Archive of Our Own

“Is that—are you writing a table? Are you putting a table in your note?”

Taehyung continues typing, ignoring Jimin’s face squinting over his shoulder. “I didn’t even know you could put tables in notes—“

“Some of us care about proper documentation, Park Jimin,” Taehyung reports. He types, steadily, as Jimin rolls his eyes. “Besides, this woman definitely doesn’t have giant cell arteritis, she didn’t respond to steroids, so we need to consider other diagnoses, which her rheumatologist apparently didn’t bother to do—“

“You’re insane,” Jimin says, flopping down on the couch.

“Did you change out of scrubs?” Tae asks, not turning around. “I don’t want some random woman’s vaginal blood on our couch again—“

“That was one time—“

“You’re the one fisting random women at work—“

“It’s called bimanual massage for postpartum hemorrhage and you’re going to be grateful for it one day when your surrogate isn’t bleeding to death,” Jimin snaps, but stands up and takes off his shirt and pants, stripping down to boxers, and throws his scrubs near the shoe pile before he sits down again. “Happy?” He sighs. “Of course, you’ll have to get a boyfriend first, hmm? How’s that coming?”

Taehyung finishes typing his sentence and sighs. “Why is the hot peds surgery fellow taken,” he whines.

“Hobi and Yoongi have been together since intern year, Tae.”

“A beautiful ray of sunshine like that married to a radiologist. Literal night creature. I want to date him.”

“Don’t be a homewrecker. Besides, he’s turned you down a million times.”

“He informed me he was lovingly married,” Taehyung sighs, “while holding me and patting my head.”

Jimin stretches, phone in his hand. “You also posted a selfie from the radiology reading room with Yoongi like Wednesday.”

“Maybe they’ll let me be their third? Think I can convince them to do polyamory?”

“Are we talking about the same Yoongi-hyung?”

Taehyung sighs. “He loves me.”

“Write your note,” Jimin says, yawning. “Wake me up in 30 minutes when you’re done.”

“Rude,” Taehyung mutters, but when he looks over Jimin is snoring in his boxers, face down on the couch. Taehyung sighs and stands up, vertebrae popping, and throws a blanket over his housemate, who doesn’t move.

Taehyung finishes his note, writing out a very thoughtful and cited differential diagnosis, unlike some people he could name, then clicks through the inpatient list for call tomorrow, just to check the census. One of his favorite long-haulers is still on the list so he clicks her name, frowning. She should’ve been discharged a week ago. He clicks back through until he spots an op report from three days ago, then makes a sad noise. A fall out of bed, a broken hip. Taehyung clicks into the latest ortho note to check on her and blinks.

AF/VSS

AAOX3, NAD

RRR, CTAB, NWOB

S/NT/ND/NABS

LLE dsg C/D/I, DP 2+

45 yo F s/p L THA POD2

WBAT LLE

DVT ppx

PT/OT

D/W HMS
D/C SAR vs. HHPT

“What the fuck,” he hisses. “There are no words in this note.”

He checks the signature. Jeon Jungkook, Orthopedic Surgery. Of course it’s an orthopod, he thinks, scowl darkening.

———

“You can’t have a nemesis based on notes alone,” Jimin says, spreading cream cheese on a bagel. They sit against a window in the hospital cafeteria. It looks out onto a loading dock and a brick wall, but it’s a window.

“But I can,” Taehyung counters. “He wrote a no-word soap note, Jimin. This is like a bad joke but it’s real and it’s on my patient!!”

“Okay,” Jimin says, taking a bite instead of arguing.

“You know a med student once told me they literally do bicep curls before they go into the OR,” Taehyung continues, as if this is a particularly disgusting secret. “They’re practically caricatures of themselves, Jimin.”

———

When he gets off the elevator on the tenth floor he notices, like any gay man theoretically on the prowl, someone too pretty, with hair just a little too long for heteronormative medicine, sitting at a computer at the nurses station. His face is pretty, too, with eyes that Taehyung would describe as statistically larger than average. He’s engrossed in the screen and from where he sits the blue glow lights up his face, reflects back in his large, dark eyes. Something glints when he turns his head slightly. Earrings? Oh god. Earrings. His skin looks too good.

“Dr Jeon?” a nurse asks, and the pretty boy jolts, looking up at her, and then he smiles. Oh no. A big, beaming smile, beatific and like there’s literal light coming out from around his head. “Can you take a look at the wound in room 13 with me—“

“Dr Jeon?” Taehyung repeats to himself, narrowing his eyes. When Dr Jeon stands up, stretching his arms to shrug on the physician-mandatory black fleece jacket, Taehyung can see his biceps from across the room. Oh no.

Taehyung snatches his computer and notices that he didn’t bother to log out. There, in the top right corner—J. Jungkook is logged into the station. His patient list is for Ortho, further confirming it.

Taehyung logs him out, and stares at his own reflection in the black log-in screen as he waits for it to load. His nemesis. With statistically too large eyes and a smile that beams like a flashlight. Oh no.

“Oh, I left my list,” someone says behind Taehyung, and when he turns around he makes eye contact with Jeon Jungkook for the first time. He smiles. Devastating. Taehyung looks to the right of the keyboard, picks up a folded print-off covered in scribbles. “I’m Jeon Jungkook, by the way. New ortho intern.”

“Oh so you’re the intern with the bad notes,” Taehyung says, and Jungkook’s smile freezes.

“What?”

“You wrote a no-word soap note,” Taehyung says, leaning back in the chair. “On Lee Jangmi. Two weeks ago.”

The smile has slipped off Jungkook’s face, and he looks confused. “What?”

“I’m Kim Taehyung, neurologist,” Taehyung says. Jungkook’s face does something. Taehyung hands him his list. What he doesn’t say is fuck, you’re hot. It’s bad enough that he thinks it.

“Hi,” Jungkook says, still staring at him. A pager starts beeping at his hip and he reaches for it.

“Dr Jeon,” the nurse calls. “I have the kerlex, if you wanna—“

“Sorry, I need to pack this leg lac,” Jungkook says, fumbling with his pager.

“Don’t let me leave a gaping wound waiting,” Taehyung says. “But try putting actual notes in your words.”

“I’ll remember that next time I’m writing sixty postop notes in a day,” Jungkook says, then walks away. Taehyung stares at him.

“An INTERN,” Taehyung mutters. “This much sass from an INTERN??” He frowns. He’s heard stories of sixty-patient census. But they’re supposed to have more than one intern for ortho. Who’s the ortho chief? What are they doing?

———

He finds out from Hoseok that the ortho chief is one Kim Namjoon. Taehyung knows Namjoon because he’s active in GME governance and in charge of the multi-residency happy hours, which Jimin always drags Taehyung to. When Taehyung googles him, trying to match a face to a hazy memory, he comes across literally a dozen research papers.

Okay. So Kim Namjoon is a hotshot. Surgeons can get that way, Taehyung knows. He clicks on Namjoon’s picture, glasses and a white coat. He looks like too much of a nerd for Ortho.

When he sees Kim Namjoon in person, he does not look like too much of a nerd for Ortho. He’s in short-sleeved scrubs, which despite being the same hospital scrubs everyone wears, look different on him. He also has biceps, and sandy blonde hair poking out from under a scrub hat. No glasses. He’s running a code on the tenth floor, arms crossed, speaking in a calm voice and directing the call-and-response of epi doses from nursing. Taehyung thinks that Kim Namjoon is probably straight and gets a little bothered by it anyway. He watches Namjoon double-check the pad placement and gets a little competency boner.

Not that Taehyung couldn’t run a code. He knows ACLS, too. He just hasn’t, in a few years. Not a real code blue. He does other stuff—stroke codes, status epilepticus, herniation—hah, he’d like to see these ortho bros start sweating when a seizure doesn’t break with 1mg of Ativan—

“Kim Taehyung?”

He’s broken from his reverie by Kim Namjoon, who’s standing in front of him, smiling gently. “You were looking for me?”

“Oh!” Taehyung snaps back into reality. “You looked busy.”

Namjoon shrugs. “That was an easy ROSC,” he says, casually, as if he didn’t just save a man’s life.

Taehyung squints. Kim Namjoon has attending aura. “You’re the ortho chief, right?” he asks, just to make sure. Namjoon nods. “I was just curious about your interns.”

“Are you having a problem? Someone refusing a consult?” Namjoon frowns, and Taehyung panics.

“No!” he says, not wanting to get that large-eyed boy in trouble. “No, great! He did a very thorough consult! But he seemed—uh, busy? Something about the only intern? How many are you supposed to have?”

“There are usually three,” Namjoon says, still frowning. “We usually run 60-80 on the inpatient service, and that way they can divide up the work and have upper levels do consults between cases.”

“I think there was just one, though,” Taehyung says, and Namjoon frowns. “I mean, it was a very good consult, especially from an intern—“

“Who was it?”

“Oh I’m not getting him in trouble,” Taehyung says quickly. “He seems like a really great intern! Just weird that there were no more?”

“I’ll look into it,” Namjoon says. “We do have one really star intern right now, though.” He grins, face loose and confident. “We were really lucky to get Jeon Jungkook,” he says, conspiratorially, and Taehyung starts coughing. Namjoon slaps him on the back a little too hard.

“Yeah, he was great,” Taehyung says, weakly.

———

When the elevators open on the seventh floor and Taehyung steps off, trailing med students like a mother duck, the first thing he sees is Jeon Jungkook, sitting on the counter at the nursing station, explaining something to a crowd of short white coats around him.

“Ortho teaching rounds?” Taehyung says, snorting. “This I have to see. Gather round, team, for some inter-disciplinary learning.”

He steps up to the nurses station, leaning one elbow against the counter. Jungkook, mid-gesture, doesn’t notice him.

“It’s not just about power lifting,” Jungkook explains earnestly, to a crowd of dudes in green scrubs who are staring at him with stars in their eyes. Taehyung snorts, as his med students bite back smiles. Taehyung doesn’t even bother wondering what he’s walked into. “I’m big into bodyweight exercises too, you know? Not just pull-ups but pull-ups with straight leg raise, at least 90 degrees, to really work the low core. And flexibility is important too, I have a great personal trainer who is big into strength and flexibility, they go hand in hand for injury prevention—“

“And here I thought your job was managing them once an injury occurred,” Taehyung interrupts, and Jungkook looks at him, eyes wide.

“Sports medicine is part of ortho,” Jungkook says immediately.

“Weren’t you an Olympic runner?” one of Taehyung’s med students asks. When he looks over she has a gleam in her eye that Taehyung doesn’t like.

“I didn’t win anything,” Jungkook says, dismissively.

“Whoa,” a different med student mumbles. “No wonder he matched Ortho.”

“So let’s do some combined rounds,” Taehyung says. “Med students! Anyone want to talk about peripheral nerves? Anyone know the innervation for quads and hamstrings and what deficit you get if you have abnormality of those nerves?”

He can almost hear the med students start to sweat.

“We just learned this,” one of Jungkook’s med students says. “Quads are femoral.”

“Nerve root?” Taehyung says, looking at his own med students. He can’t be shown up on student teaching by an ortho intern, for god’s sake.

“L2-4,” someone says, and Taehyung beams at her. Even if it is the same girl who was staring at Jungkook like a predator staring at meat. At least she’s got the gunner attitude to back up the dating-above-her-rank aspirations.

“Hamstrings are sciatic nerve,” another adds, from Taehyung’s group, and he nods at them.

“Very good,” he says. “Root?”

The group is silent. “Sacral plexus,” Taehyung says, finally. “L4 to—”

“S3,” Jungkook finishes. “But hamstrings are a group,” he adds. “Insertion of hamstrings?” This time Taehyung’s med students are silent. “Ischial tuberosity,” Jungkook says.

“But more importantly,” Taehyung says, “how do you diagnose if someone has a femoral or sciatic nerve injury?”

“You see it lacerated in a pelvic fracture,” Jungkook quips, leaning back onto his arms, and when Taehyung looks at him he raises his eyebrow at him, in challenge.

“Clinically,” Taehyung says.

“Can’t…climb stairs,” the same gunner girl says, slowly. “For femoral.”

“Sure,” Taehyung says. “Close enough. How is it injured? Besides trauma.” This time, the group is silent. “Important cause of isolated femoral nerve neuropathy is iatrogenic,” he says, then takes a drink of coffee. “Direct trauma from retractors across the iliopsoas during surgery.”

“Can I talk to you,” Jungkook snaps, standing up, and Taehyung follows him to the corner of the nursing station, away from the med students.

Jungkook looks pissed. “What the fuck,” he says. Taehyung raises his eyebrow. “You yell at me for writing bad notes, then you tell my chief I’m doing a great job for a consult I don’t even remember seeing? And he rearranges our rotation so we have an extra intern? Then you pimp my med students? Are you trying to insult me or do a weird teaching thing here?”

Taehyung feels vaguely threatened. “No,” he mumbles.

“Then, respectfully, what the fuck?”

Taehyung is at a loss. “I—nothing,” he sputters. “I just saw you were doing teaching! My med students and your med students, combining teaching!”

Jungkook looks at him, still scowling. Taehyung panics and reaches in his pocket. He pulls out a clif bar and hands it to Jungkook. It’s mint chocolate.

“Peace offering,” Taehyung says. He feels vaguely guilty about only having the worst flavor of clif bar. “No harm meant.”

Jungkook stares at him for a moment, holding the clif bar in one hand. “Okay,” he says, finally. “So you’ll stop being weird around me?”

“I’m not weird,” Taehyung says automatically, then adds: “just wait til you meet the rest of the Neurology department!”

Jungkook laughs. He sticks the clif bar in his pocket. The tension eases up, a little bit, but he’s still looking at Taehyung’s face with his too-large eyes, like he’s looking for something.

