Chapter Text
From each according to their level, to each according to their name
The delivery ship Hypnos had been drifting for forty-three days, twenty-one hours, and forty-five seconds.
Not that Yoongi was keeping track. He'd just happened to notice. The ship had delivered twenty-three packages to Ares, four to Neptune, and a hundred sixty-five to Zeus. Numbers stuck in his head the way grease stuck under his fingernails annoying, but harmless.
Life on a cargo ship got boring fast. After the first few days, people started going soft in the head. Some drowned themselves in alcohol. Some stared at walls and called it "reflection." Yoongi didn't have much trouble with the isolation. He was used to small spaces, used to the hum of engines, used to being alone in a crowd.
Or so he told himself.
Because somewhere between day twenty and day thirty, he started noticing the new cargo master.
The quiet one. The one who'd signed on at the very last minute, no explanation, no paperwork Yoongi could find. Younger than most of the crew. Jet-black hair that fell past his ears, almost to his shoulders too long for ship work, too soft-looking to be practical.
Yoongi caught himself staring. Wondering why the kid never braided it.
One evening, Yoongi was doing routine maintenance in the cockpit checking the nav logs, tightening a loose panel when he found the cargo master standing at the viewport, just... staring at the void.
"Hey," Yoongi said. "What's up?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing?" Yoongi smiled despite himself. Strange kid. He grabbed his clipboard and started for the door.
Then stopped.
"Why don't you braid your hair?"
The younger man turned. His eyes were dark, guarded. "I don't know how."
"You don't know how to braid?" Yoongi frowned. "How do you maintain it?"
The look on the kid's face like he'd been caught stealing something shiny. "I just keep it open."
"Open?" Yoongi almost laughed. "Boy, doesn't it get stuck in everything?"
"...Yes."
Yoongi looked at him. Really looked. At the tension in his shoulders, the way he held himself like someone who'd been taught not to take up space. Like someone who'd never had anyone offer something without wanting something back.
Yoongi knew that posture. He'd worn it himself for twenty-six years.
"Come here," Yoongi said, softer now. "I'll braid your hair."
It became a routine after that.
Not every day, but close. Yoongi would find Jimin. He'd learned the name by then, Jimin, soft and foreign on his tongue and they'd sit somewhere quiet. The cargo bay. The observation deck. Once, cramped together in Yoongi's quarters when the common areas got too loud.
Yoongi would work the knots out of that jet-black hair, comb it with his fingers, separate it into sections. He didn't have much a few drops of hair oil he'd bought last month for himself, though his own hair was too short to need it. But the way Jimin's shoulders relaxed after each braid, the way he let out a breath like he'd been holding it for years
Worth it, Yoongi thought. Every drop.
Jimin was shy. Painfully shy. The kind of shy that came from being watched too closely, judged too harshly, never allowed to just exist. But once he started talking, once the walls came down a little, he was...
Different.
Funny, in a quiet way. Sharp, in a way that surprised Yoongi. He knew things about history, about politics, about the other mother ships that a simple cargo master had no business knowing.
Yoongi noticed. But he didn't ask.
Some secrets were survival. Yoongi knew that better than anyone.
Yoongi would bring him food.
Nothing fancy ,the Hypnos didn't have fancy. A ration bar saved from his own allotment. A cup of juice, synthetic and too sweet, but cold. Whatever he could get his hands on without making it obvious.
He knew being a cargo master didn't pay much. The lowest rung on the ship's hierarchy, just above the cleaning crew. And he knew Jimin wouldn't say if he was hungry. Wouldn't say if he was thirsty. Would just smile that quiet, guarded smile and go back to work, stomach growling loud enough for Yoongi to hear three feet away.
Yoongi knew that pain. Knew it in his bones, in the hollow ache of his sixteen-year-old self studying for V2 certification on an empty stomach. Knew the shame of it the way hunger made you feel less, like your body was betraying you, like everyone could see the weakness crawling under your skin.
So he didn't make a big deal of it. Just set the food down next to Jimin's hand while the younger man was reviewing cargo manifests. Didn't say eat or you look thin or I know what you're feeling.
Just left it there.
And Jimin's smile when he looked up, when he saw the ration bar, when he realized someone had noticed was brighter than a thousand stars.
"You don't have to " Jimin started, the first time.
"I know," Yoongi said, already walking away.
The second time, Jimin didn't say anything. Just ate. Slowly, like he was trying to make it last.
