#bts fantasy

It takes you an hour, mostly because you keep going back and forth regarding the layout, but when everything's transferred, you can't help but grab your favorite graphite pencil. It glides over a fresh page, depicting something you've had a hard time letting go since you saw it.

Another hour, maybe one and a half, and they're there: Jeongguk's laser-focused black eyes. Not pictured: the paperclip.

You keep going, and not long after, the next page contains a profile portrayal of his upper teeth. The central incisor, the lateral one, and then the long, thin, clearly superhuman canine. Behind it, you can glimpse the regular canine.

At nine-thirty pm, you're unlocking the heavy door, peering around carefully. There are no inpatient animals tonight, meaning the clinic should be entirely empty. Also meaning: you have no business inside the building.

Thus, it's dark as you enter, and you only turn on what light you absolutely need as to not risk being found out if any of your colleagues were to drive past—or God forbid, return to retrieve something forgotten—and see the place lit. Walking through the quiet corridors, you note that you have approximately twenty-five minutes to prepare.

At five minutes to ten, your phone dings. Since your outfit for once consists of something other than scrubs, you grab the device from your jean pocket to read the text displayed on the screen.

Jeon Jeongguk: I'm here

You don't reply, just stand from the chair you've been sitting on to note down some things, and head toward the entrance.

Like so many times before, you spot the tall, dark shape waiting just outside the door as soon as you enter the reception area, your heart skipping an excited beat.

With quick fingers, you unlock the door, and then you're peering up at him.

"Hi," you greet, backing up and watching as he steps inside, a tiny gust of wind accompanying him and making goosebumps rise on your arms.

He's wearing black again. A black leather jacket over a black shirt, and dark-wash jeans of the looser kind.

"Hi," he echoes, smiling down at you. His hair is windswept, and you swear his eyes might be even darker than last time you saw him.

You'd say you're quite a talented artist, but God, your drawing of his eyes is nothing compared to the real thing. You almost want to ask him whether all vampires are beautiful because you do remember his friends at the bar, and they were gorgeous as well.

"This way," you say, turning around.

Wordlessly, Jeongguk follows as you lead the way back to the room where he first apologized with the empty crate. Should someone, for some reason, visit the clinic, you'll be safest from discovery hidden away in the farthest room.

Keeping a distance of around a meter or so, Jeongguk's boots thump heavily against the floor as he trails behind you, a sound you're almost starting to find comfort in.

The door to the exam room is open, just like you left it, the light from inside pouring out into the otherwise dark hallway. You enter, shutting the door behind you when Jeongguk's through as well. You're not surprised to see him take his usual spot on the exam table, removing his jacket and folding it to lay beside him.

"You know, you can say no to this, right?" you ask, grabbing the sterile sheet of supplies you've prepared from the counter and placing it on the table next to him.

"It's fine. Consider it my apology for scaring you," he smiles warmly at you.

You return his gesture, pulling on some nitrile gloves.

"I'm very grateful. This is like…." you don't even know what to say as you drag the chair closer to him with your foot, sitting down and grabbing an antiseptic wipe to wipe down the inside of the elbow he wordlessly offers you. His skin is warm, radiating heat even through the gloves. "I feel like I'm the vampire, essentially vibrating at the thought of your blood."

He laughs at that, a lovely deep sound that goes straight to your heart.

"Well, I definitely don't need a tourniquet," you then mumble as you focus on his thick arm, pressing two fingers to the biggest vein and feeling it react almost like that of a human. It does give under pressure—but much less than a human's—quickly filling back up when you let go.

"Do you think this will work?" you ask, grabbing a needle and holding it up for him to see. It's one designed for the largest of dogs; the next step up in strength from a human grade needle.

"I don't know? I've never had my blood drawn."

Your eyes widen. "Really?"

You guess it makes sense, but it's still a surprise to hear.

"Yeah. Not really any use for it. And it wasn't really a thing when I was human."

"You sure you want to?"

"Yeah. How bad can it be? I'm not scared of pain or anything."

"Okay. Then I'll try with this one. It's usually a straight forward process, especially with veins like yours when you don't have to search for them. Or in my case, shave and search for them while holding the patient still."

Jeongguk grins.

"I'll try sticking you, and if it works, then I'll fill a few of these," you nod toward the vials on the blue sheet. "When I'm done, I'll remove the needle."

