HALF-BROTHERS, NEW BONDS

Jimin wasn’t going through a withdrawal.

Nope. The word didn’t even come close to describing how he felt. Despite the whispers behind his back, he felt no shock, no denial over his parents ending their marriage at this stage of life. If anything, the divorce was long overdue. What others mistook for his numbness was, in truth, relief. He was glad his mother had finally stopped waiting for the man she once believed in to become someone he never would. She had spent years offering her quiet grace to a man incapable of recognizing it, let alone returning it.

Now he was simply happy for her, happy that she had broken free from a relationship that had long since emptied itself of meaning.

As for his father, Jimin had stopped expecting anything from him a long time ago. The disappointment didn’t sting anymore. It simply confirmed what he’d known all along. Part of him—in a way—was grateful his grandparents hadn’t lived to witness what their son had become: a man who had ruined not one, but several lives. They would’ve been devastated to learn about the affair and the child he fathered in secret. But perhaps even more hurt to know that Seo Joon had treated them with the same disregard he showed his own wife and son.

Some truths hurt, but others set you free. For Jimin—and for everyone else involved—this was the latter.

So to say Jimin was going through withdrawal would be…

A blatant lie.

Setting the heavy box down beside its twins with a dull thud, Jimin straightened up slowly, a soft grunt escaping him. One hand rose to swipe a line of sweat from his brow, his finger warm against the cool skin.

“Phew,” he exhaled, reaching behind himself to knead the knot forming just above his lower back.

Was this what turning thirty felt like? Back pain for no good reason? He was pretty sure this hadn’t happened in his twenties. Then again. Maybe he just needed to stop spending so much time on top of his new girlfriend. She was wild—the kind that made him forget the word rest even existed. She had a way of pulling something rougher, needier, and less patient out of him.

Just the thought of her sent a slow heat blooming in his lower body.

Nissa was a witch. She could talk her way into, and out of, just about anything. She was smoother than him, quicker with a line, and far too good at getting under his skin. Just the other day, she nearly convinced him to christen his mother’s new apartment right there on the freshly delivered couch when she was supposed to be helping him unpack. He’d barely managed to say no. Honestly, he rarely did. But even he had limits. There were only so many times he could take her in a day before his body waved the white flag.

Wait— Weren’t thongs basically shaped like white flags? Tiny. Barely there. Usually showed up right before surrender and ended in some Great Physical Union.

Holy fuck! Jimin dragged both hands down his face. This was not the time for thong-related reflections. No. He needed to stop thinking with his dick.

He cleared his throat, forcing the image out of his head before his pants got any bright ideas. Nissa didn’t need more material to tease him with—not in bed, and definitely not in front of his mother. Time to focus. He was here to lift boxes, not mentally strip his girlfriend in the middle of his mom’s brand new living room.

“Come on, get it together,” Jimin murmured to himself, taking a deep breath in. He crouched down, grabbed a different box of kitchen supplies, and brought it to its designated place.

The kitchen was spacious and modern, facing east, where sunlight poured in through an open window framing the city skyline—brightening the space and making it feel like a place worth cooking in. Just behind the stove counter stood an oakwood table, large enough to seat four or five people. Its intricate carvings and tall legs added a minimalist yet elegant touch, blending effortlessly with the apartment’s soft pastel and white tones.

Nissa was helping Ji-ho lay out table covers and peel the protective wrap off the newly bought chairs when Jimin walked in, carrying the box in his hands.

“Set it over there, baby,” Ji-ho said, nodding toward the space beside the counter.

Jimin obeyed with a sigh, placing the box down a little harder than necessary. He dusted his hands off on his sweatshirt like he’d just completed hard labour, then dropped into one of the still-wrapped chairs with a theatrical slump. He didn’t have to say a word. His face said it all: “I’m done.” But just as his body slumped deeper into the chair, the two women he came to love most exchanged a look—then one of them giggled.

“We’re not done yet,” Nissa said, all too sweetly. “The refrigerator still needs to be moved. There’s some space left.”