“Why are you doing this, anyway?” Taehyung asks him, finally.

Jungkook shrugs. “I was an athlete for a long time,” he says. “Lots of us were. You just…get to know a lot about it. It’s cool. A lot of medicine doesn’t help people get better. But we do! We help people get better.” He pauses, looking suddenly bashful. Oh no. It’s cute.

“Hmmm,” says Taehyung, a neurologist, a field where, famously, basically no one gets better. “Weird. Well! Back to rounds!”

———

Taehyung hates pediatric neurology for many reasons. None of them have to do with children. Liking children makes it worse, he thinks.

Earlier, the med student had seen patient before he did and the presentation made him sick to his stomach. A four year old left alone, who ate something. They don’t know what. When his parents came home they know he was seizing. He hadn’t stopped seizing until they put him into a coma. Scrolling back to look at the EEG made Taehyung feel physically sick. Knowing what an EEG looks like when it’s hooked up to someone who doesn’t have a functional brain anymore will do that to you.

And no break since then. He hates these weekend calls. All day, pediatric neurology—genetic syndromes with intractable seizures, congenital nerve damage, or abuse. And instead of going home and drinking, like every other day of his peds rotation, he’s covering for Jisoo, so now he has a night full of this: the long halls of the ER for bullshit neuropathy consults, giving out migraine cocktails, sitting with the techs and the trauma surgeons by the CT scanners waiting to see if the lesion he called is right or wrong, the clusters of stroke codes, yelling the loading dose of Keppra for status epilepticus into a COVID+ ICU room. And nights tend to be all-or-nothing. Six emergent pages at once, or sitting in the call room watching Master Chef until the 6am pager hand-off.

Tonight’s been a lot of nothing. A Bell’s palsy, vestibular migraine, bullshit delirium vs dementia on a stable medicine patient. One soft-call stroke code. Hours between everything. Hours of Taehyung staring aimlessly at the EHR, thinking of that child’s unmoving face, his nauseating EEG.

The cafeteria is open until 2am. They close 2-6. On night shifts, where Taehyung is the only neurologist in the hospital, he’s usually busy enough not to notice. Too many medical emergencies happen around 4am, and he spends enough time running stroke codes. Stroke codes, Taehyung thinks, are boring, checklist medicine. No puzzles, no diagnostic skills—mostly NPs running an algorithm. But now it’s 3am, and he’s sitting in the empty cafeteria staring at the white tables with the chipped edges with his vision blurring, just a little. He wishes he had a stroke code, to give him something else to think about.

He hasn’t written the note yet, even though at 3am it’s been almost twelve hours since he saw the kid. Taehyung thinks, distantly, that whatever he writes is legally admissible in court. He thinks about the kind of parents who leave a four year old alone in a house. He thinks, with bone-chilling clarity, about something he hasn’t thought about in years, about gripping a knife with blood trickling down his face—about the EEG of a four year old with no normal brain left—about the shaken babies that have stopped registering as tragic—about blood dripping onto the carpet when he was too young to do anything—

“Hey.”

Taehyung looks up, startled. Jeon Jungkook slides into the seat across from him, grins at him. He’s wearing a scrub hat, dark hair peeling out from underneath. Orthos don’t wear the cafeteria-lady hairnets that JCO prefers for the OR, Taehyung thinks, because they don’t look cool. He feels too tired to deal with this tonight. Jungkook studies his face, then raises an eyebrow at him.

“Long night?”

“Long 24,”’ Taehyung mutters.

“That sucks,” Jungkook says. “I thought neuro didn’t do 24s? Isn’t that like, a surgery thing?”

“I’m covering for someone who got sick.”

“Oh.” They sit in silence for a moment. Jungkook looks at him. “You look bad,” he says, eventually. “Bad night?”

“No.” Taehyung tries to take a drink of his coffee, which he finished twenty minutes ago. He grimaces, and sets his hands flat on the table. “Busy would be better, you know? Sitting at work doing nothing is horrible.”

“Are you here now? Like, for your day life?”

Taehyung shakes his head mechanically. “Children’s,” he says.

“Oh, I rotated there last month,” Jungkook says. “Buncha arm fractures, stuff like that.”

“Like that,” Taehyung echoes. “Sounds quaint. Patching up kids who fell out of trees.”

“Most of those don’t need surgery,” Jungkook says. “It’s the…the other stuff.”

Taehyung looks up, suddenly tense. “Other stuff?”

“Non-accidental trauma,” Jungkook says. His eyes are tight around the corners. “I hate that.”

“It’s worse when there’s head trauma,” Taehyung says, quietly. He feels like the world is fuzzy around the edges. Jungkook is looking at him with his dark eyes that are statistically larger than average, reflecting the dim lights of the cafeteria. “I just—seeing abused kids is the worst,” he says, finally.

Jungkook keeps looking at Taehyung. He has this way of looking at your face, Taehyung thinks. His voice is quiet when he speaks. “Yeah.”

“It’s not just a parent breaking trust,” Taehyung says. He looks down. He feels like the words are welling up inside him. “It’s the idea of trust that’s broken. That no one for the rest of your life will ever be trustworthy. That everyone you rely on is just wishing you weren’t bothering them, that you shouldn’t bother them. And that means you don’t trust your teachers, or your doctors, or your other family, that some part of your brain is always waiting for things to get worse, for something bad to happen or someone to hurt you again—“

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook says, quietly, and Taehyung realizes that Jungkook is holding his hand. His fingers are long, and his hand is warm. Or maybe Taehyung’s own skin is just too cold, clammy, all his autonomics thrown off by a 24hr shift. Taehyung feels naked, holding hands with a pretty boy at three in the morning in an empty hospital cafeteria. He takes a deep breath in.

“You better be careful who you go around holding hands with,” Taehyung says, and his voice is almost normal. “You’re gonna give some gay boy the wrong idea and crush his heart.”’

“Oh, but I am gay,” Jungkook interrupts him.

“What?!” Taehyung sputters, every thought leaving his head at the same second, entire brain shutting down. I’m having a stroke, he thinks. This is receptive aphasia. Those are not the words coming out of his mouth—someone NIH me—

“I don’t know what that is,” Jungkook says, trying to bite down a smile, and Taehyung realizes he is speaking out loud.

“You don’t know the NIH stroke scale—aish, how are you a doctor,” Taehyung complains, but his brain is barely functioning. Jungkook hasn’t stopped holding his hand. He feels like if he moves his fingers he’s going to break some fragile thing between them.

“Next you’re gonna tell me I need to know ACLS.”

This is a good conversation change, actually, because it lets Taehyung stop thinking about Jungkook being gay, which he still isn’t processing. He pounces. “You don’t know ACLS? Are you even allowed to work in the hospital if you’re not ACLS certified??”

“Seems like an anesthesia problem,” Jungkook says, and Taehyung squints at him, trying to determine if this is a joke. Jungkook’s face is totally blank.

“Are you a top?” is not what Taehyung meant to say, but it’s still gratifying to watch Jungkook’s face turn red and him start sputtering. He snatches his hand back like he’s burned. Taehyung is the one to try to bite back a grin.

“I’m getting paged, bye—“

“Your pager is not going off,” Taehyung says.

Jungkook smashes a button until it makes a noise. “Yes it is!” he yelps, and flees the cafeteria.

———

The next night Taehyung sits bolt upright and stares across the room. His green clock says 0442.

“Oh my god,” he says. “Was he…did he say that to try to hit on me?”

———

He goes to his favorite people for advice. “Hyung,” Taehyung whines, in the Radiology reading room. “I think I have a crush on an intern.”

“Well, that’s embarrassing,” Yoongi says, scrolling through what looks like a perfectly normal abdominal CT to Taehyung. But what does he know about abdomens, anyway?

“I know,” Taehyung says, wholeheartedly. “Please talk me out of it.”

“Don’t,” Yoongi says, tone flat. He types a dot phrase and an essay of text auto-generates. He clicks submit. “Stop.”

“Excellent idea,” Taehyung says. “So why can’t I stop.”

“Why couldn’t you at least bring me coffee if you’re going to have a one-sided conversation with me?”

“He’s so pretty,” Taehyung says, sighing. “I didn’t think he was gay, you know? A stereotypical surgeon with all the muscles? I can’t date someone who spends two hours a day at the gym, hyung. I just can’t. I have too many other things I need to do after work.”

“Like what?” Yoongi says, cranky, reading another boring abdominal CT.

“Important hobbies. Looking after my child. Commiserating with Jimin. Skincare.” Taehyung watches as Yoongi dot phrases this CT, too, then opens a MRI spine. “Reality TV, hyung.”

“Right. Those are much more important than the gym,” Yoongi says. Taehyung gets the feeling he’s being made fun of.

“He’s got L4 foraminal narrowing,” Taehyung mutters, sulkily.

“I know,” Yoongi says. “I can read brain and spine imaging, you know.”

“Can you?” Taehyung says, and Yoongi, for the first time since Taehyung entered the room, turns to look at him with narrowed eyes. Taehyung backtracks. “Just kidding hyung you’re great at everything please don’t hurt me—“

“My Yoongi? Hurt anyone?” a sunny voice says, and Taehyung turns to cling onto Hoseok’s back as he walks in with two coffee cups in hand.

“Only if they deserve it,” Yoongi says, as he accepts a coffee cup from Hoseok’s hand. Hoseok leans down with lips pursed, expectantly, and Yoongi sighs and kisses him.

“Coffee tax!” Hoseok sing-songs, then laughs and kisses the top of Yoongi’s head, then ruffles his dark hair. It’s amazing what he can do with Taehyung still clinging to his back like a barnacle. “What’s Taehyungie doing here, hmmm?”

“He wants dating advice,” Yoongi says, putting the MRI report in.

“Taehyungie!! Dating!! Our Kim Taehyung?”

“I am not dating,” Taehyung protests, mournfully, into Hoseok’s shoulder.

“Why don’t you just date Jimin? You’re two gay men who live together, I don’t understand.”

“We’ve been over this, hyung,” Taehyung says. “Two bottoms can’t date. Please respect my decision.”

“You’re just not sexually adventurous enough,” Hoseok says, noted switch. “Besides, reducing relationships to penetrative sex power dynamics is sexist and invalidates female sexuality—“

“Please don’t talk about female sexuality, ew,” Taehyung says, wrinkling his nose.

“You should listen to your elders,” Yoongi says. “Stop contributing to the patriarchy, Taehyung-ah.”

“Pillow princess,” Taehyung mumbles, and Yoongi smirks, denying nothing. “Besides. I’m not dating. I can’t because I have a CRUSH.”

“Why not?” Hoseok says, sitting down, forcing Taehyung off his back. Taehyung sits in his lap instead. Hoseok absently wraps one arm around him.

“On an intern,” Yoongi says, as Taehyung says: “on an INTERN!”

“Ah,” Hoseok says, understanding. “Who?”

Taehyung squints. But he can’t lie to his hyungs. “Jungkook,” he mumbles. Hoseok almost spits out the drink of coffee he’s taking. Taehyung scowls.

“You can’t go around crushing on straight boys, Tae,” Yoongi says, actually looking over at him. Taehyung’s forehead wrinkles.

“He’s not straight,” he protests, weakly.

“How do you know?” Hoseok asks.

“He told me,” Taehyung mumbles again. Hoseok’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline.

“Holy shit,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “Damn, Tae, no wonder you have a crush. That’s like….an alpha gay.”

Taehyung wrinkles his nose. “Excuse me?”

“Olympic athlete orthopedic surgeon?” Hoseok shakes his head. “He’s not publicly out,” he adds, as if Taehyung couldn’t tell by their reaction.

“How do you know?” Taehyung challenges.

“I run the surgical mentorship program and I ask if anyone identifies as a racial or sexual minority for mentorship pairing,” Hoseok says. “I’m mentoring the only three interns who identified as gay. He’s not one.”

Taehyung frowns and takes a drink of Hoseok’s coffee. “That’s just what he told me,” he mumbles.

“What kind of relationship do you two have where he’s telling you stuff like this?”

Taehyung fidgets. Yoongi has, very slowly, turned his chair to stare at Taehyung, both hands clutching the coffee cup. It must be serious if Yoongi is looking at him. “We don’t,” he says.

“I think this could be at the least a reciprocated crush,” Hoseok says, ever the reasonable one. “Why else would he tell you that?”

“Solidarity?” Taehyung suggests, weakly. “To make me stop crying?”

“You cried in front of him?” Yoongi asks, squinting.

“Oh no,” Hoseok says.

“You can’t cry in front of an intern,” Yoongi continues, scandalized. “One, you’re going to give him a too-accurate picture of how soul-crushing medical residency is.”

“He’s a surgical resident,” Taehyung mumbles.

“Worse!!” Hoseok interjects, while Yoongi continues:

“Two, you’ll undermine your authority because he’s an intern, what he fuck, it’s November, he’s barely above an M4.”

“The real reason it’s dangerous to crush on interns is because their personality still has too much change left,” Hoseok says, thoughtfully. “Intern year crushes you. On purpose. You lose all the extraneous things in your life. You have to, because otherwise you’ll never sleep. And for most people, a relationship is the one more extraneous thing.”

“This is worse than I thought,” Yoongi says. He’s still staring at Taehyung over his coffee cup. He’s left his monitor pulled up on some ugly abdominal mass, heterogenous and bulky, that also seems like it’s staring at Taehyung.

Taehyung fidgets. “I have a research meeting, I gotta go,” he says, wriggling out of Hoseok’s grasp.

“Be careful,” Hoseok calls, as Taehyung scurries away.

———

Careful. At the research meeting Taehyung and Wooshik text memes back and forth to each other until one of them loses the game and starts laughing.