The third time, Jimin caught his wrist. Fingers wrapped around the bone, gentle but firm.
"Thank you," he said. Soft. Like the words cost him something.
Yoongi's throat tightened. He pulled his hand back gently, so gently and nodded.
"Don't mention it."
It was the small things that got him.
The way Jimin's fingers brushed his when he handed him the juice. The way Jimin started waiting for him finding excuses to be in the same corridor, the same mess hall, the same stretch of empty observation deck where the stars bled through the glass.
The way Jimin looked at him sometimes. Like Yoongi was something precious. Something seen.
Yoongi wasn't used to being seen.
On Level 29, you were invisible unless you were causing trouble. On the V2 track, you were a number a certification score, a maintenance log, a pair of hands that fixed things. No one looked at him. They looked at what he could do.
But Jimin looked at him like he was already enough.
It terrified him.
They started sitting closer.
The cargo bay, after the night shift. Yoongi's quarters, when the walls of the ship felt too thin. Once, pressed shoulder to shoulder in the observation deck, watching the same stars they'd been watching for forty days.
Jimin's hair was braided now loose, imperfect, because Yoongi was a technician, not a stylist. But it stayed out of his face. And when Yoongi's fingers accidentally brushed the back of Jimin's neck while adjusting a stray strand, Jimin shivered.
"Sorry," Yoongi murmured.
"Don't be."
The silence stretched. The ship hummed. Somewhere above them, Captain Vallis was probably drinking himself stupid. Somewhere below, Sophie was running diagnostics on the engine core.
Here, in the dark, with the stars watching, it was just them.
Jimin turned his head. They were close. Too close. Yoongi could smell him something clean, something like soap and sleep and the faint salt of sweat from a long shift.
"You keep doing that," Jimin whispered.
"Doing what?"
"Taking care of me."
Yoongi's heart stuttered. "Someone should."
"Why you?"
Because no one took care of me, Yoongi thought. Because I know what it's like to be forgotten. Because you look at me like I matter, and I don't know how to walk away from that.
But he didn't say any of it. He just looked at Jimin's mouth slightly parted, pink, close enough to kiss and felt the world tilt.
"We shouldn't " Yoongi started.
"Probably not."
Jimin leaned in.
Yoongi didn't remember who leaned in first.
But suddenly his mouth was moving against Jimin's soft lips, his hands tangled in the braid he'd just finished. Fuck, he thought but he didn't care. Didn't care that he was kissing someone on a cargo ship, in a corridor where anyone could walk by. Didn't care about protocols or hierarchies or the fact that this was a terrible idea.
Jimin pulled him closer by the hips. Not gentle. Hungry. Like he'd been waiting for this for weeks months and the waiting was over.
"Jimin," Yoongi gasped, breaking for air.
Before he could say anything else, Jimin's mouth was on his neck. Sucking. Biting softly. Yoongi's head fell back against the wall, a moan escaping before he could stop it.
"Jimin…. we should "
Jimin stopped. Pulled back just enough to look at him. His eyes were dark, pupils blown, but his voice came out soft. Vulnerable.
"Do you want me to stop?"
"No." Yoongi's answer came too fast. Too desperate. He swallowed. "No, I mean we should probably go to my quarters. Someone might come."
Jimin didn't answer with words. He grabbed Yoongi's hand and pulled him down the corridor.
The door to Yoongi's quarters slid shut.
Before the lock even clicked, Jimin had him pinned against it mouth hot on his neck, hands gripping his hips like he might disappear. Yoongi's mouth fell open, gasping, moaning Jimin's name like a mantra he couldn't stop.
Jimin's hands slid down. Grabbed his ass. Squeezed.
Then Jimin lifted him effortlessly, strong and Yoongi's legs wrapped around his waist on instinct.
Jimin pulled back just enough to look at him. Breathless. Forehead pressed to Yoongi's.
"Do you want this?"
"Yes." Yoongi's voice cracked. "Yes for fuck's sake, yes."
Jimin carried him to the bunk and dropped him onto the thin mattress with a soft thud. Yoongi looked up, chest heaving, as Jimin stood between his legs and started unbuckling his pants.
Their eyes met.
The ship hummed around them.
And neither of them looked away
Jimin leaned in again, his face a few inches away from Yoongi's. He sinks onto the edge of his bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. He looks only at him, his eyes tracing the curve of his slim figure and the heavy, soft rise of his chest as he breathes heavily.