"Sounds good."

"Great."

Biting your lip, you focus on the needle as you angle it properly against the thick vein. You can't tell if Jeongguk is looking at your hands or your face, but you try not to think about his eyes on you.

Even though you've established that his skin doesn't feel too different from a human's besides the temperature, the needle is met with a surprising amount of resistance.

"Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?" you mumble, a little worried by the amount of pressure you're slowly forced to apply. You really don't want to accidentally stab him if his skin suddenly gives way.

Jeongguk only hums, clearly not that bothered. Slowly and very, very carefully, you increase the pressure, and then, the needle finally pierces through.

Relieved, you turn to the gathered equipment, reaching for some tape to fasten the needle against his skin, and then you're grabbing the first vial, attaching it.

Immediately, there's blood. It trickles in quicker than it would for an animal, or how you've seen your own blood do whenever you've had it drawn, and when you lean in, you notice that it's almost black. The gears inside your head are turning as you consider what it might mean. There's still a slight hint of red—a very dark red, which makes you wonder if his red blood cells are simply so tightly packed that—

Barely having time to finish the thought, you have to reach for the next vial, seeing the current one practically already filled to the brim.

Removing the full vial, you attach the new one, glancing up at his face when you're done. "Feeling okay?"

He nods and smiles softly, as if he realizes your (most likely very unnecessary) words are meant to be caring and not infantilizing.

"God, it smells of iron." You point out, blinking in surprise.

Jeongguk laughs. "Yeah. The iron also makes it a lot darker than human blood."

"I can see that," you say, replacing the second vial with the third and last one. "It looks like it's slightly more… viscous too," you comment, turning that second vial upside down. As you do, the blood pools at the new bottom, leaving a coat of dark red behind. Although it moves slower, its consistency is far from that of syrup; just a tiny bit less watery than your own blood.

"What are you going to do with them?"

"I'm bringing them home with me just so that no one sees them. I'll be looking at… Well, whatever I can see. Usually, putting a drop of blood under a microscope will let you see the red and white blood cells—which carry oxygen and keep one's immune system working, respectively—and then the platelets and plasma.

"Platelets can show things like how quick the body can heal a wound and plasma is basically the liquid that holds the proteins and electrolytes. So I'll be looking at shapes, amounts, and behaviors of the cells. Other than that, I can't really plan ahead because I have no idea what I'll see."

He nods, and you remove the last vial, placing it next to the other two on the sheet beside him. Giving him a quick warning, you then swiftly remove the needle, prepared to wipe any escaping blood with a bit of gauze. But there isn't any; not even a tiny pink dot remains as evidence.

"Uh…" you continue, trying to find your thoughts again as you peer between his flawless skin and the needle you definitely know you just pulled out. "Right… And if I can manage to do it without anyone noticing, I'd also love to analyze some of your blood here at the lab.

"I won't be able to look at the proteins themselves with my microscope at home, but I am particularly curious about them and why you can be so warm without the proteins in your blood essentially cooking. And also whether the lead poisoning you described has left any visible traces. And, of course, to see just how much iron is in your blood and whatnot."

You stand up, disposing the needle in the sharps container and remove the gloves to throw them in the trash. When you're done, you grasp two of the three vials from the table, backing toward the door. "I'll be right back, I'm just gonna put these in the centrifuge."

"Alright."

The dark hallways don't pose a problem for you, knowing every door and every turn like the back of your hand. Therefore, it doesn't take you more than a minute or two to locate the lab with the desktop centrifuge, popping the two vials in and starting the machine. It comes to life with a hum, and you leave the room to let it work in peace.

When you return to the exam room, Jeongguk is standing in front of the ultrasound machine you rolled into a corner prior to his arrival. It's an older model, bulky and ancient compared to the portable ones you take out into the field.

While he's watching that, you're watching him, having an embarrassingly hard time tearing your eyes from his wide, muscular back. And even though you just got to sit eye to eye with his veins, your gaze trails those veins spanning the back of his forearms almost hungrily. God, you can't remember the last time you had a crush like this. Wait, what?

"You wanted to use this one, right?" Jeongguk interrupts your thoughts as he gestures toward the machine, still inspecting it curiously.