Jimin is Taehyung’s best friend from med school, and his soulmate, and they couples matched even though they aren’t dating, and they live together, but Wooshik is his work best friend. The neurology department is full of weirdos. People with personalities of, Jimin once described, after a holiday party, “wet cardboard. I’ve met menstrual blood with more charisma.”

Taehyung is used to it. But Jimin has a theory, and the theory is this: every neurologist is autistic and has one weird hobby, or hyperfixation, or whatever. And they’ve done their one weird thing so long, and often become so proficient in it, that they don’t know it’s weird anymore. Like professional modeling, or high level kendo competitions, or synchronized swimming, or an obsession with growing perfect psilocybin shrooms, or slight of hand magic—just to list the members of Taehyung’s class.

Wooshik is regarded as generally quiet and competent. Unless he’s around Kim Taehyung.

Today, after the research lecture, they get coffee from the knock-off Starbucks in the hospital lobby and watch people walk. Wooshik claims he hates Spot The Lesion but always gets super competitive when Taehyung initiates it. They’re arguing over whether a limp is an L4 radiculopathy or just bursitis when they’re interrupted by Wooshik getting a page.

He sighs and Taehyung sucks just his Americano loudly as Wooshik answers. “Ortho?” Wooshik says, and Taehyung bangs his knee on the table. “435?” He sighs. He’s got kendo at 6:45. Taehyung looks at the clock. It’s 5:45, fifteen minutes until pager checkout to the night resident. “They always wait until the last second on Friday afternoon,” he complains as he hangs up.

“Go,” Taehyung says. “I’ll see this consult.”

“Really?” Wooshik says, face lighting up. “Seriously?”

“Go do checkout,” Taehyung says, standing up. “Room 435? I’ll check out to Jisoo if there’s anything to do for the consult. Just buy me coffee next time.”

“I buy you coffee every time,” Wooshik says.

“You’re richer than me, hyung,” Taehyung informs him. “It’s only fair.”

Wooshik rolls his eyes. “I can see it, it’s not a big deal,” he repeats, but Taehyung waves him off.

“What is it?”

“Prisoner with leg weakness,” Wooshik says. “History of thoracic fixation years ago after trauma with known cord narrowing, had a fall today, but ortho doesn’t think it’s related because his anal wink reflex is intact. They think he’s faking.”

“Ortho did an anal wink reflex?” Taehyung asks, amused. “Damn.”

“Hotshot intern, I guess,” Wooshik says. “They want us to agree he’s just lying to stay out of jail.”

“Who wouldn’t?” Taehyung rejoins, but waves Wooshik off again as he walks away.

It takes Taehyung twenty minutes to determine that he’s not faking. It’s easy to pretend not to walk but very hard to fake bilateral leg weakness from a straight leg drop. Plus no urination since hospitalization.

At the nurses’ station Taehyung types in his typical overdetailed note that he does think this is a cord confusion, and recs for obs and autonomic dysreflexia precautions. He loves being right, especially when he’s disagreeing with a primary team, so includes references. At 6:30 he calls the primary team back. Jungkook answers the phone.

“He’s not faking,” Taehyung begins. There’s an audible noise of confusion, and Taehyung can make out the sound of an overhead ED page. “It’s Taehyung, with Neurology,” he adds, as an afterthought. “It’s a cord contusion.”

“Wait…I talked to Wooshik? Are you on?”

“He has kendo so I’m being the best co-resident and covering for him,” Taehyung says.

“And you’re just staying late at the hospital on a Friday afternoon for fun? No hot date tonight?”

“The hottest,” Taehyung says. “My son needs me.”

“Your son?” Jungkook asks, confused.

“Yeontan,” Taehyung says. “He has a vet appointment tomorrow morning so we have to play extra tonight to make up for it.”

“You have a dog!” Jungkook says, sounding positively triumphant. “Yeontan!! Ahh!” His voice changes in a heartbeat. “What’s wrong with him? Why is he going to the vet??”

“Pomeranians with tiny throats have tiny throat problems,” Taehyung says. “My poor son.”

“Oh my god he’s a Pomeranian—I wanna see him—send me pictures—“

Taehyung laughs. “I don’t have your number,” he says. “But I put my cell in the consult note, so you can text me. And you’ll have to read my consult note. It’s so educational, Jungkook-ah. You’ll hope to be pimped on cord contusion after you read it.”

“Is this your weird teaching kink? Are you like Namjoon and can’t pass up an opportunity to make me learn when I just want cute dog pics?”

“No,” Taehyung says. “Would you like me to include dog pics in my note, too?”

“Just text me like a normal person, you weirdo.”

“Fine,” Taehyung says, unable to stop smiling into the phone and aware that this is not a normal consult call. “If you text me first.”

“Fine,” Jungkook says. Taehyung wonders if he’s smiling, too. He hears the pager go off through the phone. “Fuck,” Jungkook sighs, and Taehyung grins again.

“Autonomic dysreflexia precautions,” he says. “And text me and then you can see my son.”

“Fine,” Jungkook says. “Give him a treat for me, okay?”

“He’s already too fat.” Taehyung can’t stop grinning. “Fine.”

“Okay, gotta go, text you later,” Jungkook says, as the pager goes off again, and hangs up.

Taehyung always has his cell at the bottom of his notes with his signature. Today he bolds it before signing.

———

When he wakes up he has a text from 2am. puppy pics plz, it says. Taehyung grins and rolls over in bed, disturbing the fluff ball sleeping on his knees.

Rough night? he sends back, before sending six pictures of Tan.

The response is immediate. how dare you call him fat. i’ve held tumors bigger than him

but under all the fluff he has rolls Taehyung replies. why are you still awake? Interns need sleep.

tell my chief that

you know i have & i will

i take it back. please dont mention me to namjoon ever again

but he loves you

I’m going to bed goodnight!! not talking about this!!

sleep well jungkook-ah, Taehyung can’t help but texting, then immediately feels silly.

sleep like the postcall dead Jungkook replies. maybe I’ll dream of cute boys instead of pager nightmares

see u there Taehyung can’t stop himself from responding.

———

Taehyung is at the knock-off Starbucks when he runs into Seokjin. Taehyung met Jin through Yoongi and Hoseok, at a house party where Hoseok brought a few of his work friends, too, and Taehyung and Jin bonded in the kitchen without knowing who Seokjin was or what he did. They had a dad joke competition until Yoongi walked into the kitchen and yelled at them to stop. Apparently Seokjin and Hoseok work together a lot, and are a terror in the OR.

Jin is a Urologist and looks at dicks all day. He tells Taehyung he wouldn’t like it because then the magic would be gone. Taehyung has never heard of Jin dating. He and Jimin have a bet going about his sexuality.

“Taehyungie,” Seokjin croons, cutting line to come wrap his arm around Taehyung’s shoulders.

“Hi hyungnim,” Taehyung says, giving him a half hug.

“How I missed your symmetrical face,” Seokjin sighs. “Truly you have the bone structure of a model. It’s hard work being the prettiest people in our respective departments. Tell me your new skin care secrets, Taehyung-ah.”

“I got a new vitamin C cream,” Taehyung says, seriously. “It hurts so much when you first start, hyung! But the hot girls of derm swear by it!”

“Hmmm,” says Seokjin, seriously. “I need to make friends with a dermatologist. But clinic, Taehyungie. Misery.”

Taehyung, whose post-residency life is likely to be mostly clinic, raises an eyebrow. “Tell me all your life updates,” Jin continues, as the line moves incrementally forward. “Any hot boys? Any good jokes?”

Taehyung sighs, and Seokjin leans toward him. “That’s a yes,” he says. “Which is it, hot boy? That has to be a boy sigh. Or a really great joke.”

“Did you hear the one about eating a clock?” Taehyung asks, dutifully. Seokjin shakes his head, looking expectant. “It’s very TIME CONSUMING,” Taehyung continues, and someone behind him in line groans.

Seokjin blinks. “Wow,” he says. “So who’s the hot boy, because that joke was terrible.”

“You’re going to tell it to everyone else later,” Taehyung mumbles.

“Absolutely. I’m much more charming and the OR staff are trying to suck up to me by laughing at my jokes.”

“Fellow privilege.”

Seokjin grins. “Pretty person privilege,” he says. “I notice you didn’t answer my question.”

Taehyung sighs. “It’s terrible, hyung,” he says, mournfully.

“Please tell me it’s not a med student.”

“Almost,” Taehyung sighs. “An intern!!”

“Damn,” Jin says. “That is bad. He must be hot. What kind of intern?”

“Ortho,” Taehyung mumbles, trying not to be overheard by the dozen other people that Jin feels like should be subject to the tale of Taehyung’s unfortunate crush. Jin steps back with a comically surprised expression, one hand over his mouth, which is how Taehyung knows he knows. “Don’t say who,” Taehyung hisses.

“A straight boy, really?” Seokjin says, when he recovers.

“He’s not straight,” Taehyung sulks, under his breath. Seokjin gives him a side eye and Taehyung looks defensive. “He told me. Besides, Hoseokie-hyung thinks he has a crush on me, too.”

“Hmm,” Jin says.

“You say that like it’s impossible for someone to have a crush on me, hyung.”

“That’s not it. If he’s even a little off center from the Kinsey scale, of course he has a crush on you,” Seokjin says, business-like.

“What about me is appealing to a former Olympian surgeon??”

“You were a model, Taehyung,” Seokjin says, patiently. “It’s because you’re still, somehow, stupidly attractive, despite always skipping your oil cleanse. Trust me, I would know.”

“He’s a surgery intern,” Taehyung whines. “You’re my only surgeon friend, hyung, I rely on you to manage them for me!”

“Hoseok would be so hurt,” Seokjin says.

“Hoseok refuses to help me,” Taehyung complains.

They step up to the counter and order, Jin’s typical hazelnut triple shot and Taehyung’s two pumps of toasted marshmallow and two shots. Jin doesn’t even make fun of his order. And he pays, which is how Taehyung knows it’s serious.

“So what does a crush entail?” he asks, faking nonchalance. “What base is a crush to the youth these days?”

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “Texting,” he says, shortly. “That’s what base.”

“Well, depending on the content of the texts—“ Jin begins, and Taehyung throws a napkin at him.

“Text,” he hisses.

“No pics?”

Taehyung hesitates and Jin raises an eyebrow, knowing. “Dog pics!” Taehyung insists.

“Sure,” Jin says. “Just dog pics.”

“They are,” Taehyung insists.

“Now I’m going to have to talk to an intern,” Seokjin sighs. “How unfortunate.”

“Don’t!”

“Cute that you think you can tell me what to do, Taehyung-ah. I’m going to clinic,” Seokjin says. “Text me updates, hmm? If you don’t I’ll just get them from Hoseok!”

“I’m never telling any of you anything ever again,” Taehyung mumbles. “Go have fun looking at dicks.”

“I always do,” Seokjin replies, with a wink. “Sometimes there are vaginas too, you know. Urethras come in both sexes, have you heard?”

“No thanks,” Taehyung says, and Seokjin waves him off as he leaves.

———

It’s a Thursday at 7pm and when Taehyung finds Jungkook in the empty outpatient physician coffee room, he can tell Jungkook is having a bad day. Interns have lots of bad days, Taehyung knows. He can tell by the way Jungkook is crying at his computer.

“Hey, Kookie,” Taehyung says softly, sitting down next to him. Jungkook looks up, startled, then starts crying again. Taehyung rubs his shoulder, gingerly. “Rough day?”

“Fucking gold surgery,” Jungkook spits out. The different surgical subspecialties have different colors assigned to them, for reasons Taehyung has never figured out. Gold is Surgical Oncology. “Since 4am,” Jungkook says. “Lee’s been doing a seven hour fucking Whipple so they made me go to clinic with just the NP.”

“Oh no,” Taehyung says, continuing to rub Jungkook’s shoulder.

“There are sixty patients in a half day of clinic,” Jungkook says, then visibly grits his teeth. “And they won’t reschedule patients and I can’t change or make plans so I’m just charging for visits he’ll never see and taking out stitches if I’m lucky, and telling everyone to come back in two weeks if they have a problem, and the patients are all yelling at me, like this was my decision, and I was going to try to work on a presentation I have to give tomorrow which I haven’t done anything for and I haven’t eaten anything all day and I have to write shitty notes on these sixty patient visits so Lee can bill for all these patients he didn’t even see and the other intern on service was excused for their continuity clinic so I have to do it ALL BY MYSELF—”

“Calm down,” Taehyung says, who caught about 30% of that. He latches onto the part he did catch. “You’re working on your notes, right? I’m going to get food for you.”

“What,” Jungkook says, but Taehyung stands up. He digs frantically through his bag and comes up with a mint chocolate clif bar. Why is it always the worst flavor, he thinks frantically, but shoves it at Jungkook anyway.

“Eat this now!” Taehyung orders.

Jungkook starts crying again. “Why do you always have my favorite flavor of clif bar?” he wails.

“Eat,” Taehyung commands, frowning until Jungkook opens the wrapper. “I’ll be right back with food!”

Oh dear, Taehyung thinks, almost running up the back stairs, across the skybridge from clinic to hospital, then down three flights of stairs to the cafeteria. Surgery residency, he knows, is bad. 4am to 7pm with no food is bad. The level of medical fraud Jungkook is being ordered to commit is bad. Everything about surgery, Taehyung is pretty sure, is bad.

He just gets a styrofoam box with one of everything the cafeteria has, and then another one of just rice. The only good thing about the hospital is that approximately 2300 calories worth of cooked meat and vegetables is very affordable. He adds a liter of water and makes his way somewhat less quickly back to the clinic coffee room, trying to balance his phone on the styrofoam and text Jimin.

