Dinner

"Jimin, how long will you take? We need to be there by 10" Mr. Park called adjusting the collar of his coat. The Mins had scheduled a dinner to discuss the contract of marriage. The chauffer was waiting at the central gate of the Park mansion.

"By the time you reach the car I'll be there" he heard Jimin’s response and clicked his tongue in disapproval. There had been an omnious silence in the Park mansion ever since the marriage proposal was accepted, the kind that is before arrival of a storm, the kind that brought apprehension in Mr. Park’s thought.

He feared that Jimin’s fiery could burn the Mins' ego and so he was tensed about today's dinner. Though he had explained the whole situation to Jimin and he knew that Jimin was ready to do anything for the family and the business but he was familiar with Jimin’s defiant attitude and how that would affect the Mins.

Mr. Park called him once more before heading to the car. The valet bowed, opened the door, and he slid inside. Nine-ten. His patience wore thin. He raised his wrist again, exhaling when he saw the time slip further away. He was about to send the butler when he saw a figure approach across the drive.

Jimin. Calm, collected, almost radiant. He bowed to the valet with a smile before sliding in beside his father. Mr. Park’s eyes swept over him—and froze.

Mr. Park took a look of Jimin and he could see the happening of what he had feared. The expressions on his face changed to disbelief and Jimin smirked with satisfaction.

Jimin had a silver chain wrapped around his neck perfectly complementing his bare chest through the black suit that glistened in the dim light. His platinum bracelets and round rings finely suiting the diamond studs piercing through his ears. He looked more like storm dressed in silk and steel, his outfit both bold and flawless characterizing his personality.

"You can't be wearing this at out first official meet with Mr. Min" Mr. Park said looking at his bear chest.

Jimin’s smrik grew deeper "Dad, I know what my decisions had cost our business, and I'm taking charge of it but if I'm a pawn" Jimin’s smirk lingered, his voice steady, "then I’ll decide how I look on the board."

Mr. Park’s jaw tightened. "Jimin, this isn’t the time—"

"This is exactly the time," Jimin cut in, gaze steady, not raising his tone but sharp enough to sting. "If the Mins think they’re marrying a weak, obedient omega, they’re wrong. I won’t bow and scrape to fit their image."

"Don’t test them," his father warned, softer this time. "Min Yoongi isn’t the type to forgive defiance. He’ll break you before you even get the chance to resist."

Jimin turned his head then, the faint glow of the streetlamps catching on the studs in his ears. "Then let him try."

The rest of the drive passed in silence, broken only by the hum of the engine. Mr. Park adjusted his cufflinks, restless. Jimin leaned back, eyes half-lidded, repeating to himself what he had decided earlier: If I’m going to drown, I’ll make sure I’m the storm.

The chauffeur slowed as they entered the Mins’ estate. The gates towered like black iron jaws, and the mansion beyond glowed with symmetrical precision. Jimin stepped out first, his chains glinting as though mocking the cold grandeur around them.

Inside, everything was polished—marble floors, crystal chandeliers, a long dining table where the Mins already waited.

Seokjin greeted them with polite warmth, his smile easing the edges of tension if only for a moment. Behind him, Yoongi sat, fingers wrapped loosely around a glass of wine, his expression unreadable.

"Mr. Park," Yoongi said evenly, rising only slightly in acknowledgment. His eyes shifted, resting on Jimin. "And ..Jimin."

Jimin bowed his head, just enough to be formal, then met his gaze directly. "Mr. Min."

It was the barest of greetings, but it carried a weight that no one missed.

They sat. Mr. Park began the usual pleasantries, his voice too quick, too eager. But the conversation soon turned where everyone knew it would—marriage, alliances, contracts.

Yoongi asked, "Do you understand what this union represents, Jimin?"

Jimin’s fork paused against his plate. He glanced at him, then smiled faintly. "Of course. To you, it represents leverage. To me, it represents…a test."

The table stilled. Mr. Park shifted, ready to intervene, but Yoongi spoke before he could. "A test of what?"

Jimin leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping once against the armrest. "Of how long I can sit in a room like this before suffocating."

Seokjin coughed lightly into his napkin, hiding a grin. The older Parks looked horrified. Yoongi, however, only sipped his wine, his eyes never leaving Jimin’s.

Dinner continued, but Jimin refused to shrink. When one of the Mins made a passing remark about “youthful recklessness” in business decisions, Jimin didn’t lower his head—he corrected them, smoothly, listing facts they hadn’t expected him to know. His voice carried confidence, not arrogance, and though Mr. Park fidgeted beside him, he didn’t falter.

Yoongi said little. But behind his silence was something dangerous—attention.

Later, when the formalities had wound down, Jimin slipped away to the terrace, the night air sharp against his skin. He was barely alone for a minute before he heard footsteps.

Yoongi.

He joined him at the railing, no words at first. Just silence stretching between them, heavy but not uncomfortable.

Finally, Jimin spoke, voice low but unyielding. "You don’t own me. Not now, not ever."

Yoongi turned his head slightly, studying him. His reply was quiet, measured, almost like a knife pressed flat against skin. "Ownership isn’t the point. Endurance is. Let’s see how long you last."

Jimin’s smirk returned, sharper this time. "Long enough to make you regret underestimating me."

For the first time, Yoongi’s lips curved faintly—an echo of interest, not warmth. Then he stepped back, leaving Jimin alone under the cold stars.

Inside, Seokjin intercepted him with a raised brow. "So?"

Yoongi didn’t break stride. "He’s…different."

Seokjin’s grin widened. "Different good, or different trouble?"

Yoongi poured himself another glass, eyes fixed on the dark red liquid. "Both."

Seokjin chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, at least this won’t be boring."

And in another corner of the room, Namjoon watched Seokjin’s laughter with something softer in his eyes, unnoticed by most.

The night had only just begun, but the shape of the storm was clear.

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