"Yeah…" you confirm. He keeps looking at the machine as you retrieve the rest of the blood draw supplies, setting them on the counter along with the third vial; the one you're keeping un-centrifuged for your microscope at home.

"…But what?" he asks when he notices the slight hesitancy, looking back at you to see you leaning back against the counter, crossing your arms and biting your lip as you think.

"Well… your heart was a little hard to hear with the stethoscope, and considering everything—like how strong you evidently are—I'm just wondering if… maybe your muscles are somehow so dense that it's harder for sound to penetrate them?"

"Which would… make it difficult to see anything on an ultrasound as well?" he fills in.

Momentarily, your eyes lose their focus, staring into nothing but the air. "Realistically, they should still be soft enough to ultrasound 'cause, you know… they're not solid, but that bad boy over there is getting up there in age," you nod toward the ultrasound machine. "The portable one is with Yoongi, who's on call."

Jeongguk hums, dark eyes watching you and patiently waiting for your decision.

A thought hits you.

"Would you—" you start, gesturing toward the exam table before you have time to really consider whether your spontaneous idea will help or not. Unbothered, Jeongguk returns to his seated spot.

You approach, looking at his arm (entirely professional this time). You're curious about his muscles, and well, the arm he used to lift the car with is as good as any.

"Do you mind if I…?" you reach carefully for him.

He shakes his head, lifting his arm slightly toward you. You grasp it by the elbow as you consider where to start. God, it never stops surprising you how warm he is.

"Okay, relax," you mumble.

Besides warm like a radiator, his arm is so incredibly heavy, almost to the point where you lose your grip on it when he obeys your request and lets it go limp. Adjusting the hand under his elbow for support, you move the other to the inside of that same joint. All the while, you feel his curious gaze on you as you get to work.

"Not sore?" you ask, referring to how you just stuck a needle into that same spot.

"No. What are you searching for?" he asks, eyes on your fingers as you work them as gently as you can into the crease of his elbow.

"Your distal biceps tendon. Can you do this for me real quick? Make a fist and flex your arm, just a small bend at the elbow?"

He copies your brief demonstration, the contrast between your flexed arms almost comical. Still, it works, and you feel the tendon pop out under your thumb, its thickness and strength very obvious. The question is only: to what extent?

Using both hands again, you move one up his semi-flexed, very impressive biceps, and you try your best to trace the underlying anatomy, your eyes focused on the wall behind him. He's… firm. That's the best way you can describe him. Warm and firm.

"Can I fold this up?" you ask, tugging a little on the sleeve of his t-shirt in order to get to his shoulder.

"Yeah. Or I can just—?"

You take a step back when he grabs the shirt by the back of his neck and yanks it off.

"Yeah. Or that," you smile, trying not to stare at his golden chest. He just has to have your absolutely favorite body type, doesn't he? Wide shoulders, overall muscular but without too much, stringy definition. And that itty-bitty waist, complete with two tiny skin rolls as he sits? Not to mention the veins, but those practically never leave your mind anyway, spanning his hands and running all the way up his shoulders, even. And that's just his body; his face is even more gorgeous.

Oblivious to your infatuated thoughts—or maybe not, but you're not even going to consider that—he puts the shirt beside him, once more offering you his arm.

"Flexed? Or relaxed?"

"Relaxed. I'm just trying to locate some of your tendons and see if, for any reason, I wouldn't be able to ultrasound them."

"What would that reason be?"

"Not sure," you shrug, putting your hands back on his upper arm. "Maybe they're covered by super dense muscle? Maybe you have bone-plated armor covering weak spots like the crease of your elbows? Actually, nevermind; I wouldn't have been able to draw your blood if that were the case, but you get my point."

He grins, amused, eyes focused on your hands again as you start to move them, feeling the top of his shoulder.

"The two biceps heads go here," you explain, pressing your thumb near the front of his shoulder joint and your middle finger just a bit higher and inward. "Should be able to see them on the ultrasound as well. And the muscle, itself… It's definitely soft when relaxed," you murmur, running both hands down his relaxed arm again, palpating the thick tissue.

"While you have your shirt off… Can I..?" Slowly, you let go of his arm, pointing to his side.

"Yeah, go ahead. Whatever you want."

You laugh quietly at his complete compliance. "I appreciate it. Your sacrifice for science."