He badges into the room and finds Jungkook sitting with his knees pulled up the chair, holding the empty wrapper with both hands, eyes still streaming. “Here!” Taehyung almost shouts, setting food in front of him. He pulls chopsticks out of pocket. He watches surreptitiously as Jungkook eats, texting Jimin.

surgery intern life sounds like hell

what’s your crush doing now??

crying in the clinic PDR Taehyung replies. something about being at work since 4am and eating nothing

yeah, that sounds like surgery Jimin responds. clearly he hasn’t learned about eating patient saltines and peanut butter in PACU.

i gave him a mint chocolate clif bar and he burst out crying Taehyung sends. He looks sideways at Jungkook, who is shoving rice ungracefully into his mouth, eyes still red-rimmed.

if you gave me mint chocolate I would start crying too says Jimin, notorious hater of mint chocolate.

right why do they even come in the multipacks. But I think he was happy. He said it was his favorite

i wonder why he has a crush on you when he has such terrible taste in everything else

what do I do jimin??? I can’t leave him here crying??? He said he has 60 notes to write??

you know my advice: stop trying to fuck an intern
he’ll stop
you fed him. That’s what really matters

Taehyung looks up at Jungkook, surreptitiously. He sniffles. But already the glazed look in his eyes is receding.

I’ll be late don’t wait up

now is not the time to seduce him Tae that man has 60 notes to write Jimin sends, and Taehyung shoves his phone back in his pocket.

It takes about half the box before Jungkook stops crying. Taehyung pushes a box of tissues to him.

“Thanks,” Jungkook says, finally. “I’m sorry.”

“Mental breakdowns are a normal part of intern year,” Taehyung says. “Never too late to switch to Psychiatry!”

Jungkook snorts. Taehyung takes this as a good sign. “Also mint chocolate is the worst flavor of clif bar,” he adds. “I’m sorry your taste buds are broken. They end up at the bottom of my bag because I never eat them.”

Jungkook snorts again. “I still like them,” he says. “Thanks for feeding me. Three times, now.”

“Tonight probably all counts as one,” Taehyung says.

“I should pay you back with dinner sometime,” Jungkook says.

“Interns can’t afford dinner,” Taehyung says.

“I didn’t say it was going to be nice dinner.”

“Get me a coffee sometime,” Taehyung says. “Go finish your notes, intern. Don’t you have a home to go back to? With a bed in it somewhere?” Taehyung glances up. Already 8pm. “Is tomorrow another 4am day?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook mumbles. “24 notes left.”

“Half-ass them,” Taehyung says.

“The first time we met,” Jungkook says, looking at him, “you yelled at me for writing a bad note, Kim Taehyung.”

Taehyung sighs. Why must things he say come back to haunt him? “Inpatients are different,” he says, the excuse sounding lame even to his ears. Jungkook bites back a grin.

“Okay,” he says. “You can go, you don’t have to stay with me. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re not going to jump off the top of the parking garage, are you? Should I 72hr hold you?”

“God, I could use a 72hr nap,” Jungkook mumbles. “But no. I’m fine, really.”

“You sure?” Taehyung asks, squinting at him. “Are you even safe to drive home? These are exactly the conditions where residents get in car wrecks,” he adds. “I can drive you home.”

“If you stay here I won’t get any work done,” Jungkook says, quietly. “And if you take me home I won’t get any sleep, either.”

Taehyung feels every electrical impulse in his body jump straight to his dick. “Don’t die,” Taehyung says, finally. Jungkook is still looking at him.

“I can’t die,” Jungkook says. “I owe you a coffee.”

“Text me when you get home,” Taehyung says. “So I know you didn’t die in a car wreck. If you don’t text me by midnight I’m calling the ER.”

“I will,” Jungkook says. “Goodnight, Tae.”

“Get sleep,” Taehyung repeats, scowling, and backs out the door. Jungkook hasn’t looked away from his face. In the end he leaves without the iced coffee he had stashed in the fridge before clinic. He sits in his car and thinks of Jungkook saying if you take me home I won’t get any sleep and bites his lip to keep from smiling.

———

the most half-assed notes he receives, at 10:35pm, followed by a picture of a rumpled bed.

Taehyung stares at the ceiling. “I’m definitely gonna fuck him,” he whispers, and Yeontan gives a little huff.

———

I need a brain consult Jungkook texts him one day.

specific Taehyung responds, too quickly. just like the whole brain or

I just have distracted brain disease Jungkook says. I think I need coffee with a cute boy to cure it

sounds like standard of care to me

3pm?

knock-off starbucks never tasted so good

it’s not actually knock off, it’s just hosptial-owned, you know

they can’t make a frappe so it’s always knock-off to me Taehyung says.

At 3pm he meets Jungkook at the knock-off Starbucks. Jungkook’s face lights up when he sees him.

“I said I’d get you coffee,” he says. “See, I’m reliable.”

“Did I ever doubt you?”

“Yes. Many times.”

Taehyung bites back a grin. “It’s my intrinsic mistrust of surgeons. Anyone who stabs people for a living has some kind of mental disorder.”

“I don’t stab people,” Jungkook protests.

“You saw them up. That’s not the great improvement you think it is.”

They order, Jungkook a caramel espresso thing, Taehyung his usual marshmallow sugar concoction. He’s not going to actually let Jungkook pay but Jungkook, after a minor scuffle, has Taehyung’s hand twisted out of the way while he hands an amused-looking cashier his card.

“Just what I’d expect from the power tool surgeon,” Taehyung says, as Jungkook releases him.

“You really have no idea what I do, do you,” Jungkook asks, amused.

“You’re an intern. You do whatever someone tells you to,” Taehyung responds.

“The surgery part,” Jungkook continues, now unamused.

“Bones,” Taehyung says, confidently. “Power tools?”

“Oh my god,” Jungkook mumbles. “I can’t believe I’ve been flirting with you for weeks and you don’t even know what I do.”

“Spine stuff. We have overlap there, you know. Spine overlap.”

“The only place we possibly overlap,” Jungkook says, straight-faced. The girl calls out their order and Jungkook picks it up. She smiles extra at him, Taehyung notices. Of course. Everyone flirts with Jungkook. He’s not special.

Jungkook sits down and hands him coffee. For just a second, across the coffee cup, their fingers brush. When Taehyung pulls his hand away, Jungkook looks down at his hand, for just a second too long.

Maybe he is special. “So,” Taehyung continues. “If I need a spine consult I can text you, right?”

Jungkook looks at him. “A spine consult?”

“Like your brain consult.” Taehyung shifts in his seat. “You know, if I have not enough spine disease.”

“Not enough spine disease?” Jungkook asks.

“Like. If a friend is trying to ask out someone, but can’t do it yet. That kind of not enough spine disease.”

Jungkook grins so widely that Taehyung has to look away. “Well, I have a lot of extra spine knowledge,” he says. “I think I can help. And I’m not on call this weekend. So… just let your friend know.”

“I’ll pass it along,” Taehyung says, faintly.

———

So Friday night Taehyung finally asks Jungkook to come over. To meet Yeontan in person.

It’s not the flimsiest excuse he’s ever used to get a hot boy to come over. It might, Taehyung thinks, prepping in the shower while he lets his leave-in conditioner sit, even be close to true. Jungkook would definitely play with Yeontan.

He stares in the mirror and puts on his thickest moisturizer. He thinks about Jungkook in this apartment, in this bathroom, in this shower. Would he crowd Taehyung against the door? Would he be shy? Would he be dominant? Taehyung bites a lip. He thinks of Jungkook’s hands, touching his hands on a hospital cafeteria table. Of his hands rubbing Jungkook’s shoulder, too late at night at the clinic. Funny to think they haven’t touched since then. That they haven’t even kissed. Oh, fuck. Kissing. He probably shouldn’t fantasize about fucking someone he hasn’t even kissed yet.

It doesn’t stop him. Taehyung sighs and gets out his big dildo and hopes it’s going to be just the correct size prep.

———

Jimin is on a 24. It’s Friday night, and Friday night Jungkook outside the hospital looks different, softer, standing at their apartment front door with a bottle of wine and a bag of dog treats. Wearing a soft white t-shirt, oversized, and black track pants instead of scrubs, his skin more golden against the white. He’s so fucking hot and he’s wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants. Taehyung is fucked.

He shows Jungkook around the four room apartment, the kitchen living room opening up from the two bedroom doors, Jimin’s closed, Taehyung’s ajar. Taehyung had actually picked up his laundry and shoved it in a drawer, left his bedroom lamp on to make it look cozy. Door ajar, subtle, not invitation-open. He’s even lit a candle on the kitchen table. He even cleaned the bathroom.

Yeontan is delighted by Jungkook, running around like mad. Yeontan is delighted by all visitors and his opinion does not count for whether or not Taehyung should fuck an intern.

They end up on the couch with the wine open, with Yeontan sitting in Jungkook’s lap, the traitor. Jungkook scratches behind his ears and Yeontan rests his chin on Jungkook’s knees. “So you have a roommate?” Jungkok asks, looking at the closed bedroom door down the hall.

“Oh, you don’t know Jimin?” Taehyuyng asks, confused. Jungkook shakes his head. “Yeah. Park Jimin. He’s an OB resident. We’ve been best friends since high school. Came out together.”

Jungkook takes a drink of wine. “So you’re both gay?” he asks, casually, as if Taehyung doesn’t hear the real question underneath.

“We aren’t dating, no,” Taehyung says, biting back a grin. “For one, he’s a brat. Two, he has a crush on Namjoon. Even though everyone does.”

“Everyone,” Jungkook agrees, fervently.

“Three, we’re not sexually compatible,” Taehyung says. Jungkook chokes on his wine. “Yes, we did find out the hard way, and yes, it was hilarious. But you know, if you can fail to have sex with your best friend and both of you think it’s hilarious later then you know you’re really best friends, I think.”

“He sounds interesting,” Jungkook says.

“I can’t live alone and take care of Yeontan,” Taehyung says, and Tannie yawns, like he knows they’re talking about him. “He requires two parents. Or maybe one parent with a normal work schedule. So between the two of us he gets his daily walks, food, medicine.”

“Poor baby,” Jungkook says, scratching Yeontan’s head. He gives a huff, keeping his eyes closed.

“Don’t let him fall asleep on you,” Taehyung says. “You’ll never get off the couch.”

“But he’s so cute,” Jungkook pouts, looking up at Taehyung with big puppy-dog-eyes. Taehyung reaches over and lifts Yeontan up, booping noses together briefly.

“Tan! Bed,” he commands, setting him down, and Yeontan shoots him a judging look before huffing over to his dog bed and going back to sleep.

“Good puppy,” Jungkook coos. “I’m so jealous. I want a dog.”

“What kind?”

“All kinds,” Jungkook says, falling back into the couch cushions. He takes a long drink of wine. “I just love dogs.”

“That’s because they’re perfect,” Taehyung says. “At least until Tan vomits in my bed.” Jungkook laughs. Taehyung refills both wine glasses. “You don’t have a roommate?”

“No.” Jungkook looks down. “It’s the first time I’ve ever lived alone,” he says. “It’s…nice? But lonely. But I can cook stuff at 4am and it doesn’t bother anyone.”

Taehyung laughs. “Is that when you wake up for work?” he asks. “Or are you staying up that late?”

“Both,” Jungkook says. He sets his wine glass down, reaches over for Taehyung’s hand, deliberately. He’s holding my hand, Taehyung thinks. But he only says, “isn’t the point of residency to destroy your sleep schedule both ways?”

They’re holding hands. They’re holding hands. Jungkook just reached for it, like it was nothing. Taehyung finishes his wine glass and sets it down on the coffee table, next to Jungkook’s. “Not just your sleep schedule,” he says, and runs his thumb along the edge of Jungkook’s. “All your perceptions of what’s normal.”

“And when you go to the gym,” Jungkook adds.

Taehyung hums. “I’m surprised you have time for that.”

“Only because there’s a 24hr gym in my apartment,” Jungkook says. “The 4am cooking after the 3am workouts.”

“That can’t be good for your gains.”

“I could talk a lot about this,” Jungkook says, and Taehyung starts laughing.

“Don’t make me go anatomy on you,” Taehyung says.

“I asked you if it was a kink and you never responded.”

Taehyung hums. He traces his fingers up Jungkook’s arm, naming nerves as he goes. Radial, ulnar. His fingers brush the edge of Jungkook’s t-shirt, thinner, softer than the scrubs he’s always worn before. The tangled knot of the brachial plexus.

“Taehyung,” Jungkook says, quietly, and Taehyung follows cervical nerve roots up to cortex and looks at Jungkook’s face. “Why are you doing this? Treating me like a study exercise?”

Like this, Taehyung’s fingers resting against Jungkook’s shoulder, he can feel the groove of the deltoid meeting the pectoralis, the sharp line of Jungkook’s clavicle. It’s madness to run his thumb across it, the smooth curve when his arm is internally rotated, all the muscles so well defined. “I’m trying not to think about how hot you are,” Taehyung mumbles, and then Jungkook moves faster than his brain can catalogue muscles and kisses him.

Not at work. In Taehyung’s apartment, on his couch, with Tannie still laying on his bed a few feet away. With Jungkook wearing a t-shirt too soft and thin and his hair down, long enough to brush his zygomatic arch, his lips hot and slick crashing against Taehyung’s. His hand grips the back of Taehyung’s head and the way his lips move defies description. Taehyung’s hand fists in the material of his sleeve, pulling him closer, and Jungkook kisses him like he wants to devour Taehyung.

“How old are you,” Taehyung demands when Jungkook pulls away. He only goes a few centimeters.

“26,” Jungkook says, the words so close it’s almost another kiss.

