Chapter Text
「 01 」
The first alarm goes off at 6:10 a.m.
Taehyung silences it without even opening his eyes. Five minutes later, the second one follows. Then a third.
With a groan, he drags a hand over his face before finally forcing himself out of bed, dark hair sticking out in every possible direction.
The apartment is unusually quiet, the kind of silence that only exists before a school morning officially begins.
He pads into the bathroom first. Almost on autopilot, he opens the medicine cabinet and reaches for the small silver box tucked beside his toothbrush.
A fresh scent blocker.
His fingers peel away the backing before pressing the thin patch just beneath his left ear.
The familiar sweetness of ripe strawberries, vanilla and white tea immediately fades beneath the neutral scent designed for working omegas. It isn't mandatory anymore. Society has changed enough for that.
Old habits simply die hard.
Satisfied, Taehyung smooths the edge of the patch with his thumb before pulling on a loose black T-shirt and padding toward the kitchen in nothing but his slippers.
The smoothie blender starts almost automatically while he cracks two eggs into a frying pan. A pair of slices disappears into the toaster as he reaches for two glasses from the cupboard.
“Minjae!” His voice carries easily through the apartment. No answer. He glances at the microwave clock.
「 6:25 」
“...Jae!” Still nothing. Taehyung sighs.
Some battles are simply part of being a parent.
Leaving the eggs over low heat, he makes his way down the hallway until he stops outside the only occupied bedroom.
Three gentle knocks.
“Rise and shine.” Silence. He waits a beat before trying again. “Come on, pup. You've got school.” Nothing.
A smile already tugs at the corner of his mouth as he slowly pushes the door open.
The curtains remain tightly shut, wrapping the room in soft darkness. A hoodie hangs from the desk chair. Football cleats lie abandoned beside it. A backpack has somehow ended up upside down near the door. And somewhere beneath an impressive mountain of blankets is his fifteen-year-old son.
Or so Taehyung assumes. Because only a mess of dark hair pokes out from under the duvet.
“There you are,” he murmurs. Crossing the room, he nudges the blanket gently with his hand. “Jae...” Nothing. He tries again, softer this time. “Baby.”
A muffled groan answers him.
Progress.
“It's Monday.” Another groan. “I have to drive you to school in...” He glances toward the digital clock sitting on the nightstand. “...less than an hour.”
The blanket shifts just enough for one sleepy eye to squint at him. “I can skip one day.”
“Absolutely Not.”
“My teachers won't notice.”
“They will.”
“I'll tell them I died.”
A laugh escapes Taehyung before he can stop it. “If you were dead, you wouldn't be negotiating.”
“...Good point.”
“So...” Taehyung folds his arms across his chest. “Are you getting up on your own…” His hand reaches toward the curtains. “...or am I opening these?”
The second eye flies open immediately. “You wouldn't.”
A teasing smile spreads across Taehyung's face. “Try me.”
Minjae lets out the kind of exhausted sigh only a sleep-deprived fifteen-year-old can produce. It sounds dramatic enough to suggest the end of civilization.
Still muttering under his breath, he finally throws the blanket aside and sits up, rubbing both hands over his face. “Dad is cooler.”
Taehyung laughs. “That's because your father still thinks he's fifteen.” He, then, points toward the bedroom door. “Now get up.”
Minjae rolls his eyes but reluctantly swings his legs over the side of the bed. “You're both impossible.”
“So I've been told.”
Taehyung bends to pick up the crumpled T-shirt abandoned on the floor before tossing it onto the growing pile of laundry balanced against his hip.
“I'm starting a load of washing,” he says as he heads toward the hallway. “Then I'm going for a run. Just around the neighborhood.” He glances over his shoulder. “That gives you approximately thirty minutes to turn off the stove, have breakfast, brush your teeth, shower and get dressed.”
“What is this?” Minjae groans. “Boot camp?”
Taehyung simply raises an eyebrow.
His son keeps grumbling as he disappears toward the bathroom. “I swear there's no freedom in this house...”
“I heard that!” Taehyung calls after him, laughter coloring his voice.
A barely audible, “Yeah, yeah...” floats back.
Shaking his head, Taehyung empties another armful of clothes into the washing machine. Hoodies. Towels. Football jerseys. An alarming number of mismatched socks.
He pours detergent into the drawer, shuts the door with a practiced push and starts the cycle. The familiar hum fills the laundry room.
Perfect.
A few minutes later, he changes into charcoal-gray sweatpants, slips on a lightweight running jacket and heads for the entrance.
His running shoes are exactly where he left them.
One lace. Then the other.
Done.
Hand already resting on the doorknob, he raises his voice one last time. “Thirty-seven minutes!”
A long, theatrical groan echoes from somewhere deeper inside the apartment.