He chuckles too, moving his arm out of the way as you pull the chair closer with your foot again, sitting down. With your right hand, you feel his side, where multiple layers of muscle cover his ribs.

"I heard your heart better from here, and… while your serratus anterior is quite dense and strong—yeah, I can barely feel your ribs under these muscles—those are probably the real problem," you nod toward his pecs. "But I think I'll be able to see your heart as well, unless there's an internal aspect causing issues. If I can get a probe between your ribs, that is."

"Between them?" he lifts an eyebrow.

"I'm not gonna jam something between them or anything," you're quick to explain, placing two fingers against his side, in the space between two ribs. "I'll put the probe here in an intercostal space, against your skin, and hopefully the sound waves make it between the ribs."

"Hm," he leans back on his arms, and you remove your hand from his skin. "Well, you're welcome to try whatever you want."

Why does he always have to say things like that? Why?! Simply pretending like he said something that didn't make your chest warm, you offer a grateful smile and stand up.

The ultrasound machine squeaks as you roll it over to where you want it, positioning it next to the exam table.

"Do I lie down? People lie down for these, don't they?"

Walking over to the light switches, you flick one of the two main ceiling lights off. "You can, but it might not be very comfortable—"

Turning, you see him already flat on his back, his lower legs hanging freely off the edge and toward the floor.

"It's not so bad," he comments, earnestly.

"Heart this way, though, please," you smile as you approach, even more so when he sits up to lie the other way.

"Is there a reason you turned the lights off? Or just for coziness?"

You laugh. As if you—trying so hard to be professional in the most unprofessional situation ever—would turn the lights off for 'coziness.'

"It makes it easier to see the screen. These old screens aren't as powerful as the new ones."

Spending a moment in silence going through the probes available, you then settle for one and reach for the gel on the little tray.

"This can be a little cold," you warn, squeezing an appropriate amount onto the probe.

He doesn't say anything, his eyes focused on the ceiling.

"I'll start with your heart," you add, sitting down and adjusting the long white cable attached to the probe.

But then you realize that his arm is in the way. "Could you… put your arm either above or under your head?"

"Sure," he agrees calmly, lifting his arm and putting his hand under his head. It gives you a whole new angle of not only his thick and defined arm but his side and abdomen as well. Naturally, your eyes do a quick scan. There's a dark tuft of hair growing in his armpit, something you find unreasonably attractive.

Jeongguk doesn't react when you put the gelled-up probe to his pec. Using your left hand to angle it against his skin, you push the old, worn-down buttons on the machine's small desk with your right, trying to find not only the best angles but also settings.

You mutter your slight frustration when the display merely shows a foggy outline of a mass. Even though this particular machine still performs well enough on animals, it might just have met its match in Jeongguk's pectorals.

"Try to relax as much as possible for me, okay?" you say, eyes locked onto the screen as you hope a slightly softer muscle will be easier to see through.

It doesn't work though, and you're forced to give up. But only after another few minutes of double checking angles and settings, of course; you don't admit defeat that easily.

Jeongguk lets you work in silence. It's comfortable and calm, not awkward in the slightest. He breathes slowly and evenly, taking the odd deep breath when you ask him again to please do his best to relax as much as possible.

Moving the probe to his abdomen, right below the junction of his ribs as you try to tilt it up and underneath them, you spot something.

"Well, your liver looks rather… normal," you state quietly, watching the organ show up on screen like that of any human. At least as far as you know; you don't do ultrasounds on humans, but there shouldn't be that much of a difference.

"Oh—and there's your heart."

Jeongguk turns his head, and the movement has you losing the angle. "Wait. Hold on, lie still; I'll show you."

He keeps his head turned, his eyes warming your face as you adjust the probe, trying to find the image again. It takes you a few seconds, and then you feel yourself light up.

"Look," you say, carefully turning the machine to face him while trying not to move the probe. "It's not the best image, and it's from below, but there it is."

It's fascinating, the small, grainy glimpse of the powerful organ that graces the screen. It beats just like you've heard it, slowly, every contraction precise. Even watching it, a sense of calm washes over you. There's no rush; it does what it's done since long before you were born and what it will continue to do for however long Jeongguk lives. Another few centuries? Millennia?

"Cool."

You chuckle. Jeongguk grins youthfully when you meet his gaze. Of course, he's not as impressed by his own heart, maybe more so the technology that actually lets him see it.