“Dongsaeng,” Taehyung murmurs, not letting go of him.

“What?”

“I’m 28,” Taehyung says, tilting his head, the perfect angle to kiss.

“Scandal,” Jungkook murmurs, and kisses him again anyway. His body feels like it’s lighting up, hypersensitive, aware of every cell in his skin that touches Jungkook’s, where he feels fabric, where he feels Jungkook’s skin. He pushes, hungry, into Jungkook’s mouth, his hand rounding Jungkook’s shoulder to pull him closer, closer.

“Taehyung,” Jungkook says against his mouth, panting.

“Hyung,” Taehyung mumbles back, trying to slide under Jungkook’s sleeve to get fingers on skin. Jungkook inhales, raggedly.

“Hyung,” he repeats, and Taehyung kisses him again, pulling him in with palm against shoulder. Jungkook’s hair brushes against the skin of his face and even his hair is silky and soft.

“But you still have to top,” Taehyung says, when Jungkook pulls back enough to rest their foreheads together. Jungkook laughs, and like this it’s a warm pressure against Taehyung’s mouth.

“I never have,” Jungkook says.

“But are you interested?” Taehyung asks, leaning back a little archly, not letting him go. “Because I need you to fuck me, Jungkook-ah,” and feels the way Jungkook’s hand on his head tightens at the words.

“Fuck,” he says, low, and that makes Taehyung’s boner twitch. “Yes, fuck, yes. I just meant.” He exhales. “I’ve never fucked a guy.”

“You told me you were gay,” Taehyung says, accusing, but his other hand finds Jungkook’s hip, sliding under the hem of his shirt. He hooks his thumb over the edge of the iliac crest and Jungkook curses, kisses him again.

“I am very fucking gay,” Jungkook says. He’s twisted more towards Taehyung, who has the thought that this is an uncomfortable position for no reason, so he moves into Jungkook’s lap. Jungkook curses again, other hand going to Taehyung’s waist, so broad his fingers splay across half of Taehyung’s back. “I just meant. I’ve never just—done that much, fuck—”

Taehyung is very pleased to see that the thing he does with his hips is still effective. “Plenty of time to learn,” he purrs, against Jungkook’s mouth. Like this, on Jungkook’s lap, with his head tilted back, all the lights in the room reflect in Jungkook’s too-large eyes, his hair falling back away from his face.

“Teach me, hyung,” Jungkook says, sly and sexy, and Taehyung moves to grab Jungkook’s hair in one fist, pulling back as he does the thing with his hips again. He feels Jungkook’s dick twitch.

“Pudendal nerve territory,” Taehyung says, spreading his knees a little wider. Jungkook laughs.

“Are you still not thinking about how hot I am?” Jungkook asks, then gets a wicked look on his face. His hands move to Taehyung’s ass and grab. Taehyung is so distracted he misses Jungkook’s thighs bunching until he stands, Taehyung still wrapped around him, and Taehyung shrieks. He wraps his legs around Jungkook’s waist as Jungkook carries him across the apartment, to the bedroom.

“So hot,” Taehyung mumbles, kissing Jungkook blindly. Jungkook’s fingers are gripping his ass hard enough that Taehyung hopes there are bruises left there, marks from Jungkook’s fingers. It was optimistic to prep for this but it’s been too long since Taehyung got laid and if he comes off as desperate, well—

“What do you want?” Jungkook asks, dropping Taehyung on the bed.

“Take your shirt off,” Taehyung demands, and Jungkook does in one smooth motion. His brain short-circuits until he finds himself hanging off the end of the bed, hand gripping Jungkook’s ass, tongue running over his abs.

“Fuck,” Jungkook says, unable to stop himself from moving hips forward. Like this Taehyung can feel the bulge of his cock, curving upward in his sweatpants, brushing at Taehyung’s chin.

“Before I suck your cock I should ask what you want, shouldn’t I,” Taehyung says, hooking fingers into the waistband.

“Yes,” Jungkook says immediately, hands brushing Taehyung’s hair. “I mean—fuck, whatever you want, hyung, do it, yes.”

“You can grab my hair,” Taehyung says, before he pulls the waistband down, and as he slips the head of Jungkook’s cock in his mouth Jungkook does just that.

Taehyung is great at blowjobs and Jungkook has an unsurprisingly great dick. The prep, Taehyung thinks, giddy, is going to be perfect after all.

But. He’s not out of the closet and he’s never fucked a guy before, Taehyung thinks, as he hollows his cheeks, drags his lips slow then fast over Jungkook. On one hand: He’s clearly into me, I bet I could get him to fuck me. On the other hand: I should take it slow, ease him into it, this is basically our first date, Kim Taehyung, what kind of slut are you—

Jungkook groans, hands tight in Taehyung’s hair, and his hips rock forward as he fucks into Taehyung’s throat. This kind, Taehyung thinks, sucking desperately. Holy shit I would be a slut for him—

He pulls off, breathing heavily, and rests his cheek against Jungkook’s cock, heavy in his hand and slick with saliva. “Do you wanna fuck me?” he asks, his voice a little raw from the scrape.

Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut. His fingers grip more tightly in Taehyung’s hair, and Taehyung rubs his lips over the tip, the tiniest edge of tongue. ”Yes,” he says, sounding wrecked. Taehyung pulls back.

He digs through the side table for condoms and throws one to Jungkook, then shimmies out of his own clothes. When he turns around Jungkook is just holding the condom, pants pushed down, staring at him, mouth slightly parted. “Hyung,” he says, intense, voice a little hurt. Taehyung steps toward him.

“You okay, Jungkook-ah?” he asks, gently, resting hands on Jungkook’s hips.

“You’re so pretty, what the fuck,” he says, like an accusation, and Taehyung laughs and pushes his pants down.

“Professionally so,” he says. “Now come do something about it.”

Jungkook, Taehyung can tell, is feeling overwhelmed. Taehyung kisses him again and pushes him down on the bed. He’s glorious like this, every muscle defined, sensitive where Taehyung trails fingers over skin, the defined dips over rectus abdominus that are frankly obscene, the tight line at the inguinal ligament framing his cock, swollen and curved up, long enough to brush over his six pack and this is definitely the hottest person Taehyung has ever fucked. He takes the condom out of Jungkook’s limp hands and unrolls it over him, then pours generous lube, enough to drip down onto Jungkook’s abs and balls and goddamn he is so hot, his eyes huge and dark, his hands gripping Taehyung’s hips almost hard enough to bruise.

“Perfect boy,” Taehyung exhales, murmuring praise, and Jungkook looks up at him, his eyes wide enough to reflect every beautiful thing in the world. Taehyung shifts his hips, hand moving on Jungkook’s cock, lining up. “So perfect,” he says, watching Jungkook’s lips part, and then Taehyung fucks him. He’s never been more glad that he prepped in the shower with that dildo than now, because he sinks all the way down on Jungkook’s cock without preamble and Jungkook writhes.

“Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck, Taehyung,” he moans, wrecked. “Fuck, please don’t move or I’ll come.”

Taehyung laughs but stills, resting a hand on Jungkook’s tense stomach. “Pudendal nerve,” he says. “Comes from the latin for shame. Originates S2, 3, 4,” he continues, feeling Jungkook relax incrementally under his touch.

“Fuck you,” Jungkook mutters, but exhales. “Between piriformis and ischiococcygeus. Out through the greater sciatic foramen. Under the sacrospinous ligament.”

He’s so perfect. Almost relaxed, under Taehyung’s hand. “Good, good,” Taehyung murmurs.

“Re-enters through the lesser sciatic foramen,” Jungkook continues, and Taehyung grins but moves, experimentally. Jungkook inhales. “Goes to the pudendal canal.”

“Branches off the inferior rectal nerve,” Taehyung says, then starts riding Jungkook in earnest. “Do you think ours are touching?” he asks, as he adjusts the angle. “My inferior rectal, your dorsal penile nerve?”

“Is this your dirty talk?” Jungkook asks, but he’s breathing hard and working with Taehyung’s thrusts.

“Not just skin,” Taehyung murmurs, leaning forward, and Jungkook’s hands tighten on his hips. “Not just skin touching. Your muscles inside mine, your arteries next to mine, our nerves touching.”

“Closer to your sacral plexus than mine?” Jungkook asks, fucking up, and the angle brushes prostate and Taehyung drops his head back.

“Yes,” he moans. “You get it. The pudendal nerve, Jungkook.”

“Switch with me,” Jungkook says, suddenly, and Taehyung pauses and looks down, confused. Jungkook moves, then, his hands not just holding Taehyung’s hips but lifting, and he flips them in bed so he’s on top of Taehyung, cock hard in his hand. “Knees up,” he says, and Taehyung grabs his thighs, presents Jungkook with his hole.

Jungkook rubs the head of his cock over the entrance. “Perineal branch,” he murmurs, pushing in slow, slow at the entrance and Taehyung moans again as he’s filled. Jungkook traces fingertips over Taehyung’s balls, making them tighten with pleasure, then fingertips across tight skin over Taehyung’s cock. The first time he’s directly touched Taehyung’s cock all night. He pulls almost all the way out, then back in, hand smeared in lube from his own cock circling Taehyung’s. “The dorsal nerve of the penis,” he says, running his thumb over Taehyung’s slit.

Taehyung is the one who’s close, now. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck me,” he moans, and Jungkook does, harsh pounding. All his blood is rushing in his ears, his body moving, shaking, racing toward one point.

“I’m close,” Jungkook gasps, but fuck it, Taehyung is close too, and he tilts his hips so Jungkook can hit his prostate with every thrust.

“Please,” Taehyung moans, and Jungkook matches the rhythm of his hand and his thrusts and Taehyung comes first, arcing his back, long and hot and so hard he sees stars, breath catching in his throat. Jungkook grips Taehyung’s hips with both hands and fucks hard and fast until he gasps, hips surging forward. Taehyung opens his eyes in time to watch Jungkook’s face as he comes.

He thinks that he won’t forget it for the rest of his life.

———

Jungkook cuddles for a long time afterwards, pressing his face into Taehyung’s chest, refusing to pull out until laughter finally makes him slip free. “Oxytocin,” he mumbles, pressing his face into Taehyung’s neck. He’s the most precious boy in the world and Taehyung can’t stop kissing the top of his head, can’t release his arms tight around Jungkook’s torso. He doesn’t even care that come and lube seem to be everywhere, sheets and skin. He keeps kissing Jungkook, softer, less urgent, just for the pleasure of Jungkook’s mouth on his.

“Good oxytocin?” he asks, as Jungkook shifts up the bed.

“The best,” Jungkook agrees, eyes closed. “That was so hot, fuck.”

“You’re welcome,” Taehyung teases, and Jungkook reaches over and pinches his nipple.

“Fucking study sex.”

“You liked it.”

“Apparently I do,” Jungkook agrees. He runs his thumb over Taehyung’s nipple and Taehyung shivers.

“Nerves are sexy,” Taehyung says.

“Bones are sexy.”

“Boners, you mean,” Taehyung says, then starts giggling.

“What’s sexy is the way I can change the entire angle by moving you into posterior pelvic tilt,” Jungkook says, dropping his hand to Taehyung’s hip, fingers gripping the bone like the iliac was curved for his hand.

“Yes, that is extremely sexy,” Taehyung agrees immediately. “Were you actually thinking about bones while you fucked me? That’s the most ortho thing I’ve ever heard.”

Jungkook snorts. “You’re the one who started the anatomy sex,” he says. “I can’t believe you seduced me with the brachial plexus. I fucking hate the brachial plexus, Kim Taehyung.”

Taehyung starts laughing. “What did the brachial plexus ever do to you,” he asks, but moves his hand to Jungkook’s shoulder, blunt nails over trapezius, deltoid. Jungkook stills.

“More like what did Professor Choi’s horrible neuroanatomy lectures do to me,” he says. “And now it got me laid. Maybe I should forgive it.”

“Your gay virginity,” Taehyung says, suddenly. “Jungkookie!!! A virgin no more!!”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Jungkook mumbles, turning his face into Taehyung’s chest. Taehyung laughs and sits up.

“No!” he says, gleefully. “Absolutely not! We’re celebrating, JK! Champagne! Dancing!”

“How about just a shower,” Jungkook mumbles, into the pillow.

They end up drinking champagne in the shower, Taehyung opening the bottle he forgot in the back of the fridge. He waltzes through the apartment, hair crazy, naked, laughing when Yeontan wakes up long enough to look at him with a serious look of judgement.

“My dog is judging me,” he complains, pushing open the bathroom door with a hip, both hands holding champagne flutes.

“Tell me that’s not actually champagne,” Jungkook says, from inside the shower. Taehyung opens the glass door and hands Jungkook a glass. He puts a hand over his face. “This is so embarrassing.”

“I’m celebrating,” Taehyung announces. “Celebrating some good fucking sex. That deserves a toast.”

Jungkook’s face is red but he clinks glasses with Taehyung anyway, and drinks. “At least it’s plastic,” he says.

“Well Jimin broke one too many wineglasses in the shower,” Taehyung says, tapping the tile walls. “And worse he didn’t tell me, because I was working, and then when I’m the one who steps on a piece of broken glass—“

“Poor baby,” Jungkook murmurs, but he’s grinning. Taehyung shuffles closer to him, under the water, hips pressing together. He takes a long drink of champagne and Jungkook’s eyes trail down his throat.

“I am a poor baby, thanks,” Taehyung says, pressing closer, and Jungkook puts an arm behind Taehyung’s back. His hands are so large, Taehyung thinks. Not as long as his dick, though. He imagines those fingers in his ass and shivers. Jungkook draws him closer.