Taehyung can't help smiling.
He opens the front door and steps into the cool morning air, letting the quiet embrace him.
The door clicks shut behind him.
⋰˚☆
The drive to school is unusually quiet. Well… Quiet on one side.
Minjae is practically folded into the passenger seat, his hoodie pulled low over his messy hair, thumbs flying across his phone screen with practiced speed. Every few seconds his expression shifts from amused to offended to downright scandalized, the unmistakable face of someone losing an argument in the group chat.
Taehyung glances at him. Then back at the road. Then at him again. “So... you've got football practice after school today, right?”
“Mhm.”
“And your history test is this week?”
“Mhm."
“You studied?”
“Mhm.”
“...Jae.” Nothing. “Jae, I'm talking to you.” A sigh slips past Taehyung's lips.
Minjae answers with one of his own, almost equally dramatic, before finally lowering his phone enough to look over. “Mhm?”
Taehyung can't help smiling. “What exactly did you and your father do this weekend for you to be this impossible to wake up this morning?”
Minjae shrugs. “Call him and ask.”
Taehyung snorts. “Jeon Kim Minjae.”
“What?”
“You know exactly what.”
The teenager locks his phone and lets it drop onto his lap. “You were married for seven years,” he says matter-of-factly. “You were together for over fifteen before that. In love for most of your lives.” He tilts his head. “And you seriously expect me to believe calling him is suddenly impossible?” A beat. “Or... forbidden?”
Taehyung's fingers tighten almost imperceptibly around the steering wheel.
The light ahead is still red.
Good. It gives him something to look at besides his son.
“You know I don't have his number anymore.”
Minjae raises a skeptical eyebrow.
“My phone drowned after Jimin decided throwing me into a swimming pool would be funny,” Taehyung says. “It was in my pocket. I had to replace it, remember?”
“I remember.”
“So...”
“Boring excuse.”
Taehyung exhales through his nose.
“You could've just asked me for it.”
Silence.
Outside, pedestrians begin crossing the street as the countdown ticks away.
Minjae turns toward the window, absentmindedly tracing circles along the edge of his phone case with his thumb. “And besides…” He pauses. “Papa…”
Taehyung hums softly.
“The whole world pretends not to notice.” His voice is quieter now. “Maybe everyone's blind.” Another pause. “Maybe they just don't want to get involved.” Taehyung says nothing. “But not me.”
His grip tightens once more around the wheel.
“Dad still has the exact same phone number he had when you two met.” The words settle heavily inside the car. “I know you still remember it.”
Taehyung swallows.
“You've known it by heart for more than fifteen years.” Another beat. “And he remembers yours as well.” Minjae finally turns back toward him. “I'm willing to bet he could dial it with his eyes closed.”
Taehyung lets out a quiet, humorless laugh. “I doubt that.”
“I don't.”
Silence falls again.
Then Minjae smiles to himself. “You know what else I don't believe?”
Taehyung glances at him briefly. “What?”
“That either of you stopped recognizing the other's scent.”
The words hit harder than either of them expects.
Instinctively, Taehyung's fingers brush the scent blocker hidden beneath his ear.
A reflex. One he doesn't even realize he's made.
“It's not the same thing,” he says quietly.
“No?” Minjae shrugs. “You spent more than half your lives together.” He looks back out the window. “I've seen Alpha/Omega couples who split after two years and still crossed the street because they caught each other's scent.” Another pause. “You and Dad had over twenty.”
Taehyung doesn't answer. He can't.
The traffic light finally turns green.
He presses gently on the accelerator, eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead. For the rest of the drive, neither of them speaks. Only the steady hum of the engine fills the silence.
And despite the scent blocker resting beneath his ear, Taehyung can't stop wondering if Jeongguk would still recognize him, too.
⋰˚☆
On the other side of the city, another alarm goes off at exactly 7:00 a.m.
Jeongguk doesn't even have time to reach for his phone. Thirty-five kilograms of pure enthusiasm launch themselves onto the mattress, making the entire bed bounce beneath him.
Before he can react, a warm tongue drags from the bottom of his chin all the way to his forehead.
“Argh... Bam!”
A sharp bark answers him, immediately followed by another unapologetic lick.
Jeongguk groans dramatically, burying his face deeper into the pillow. “No... five more minutes.”
Apparently, Bam disagrees.
The young Doberman plants both front paws squarely on Jeongguk's chest, his docked tail wagging so violently it thumps against the bedside table in rapid succession.
“I know,” Jeongguk mumbles, one eye still closed as his hand automatically finds the dog's head. “You're starving.”
Another bark.
“You're always starving.”
Bam tilts his head.
“I swear you have an internal clock.”
The only response he gets is an insistent nose shoved beneath his palm, demanding more scratches.
