this morning. The nausea begins to ease, but the weariness remains, like a weight pressing on my bones.
As I help Bora gather her pajamas, her favorite blanket, a few books, and her art supplies for the sleepover, I listen to her chatter about her plans with Amy. Her voice, light and melodic, is a comforting distraction from the fog in my head, but my body still feels off-kilter. The deep, lingering fatigue feels like something more than just a bad night's sleep, and I can't shake the growing sense of something looming just out of reach.
By the time we head to Amy's, the nausea has dulled into a dull, persistent ache, though the tiredness is still there, pulling at my limbs like they have been filled with lead. The drive is quick, the city around us buzzing with life, while Bora sings along to the radio in the backseat, her voice clear and joyful. It is a bright contrast to the fog in my mind.
I park outside Timoteo's apartment, a sleek building not far from ours, and help Bora with her bag. Her excitement practically radiates off of her as she bounces up the steps, eager to see her friends.
Minseo and Lila are already there when we arrive, and Minseo greets me with her familiar chamomile scent, warm and inviting. She smiles as she opens the door.
"Jimin! You made it," Timoteo says, his voice warmer than usual, his eyes lingering just a little too long.
I force myself to smile, brushing off the instinctual flare of discomfort that rises within me.
"Love the hair," he adds, his grin wide. "It's bold."
I chuckle, touching the strands of my newly dyed hair, still adjusting to the new look.
"Thanks," I reply, keeping my tone light and neutral. "Bora picked it, so I'm trusting her taste."
Minseo's smile is kind as she pours tea into mugs.
"It suits you," she says, though her eyes linger on me, noticing something I wish I could hide. "You look a little pale, though. Everything okay?"
I nod quickly, reaching for the mug she hands me. The warmth of the chamomile tea is soothing as I sip it, my stomach slowly calming.
"Just a rough morning," I reply, forcing a smile. "Probably overdid it at the studio yesterday."
Timoteo's brow furrows, his Alpha instincts clearly kicking in as he takes in my appearance.
"You sure? You don't look great. Want some water or something?"
I shake my head, feeling my Omega bristle slightly at his too-familiar concern. Yoongi's teasing about Timoteo's crush flits through my mind, and I keep my response polite but distant.
"I'm fine, really," I say, the words sounding more convincing than I feel. "Just need a quiet day."
Minseo's gaze softens as she hands me another mug of tea.
"You do so much, Jimin. Don't burn yourself out."
I smile, grateful for her warmth.
"I'm trying not to," I murmur. "Thanks for having Bora. She has been looking forward to this."
"She's a joy," Timoteo says, his tone softening as he watches the girls, who are already sprawled on the floor, absorbed in a game. "They are going to have a blast."
We chat for a bit, Minseo telling me about Lila's latest school project, while Timoteo asks about the studio with an earnestness that edges too close to personal. His gaze keeps slipping back to me, a quiet affection in his eyes that I try not to notice.
I keep the conversation light, focusing on the girls, avoiding anything too intimate. The tea helps, soothing my stomach and easing the nausea further, but the heaviness of my tiredness still lingers, like a shadow, following me.
"I should get going," I say after a while, setting my empty mug down. "Thanks for the tea. Bora, behave, okay?"
Bora jumps up, running over to hug me tightly.
"I will, Amma! Love you!"
"Love you too, puppy," I say, kissing her forehead, my Omega purring in contentment at the warmth of her embrace.
I wave goodbye to Minseo and Timoteo, then head back to the car, feeling a strange mix of relief and unease as I climb in. I had planned to swing by the studio, check on things, but the exhaustion starts creeping back in as I drive. My eyes burn with tiredness, and I change my mind, turning the car toward home instead, the quiet of the penthouse calling me like a soft promise.
As I drive through the city streets, the morning's nausea starts to replay in my mind, the sensation lingering as a familiar echo. My breath catches, and for the first time, I connect the dots. It feels too similar to when I was pregnant with Bora, the nausea, the overwhelming fatigue, the quiet, nagging suspicion that something is off.