“Cold? Get under the water more,” Jungkook says, twisting so Taehyung’s directly under the spray. Taehyung hums, tilts his head back. He doesn’t need to wash his hair again but the water feels good on his scalp.

“That was a sexy shiver, not a cold shiver,” Taehyung informs him. Jungkook grins.

“Oh, my mistake.”

“I was thinking about you fingering me,” Taehyung says, and Jungkook sputters. “I’m not going to do all the work before you get here every time, you know.”

Jungkook takes a long drink of champagne, and Taehyung takes the opportunity to finish his glass. Jungkook takes it out of his hand and sets it on the shower shelf. “No?” Jungkook asks, then finishes his own champagne and sets the glass next to Taehyung’s. “What kind of work?”

Taehyung shivers. He drops his head onto Jungkook’s shoulder. With one hand he moves Jungkook’s hand down his back. Jungkook seems to get the idea and his fingers trail down Taehyung’s ass. “I prepped with my largest dildo,” he mumbles, and Jungkook laughs. His fingers don’t move.

“Should I be scared of it?”

Taehyung shifts forward, rubbing against Jungkook’s cock. Not fully hard, but still long enough to brush against his thigh. “No,” Taehyung says. “Wanna see?”

“Please, show me your sex toy collection, so I know what I’m competing with,” Jungkook says, and when Taehyung looks up Jungkook is grinning at him.



“Fine,” Taehyung says, raising one eyebrow. He steps away, opening the shower door, and reaches into the drawer to get the dildo. Jungkook holds it in one hand, thoughtfully, then lifts up his own cock with his other hand. Taehyung thinks that this was a mistake, and also that this is weirdly hot.

“Okay,” Jungkook says, thoughtfully. “Yeah, I see it.”

“You can’t just start with that,” Taehyung says, snatching it back from Jungkook, throwing it on the sink. “You start with a finger, a couple of fingers, and work up to it.”

Jungkook steps closer. The water runs down his chest, his hair wet and dark over his forehead and cheeks. “Do you?” he asks, and Taehyung steps closer. Jungkook reaches around, his hands gripping Taehyung’s ass. “And that’s what you were thinking about, hmm? You want me to finger you?”

“Thinking about you fingering me open,” Taehyung murmurs, almost a whisper, into Jungkook’s neck. Jungkook’s fingers tighten on his ass and his dick twitches.

“I can’t go again,” Jungkook says, but he moves his hand until his index finger presses against Taehyung’s entrance.

“I know,” Taehyung says. Jungkook presses in, knuckle across sphincter, looser now. Taehyung squeezes around him and Jungkook turns his face into Taehyung’s hair. He pushes deeper, slowly.

This feels more intimate, somehow. They haven’t even washed the mess off his stomach. Jungkook has one hand splayed across Taehyung’s back, grip tight, and one unlubed finger in his ass. He just showed Jungkook his sex toys. It shouldn’t be sexy. Taehyung clenches around him then relaxes, slowly.

“Good,” Jungkook murmurs. “Can I see your face?” he asks, and Taehyung grips Jungkook’s back, buries his face against Jungkook’s neck. “No? Are you shy now? After you were so pretty coming earlier?”

“Fuck you,” Taehyung mutters, and Jungkook laughs. He slips the finger out. It’s—it’s fine, but Taehyung can’t stop himself from scowling. He can’t go again this soon either. He has no reason to be scowling.

“It’s okay,” Jungkook says, catching his mood. He pulls back, lifts up Taehyung’s chin, then kisses him on the mouth and grins. “How’s your hot water?”

“Limited,” Taehyung says.

“Then let’s focus on cleaning up this mess,” Jungkook says, trailing a hand down Taehyung’s stomach.

He washes them both, Taehyung’s purple loofah but Jimin’s body wash, down Taehyung’s chest and back, over his perineum and his ass. Taehyung shivers again as Jungkook runs a hand, slippery with soap, over Taehyung’s dick.

“Sexy shiver or cold shiver?”

“Cold,” Taehyung lies. Jungkook raises an eyebrow at him, hand still moving slowly, and Taehyung scowls at him. Jungkook laughs and lets go.

“Then let’s get out,” he says, maneuvering Taehyung under the showerhead.

In the bedroom Taehyung gives Jungkook fresh underwear, because he hates putting on old underwear after a shower. Jungkook stands there, holding it in one hand, not moving. He watches Taehyung get dressed, underwear and a t-shirt.

“Are you kicking me out?” Jungkook asks, still naked, and Taehyung smacks his bare ass.

“I’m giving you my own clothes out of the goodness of my heart and you doubt me,” Taehyung says. “It’s cold, that’s all. Besides, we have to finish the champagne, you can’t recork it.”

Jungkook follows him to the kitchen, where Taehyung pours two more glasses and hands one over. Jungkook put on the underwear but nothing else. Watching him drink champagne, head tilted back, in Taehyung’s own underwear in the middle of his apartment, feels unreal. Taehyung takes a long drink with his eyes closed and when he opens them Jungkook is still there. He’s crouching next to Yeontan’s dog bed, scratching behind his ears. Tannie kicks in his sleep, lets out a contented huff.

“He’s so fluffy I just wanna squish,” Jungkook says.

“I can fit his whole face in my mouth,” Taehyung says, pouring more champagne. Jungkook laughs. “The love of my life. He loves chasing tennis balls but,” Taehyung holds up his glass, as if making an important point, “they are too big to fit in his mouth.”

“Tragedy,” Jungkook gasps. He clinks his plastic champagne flute to Taehyung’s outstretched one. “To the tiniest dog in the world.”

“May he live forever,” Taehyung echoes, and they drink. Taehyung shivers. “Let’s take this to bed,” he says. “It’s too cold to be out of the covers this late.”

“Mmhmm,” Jungkook agrees.

In the bedroom Taehyung adds “but you have to help me change sheets,” and Jungkook starts smiling. They strip the bed. Jungkook disappears with the old sheets while Taehyung pulls fresh sheets from the top of the closet.

“Where’s your fabric softener?” Jungkook yells. Taehyung wanders out of the bedroom to see Jungkook standing in front of the washer.

“I don’t use it,” he says.

“Oh no,” Jungkook says. “I’m warning you now that I have very strong opinions about laundry.” He starts the washer.

“Now we have to stay up until it’s done,” Taehyung whines, leaning against Jungkook’s bare back. His skin is warm.

“Were you going to go to sleep?” Jungkook murmurs, turning around, wrapping both arms around Taehyung.

“I love sleeping,” Taehyung mumbles into his chest. “So should you, intern.”

“Oh, I do,” Jungkook says. “Am I staying?”

Taehyung nuzzles closer to his chest. Something in his heart feels warm and bubbly, like the champagne. “Please,” he whispers, and Jungkook tilts his face up and kisses him again. This kiss is too tender, too soft. Taehyung wraps both arms around Jungkook’s neck. “Carry me to bed,” he demands, and Jungkook grins at him again. He’s smiling so much. He’s so pretty when he smiles, entire face lit up with undimmed joy. He picks Taehyung up by the thighs and carries him down the hall.

In bed Taehyung pancakes on top of him, pressing his face against Jungkook’s chest, listening to his heartbeat. “Are you falling asleep?” Jungkook asks, and Taehyung shakes his head without opening his eyes. Jungkook kisses the top of his head. He can’t fall asleep with the washer going, he thinks, pulling blankets up, reaching over to tuck Jungkook in, too. He always likes sleeping with someone else in bed.

“I don’t believe you,” Jungkook whispers, and reaches over to turn off the lamp. “Goodnight, hyung,” he murmurs, and it’s the last thing he remembers before his brain unfocuses into sleep.

———

When he wakes it’s in segments. A segment of warmth, pressed against his back. A segment humming in joy from no alarms. A segment still sated from being well-fucked, sore and buzzing with hormones. A segment too aware that his mouth feels sticky—champagne, before bed, didn’t brush his teeth. Taehyung opens his eyes.

Jungkook’s arm and leg are thrown over him. The green clock across the room says 6:30. Taehyung rolls over without dislodging Jungkook, somehow.

In the morning he’s less pretty, thank god. With his big eyes closed and his face a little swollen with sleep. Taehyung can’t stop himself from reaching out and pushing hair back from his forehead, stroking along his temple, and at the motion he burrows into the pillow but opens his eyes. Oh no. Just as pretty as ever.

“Hi,” Jungkook says. His voice is soft with the morning. “What time is it?”

Taehyung can’t stop touching his hair, now that he’s started. It’s so soft. “6:30,” he says.

“Sleeping so late,” Jungkook mumbles. “Luxury.”

“Mmhmm.”

He closes his eyes and turns his face toward Taehyung’s hand. “I didn’t brush my teeth.”

“Me either.”

“And I didn’t put the sheets in the dryer.” He moves in bed, as if to get up, and Taehyung grabs his arm.

“Don’t get up yet, you haven’t even done the eight minute snooze.”

“But this is like an hour and a half later than I normally sleep.”

“Shhh,” Taehyung whispers. “The snooze. The gradual bringing of your brain to full consciousness. Unskippable.”

“The sheets could get moldy.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes and drops his hand to Jungkook’s chest, trailing across soft skin. “We could wash more sheets,” he says.

“Hmm?”

Taehyung’s hand drops lower, brushing across ribs and the dip of Jungkook’s waist, the rise of his hip. Jungkook’s breathing stills.

“Appropriately morning,” Taehyung notes, running the tips of his fingers over the outline of Jungkook’s cock.

“Hyung.”

“Jungkook-ah,” he returns.

“I…” he trails off and Taehyung moves his hand, looks up. Jungkook is flushed, blushing. Cute. “Give a boy a kiss first,” he says, and Taehyung can’t stop his smile from scrunching up his face. He climbs on top of Jungkook, pausing only to shed his shirt.

“Good morning, Jeon Jungkook,” he says, still smiling, and kisses him.

Slow. They both taste like they didn’t brush their teeth and Taehyung doesn’t care. Jungkook’s hands hold onto his waist, fingers bridging his lower ribs, the crest of the pelvis. Taehyung knows all his angles, used to inhabiting the body as a tool, and tilts his pelvis, accentuating his waist while he grinds against Jungkook’s erection. Jungkook grips harder at his waist and Taehyung leans back.

“You’re so pretty,” Jungkook murmurs, squeezing with both hands. His eyes trail over Taehyung’s chest.

“Me?” He runs fingers down Jungkook’s pecs, his abs. “Do you remember last night, when the first time I saw you shirtless I immediately started licking your abs?”

Jungkook laughs, covering his face with his hands. “Hyung,” he whines. Taehyung rocks his hips.

Taehyung doesn’t think about later. He doesn’t think about eight o’clock, when Jimin will get back from his twenty-four. He doesn’t think about brushing his teeth in the shower or taking Yeontan out for a walk. He doesn’t think about Jungkook putting his clothes on and leaving. He doesn’t think about Jungkook in the hospital on Monday, what will happen when they see each other, the dance of do-we-touch? are-we-saying-it? Taehyung doesn’t think about it.

He doesn’t think about any second except the next one. The second where Jungkook slides hands under his underwear, moving them roughly down Taehyung’s thighs. The second where Jungkook pulls him down to kiss him, the second where Jungkook runs fingers through his hair and tugs and how did he know to do that? Taehyung melts, going boneless and Jungkook rolls on top of him, kissing down his neck. The second where Jungkook is licking his nipple, biting gently and Taehyung is writhing, hips grinding against Jungkook’s body for friction. The second where Jungkook dips lower, lower, until his mouth is on Taehyung’s cock, tongue warm and broad over the tip. How Jungkook moves over him until Taehyung is gasping, trying and failing not to fuck up into Jungkook’s throat. “I’m—“ he starts to say.

“Yes,” Jungkook says, before deep throating him again, his mouth relaxed and throat open. Taehyung whimpers before fucking up and coming in his mouth, hands gripping Jungkook’s head.

When Taehyung comes back into his body Jungkook is laying with his head on Taehyung’s hip, looking smug. Taehyung pulls him up the bed to kiss him.

“No fair,” he murmurs. “That was my plan.”

“Not if I get to it first,” Jungkook says. Taehyung raises an eyebrow at him. His hands trail down Jungkook’s body, over his hip, down to his cock.

“And now what will you do,” he asks, but his hand is already moving. Jungkook’s breath catches. Taehyung pauses to reach over to the bedside table, where the lube is still out.

“You seem to have ideas,” Jungkook says, watching, as Taehyung drips lube over his cock. Learning to apply lube sexily is just one of his many transferrable skills from being a model. It’s easy when Jungkook is the one he’s doing it to, when Jungkook is the one looking at him with his large, dark eyes.

“Once or twice,” Taehyung says, leaning in for a kiss. This second. This second, where he knows what Jungkook looks like naked, in his bed, before sunrise. Where Jungkook kisses him without reservation, moaning into Taehyung’s mouth. Where his hips move under Taehyung’s hand, where Taehyung can put a hand across his waist and feel the muscles moving. Where he’s gasping and moaning ”Tae,” against Taehyung’s mouth before he comes, too.

He can’t take back the knowledge. Every time he looks at Jungkook, now, he will think of this.

———

They run the washer again, with last night’s sheets in it this time, too. “I only have two fitted sheets,” Taehyung says, watching Jungkook adjust settings on the washer. Taehyung has never adjusted settings on the washer. His clothes seem to come out fine. But Jungkook is scowling.

“Hot?” he says, wrinkling his nose. “You can’t wash them on hot, hyung.”

“Jimin frequently has amniotic fluid on his clothes,” Taehyung objects.

“That’s disgusting. He washes hospital scrubs at home? Disgusting.”

“Just the jackets,” Taehyung says. “And vaginal blood. Sometimes he doesn’t notice.”