Jeongguk chuckles. “Yeah, yeah... I know who's really in charge here.”
It takes another full minute before he finally sits up.
The apartment feels... wrong. Too quiet.
No teenager stomping through the hallway. No bathroom occupied for half an hour. No football highlights blasting from someone's phone while breakfast burns in the kitchen.
Just him and an oversized Doberman convinced breakfast should have been served ten minutes ago.
His gaze drifts almost instinctively toward the closed door across the hallway. Minjae's bedroom. The bed inside is still perfectly made.
A familiar ache settles quietly beneath his ribs.
This week, Minjae is staying with Taehyung — which means the apartment somehow manages to feel twice its actual size.
Bam nudges his elbow with surprising force.
“Alright, alright.” Jeongguk stretches, every muscle protesting as he climbs out of bed. “I'm coming.”
The Doberman tears out of the bedroom before the sentence is even finished, claws clicking excitedly across the hardwood floor.
Jeongguk can't help smiling. “You act like I've never fed you before.”
By the time he reaches the kitchen, Bam is already sitting beside his bowl. Perfect posture. Perfect patience. If it weren't for the tail hammering relentlessly against the cabinet doors.
Jeongguk snorts. “Nice performance.” A quiet huff. “I almost believed you.”
The moment kibble begins rattling into the stainless-steel bowl, Bam's composure disappears completely.
“So much for self-control.”
While the dog devours breakfast, Jeongguk slips into his own morning routine.
Black coffee. Scrambled eggs. Two slices of toast.
Simple. Predictable. Comforting.
His phone rests beside the plate while he scrolls through overnight notifications between mouthfuls.
An embarrassing amount of spam. Three work emails sent by his assistant. And, naturally… three other messages from Seokjin again who happens to both be his assistant and his best friend.
「 Seokjin 」
📩 You’re awake?
📩 Bam owes me cuddles.
📩 PS: Don't forget dinner on Friday.
A smile tugs at the corner of Jeongguk's mouth.
「 Jeongguk 」
✉️ Barely.
✉️ Bam says you're dramatic.
✉️ I'll be there.
He presses send before clearing the rest of his notifications.
Routine complete… or almost complete.
“Ready?” One word. That's all it takes.
Bam's ears shoot upright. His head snaps toward Jeongguk. His entire back end begins wagging independently from the rest of his body.
Jeongguk laughs. “I haven't even picked up your leash yet.”
That changes absolutely nothing. The Doberman sprints toward the front door. Circles back. Runs another lap around the living room. Returns to the door. Whines.
Jeongguk shakes his head, disappearing briefly into his bedroom to exchange yesterday's lounge clothes for a lightweight black tracksuit.
Comfortable. Breathable. Practical.
He catches a faint trace of cedar and roasted coffee as he pulls the hoodie over his head.
His own scent. Subtle now, softened by the scent neutralizer clipped discreetly beneath the collar of his shirt. Running through the city as an unfiltered alpha tended to attract more attention than he cared for.
Satisfied, he laces his running shoes and heads back toward the entrance.
Bam is practically vibrating.
“You'd think this was your first walk.”
The Doberman answers with an impatient whine.
Jeongguk crouches, slipping the black harness over Bam's shoulders before fastening each buckle with practiced ease.
“Hold still.”
Miraculously… Bam obeys. For exactly three seconds.
The final buckle clicks into place. The excitement returns immediately. Nails tap frantically against the hardwood.
Jeongguk grabs his earbuds, keys and leash before clipping it onto the harness. “Okay, let’s go.”
The metallic click echoes softly through the apartment.
Bam is already halfway into the hallway before Jeongguk even reaches the door. A quiet laugh escapes him.
Bam had been Minjae's latest obsession.
“Dad, just come see the puppies. We don't have to get one.”
Jeongguk had known he was doomed the second his son smiled like that.
Three hours later, they had walked out carrying an eight-week-old Doberman who had promptly fallen asleep across Minjae's lap on the drive home.
Promises of training him, walking him, feeding him and cleaning up after him had poured out of the teenager without pause.
To his credit… Minjae had kept every single one.
Now, just over a year later, the tiny puppy had grown into a thirty-five-kilogram shadow who followed Jeongguk everywhere whenever his favorite human wasn't around.
Not that Jeongguk minded. Truthfully… He had become just as attached.
The elevator doors slide open with a soft chime.
Alpha and Doberman step inside together, ready for another morning run while the rest of the city is only just beginning to wake.
⋰˚☆
The makeup artist dabs one final touch of concealer beneath Jeongguk's eyes before stepping back with a satisfied nod. “Perfect.”
Jeongguk barely acknowledges her.
He's too busy scrolling through the agency's schedule on his phone while a stylist adjusts the collar of his blazer.
