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He wonders whether anyone has told him about the way Myeongsuk used to sit on the porch in the evenings, watching the road as though he expected someone to appear around the bend. He wonders whether Jimin knows how proud his grandfather was of him. Probably not.

The photograph from that magazine article had been nice. Jimin had looked happy in it, his blond hair neatly styled and his smile wide enough to make his eyes disappear into little crescents. Yoongi remembers Myeongsuk pointing at it. ‘Look at him. Handsome, isn’t he?’

The honey has softened now that the initial panic is beginning to subside, turning warmer and softer. It mingles with the cedar escaping from Yoongi’s own skin, and the combination is— Fuck. He likes that. He likes it so much that his chest actually aches.

For all Yoongi knows, he’s dealing with an escaped criminal who has broken into Myeongsuk’s house and decided to defend his stolen property by attacking the first person unfortunate enough to possess a key. A beautiful criminal. A beautiful, honey-scented criminal.

Blond hair falls across the omega’s forehead, mussed from their struggle and bright where the afternoon sunlight catches it. His cheeks are flushed pink, his lips parted as he struggles to catch his breath, and his dark eyes are fixed on Yoongi.