“That’s so gross. And you’re going to ruin the rest of your clothes washing them on hot.”

“Oh well,” Taehyung says, and Jungkook gives him a scandalized look as he starts it, again. “Now I don’t even have sheets to put back on the bed. So I guess that’s our quota of sex for the weekend.”

Jungkook looks at him for a long minute with a glance that’s a little too unreadable for the joke Taehyung was trying to make. “There’s always the shower,” he says, eventually. Taehyung steps forward, into Jungkook’s personal space, and lifts a hand to his waist. So tiny, he thinks, spreading fingers across. He looks up at Jungkook’s face, which is doing something, still, as he looks at Taehyung.

They’re interrupted by the front door opening. “I’m back,” Jimin yells, from the doorway, then looks up. Taehyung watches his eyes move across the room, land on Taehyung and Jungkook, visibly double take, and then Jimin falls over backwards. He lets out a screech.

“That’s my roommate,” Taehyung says, not moving. When he looks back at Jungkook he’s biting back a smile.

“You COULD’VE TEXTED ME,” Jimin complains, from the ground.

“I didn’t,” Taehyung says.

“I DIDN’T KNOW YOU HAD A BOY OVER, MY GOD—“

“Hi,” Jungkook says, stepping away from Taehyung. Jimin stands up.

“Hi, I’m Park Jimin,” he says, smiling pleasantly at Jungkook, then looks at Taehyung. “Did you even make coffee? No? I can see you didn’t. I can’t believe you had someone over and didn’t even make them coffee.”

“You just want coffee,” Taehyhung says, as Jimin unearths the french press and coffee.

“Of course I do,” Jimin says.



“You drink coffee postcall?” Jungkook asks.

“It’s the cup of coffee, then get into bed, immediately have four hours of REM sleep, wake up, take a shower, and the coffee will magically have kicked in,” Jimin informs him, then pauses, looking thoughtful. “You look familiar,” Jimin says to Jungkook, squinting at him. “Do I know you?”

“This is Jeon Jungkook. He’s the hot intern,” Taehyung informs Jimin, handing Jungkook a mug.

“Wait, this is your hot intern?!” Jimin sounds scandalized. “Kim Taehyung! The surgery intern?!”

“Ortho,” Jungkook says, as Jimin pours water over the coffee grounds.

“Oh my god,” Jimin says. “You’re the one who likes mint chocolate.”

Taehyung starts laughing. Jungkook looks confused. “Why do you both hate mint chocolate so much?? What did it do to you?”

“Personally disappointed me,” Jimin says. 



“Threatened my child,” Taehyung says.

“More for me,” Jungkook says, cheerfully.

Jimin pours out the coffee, just enough for three cups. He fills his with a too-long pour of cream, then takes a long drink.

Taehyung thinks, suddenly, of the dildo he left out on the bathroom counter. “I’m going to go pee,” he says, suddenly, then walks quickly toward the bathroom. Jungkook snorts into his coffee and Taehyung knows he remembered, too.

He does pee, leaving Jungkook and Jimin alone, and then washes off his dildo and puts it back in the drawer. Nothing else incriminating. Probably. Jungkook put his own clothes on, anyway. He looks around the bathroom one more time then walks back out, to Jimin draining the last drink of coffee.

“Okay, well, I’m going to bed,” Jimin says. “You two have fun. But don’t wake me up or I’ll murder you.”

“Do I ever?” Taehyung asks, innocently.

“Yes,” Jimin says.

“I need to go too,” Jungkook says. “This is my long workout day.”

“I don’t wanna know,” Jimin says, looking at Jungkook’s arms. He waves them off and closes the door to his room.

Taehyung looks at Jungkook. He twitches in a smile. “Did you put it back?”

“I knew you remembered,” Taehyung says. “Yes.”

“It’s funny because we didn’t even use it,” Jungkook says.

“Why would I use a toy when I can have the real thing?” Taehyung asks, eyebrow raised, and Jungkook stands up and kisses him on the forehead. He’s a tiny, tiny bit taller than Taehyung. Rude.

“I’ll see you later?” Jungkook asks, and Taehyung bites his lip. This second, the one he wasn’t thinking about. The one where Jungkook leaves, where they have to—to decide something, maybe. To say words that, like it or not, become promises, made or broken.

“Yes,” Taehyung says. “Send me hot gym selfies, please.”

Jungkook grins and kisses him once, softly, on the lips. “Yeah,” he says.

When he leaves the apartment seems so much emptier than it was before he ever arrived. Taehyung stares at Yeontan, then falls down on the couch, grinning uncontrollably to himself.

———

When Jimin wakes up, Taehyung is on the couch with some terrible cooking show on TV, eating popcorn. Jimin stumbles out of the bathroom with wet hair and sits next to Taehyung on the couch, blindly reaching for popcorn.

“Rested?”

“Kinda,” Jimin says. “The first postcall sleep makes it worse, somehow. But otherwise I won’t sleep tonight.”

“We can go take Tan for a walk,” Taehyung says. “It’s sunny.”



“It’s also freezing,” Jimin complains.

“It’s good for your circadian rhythm.”

“I hate it when you’re right,” Jimin says, and Taehyung grins in victory. They watch someone sauté onions on TV. “So that’s Jungkook, huh,” Jimin says. “He is hot.”

“Right,” Taehyung says, fervently. “It’s so bad.”

“Taehyung,” Jimin begins. “Jungkook isn’t out at work, right?”

Taehyung stares at Jimin. The warm fog of happiness that’s been glowing through him all day dims. “Hoseok said he wasn’t,” Taehyung says. “He knows everyone in surgery. He runs the whole surgical mentorship thing.” He stares at Jimin. Jimin’s face looks serious. Something feels like a cold spike in his chests, leeching poison into his body.

Jimin, still rumpled from sleep, reaches over for Taehyung’s hand. “He asked me not to tell anyone,” Jimin says, quietly.

“What?”

Jimin squeezes Taehyung’s hand. “Before he left,” he says. “He asked me not to tell anyone that he was here. It might not mean anything,” he says, but the look in his eyes says otherwise.

The poison in his gut is spreading. Good enough to fuck but not enough to bring home. Unstable. Too flamboyant. Fag. He’s heard it all before. All the boys who say things to fuck him then break it off because he’s too much. He’s always been too much trouble, from the day he was born. Too much for his parents—why did he think Jungkook was different? Jungkook’s in the most toxic dudebro profession in all of medicine.

“Fucking surgery bros,” Taehyung says eventually, and hates how close he sounds to tears.

Jimin pulls Taehyung into his lap. “Toxic masculinity central,” he agrees, rubbing Taehyung’s back, and then Taehyung does start crying.

“He liked me,” Taehyung sobs.

“I know.”

“I like him.”

“I know,” Jimin says.

“Am I stupid?” Taehyung sobs.

“No, baby, no,” Jimin says. “He’s really hot,” and Taehyung laughs, wetly. “But you’re strong and good and you deserve better than being someone’s secret,” Jimin continues, fiercely. “I’m not watching you do that again, Tae. Not after last time.”

Taehyung sobs harder into Jimin’s shoulder. Jimin wraps both arms around him. “The sex was so good,” he cries.

“I know, baby,” Jimin says. “I’m sorry.”

“I thought—he told me he was gay.”

“I know.”

“But now I’m a secret?” Taehyung asks, and hates how small he feels.

“No,” Jimin says. “You’re not a secret. You’re my best friend. You deserve better.”

“No I don’t,” Taehyung whispers, barely audible, and Jimin shakes him a little.

“Shut up,” he says. “Yes you do. No one puts my baby back in the closet, you hear me? Anyone who dates you should be proud of you. I know I am.”

Taehyung burrows deeper into Jimin’s shoulder. Jimin takes the ratty sleeve of his sweatshirt and wipes Taehyung’s eyes, then his runny nose. Taehyung sniffles.

“I’m sorry, Tae,” Jimin says quietly. “I just…I couldn’t not tell you.”

“I know,” Taehyung says, voice dull.

“I’m sorry.”

“I needed to know,” Taehyung says. “God. He just…it didn’t seem like it. He was so…” he trails off.

“Maybe it’s nothing,” Jimin says. “But…”

“But your best friend intuition is going?”

“But I can’t watch you go through what you did last time,” Jimin says. “I had to pick you up at a restaurant because he saw someone he knew and then didn’t want to be seen with you anymore. He made you hide in the bathroom, Tae. He—“ Jimin breaks off. “I wanted to kill him. I just want you with someone who’s not going to hide you.”

“I know,” Taehyung says, small and miserable. Jimin rubs across his back.

“What do you want?” he asks, softly.

“Boba,” Taehyung mumbles.

“I’ll buy you boba,” Jimin says, immediately. “When we walk Tan. Yeah?”

“Okay,” Taehyung says, but it doesn’t make him feel any better.

Jimin eats the rest of the popcorn, forcing bites into Taehyung’s mouth that suddenly taste terrible, and they finish the cooking show. Taehyung feels like all the color has drained out of the day. Yeonton notices, coming to sit in his lap, turning his little face up to Taehyung’s.

“At least one man loves me unconditionally,” Taehyung says, kissing the top of his head.

“I am right here,” Jimin says, from the kitchen, where he’s washing the popcorn bowl.

“You only love me until I eat your dumplings.”

“That was one time,” Jimin says. “I was postcall and I was waiting for you to eat. You know sleep deprivation makes me emotionally fragile.”

“The only man,” Taehyung says, lifting up Yeontan.

Jimin rolls his eyes. “Come on, Mr. Perfect, time for a walk,” he says, holding up the leash, and Yeontan bounds towards him, tongue out. In the sunshine, with Jimin holding his hand and Yeontan running in the cold, Taehyung thinks that at least he has this, even if he doesn’t have Jungkook.

———

Jungkook sends the gym selfie. It’s unbearably sexy. Taehyung doesn’t respond. Instead, he mopes.

In the radiology reading room he brings Yoongi coffee. Yoongi turns around to look at him, because Taehyung never brings coffee. “Hey, Taehyung-ah, what’s this,” Yoongi asks, but he looks at Taehyung and not the cup.

“I fucked up, hyung,” Taehyung says.

Yoongi sets the coffee down. Taehyung sits on his lap, and Yoongi wraps an arm around him absently. “How?” he asks, after a minute.

“I fucked that intern.”

“The closeted one? Taehyung-ah, you have to stop doing that,” Yoongi says, but he rubs Taehyung’s thigh, comforting.

“I know,” Taehyung protests. “And then he—“ he breaks off.

“He’s not ready to come out yet?” Yoongi finishes, gently.

“Maybe it’s me, hyung,” Taehyung says into the quiet, small room.

“It is you,” Yoongi agrees. “Because you keep fucking closeted men and getting attached!” He flicks Taehyung’s thigh. “You deserve better! My Taehyungie deserves a real boyfriend!”

“This is the worst pep talk ever,” Taehyung mumbles.

“Want me to make his life hell?” Yoongi says, straight-faced. “I can. Or Hobi can. Hobi can make all the scrub techs hate him and be mean to him in the OR. We’ll turn the nurses against him. I can lock him out of his computer.”

“You can do that?”

“I can do anything, Taehyung-ah.” He leans back on Yoongi. “Just say the word.”

“No,” Taehyung mumbles.

“Oh no. You really liked him, huh,” Yoongi says, and Taehyung presses the heel of his palm to his eyes.

“Yes,” he says. “I knew better and I did it anyway.”

“You need to date someone not in medicine,” Yoongi says. “Don’t shit where you eat.”

“Why can’t I just date you and Hobi-hyung?”

“We’re not polyamorous and I don’t share,” Yoongi says, immediately.

Taehyung sulks. “Someday you’re gonna give in.”

“I will not,” Yoongi replies. “But you can come over and see Holly tonight if you want.”

“I’m bringing Tan,” Taehyung says. Yoongi sighs.

“Hobi will be thrilled,” he says. “You’ll be okay, Taehyungie. It’s just one boy. One intern. You’ll get over him.”

“But the sex was so good, hyung.”

“Oh my god, get better at masturbating,” Yoongi says. “Or find an out man to date you. It’ll blow over. I promise.”

“Yeah,” Taehyung says, hollowly. He leaves Yoongi in the reading room with both coffees, in the end.

———

Jungkook keeps texting Taehyung.

thinking about you, during morning report. Taehyung ignores that one.

Clavicle fx brachial plexus injuries shouldn’t be sexy he texts another time. Taehyung grins at that one, before he feels sad again.

unfortunate he sends, in response.

your fault, hyung.

He doesn’t respond. When he gets pages from Ortho he bribes Wooshik to take them. Wooshik notices something is up but doesn’t probe, because he’s a good friend. He takes Taehyung out for laser tag and beer and absolutely destroys him, because sometimes he’s not a good friend. Taehyung can’t help but think that Jungkook would be stupidly good at laser tag.

He sees Jungkook once, in line at the knock off Starbucks, and scurries away before Jungkook can see him. He avoids the tenth and seventh floors, where Ortho tends to put their postops.

I never see you at work anymore, Jungkook texts him one day, and Taehyung doesn’t answer that, either.

Then Jungkook stops texting, for a while. It’s almost worse to have confirmation. When he finally runs into Jungkook, in person, in the ED, Jungkook looks at his face across the nurse’s station. Taehyung can’t figure out what his face is doing. Something that makes Jungkook’s expression change. In a bad way. Someone calls his name and he turns away, and he doesn’t turn back to Taehyung again.

sorry for whatever he finally texts, at 11pm, when Taehyung is home, and Taehyung crawls into bed with Jimin and starts crying.