Yoongi and I had talked about having another pup, about filling up the empty room in the penthouse. During my last heat, we had let our guard down, we weren't exactly careful. In the haze of desire, we might have forgotten the condom once or twice, lost in each other, and in the moment.
A sudden wave of nervous excitement rises in me.
I was alone when I found out I was pregnant with Bora, terrified and unmarked. But this time, it would be different. Yoongi is my mate, my home, and Bora has already been asking for a sibling, her eyes lighting up whenever she talks about puppies.
But even still, the doubt creeps in, quiet but persistent.
What if Yoongi isn't ready?
No, he has always wanted this, I remind myself.
He adores Bora, and we have talked about expanding our family before. But the reality of it, the reality of being responsible for another life, of navigating the chaos of parenting with a newborn, suddenly feels so much heavier.
With shaky hands, I pull into a drugstore parking lot, my heart pounding. I grab my wallet and move toward the Omega health aisle, and scan the shelves for pregnancy tests. Three different brands catch my eye, and I grab them, my pulse racing as I pay.
The cashier's smile is kind, but it is nothing more than a blur as I make my way out, my thoughts racing faster than I can keep up with.
━━━━
Back at the penthouse, I drop my keys onto the counter, the sudden stillness of the apartment amplifying the rapid thrum of my heart. The silence wraps around me, thick and almost suffocating, making my nerves buzz even louder. I take the tests to the bathroom, my hands trembling as I follow the instructions with shaky precision. Each step feels like I'm moving underwater, distant, my thoughts scattered in a million directions.
Once they are set down on the counter, I try to steady myself. Now, all I can do is wait.
The five minutes stretch on like an eternity. My pacing echoes in the empty space, the sound of my footsteps sharp and disorienting. With each pass, I find myself thinking of Yoongi, his steady hands, the warmth of his voice that never fails to calm me, and the deep, unwavering love we share. I cling to those memories, letting them ground me in the present as I fight my rising nerves.
When the timer finally beeps, I inhale sharply, the tension in my chest making it hard to breathe. I step toward the counter, and my eyes fall on the tests. All three of them, and each one shows the same thing, two lines, bold and unmistakable.
My breath catches in my throat. A wave of emotions crashes over me all at once, relief that it is nothing more serious, joy at the thought of adding another life to ours, and the smallest flicker of nerves about how Yoongi will react, though I know deep down that is a foolish worry. Yoongi has always wanted this with me. He is been nothing short of an amazing Appa to Bora, and his love for me, for us, is more than enough to hold us all together.
I think of Bora then, her sweet voice pleading for a sibling, her face lighting up with excitement whenever a friend gets a new brother or sister. She is going to be over the moon when she finds out. I can already see her, holding her little brother or sister in her arms, her wide eyes filled with pride.
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, a mixture of excitement and nerves stirring within me. My Omega purrs softly, a quiet hum that blends with the fluttering in my chest.
I need to be certain, though. I can't go on this alone. I dial my doctor's number, my voice trembling just slightly as I request an appointment.
To my surprise, they have an opening in thirty minutes.
"Come now," the receptionist urges, and without hesitation, I grab my keys and head out the door, my heart pounding in my chest like a drumbeat.
━━━━
The clinic is a familiar place, but today it smells different, sterile, yet somehow calming. The nurse, a Beta with a soft lavender scent, greets me with a gentle smile. She takes my blood with practiced ease, her hands steady and professional.
"We will run the test to confirm," she says, her voice warm and reassuring, "but given your symptoms and the results of the at-home tests, it's likely."
I nod, my fingers twisting together in my lap as I try to hold myself together. The anxiety is still there, but it is more of a quiet buzz now, a hum at the edges of my mind.