Jimin let out an exaggerated groan and flopped back, eyes half-lidded in mock despair.

“I swear, one more bend and my spine’s going to snap. I already bust my ass working beside you, Niss. Can’t I get five minutes to breathe? At least pretend I’m your boss.”

A sharp pain shot through his arm where Ji-ho pinched him.

“Ow! Mom, that hurt!” Jimin whined, rubbing the spot with a pout.

“As it should,” Ji-ho said with a fond smile, though her eyes carried just enough reproach to make him squirm. “But really, Jimin, language. You know better than to curse in front of your mother.” She turned to Nissa briefly, then looked back at her son. “And I don’t care if you’re her boss at work. You didn’t introduce her to me as your employee, did you? So here, treat her the way your girlfriend deserves to be treated.”

“Sorry,” Jimin said, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. Then, in a quick attempt to defend his honour, he added, “But I treat her like royalty, Mom. Ask her yourself.”

“He does, Ms. Go,” Nissa confirmed with a nod. “Though he bosses me around all day at work.” She flashed that bright, mischievous smile—the kind that always managed to charm its way out of trouble. Jimin narrowed his eyes at her, half amused, half betrayed. Did she just compliment and roast him in the same breath?

“That’s only because I’m the CEO, Mom,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “Running an empire is exhausting, you know.”

Ji-ho gave her son a sharp look but let the moment pass with a sigh.

“Fine,” she said, then turned to Nissa, her tone softening. “But you—if he ever gives you trouble, you come straight to me, alright?” Her voice was warmer now. “And stop calling me Ms. Go. It’s ‘Mom’ to you. You’re family.”

Nissa’s smile bloomed—gentle, grateful, touched.

“Okay, Mom,” she said.

Ji-ho smiled back, her eyes crinkling in the familiar way Jimin had clearly inherited. “I picked out a vase for the table. Let me go get it.”

She gave Jimin’s shoulder a gentle squeeze before heading off, not waiting for a reply.

As she left, Jimin lifted an eyebrow at Nissa.

“Mom, huh? I’m dating a witch. You’ve cast a spell on her in two meetings.”

Nissa simply grinned, closing the distance between them. She leaned in and tousled his fading dyed hair. The black roots were starting to show, and strangely, she liked it. It softened him. Gave him that boyish yet manly charm she could never resist.

“What can I say? I’m irresistible,” she said with a shrug and a sparkle in her eye.

Jimin bit his lip, staring up at her. His heartbeat stuttered. Damn, she was sexy—too sexy to stay annoyed with.

A deep hum vibrated in his chest as his hand slid gently along the back of Nissa’s thigh.

“You really do look irresistible out of your work clothes,” he admitted, tone low and honest.

Instead of her usual pencil skirt and silk blouse, she wore tight jeans that hugged her just right and a cropped top that showed just enough to make Jimin’s thoughts wander. She looked effortlessly beautiful, magnetic in a way that tugged at him. But it was her hair that did him in—long, loose, and framing her face like it was meant to. It cascaded over her shoulders and hovered above her waist, soft and wild and perfect. He loved when she wore it down like this. She didn’t do it often enough.

“You should leave your hair down more,” he added, brushing a strand from her face. “It’s driving me crazy.” He exhaled slowly, the sound strained, like he was holding back more than just a breath.

Nissa scrunched her nose and leaned in, her face just inches from his.

“Hmm. Is that so?” she murmured, her breath brushing warm against his mouth.

Jimin let out a low chuckle. “You have no idea.” He squeezed her thigh, fingers pressing into the soft fabric, then delivered a light smack that made her jolt and laugh.

“Told you, I’m irresistible,” she teased, backing away with a triumphant little grin.

Jimin shook his head, but the soft glint in them gave him away.

“Whatever,” he muttered just as his mother returned, holding a flower vase. She set it gently in the center of the table.

“How’s that? Does it look okay here?” she asked, stepping back to admire her placement.

“It’ll look better with flowers in it,” Jimin said.