The air in the room seems to thicken, the scent of tangerine becoming almost dizzying as the heat from his body rises to meet him. When he spreads his legs Jimin is shocked. Yoongi catches Jimin's reaction.
-”What, you didn't think I was an omega?”
-”No, I haven't. Yoongi, you are the prettiest and the most beautiful person I have ever seen.”
Yoongi always wears scent blockers. No one can tell his designation otherwise. His job is gruesome enough for someone from the slums of Level 29. Being an omega is another hurdle on top of it. He was worried Jimin might find it off for some reason.
Jimin exposing the soft, flushed skin of his thighs and the glistening center of his desire, Jimin feels a primal roar in his blood. He moves, crawling further onto the bed until he is hovering directly over his, his large frame casting a shadow that seems to cocoon him. He doesn't rush. He is a man of patience, a man who knows that the anticipation is half the pleasure.
He reaches down, his hand trembling ever so slightly the only sign of how much he has been holding back and he brushes his fingertips against the very edge of his heat. He catches the scent of his slick, that intoxicating aroma of sweet, ripe oranges, and it nearly breaks his resolve.
Jimin leaned in again, his face inches from Yoongi's. He sank onto the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. His eyes traced the curve of Yoongi's slim figure, the heavy, soft rise of his chest as he breathed.
The air thickened. The scent of tangerine became dizzying, heat rising from Yoongi's body to meet him.
When Yoongi spread his legs, Jimin froze.
Yoongi caught his reaction.
"What? You didn't think I was an omega?"
"I didn't." Jimin's voice was soft. Reverent. "Yoongi, you're the prettiest and most beautiful person I've ever seen."
But Jimin just looked at him at the soft, flushed skin of his thighs, at the glistening center of his desire and something primal roared in his blood.
He moved, crawling further onto the bed until he hovered directly over Yoongi, his larger frame casting a shadow that seemed to cocoon them both. He didn't rush. He was a man of patience, a man who knew that anticipation was half the pleasure.
He reached down. His hand trembled ever so slightly the only sign of how much he'd been holding back. He brushed his fingertips against the very edge of Yoongi's heat. The scent of his slick, that intoxicating aroma of sweet, ripe oranges, nearly broke his resolve.
He leaned down, face inches from Yoongi's, breath mingling with his frantic gasps. Slowly, deliberately, he began to press his fingers inside testing the slick, sweet warmth.
Yoongi gasped. "Jimin please don't stop. Don't you dare stop."
The desperation in his voice, that tiny breathless plea, was the final crack in Jimin's control.
"You make the sweetest sounds, Yoongi," Jimin whispered against his ear.
Yoongi bit his lip.
"No." Jimin's voice was firm. Gentle. "Don't bite down your moans. I want to hear you."
Yoongi was shocked at how different Jimin was. Gone was the shy boy.
"Who are you?" Yoongi breathed. "Where's my shy Jimin?"
Jimin chuckled, his fingers moving in circles, making Yoongi gasp. Yoongi's hands gripped Jimin's shoulders. Jimin kissed him sloppy, wet, teasing.
Then he added another finger.
Yoongi's hands clutched the bedsheets. His moans grew louder, building toward release.
"Jimin... Jimin..." His name fell from Yoongi's lips like a mantra.
He came apart on Jimin's hand, gasping, trembling.
Afterward, Yoongi looked up at Jimin through a haze. Jimin lowered himself and kissed him soft this time, tender.
"You're the prettiest person I've ever met, Yoongi."
Jimin snuggled into Yoongi's neck, scenting him. The orange fragrance made his head spin. He kissed the sensitive spot on Yoongi's neck, then pressed down against him. Yoongi felt his hardness solid, waiting.
Jimin rolled his hips. A slow, grinding press against Yoongi's slick heat.
Yoongi gasped as he felt Jimin push inside. "Ahhh Jimin "
Jimin kissed him, soft and deep, swallowing the sound. His hips moved in a steady rhythm, his face buried in Yoongi's neck. He was a passionate lover not rushed, not rough, but present. Fully, completely present.
Every roll of his hips was deliberate. Every breath against Yoongi's skin was a confession.
"You feel..." Jimin's voice was muffled, almost lost. "You feel like home."
Yoongi's hands slid up Jimin's back, fingernails grazing the warm skin. He couldn't speak. Could only hold on as Jimin moved inside him, slow and deep, like they had all the time in the world.
The ship hummed around them. The stars drifted past the small porthole.