"Yeah. And even though the image is kinda… meh, look here," you trace the faint outline of the heart wall with your finger. "See how thick it is?"

"Uh…" he watches but doesn't seem to quite understand your fascination.

"Okay, hold on," you say, removing the probe from him, and with a little more gel on the top of it, you grab the lower hem of your shirt and move the probe underneath. It doesn't take you nearly as long to find the corresponding angle on yourself—your abs aren't made of steel…—and there it is, only sharper and clearer.

"Do you see the difference? The walls of your heart—the muscle itself—are much thicker than mine," you trace the same shape on your own visualized heart; almost pathetically small compared to Jeongguk's. Not only that, but it beats fast, contracting quickly as if you're in the middle of a marathon. The contrast is almost absurd.

"Yeah," he smiles. "Seems like you're excited about something?"

You huff and remove the probe from your skin, watching the screen go dark. "Mean. And here I was going to show you my condition."

He tilts his head, his curiosity having lost that teasing edge, the tone bordering on worried. "You have a condition?"

"Kinda."

"Well, show me."

You give him the sternest look you can muster.

"I'll be nice, I promise."

"Fine."

Luckily, the shirt you chose to wear today is of the looser, boxier kind, allowing you to slide the probe back under it and against your side. You breathe slowly, trying to calm your heart at least a fraction.

Jeongguk sits up, dark eyes glued to the sight of your beating heart. It thumps evenly—if only faster than his—until it doesn't.

"Wait, that beat was much quicker?"

"Yeah."

"Is that not… dangerous?"

"Keep looking."

He returns his focus to the screen, watching intently. "It happened again. Your rhythm isn't even like mine."

"No. I have 'regular irregularities,'" you explain softly. "It's not dangerous since the rhythm doesn't deviate. Or at least from what's normal for me. It's more like a little quirk."

He bites his lip, and, for a long second, looks at you.

"Can I feel?"

"Feel?"

"Your pulse."

"Uh," you start, more surprised than unwilling. "Sure."

Before you know it, he's reaching his large hand out, gently grasping your neck—the back of it, at least—and with his thumb on your artery, immediately finds your pulse. You guess that's maybe even more of his expertise than it is yours, so you don't bother reminding him that it's generally best to feel for someone's pulse with a finger other than the thumb, which has its own pulse, easily confused with the subject's.

You try desperately to calm your poor heart, willing yourself to breathe slowly as every thump beats against his thumb.

"Relax," he mumbles.

"Be nice—"

"I didn't imply anything," he defends. "I think I have yet to meet even one human whose heart doesn't race when a vampire feels for their pulse. It's instinctual."

Maybe also because you're hot, you almost want to say.

It's only because he's staring into the air as he feels your pulse that you manage to lower it even slightly. A moment passes. And then another; the room enveloped in a thick silence, Jeongguk's warm hand still around the back of your neck, and his thumb on your carotid artery.

"Interesting. I'm not… new to wacky heartbeats, but I don't think I've ever felt one that's… regularly irregular."

He lets go of your neck, and you look at him. "Well, do you listen often? To someone who's not scared you'll eat them?"

"No, not really. Not that I eat humans, cause I don't—you saw the powdered blood I use—I just don't really listen to heartbeats," he explains, which has you nearly rolling your eyes. It's sweet, how he still really doesn't want you to misinterpret him. "Do you feel anything? Is it noticeable?"

"No, I don't feel it," you answer. "I've probably always had it. It's just the rhythm my heart has."

He hums, accepting your answer before he lowers his gaze to the probe in your hand. "…You're not done with me, are you?"

You grin. "No."

Admitting defeat with a smile of his own, he lies back down. You reach for the gel again, turning the screen back.

"Arm up, please."

He lifts his arm and tucks his hand under his head again. This time, you touch the probe to his side, trying to find another view of his heart.

Just like you hoped, a few moments of quiet searching later, and you have the clearest side view of his heart yet. The resolution still leaves quite a lot to be desired, but you're grateful nonetheless, your fingers tapping the buttons to activate the color Doppler mode.

"Do you want to see more? How your heart moves your blood?" you ask, smiling brightly but realizing that far from everyone is as nerdy as you.