“Yes,” Nissa added with a smile. “But I agree—once the flowers are in, it’ll look even more beautiful.”

Ji-ho hummed. “Looks like I’ll have to pick some up when I go to the grocery store. There’s still so much to get done before the housewarming.”

Ji-ho let out a long, quiet breath. She didn’t say a word about how tired she was, but the fine lines on her forehead gave her away. The divorce, the move to Seoul, trying to rebuild her life—it was all exhausting. Starting fresh had its sense of relief, but it also came with a quiet ache that settled deep in her bones. She wasn’t exactly young anymore, and that alone was enough to spark gossip in a town like theirs.

But Jimin wasn’t blind. He might’ve been a little slow to catch on at times, but he wasn’t naïve. He’d offered to let her move in with him, said he’d love nothing more than to share his apartment and eat her cooking again. God knew it had been forever since he’d had a proper home-cooked meal. But she’d turned him down gently, saying it wouldn’t be right. He had his own life now: a career, a home, and a beautiful woman he could bring over whenever he pleased. She didn’t want to be in the way, even if he swore she wouldn’t be.

She was his mother, and if there was one thing mothers knew well, it was when to make space.

Jimin didn’t quite understand her reasoning, not the need for housewarming or the quiet strength behind the choices women like his mother made. But Ji-ho had been clear. This new chapter of her life deserved celebration, not silence, no matter what others expected of her. And for that, he admired her.

“We can always help, Mom,” Jimin said. “Let me handle the grocery run, and you and Nissa should go find something nice to wear for the party.”

“You’ll be okay on your own?” Ji-ho teased, brows raised. “Sure your spine won’t give out carrying grocery bags?”

A heartfelt chuckle left her lips. Jimin rolled his eyes.

“I only run a multimillion-dollar company, Mom. I think I can handle a shopping cart.”

Ji-ho smiled, her expression softening. “You really are a good son.”

“And a very good boyfriend,” Nissa said in a heartbeat, lifting her hand in front of his face and wiggling her fingers with a mock-innocent expression.

Jimin raised his eyebrows. “What?”

“You don’t actually expect us ladies to spend our own money now, do you? Hand over your credit card.”

Letting out a long, exaggerated groan, Jimin slumped even deeper into the bubble-wrapped chair. With an exhausted sigh, he twisted around to fish his wallet out of his back pocket.

“And here I thought love was free,” he muttered, clearly grudging, as he handed over the card anyway.

Ji-ho and Nissa burst out laughing, clearly enjoying themselves.

“I love her, Jimin,” Ji-ho said as she met Nissa halfway and pulled her into a gentle hug. “She’s great.”

A faint blush rose on Jimin’s cheeks. He wasn’t sure why he suddenly felt shy—maybe because, deep down, he knew he was falling for Nissa. He just hadn’t said it out loud yet.

Maybe one day, he thought as he watched the two women who meant the world to him chatting easily across the room. A quiet smile tugged at his lips. Maybe being swindled by them wasn’t so bad after all.

The rest of the day passed in a blink. Jimin discovered just how fun—and surprisingly expensive—grocery shopping could be when he ended up bringing home more than he’d planned. He couldn’t resist picking up at least two versions of everything. There had to be options, after all. His mother might prefer strawberry-flavoured cornflakes—or maybe the chocolate ones. Nissa liked mixing both during sleepovers, so he always made sure they were stocked.

The only real downside was carrying all the bags up to the apartment by himself—well, that and the final number on his credit card bill. Nissa, on the other hand, had somehow managed to rob the showrooms of their clothes and jewelry and sneak Ji-ho into a long-overdue spa session and makeover. And Jimin? He couldn’t stay mad. Not when his mom came back glowing, more relaxed than he’d seen her in weeks. They’d clearly had a great time.

And honestly, he had no complaints.

Not really.

Well—maybe just one.

“So, tell me again,” he said, watching her through the full-length mirror. “What made you cut your hair?”

