Episode2

The Min estate shimmered under the late afternoon sun, golden light spilling across marble floors and manicured gardens. Lanterns swayed gently in the breeze, strung between cherry blossom trees that dotted the path to the veranda. Laughter echoed from the open-air ballroom, music danced on the wind, and the scent of roasted chestnuts drifted through the air.

Park Jimin clung to his mother’s hand tightly as they walked up the steps.

His small shoes tapped nervously on the tile. His soft brown hair had been combed carefully to one side, and his little hands were tucked into the sleeves of his embroidered hanbok—white and pastel pink, with tiny golden cranes sewn near the cuffs.

He looked like a delicate flower in bloom.

And he was pouting.

“Do I really have to go?” he whispered, his lips pushed out as he glanced up at his mother. “What if I spill something… or get lost?”

Jiwoo smiled gently, smoothing a palm over his hair. “You’ll be fine, baby. It’s just a party. And Yoongi is here—you remember Yoongi-hyung, don’t you?”

Jimin made a face. “He never talks.”

That earned a soft laugh from his father. “He talks. He just doesn’t waste words.”

“But… everyone keeps saying he’s my husband!” Jimin protested, cheeks puffing up with a mixture of indignation and embarrassment. “He’s too old! He’s like… ancient!”

“He’s ten,” Jiwoo corrected, biting back a laugh. “You’re five. That’s not ancient.”

Jimin crossed his arms dramatically, bottom lip trembling as they stepped inside.

---

The house was grander than anything Jimin remembered from their last visit.

High ceilings glimmered with chandeliers, and elegant guests dressed in fine silks and sleek suits filled the space, sipping tea and greeting one another with polished smiles. The walls bore art that Jimin didn’t understand, and tall windows overlooked a moonlit koi pond beyond the garden.

To him, it was like walking into a fairy tale.

Until—

“Oh! Is this little Jimin?” a voice sang out.

He turned and was instantly scooped into a warm, perfumed hug.

“My goodness, you’ve grown so much!” cried Auntie Soo, a family friend. “And look how pretty you are! Are you excited to see your husband?”

Jimin’s eyes widened like saucers. “H-Husband? I don’t have a husband!”

A few chuckles broke out around them as more guests gathered, amused by the flustered little Omega.

“But you’re engaged to Yoongi, aren’t you?” teased one of the older cousins, a tall boy with braces. “You were promised at birth!”

“I—I didn’t promise anyone anything!” Jimin squeaked, squirming slightly in Auntie Soo’s arms. “I’m not getting married! Not ever!”

More laughter. A few coos of, “So adorable,” and “What a shy little thing,” followed. Jimin wriggled free and hid behind his mother’s skirt, peeking out with reddened cheeks.

“Sweetheart,” Jiwoo whispered gently, crouching beside him. “They’re just teasing. You don’t need to worry about anything. You’re just here to have fun.”

Jimin nodded quickly, though his pout remained firmly in place.

---

Across the room, leaning lazily against the banister of the second-floor hallway, Min Yoongi watched it all unfold.

He was dressed in a black formal jacket with silver buttons, his pale hands tucked into his pockets, and his sharp eyes half-lidded as usual. But behind his composed posture, he was very much awake—and very much amused.

From the moment Jimin stepped inside, he had noticed him.

How could he not?

Jimin’s scent had matured slightly, sweetening with age into something almost honey-like. It drifted subtly through the room, calming and warm. No one else noticed it, or perhaps they didn’t understand what it meant—but Yoongi did.

Because even now, five years later, his Alpha instincts responded before his mind could.

But what really caught his attention wasn’t the scent.

It was the pout.

That dramatic, wrinkled-nose expression Jimin made when someone called him “Yoongi’s little husband.” The way his eyes widened and his tiny fists clenched at his sides, as if outraged that anyone would say such a ridiculous thing.

He’s still quiet, Yoongi thought. But he’s dramatic when he wants to be.

It was… kind of cute.

No. It was very cute.

Yoongi found himself smiling—just faintly, just for a moment—before turning to head downstairs.

---

Meanwhile, Jimin had wandered toward the back patio, where a few other children his age were gathered around a table filled with sweet buns and sparkling fruit tea.

He took a seat on one of the cushions, sighing deeply, trying to forget the teasing.

That was when a voice spoke behind him.

“You don’t like being my husband?”

Jimin jumped a little and turned.

Yoongi stood just a step away, hands in his pockets, head tilted slightly. His black hair had grown longer, brushing his eyes, and though his voice was quiet, there was no mistaking the question.

Jimin stared up at him, blinking.

Then he crossed his arms again. “I’m not your husband! I’m only five!”

Yoongi didn’t flinch. “So?”

Jimin huffed. “I’m too small.”

Yoongi bent down, crouching until they were almost eye-level.

“You’ll grow,” he said simply.

Jimin wrinkled his nose. “Why do you talk like that?”

“Like what?”

“So serious.”

Yoongi’s mouth twitched. “I just don’t talk a lot.”

Jimin tilted his head curiously, eyes narrowing. “Do you… like the promise?”

Yoongi shrugged. “I don’t hate it.”

“But you don’t like me, right?”

This time, Yoongi paused.

Jimin’s voice had softened. His confidence, already thin, wavered a little in that one question.

The older Alpha leaned forward, resting one arm on his bent knee. “I think you’re interesting,” he said.

Jimin blinked. “Interesting?”

Yoongi nodded. “And quiet. Like me.”

The little Omega was silent for a moment.

Then—surprisingly—he smiled.

---

The party continued around them, adults chattering about stock prices and seasonal blooms, cousins chasing each other through the gardens, waiters balancing trays of rice cakes and grape juice.

But in the back corner of the patio, under a canopy of fairy lights, Yoongi and Jimin sat together on the cushions in companionable quiet.

Jimin nibbled on a sweet bun, crumbs sticking to his lips. Yoongi handed him a napkin without a word. Jimin wiped his mouth, then passed the napkin back.

“Thank you,” Jimin mumbled.

Yoongi nodded once.

“Do you… do you ever get scared?” Jimin asked softly.

Yoongi glanced at him. “Of what?”

“I dunno. Like… when people say things you don’t understand.”

Yoongi was quiet for a long moment.

Then: “Sometimes. But not when you’re around.”

Jimin blinked, startled. “Why?”

Yoongi didn’t answer. But he leaned back slightly, letting his shoulder rest near Jimin’s.

And that was enough.

---

Later that evening, as the sky turned deep violet and the first stars blinked awake, Jiwoo found her son curled up against Yoongi’s side, fast asleep, a gentle smile on his lips.

Yoongi didn’t move. His gaze stayed fixed on the horizon, his small hand resting protectively on the cushion beside Jimin’s.

Min Hyejin walked up beside her and whispered, “He hasn’t let anyone sit that close to him since he was a baby.”

Jiwoo smiled.

“They’re not just bound by a promise,” she said softly. “They’re bound by something deeper.”

---

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