Another campaign. Another twelve-hour shoot. Another Monday.
Around him, Studio Seven buzzes with its usual controlled chaos.
Stylists weave between racks of designer clothes. Photographers tweak lighting setups. Hairdressers exchange curling irons without looking. Someone is already shouting for the next model.
Just another day.
Working under the same agency as Taehyung has never really changed after the divorce. Their contracts are negotiated separately. Their campaigns are separate. Their dressing rooms are kept as far apart as possible whenever they're booked for the same event. But the agency still links both of their individual schedules.
Not out of sentiment. Out of logistics.
Two of their biggest models cannot be sent to the same campaign, the same overseas job or the same fashion week unless the client specifically requests both of them.
So every booking appears on both schedules. Which means… Whether he wants to or not… Jeongguk always knows when Taehyung is working. When he's flying overseas. When he's shooting a campaign. When he has interviews. When he has days off.
And, if he's being honest… Taehyung probably knows exactly the same things about him.
Neither of them has ever asked the agency to change it. Maybe because it would only raise questions. Maybe because... after twenty years together, knowing where the other person is has become as instinctive as breathing.
“Hyung.”
Seokjin looks up from the tablet tucked beneath his arm. “Mhm?”
“Can you grab us two coffees?”
Seokjin nods automatically. “Sure.”
“Large.”
“Mhm.”
“Black.”
“Mhm.”
“And strong enough to keep me conscious.”
“The usual, then.” He slips the tablet under one arm and heads toward the studio door.
“Hyung.”
Seokjin stops without turning around. “What now?”
Jeongguk lowers his phone. “Taehyung's shooting three streets from here today.”
Seokjin blinks once. “The skincare campaign?”
Jeongguk nods. “Add a strawberry smoothie to the order.”
“...Okay.”
“And have it delivered to his studio.”
Silence. Complete, absolute silence.
Even the hairstylist standing behind Jeongguk pauses for half a second.
Slowly… Very slowly… Seokjin turns around. “…I’m sorry…” He squints. “...What?”
Jeongguk doesn't even look up. “You heard me.”
“I must've imagined the second part.”
“You didn't.”
“You want me…” Seokjin points at himself. “...to walk into Kim Taehyung's photoshoot…” Another finger points toward Jeongguk. “...holding a strawberry smoothie from his ex-husband?”
Jeongguk shrugs. “He picked Minjae up yesterday.”
“So?”
“So he probably spent half an hour trying to drag him out of bed this morning.” A faint smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “He'll need something sweet.”
Seokjin stares at him as though he's suddenly grown a second head. “You've been divorced for a year.”
“I know.”
“You haven't spoken for a year.”
“I know.”
“And you're sending him comfort drinks now?”
Jeongguk finally lifts his eyes. “He doesn't drink coffee when he's stressed.” His voice is calm. Matter-of-fact. “He never has.”
For a fleeting second… He's seventeen again. Sharing a tiny table in the library. Taehyung stealing a sip of his americano before immediately making a face.
“How can you drink this? It tastes burnt.”
“You'll get used to it.”
“Not in this lifetime.”
He never did.
“...You're unbelievable.”
“I'm working.”
“That's not what I meant.”
Jeongguk says nothing. Instead, he watches another model walk onto the neighboring set while a stylist smooths invisible wrinkles from his sleeve.
Seokjin pinches the bridge of his nose. “And how exactly am I supposed to know where his team is shooting?”
Jeongguk looks at him like the answer is painfully obvious. “Make your contacts useful.”
“My contacts.”
“Mhm.”
“You mean Jimin.”
“The very one.”
Seokjin lets out a long, suffering sigh. “I hate that you know exactly who I'd call.”
“You've known him almost as long as I have.”
“I also know he's going to spend five minutes making fun of me before giving me the address.”
“He absolutely will.”
“And you're okay with that?”
Jeongguk's lips twitch. “I never said I was.” A beat passes. Then, much quieter… “Just make sure Taehyung gets it.”
Something in his voice makes Seokjin stop joking.
It isn't pity. It isn't regret. It's habit. Twenty years' worth of habit. The kind that doesn't disappear because a judge signs a few papers.
The photographer suddenly claps his hands. “Jeongguk! We're ready for you.”
He stands, handing his phone to Seokjin before walking toward the backdrop. Just before stepping beneath the lights, he speaks without looking back. “And hyung...”
Seokjin hums.
“Don't tell him it's from me.”
Seokjin watches him for a long moment. “...You know he'll figure it out.”
Jeongguk smiles to himself. “I know.”
Because no one else would remember that, after every exhausting shoot, Kim Taehyung always craves the exact same thing.
A strawberry smoothie.
Some habits survive distance. Some survive silence. And some… outlive even divorce.