Nissa gave a nonchalant shrug, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. Her hair, now a rich mahogany, fell in gentle waves just above her collarbone—subtler than its usual light brown, but striking all the same. “Figured I’d make it easier to let down. Like you wanted me to.”

He turned her gently to face him, searching her face.

“You really cut it because of what I said?”

She smiled, arms sliding around his neck as she leaned in close. His hands found her waist instinctively.

“Why?” she asked with a playful tilt of her head. “Don’t I look good?”

Jimin stared at her, momentarily speechless. “You look... breathtaking.” And she did. The clean cut emphasized the sharp line of her jaw, the graceful slope of her neck. Her shoulders—strong, poised—stood out beautifully beneath the soft fabric of her spaghetti dress. The new look suited her perfectly. It was bold, elegant... and very her.

It was just that it all felt new to him—and that uncertainty flickered clearly in his wide, searching gaze. But Nissa didn’t need him to say it; she saw it in the way he hesitated, in the weight of his silence. She wasn’t his usual type, and they both knew it. That quiet truth sat between them, unspoken but heavy, making things feel just a little uncertain. So, she chose to face it head-on.

Releasing a slow breath, she steadied herself, then looked up at him with calm honesty.

“I know I’m not the easiest person to be with,” she said quietly, eyes locked on him. “I do things differently. I question rules, bend lines. I don’t try to fit into what people expect—and I won’t pretend to be someone I’m not. I get that it’s not always simple... but that’s me. You can love me or leave me—but either way, I won’t stop being who I am or growing into who I want to be.”

The smile she offered then was unlike her usual bright grin—it was soft, grounded, and full of acceptance. The kind of smile that didn’t dazzle but lingered. And God, if Jimin didn’t feel something tighten in his chest.

“Damn,” he breathed, eyes fixed on her. “Are you even real?” A quiet laugh escaped his mouth—part awe, part disbelief. “No one’s ever said anything like that to me. Especially not someone like you.” He drew her closer, his hand gliding gently along her back. “I didn’t realize you felt that way,” he said softly. “But I do now. And I’m here, Nissa. All in. I’ll love you—every part of you.

“Just the way you are,” he whispered.

Then, his lips met hers, warm and certain.

He kissed her sweetly, pouring his feelings into every movement. Their lips moved together as though they’d done this a hundred times before—like their hearts had agreed long before their bodies ever did. There was no need to rush. No need to speak. Just this: her, him, and the softness that settled between them like something sacred.

“I think I’m starting to like you more than my heart’s dying to admit right now,” Nissa said, her voice low as she leaned her forehead against Jimin’s after the kiss.

“Then be kind to your heart and let it say the magical words,” Jimin murmured, his nose brushing hers.

She smiled, soft and hesitant. “Maybe another day. I don’t want to overwhelm you with another confession—not when you’re about to make a bigger one to your brother.”

“Half-brother,” Jimin corrected gently.

Nissa met his gaze. “Doesn’t change a thing. Family is family.”

A slow breath escaped Jimin, guilt written plainly across his face. “Not when I was one of the kids who gave him hell.”

Nissa’s features softened, her brows gently knitting as concern clouded her gaze.

“Did you know he was your brother back then?”

He shook his head slowly. “No. But I knew the rumours—everyone did. That he was the kid born from some scandal. No one cared whether it was true. He was branded, and we all made sure he felt it…” his voice faded, the memory surfacing as vividly as if it had just happened—the buzz of rehearsals, the sharp scent of stage paint, the quiet pride of being cast as Lord William, Snow White’s love interest. He’d just wanted to say hello to the other leads, maybe make a friend or two. But that’s when Hoseok had pulled him aside and told him, “You shouldn’t involve yourself with a bastard, Jimin. You know who Jungkook is, right?”

Those words stayed with him like a curse, unravelling something that might have been beautiful.