Soon, the doctor calls me in for an ultrasound. He is an older Alpha with a calm demeanor, one who doesn't rush or push me, letting me process the news at my own pace. After the blood test confirms what I already suspected, he leads me into the ultrasound room. The gel is cold on my stomach, a sharp contrast to the heat of my skin, but as soon as the screen flickers to life, I see it.
There is a tiny shape, a faint pulse, the first heartbeat I will ever know that is not my own. My eyes sting, tears spilling over as I watch the image on the screen. For a moment, I can't believe it is real.
"About eight weeks," the doctor says, his voice a soothing balm. "Everything looks good. Your scent will start to shift soon. I will prescribe some supplements to make sure you stay healthy."
I nod, my throat too tight to respond. The words don't seem to make it past the lump in my chest. Instead, I reach out to take the ultrasound picture he hands me, a grainy snapshot of the future, of everything we are about to become. It still feels a little surreal, but it is real.
So real.
After a moment, he hands me a list of supplements, and I thank him quietly, my voice trembling as I leave the room. I clutch the picture in my hand like a lifeline.
Outside the clinic, there is a small drugstore. I pick up the supplements, my mind still reeling, the weight of what is happening settling into my bones. As I pass a small department store, a display in the window catches my eye, a collection of children's clothes and toys.
Without thinking, I wander in, my heart pulling me toward a "Big Sister Kit" displayed on a shelf. It is a simple set, but the thought of Bora with a new shirt, a book about puppies, and a sketchbook to help her prepare for her sibling fills me with warmth.
For Yoongi, I find something I know he will love, a tiny pair of baby shoes, each one bearing the LA Lakers logo. I smile to myself, imagining his reaction. The way his eyes will light up, that soft, proud smile spreading across his face. I can already picture him, holding the shoes in his hands, laughing with that deep, contented laugh of his, the one that always makes my heart skip a beat.
━━━━
Back home, I take a deep breath, trying to steady my hands as I prepare the gifts. Yoongi's baby shoes nestled in a small box, with the ultrasound picture of the tiny pup growing inside me tucked carefully beside them. The Big Sister Kit for Bora sits nearby, waiting its turn. I stick soft ribbons on the boxes, each one catching the light as I work, then gently hide everything away in a drawer in our bedroom.
The act of preparing, of creating these small surprises, leaves me drained, as if the weight of it all is finally catching up with me. I sit down on the couch, pulling a blanket around me and curling up, the quiet of the penthouse settling like a heavy fog.
I close my eyes for just a moment, hoping to rest, but instead I drift into a dream.
In the dream, Yoongi is holding a tiny pup in his arms, his smile soft and full of love as he gazes down at our baby. Bora is giggling beside him, her face lit with that same excitement she gets when she is near something new and precious. The warmth in the dream feels so real, so tangible, that when I wake, tears are already on my cheeks.
My heart is full, swollen with a love I didn't realize could grow even more, but also with an ache, a raw tenderness I can't quite place. The weight of what I'm carrying, physically, emotionally, feels both beautiful and terrifying.
━━━━
A little later, I find myself at the dining table, the hum of my laptop providing a welcome distraction. Emails, studio schedules, the day-to-day of running the business, it is grounding in its normalcy, even as my mind spins with the whirlwind of emotions. The work is a quiet anchor, giving my hands something to do while my heart races with a million thoughts.
I answer a few emails, check in with the studio staff, but the clock ticks by too slowly.
By evening, the penthouse is too still, too empty. The familiar sounds of Bora's laughter, and Yoongi's soft teasing, are absent, and I realize just how long it has been since I have truly been alone like this. The silence presses in on me, strange and heavy. I miss them both more than I can put into words.
Just then, my phone rings. It is Timoteo. His voice, warm and considerate, fills the quiet space.
"Jimin, Bora wants to say goodnight."
I smile as her voice comes through, bright and sleepy, with a hint of excitement that she can barely contain.