———

It’s a bad week for Jimin to be on nights. He leaves before Taehyung gets home. Taehyung has taken to stopping by L&D, just to see him, before he leaves for the day. Sometimes he sits in Jimin’s lap and lets Jimin pet his hair with one hand while he takes signout notes with the other hand. Luckily none of the OBGYN residents think this is weird. Jimin’s interns eagerly tell him that they’re feuding with Ortho, on his behalf. He buys them donuts for their loyalty and goes drinking with them, on a Thursday night, until their residency specific gossip gets too boring and Taehyung waves them off to go to sleep.

When he gets home Jungkook has texted. don’t wash your clothes on hot, he’s instructed. It would be easy, so easy, to send back a shirtless picture with a laundry basket. To let him back in.

Taehyung thinks of other photos he’s sent, shared on other boys’ phones, shared with people he didn’t even know. He thinks about Ortho bros looking at Jungkook’s phone.

He doesn’t respond.

———

A couple weeks later Jungkook texts him again, out of the blue. we need to talk he sends. It’s Friday. The first, at lunch, Taehyung ignored. The second, at 5pm, before sign out, and Taehyung refused to even open the text. He still felt lead in the pit his stomach whenever Jungkook’s name came up on his phone.

The third time Jungkook repeats the text is 9pm. Taehyung curls deeper into his couch. His phone lights up again.

I’m outside and I’m not leaving until you talk to me, hyung

Fuck. Taehyung tries to look out the windows but their apartment is on the wrong side of the building to see the front door. Taehyung is wearing an oversized white t-shirt and gray sweatpants, skin still slightly sticky from his moisturizer, hair a little damp. He stares at Yeontan, who headbutts his ankles, as if in encouragement. He wonders briefly if he could take Tan, to distract Jungkook. Or maybe Tannie is his excuse to escape back to the apartment. Fuck. He puts on a blue fleece, still not warm enough for the January air, and goes outside.

When he leaves the front door he can see Jungkook on a bench across the street, in a black puffer coat and a beanie. He stands up as Taehyung walks towards him.

“Thanks for coming,” he says, awkwardly. “I was a little worried you would just keep ignoring me.”

“I didn’t—I didn’t mean to ignore you,” Taehyung says. “I got busy at work.”

“Mmhmm.”

“And I didn’t know how to respond,” Taehyung continues. He sits down on the bench, hunching his shoulders. Jungkook stays standing. “I’m never good with those ‘call me’ or ‘we need to talk’ texts. They’re just…” he flinches. His parents loved sending those, when Taehyung was in school. To make his school day worse. To make him dread the punishment for hours and hours before it happened.

“No?” Jungkook asks, quietly.

“My mom sent them a lot,” Taehyung mumbles. He stares into the distance.

“Does she still?”

“She died,” Taehyung says, hollow. It barely hurts to say, after all these years. “My dad finally killed her. He’s in jail, now.”

“Hyung,” Jungkook says, quietly.

“It’s not an excuse,” Taehyung continues. “I should’ve responded. But I didn’t want to do this. It’s almost easier to get dumped by text at this point.”

“Hyung,” Jungkook repeats.

“So go ahead,” Taehyung says, not looking at Jungkook. He stares at the ground. It is cold, his slippers without socks, his fleece over a t-shirt. This has already gone on longer than he thought it would, and it’s cold.

Jungkook’s feet appear in his field of vision as he steps closer. “Do you know that I like you?” he says, finally. Taehyung is silent. He doesn’t look up. “Because I do,” Jungkook continues. “I don’t want to dump you.”

“You told Jimin not to tell anyone at work,” Taehyung says, tired. “Not to tell them about us.” He looks away. “I’ve been secret before,” he says. “Only text at certain times, only allowed to see someone at certain places, don’t call, don’t get too needy.” He swallows.

“I —no,” Jungkook says. “Hyung, no, not that, never. I was panicking.” He shoves hands awkwardly into his pockets. “I think I wasn’t ready, that night. Not for—what we did.”

“Yeah, clearly,” Taehyung says.

“Not like that,” Jungkook says. “I wanted you. I still want you. But I want—more than that. More than just sex. And…” his voice trails off. “I don’t think you do, based on how you treated me. And it hurt.”

Taehyung stares up at him, at how he looks small, bundled in a puffy coat in the January cold. Standing on the sidewalk outside Taehyung’s apartment with his heart in his hand, waiting as long as it took. Taehyung’s voice is wobbly. “You didn’t want to have sex?”

“It was the first night we ever kissed, hyung.”

“I know,” says Taehyung.

“That’s kind of fucked up!”

“But that’s always how it is,” Taehyung says, finally looking up. Jungkook looks confused.

“No, it’s not,” he says, quietly.

“You have to take sex where you can get it,” Taehyung says, “because no one sticks around.”

“You didn’t even give me a chance,” Jungkook says.

“You’re not even out, Jungkook,” Taehyung says, sounding tired. “I made it easy for you.”

There, in the sidewalk in front of the apartment building, Jungkook looks at him, and all the lights reflect in his too-big eyes. Hurt is written all over his face. He has the kind of face that looks beautiful even when on the verge of tears, Taehyung thinks. He walks toward Taehyung, and kneels down next to him, their faces level. He’s too pretty, too sweet, too kind, too good. He deserves better than Kim Taehyung. In the sodium streetlight, he leans forward and puts his hand over Taehyung’s.

“I don’t want it easy,” Jungkook says. “I just want you.”

“No, you don’t,” Taehyung says.

“I am out,” Jungkook says. “I came out to my parents ages ago, hyung. I just never—never had a boyfriend, and so they keep hoping it won’t stick, that it’s not real. And I told Namjoon, after that night.”

“You what?” Taehyung asks, looking at him.

“I told Namjoon I was gay,” Jungkook says. “I didn’t tell everyone in the department because I didn’t want a big production about it. But I—I wanted to bring you as my date, for the holiday party,” Jungkook says, and his voice sounds small. “The department party. To kind of announce it, quietly. But then you stopped talking to me. And you walked away whenever you saw me.”

“I was trying to protect your reputation,” Taehyung says, weakly. “To make it easy for you.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that, hyung.”

“Clearly,” Taehyung mumbles, pulling his head further between his shoulders. Something in his chest feels funny. Some small, too-easily-crushed thing. Jungkook is still holding his hand. “You—you could’ve told me.”

“You were avoiding me,” Jungkook says. “I thought I might be bad at sex? Even though I thought it went fine? Maybe that’s why? Am I?”

“No, god, no,” Taehyung sats, hurriedly. “No, Jungkook-ah, the sex was so—I liked you too much. That’s why I was so hurt when Jimin finally told me. That you wanted it secret.”

“I’m not trying to keep you secret, hyung,” Jungkook says. “I would tell everyone about you. My literal fashion model doctor boyfriend.”

Taehyung snorts. “You’re an olympic athlete orthopedic surgeon, Jungkook,” he says. “You can do better than me.”

“But I think we make a good pair,” Jungkook says, quietly. “If you wanted to be my boyfriend.”

Taehyung bites his lip. “Boyfriend?” he asks, and doesn’t mean for his voice to sound as small and as close to tears as it does. Jungkook nods, holds onto his hand tightly.

“I remember what you said before,” Jungkook continues, quietly. “That when your parents mess up, they mess up your sense of trust. I know they messed up, and you had it a lot harder to get where we are than I did. I’m so sorry, hyung. I know it’s hard to trust and I know it’s hard to trust me. I messed up. I never meant to imply anything about keeping you a secret. I just—wanted to tell people myself, not spread it through gossip.”

“Jimin wouldn’t gossip about my sex life,” Taehyung says.

“I was panicking, and I’m sorry,” Jungkook says. “Can you trust me again?”

“With what?” Taehyung asks, and this time his voice does break in the middle, ugly, and tears spill over.

“With us,” Jungkook says. He reaches his other hand up to wipe at Taehyung’s tears. “Be my boyfriend, Kim Taehyung?”

Taehyung is crying for real now, tears blurring Jungkook’s face and running cold down his cheeks. “Okay,” he whispers, and Jungkook wraps both arms around him. He leans into the warmth.

“You’re so cold,” Jungkook murmurs, into his hair. “I can’t let my boyfriend be cold like this. Take my coat,” he insists, starting to take it off, when Taehyung grabs his arms.

“Let’s just go inside, weirdo,” he says, and if his voice breaks then Jungkook ignores it. “I thought my boyfriend would be smarter, being a doctor and all.”

“Don’t you know any stereotypes of ortho? That we have muscles instead of brains?” Jungkook asks, laughing, but laces their fingers together tightly.

In the elevator they huddle close together, Taehyung leaning into Jungkook’s shoulder and pressing his face against Jungkook’s chest. Jungkook won’t let go of him. Even as the elevator door opens and Taehyung pulls away, Jungkook keeps an arm around his shoulders while Taehyung opens the front door. Yeontan starts barking like Taehyung has been gone for hours. Jungkook puts him in bed with Yeontan in his lap before he leaves and comes back with tea.

“Snuggle me,” Taehyung demands, and Jungkook crawls into bed. Taehyung moves his arm so he’s underneath. “Snuggle is a boyfriend duty,” he says, testing the waters.

“Good,” Jungkook says. “You already know I sleep like a koala.”

Taehyung tugs on his arm until Jungkook can koala him. He’s warm. Taehyung thinks that eventually he might kick the blankets off, if they stay like this.

“I’m sorry,” he says, into Jungkook’s chest. “That I forced you into sex. That I ignored you after.”

Jungkook huffs a laugh into Taehyung’s hair. “You didn’t force me into sex, what the fuck,” he mumbles. “That was the best sex of my life, hyung.”

“You mean the night you lost your virginity? So the only sex of your life?”

“Gay virginity,” Jungkook says. “I’ve had sex before.”

“My apologies,” Taehyung mutters. “I didn’t realize you were so experienced with women."

“Well I’m gay, so the one time I had sex with a woman was awful,” Jungkook retorts. Taehyung holds him tighter, kisses softly along his neck. “I didn’t even know sex could be—fun, like that.”

“Oh, we’re gonna have so much fun,” Taehyung promises, then bites softly at his neck, enough to make Jungkook shiver.

“Hyung,” Jungkook whines.

“Boyfriend,” Taehyung sing-songs, kissing his shoulder.

“Maybe you can call off the OBGYN department,” Jungkook mutters.

“Oops,” Taehyung says. “That was Jimin.” He shifts. “Jimin is just…a little overprotective.” He snuggles closer to Jungkook’s chest. “My last ex was…bad. It made Jimin furious. He overreacted a little, probably, when you asked him not to tell anyone.”

“Not anymore,” Jungkook says, kissing his head. “What if instead I tell everyone?”

Taehyung’s chest feels warm. He snuggles closer, nose to Jungkook’s neck, lips on the thin skin over his sternum. “Thanks for being stubborn,” Taehyung says. “For not giving up when I did.”

“Well, I like you, you know,” Jungkook mumbles, voice sleepy. Taehyung reaches one arm over to turn off the lamp, then wraps it back over Jungkook. His breathing is evening out.

“I like you too,” Taehyung mumbles, and in his pulsing blood the oxytocin sings a different word. He falls asleep in his boyfriend’s arms.

———

In the morning, when Jimin throws open the door to Taehyung’s bedroom and yells: “POST CALL BREAKFAST?” Jungkook is still in bed. When he sits up, rubbing his eyes, Jimin screeches.

“YOU!”

“Good morning,” Jungkook says, blinking, voice hoarse from sleep.

“Jimin-ssi! Leave me and my boyfriend alone,” Taehyung mumbles, pulling his blankets higher.

“BOYFRIEND!!!” Jimin yells, louder. Taehyung grins against the pillow. Jungkook, looking down at him, is smiling, too. “BOYFRIEND!!! BOYFRIEND JEON JUNGKOOK!!!!! KIM TAEHYUNG EXPLAIN YOURSELF!!!”

“We can talk over breakfast,” Jungkook says, reasonably, except that he wants Taehyung to get out of bed and that’s not reasonable.

“Make me coffee and give me 15 minutes,” Taehyung whines.

“I AM STARTING A TIMER NOW,” Jimin announces, but leaves the room, shutting the door behind him. Jungkook and Taehyung continue smiling at each other, then Taehyung starts laughing and Jungkook joins him.

“Good morning,” Jungkook says, pressing a kiss to Taehyung’s nose. Taehyung makes a noise and kisses him on the lips, instead. It starts small but then Taehyung accidentally opens his mouth and Jungkook presses the advantage. Taehyung moves a hand up to Jungkook’s waist, gripping fabric of his t-shirt.

“Fifteen minutes, hmm?” Taehyung asks, breathlessly. He slips a hand under the hem of Jungkook’s shirt and Jungkook catches it.

“No,” he says, mock stern. “Besides, if I’m going to fuck you I want more than fifteen minutes.”

“Yes, please,” Taehyung says, and Jungkook grins at him again.

“YOU BETTER NOT BE FUCKING IN THERE,” Jimin yells, through the door.

“I LAST LONGER THAN FIFTEEN MINUTES AND YOU KNOW IT,” Taehyung yells back, and Jungkook starts giggling.

They go out for breakfast. This time, Jungkook comes with them, and he’s the one holding Taehyung’s hand in the sunshine. “How do you feel about video calling my parents?” Jungkook asks, looking over at Taehyung, and Taehyung has never ever been excited to meet someone’s parents before.

“Yes,” Taehyung says, and Jungkook pulls out his phone to send a text. When Taehyung looks over at Jimin, he’s smiling.

“I’m just happy you’re happy,” Jimin says. “And also you’re buying me breakfast.”

“Fine,” Taehyung sighs, and Jungkook squeezes his hand.

This second, in the sunshine, holding hands with his boyfriend, everything is perfect. And there is no darkness in the seconds in front of him.