Jimin began treating Jungkook like everyone else did: like he didn’t belong. Instead, he drifted toward Aera—the only person who’d ever stood by Jungkook’s side. She believed in him, defended him, loved him… even when the entire school looked the other way. He couldn’t quite explain what drew him to her. Maybe it was the ease in her smile or the way she saw through people. All he knew was, he wanted something like what she had with Jungkook—real, unshakable, and impossibly rare.

And somehow, Jimin couldn’t stand it—seeing Jungkook happy with Aera or knowing Aera had given her heart to someone like him. Either way, he tried to come between them. Convinced that Jungkook didn’t deserve her. That a girl like Aera should be with someone “better.” Someone like him.

He’d been wrong, though. Jungkook proved him wrong. They belonged together—back then and even now. It was Jimin who didn’t belong. He was the outsider who’d tried to meddle with something real, and ended up breaking it. Shame still clung to him like a second skin, the weight of those choices pressing heavily on his chest. He still wasn’t sure if he had it in him to face Jungkook at tonight’s dinner.

After everything, Ji-ho wanted to be there for Jungkook. It was her ex-husband’s choices that had brought him into the world—and those same choices had taken his mother away. A part of her felt responsible, like she owed him the comfort and care she once gave to Areum. Maybe it was too late to make things right, but she could still try. Jimin wanted to try too. That was why he’d said yes to the dinner—though Ji-ho likely would’ve dragged him along regardless. Still, after everything, part of him wasn’t sure he could go through with it.

Would it be too late to back out now?

The thought gnawed at him. Maybe he wasn’t so different from his father after all. But at least, unlike Seo Joon, he admitted his mistakes and didn’t hide from them.

With a slow blink, he pulled himself back to the present, focusing on Nissa. His teeth caught his lower lip, worry etched across his face. “Do you think I should even meet him after what I did? Do you think he’d ever forgive me?”

Nissa placed her hand on his chest, right over the steady thuds of his heart. Her thumb brushed in slow, reassuring circles. “You won’t know until you try,” she assured him. “It’s his choice to forgive you or not. But it’s yours to decide if you’ll apologize and make up for what you’ve done.”

“Yeah… you’re right. I should just apologize.” Jimin let out a long breath, his shoulders easing. “Stay with me, okay?”

“Always.”

He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, warmth settling in his chest, then turned to get ready for dinner.

Outside, Seoul’s evenings blushed with the height of spring. Cherry blossoms framed the streets, their petals drifting in the soft dusk light—quietly marking the close of one chapter and the first breath of another. Jimin’s pulse, however, quickened with every turn, his fingers tapping a restless rhythm against the steering wheel as the restaurant came into view.

Outwardly, he seemed unchanged—calm, collected, nodding in greeting as if nothing stirred beneath the surface. Inwardly, he felt unmoored, each step tightening the knot in his chest. Nissa’s steady presence at his side and his mother’s warm embrace were the only things keeping him from splintering before he had to stand before the two people he hesitated to bare his heart to—together.

“Hi,” Jimin said, drawing Aera into a hug. The moment was brief, but something in the tension of his arms and the flicker of his brows betrayed his surprise; he hadn’t known she would be here.

“Hi,” Aera replied, her voice light, though her gaze seemed to search for something he wasn’t ready to let her see.

“Didn’t know you were coming along,” Jimin said, stretching the greeting just to delay acknowledging the person standing right next to her. He didn’t let his gaze drift toward the broad, intimidating shadow at her side—afraid that even a glance would crack open the memories he’d tried so hard to bury, letting them surge to the surface and haunt him all over again.

It’s okay it’s okay it’s okay, he forced the unease down, telling himself not to let his mind spiral.

“Yeah, Jungkook invited me,” she said, nodding toward him.

Jungkook, for his part, looked just as tense—his posture tight, his eyes sharp, as if bracing for impact. It was almost ironic how both Jimin and Jungkook had reached for the women beside them, their own talismans against coming undone.

When the time came, Jungkook finally unburdened himself to Aera. He told her how his mother had died, who his father truly was, and the day he learned it all. Even the dinner Ji-ho had invited him to after her divorce from Park Seo Joon—he laid it bare, every jagged piece.