"Amma!" she exclaims, her words slurring with exhaustion but still full of that unmistakable joy. "We watched Tangled and ate so much popcorn!"
I laugh softly, a little teary-eyed at how happy she sounds.
"Sounds like you are having the best time, puppy. Be good, okay?"
"I will! Love you, Amma! Good Night."
"Love you too," I say, my voice thick with emotion. "Sleep tight."
Timoteo comes back on the line after a brief pause.
"She's having a blast," he says, his tone slightly concerned but still gentle. "You sure you are okay? You seemed a little off earlier."
"I'm fine," I reply, trying to keep my voice light and steady, though the truth is it feels like I'm balancing on a precipice. "Just tired. Thanks for checking in."
I end the call and immediately dial Yoongi, my heart fluttering as the line rings. I just want to hear his voice, to feel close to him, even for a moment, but more than that, I want to keep the surprise. A voice call will do. This way, the change to my hair stays a mystery, at least until he is home.
When he answers, his voice is warm, familiar, and comforting, and I feel the tension in my shoulders start to ease, just a little. The ache of missing him doesn't disappear, but it softens, replaced by the gentle sense of knowing he is there, even if only through the phone.
"Hey, Jiminie," he says, his voice soft, a hint of rustling in the background. He must be in his hotel room. "How is my favorite person?"
I let out a small, contented sigh as I curl up on the couch, pulling the blanket tighter around me, wishing it were his arms instead.
"Missing you," I say, my voice quieter than I intend. "The penthouse is too quiet without you and Bora."
"I know," he responds, the tenderness in his voice unmistakable. "I miss you too. Are you still not telling me about your hair adventure?"
I grin, the familiar teasing making my chest ache with affection.
"It's a surprise," I say, my voice light, playful. "You will see when you are home. Bora had a blast picking it out."
His laugh, low and warm, sends a flutter through me.
"I bet she did. How is she doing at the sleepover?"
"She is having the best time," I say, the image of her wide-eyed with joy flashing in my mind. "They watched Tangled, and ate popcorn... She's in heaven."
"Good," he replies, his pride in her so clear in his voice. "And you? You sound tired, Jiminie."
I hesitate for a moment, my breath catching, and the weight of the secret I'm carrying presses down harder. I'm not ready to tell him, not yet. I need to see his face, to hold him, to share this news in person.
"Just a long day," I finally say, keeping my tone soft, though I can feel the vulnerability in it. "I'm okay, though. How is Japan?"
"Exhausting," he says, the weariness in his voice clear, but there is also a spark of excitement. "This artist is intense, but the tracks are coming together. I can't wait to be home with you."
"I can't wait either," I say, my throat tight with emotion.
The love I feel for him, for our little family, bubbles up like a tide.
"I love you, hyung."
"I love you too," he replies, his voice rough with affection, and I can feel the connection between us, even across the miles. "Get some rest, okay?"
"I will," I say, my heart both full and heavy, the secret I'm holding pressing against me like a promise.
I end the call, feeling the absence of him even more acutely, the space in the penthouse feeling colder without his presence. I climb into bed, the cool sheets against my skin a stark contrast to the warmth I long for. I clutch the ultrasound picture, the tiny shape of our baby a silent reminder of the life growing inside me. Tears spill over as I stare at it, my heart caught between joy, nerves, and overwhelming love.
This pup is a gift, a promise of our family growing, and I know Yoongi will be thrilled. Bora will be ecstatic. But with that joy comes a quiet fear, a flicker of doubt that whispers through me. I remember how lonely I felt when I was pregnant with Bora, when it was just me, unsure of everything, wondering if I could handle it all on my own. But now, I have Yoongi. I have Bora. I have a family built on love, not solitude. And that makes all the difference.
I close my eyes, the ultrasound picture pressed to my chest, the thought of Yoongi's arms, Bora's laughter, and our new pup filling my dreams as I drift off to sleep, my heart anchored in the future that grows inside of me.
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