And for a moment just a moment they
were just two bodies. Two heartbeats. Two people who had found something precious in the vast, cold dark.
Jimin lifted his head, looked down at Yoongi. His dark eyes were glassy, his lips parted.
"Don't stop," Yoongi whispered.
"I won't," Jimin breathed. "I won't ever."
The Hypnos kept drifting.
Forty-four days. Forty-five. Forty-six.
After that night after Jimin's hands and Yoongi's gasps and the way they fit together like two broken things making something whole nothing changed.
Everything changed.
They were careful. Quiet. Jimin would slip into Yoongi's quarters after the night shift, when the corridors were empty and the only witnesses were the humming engines. They'd lie tangled together in Yoongi's narrow bunk, sweat cooling on their skin, and not talk about what it meant.
But Yoongi caught himself smiling. Caught himself reaching for Jimin's hand under the table. Caught himself thinking mine when he saw the younger man across the mess hall.
It was dangerous. Fraternization policies, shipboard hierarchies, the eyes of the crew. Jimin was a cargo master. Yoongi was V2. Neither of them had the rank to survive a scandal.
But the Hypnos was three months into a four-month run. And four months felt like forever when you were sharing a bunk with someone who made you forget your own name.
So they took the risk. Every night.
And then, on day forty-seven, the mouthwashing game happened.
Yoongi should have known better than to join.
He'd learned long ago that mixing work with shipboard "entertainment" was a fast track to trouble. But three months of hauling cargo made men stupid. Made them desperate for something that wasn't the hum of the engines or the grey walls of the mess hall.
The invitation came around 2100 hours. Game in the mess. Be there.
Yoongi almost said no. Almost stayed in his quarters, with Jimin's warmth still phantom on his skin. But Sophie was going. And Sophie never went to these things.
Something's wrong, he thought. Something's going to happen.
He went anyway.
The mess hall smelled like recycled air and the ghost of a thousand terrible meals. Seven crew members sat around a folding table: Captain Vallis, two engineers, three cargo handlers, and Sophie.
Sophie was the third engineer. She had a sharp jaw, sharper eyes, and the kind of silence that meant she'd learned early that talking got you nothing. She was the only woman on the ship, and she carried that fact like a knife concealed, but ready.
Tonight, she looked pale.
The bottle on the table had started as potatoes somewhere in the outer colonies. Now it was something that burned going down and made you regret waking up. The cards were dog-eared, stained, probably cursed.
Mouthwashing rules.
Pull a card. Do what it says. Lose, and you get a swig of the black-market cleaning solution someone had smuggled aboard in a lubricant canister. It tasted like battery acid and regret, and it stripped the lining off your throat on the way down.
The first few rounds were boring. Someone had to sing. Someone had to strip off their left boot. Someone had to confess something. I stole chocolate from the agricultural domes when I was twelve and no one cared.
Yoongi sat at the far end of the table, watching. Counting cards in his head. Staying sober.
Then Sophie pulled the joker.
Her face didn't change. That was the thing about Sophie. She'd learned not to show fear. But Yoongi saw her knuckles go white around the card.
The player to her left was Captain Vallis.
Forty-seven. Married. Three kids in the upper levels of Athena. A man who'd spent two decades learning exactly which backs to pat and which throats to step on. He had the kind of smile that made you check your pockets afterward.
He looked at Sophie. Let the silence stretch.
"I'll take my order later," he said.
The table laughed. It was the kind of laugh that came from people who'd rather laugh than think about what that might mean.
Sophie laughed too. A nervous thing. A please-don't-let-it-be-bad thing.
Yoongi didn't laugh.
He was watching Captain Vallis's hands. The way one of them had drifted under the table. The way his eyes hadn't left Sophie's face.
Something cold settled in Yoongi's stomach.
Not cold like fear. Cold like recognition.
He'd seen that look before. On Level 29. On the orphan processing center's night supervisor. On the foreman who'd "accidentally" locked him in the supply closet when he was fifteen.
That look meant: I own you. And you know it.
The game continued. More rounds. More cards. More of that terrible potato liquor burning through everyone's good sense.
Yoongi watched Vallis watch Sophie.
He watched Sophie's hands shake when she reached for her next card.
He watched the way Vallis leaned over, whispered something in her ear, made her flinch.
Yoongi felt a cold tingling in his spin. For some re
ason he couldn't help but feel something was going to happen. He knew it in his bone .