He’d asked her to stand with him that night, just as Jimin had asked Nissa, both men bracing themselves against the possibility of falling apart in front of each other. Neither knew how the other might react, only that the weight between them was heavy enough to crack something if they weren’t careful. Brothers in more ways than they liked to admit—half-brothers, if they needed the reminder.

“Oh…” Jimin’s gaze flicked to Jungkook—his first real look at him that night. Tall. Solid. The same pretty eyes from childhood, only now sharpened by years that had stripped away softness. The edges in his face were new, a warning carved where innocence once lived.

Is it him? Really? Jimin wondered, momentarily thrown.

“Hi,” Jungkook said, nodding once, his voice flat.

“Hi.” Jimin’s nod was clipped, his shoulders stiff. At least no one moved in for a hug—he doubted his hands would know where to go, probably twitching against Jungkook’s back while his mind scrambled for an escape.

Jungkook seemed just as eager to retreat. He ended the exchange quickly, slipping into a seat farther down the table and letting Aera occupy the space between them. With a brief bow to the others, he settled in, clearly trying to avoid Jimin’s gaze. Jimin, however, couldn’t stop watching him. His eyes kept straying toward Jungkook, pulled by the gentle way he spoke to Ji-ho—as if she’d always been his mother.

Somehow, Ji-ho made it feel that way.

“You have us,” Jimin heard her say after Jungkook murmured that she didn’t owe him anything. “I can’t replace your mother, but I can honour her wishes and take care of you. When she was still carrying you, Areum made me promise that if she ever couldn’t be there, I’d look after you. So let me do that, okay?”

A small, shy smile curved Jungkook’s lips, his eyes crinkling in gratitude.

“Okay,” he said, almost like a boy again.

The scene twisted something deep in Jimin’s chest. What if this could be a real family—one where people didn’t just share blood, but actually cared? He’d always wanted that.

But wanting it now, after everything he’d done to Jungkook, felt like asking for warmth while standing in the cold by choice.

Nissa nudged his elbow, her subtle nod urging him toward Jungkook. Beneath the table, he found her hand and wove his fingers through hers, gripping like a lifeline. One deep breath. No overthinking—if he let himself, the words would wither before they reached his tongue.

“Jungkook.” The name cut through the rattle of cutlery. Conversations stilled. Jungkook’s head turned, and his eyes—dark, unflinching—locked on Jimin. Around them, the rest of the table waited.

“Yes?” he replied.

Jimin felt the weight of that gaze press into him, sharp enough to strip him bare. His pulse drummed in his ears, his palms slick. For a moment, doubt coiled tight in his chest, whispering that his words might sound foolish. But letting the silence stretch would be worse. He forced his voice forward.

“I… wanted to say sorry,” he began, the words catching on his tongue. “For how I treated you back then. I wasn’t fair. I wasn’t kind. I’m… really sorry.” His gaze shifted to Aera, almost reluctantly, as if looking at her made the guilt heavier. “And you… I never apologised for kissing you when you didn’t want me to. I took away your choice, and that was wrong.”

His voice thinned. “I’m sorry for that too.”

There. He’d finally said it: words that he meant, down to the bone. Nissa’s thumb traced a slow circle over the back of his hand, grounding him. Across the table, Jungkook and Aera exchanged a glance, brief but telling. Aera gave the faintest nod.

“I’m not going to say ‘it’s fine’ or ‘it’s okay,’” Jungkook began, voice even but not unkind. Jimin swallowed hard. “But I don’t want the past hanging over us anymore. Let’s leave it there—and see what comes next.”

Aera’s smile was small, careful. “Yeah. Maybe we can start again from the beginning?”

Jimin’s gaze moved between them, a tentative curve finding his lips, then on to the rest of the table. His mother’s eyes shone, maybe from happiness. Nissa’s smile—soft, certain—met his own. And in that moment, something fragile but persistent bloomed inside him: hope. Hope that these people might become a family—the kind he’d never had, but had always wanted.