"Sure," he answers. Having learned from last time, he doesn't move a muscle, instead waiting patiently for you to turn the screen toward him.

"So, this setting visualizes the blood flow as colors; red is the blood coming toward the probe. Blue is the blood going away from it."

"That's interesting."

"You think so?" you ask. You wouldn't be surprised if he's mostly pretending to be polite.

"I mean, yeah? It doesn't really tell me much, but it's fascinating to see. And I can tell that it makes you happy."

You turn the screen back, eyes locked onto his grainy, slightly foggy heart. With every slow beat, a portion of the screen lights up in red, then blue. You think that's when another realization hits you; not one that douses you in ice water, whispering that you're prey in the presence of a predator, but a calm excitement that… you found something. You found something amazing, something out of this world, and for all you know, you're one of few to ever have a heart like this under your ultrasound probe.

Calm yet powerful like nothing else, his heart moves what must be an immense amount of blood with every contraction.

"Have you ever had your blood pressure taken?" you mumble, pressing another button on the control pad.

"No. It's the tube that goes around your arm, right?"

Nodding, you turn your head to watch him. Or more specifically, his arm. "I'd love to measure yours," you admit almost longingly. "But we don't have any cuffs here that would fit you. We typically measure a horse's blood pressure around the base of their tail, so that's just a human cuff, but it's in the field bag with Yoongi. The canine cuffs we have here won't even clear your forearm."

"Well, if you find a way…" he says, still watching you with that calm, slightly curious look.

You return your attention to the screen, taking the chance to see Jeongguk's heart from every angle possible.

Ultrasonography is a skill learned through time and experience: lots of it. Still doesn't mean it's easy for you or that you can just slide the probe around willy-nilly and find what you're looking for simply because you've got hundreds of them under your belt. You need a light yet stable hand and the knowledge of where to go. Also a bit of luck.

"Do you need me conscious?" Jeongguk's low voice asks after a few more minutes. "Cause I might fall asleep."

"It's that boring?" You look at him, endeared and smiling. "Wait. You sleep?"

You're not sure why you're so surprised, staring at him like he just told you he can levitate. It would be exponentially weirder if he didn't sleep; it just never crossed your mind that he would. He chuckles.

"Yeah. It's not boring, it's just that I'm lying down, in a quiet and dark room. That… touch is pretty soothing, and you keep ordering me to relax."

You try not to blush, removing the probe from his skin and looking around for the tissues to remove the gel. "Do you want to stop? Or at least continue another day?"

"No. I don't mind," he yawns. "Continue. Test me, stick me, feel me up; I don't mind."

You pause, forehead creasing. "While you sleep?"

"Yeah? Just a warning, I sleep pretty heavily. If you need me awake, just… shake me. I'll wake up sooner or later."

"Okay," you snicker. That is such an apex predator advantage. No one is going to eat you, so why bother be on guard?

Not even five minutes later, he's out; his eyes closed and his breaths slow and even. Not entirely satisfied, you're still looking at the blood flow from his heart on the monitor, moving the probe around ever so slightly.

When you were in university, your class got to visit a zoo. The on-staff veterinarian demonstrated how they sedate their animals—large predators, mostly—by dart, and then they opened the enclosures and let you all inside. You particularly remember the lion, who they suspected had torn a ligament, and the brown bear requiring dental work.

It's a feeling like no other, working on a sleeping predator—the sleeping bear, quite literally—and with your elevated heartbeat, hoping to God they don't wake up before you're done and safely outside.

Working on Jeongguk while he sleeps feels similar in ways you can't really explain. While he's not a 200 kg lion, he's huge, lying on the table in front of you with his legs hanging down. And even if you're not actually scared that he'll wake up because you don't think he'll eat you, it's there regardless; the deep, subconscious knowledge that everything he lets you do to him, even if it's essentially whatever you want, is on his terms and his terms alone.

So while the smallest change in Jeongguk's breathing doesn't scare you shitless like the tiny groan the lion let out as you touched its paw, you're still aware of it.

Twenty minutes later, when you suspect you've seen everything the machine can show you of his heart, you carefully wipe the gel from his chest and move toward his abdomen. The moment you put the probe to his skin again, you wait, eyes on his face and awaiting a reaction of some kind, but there's nothing.

Considering his words of consent, you continue, moving the probe around to locate his organs. In humans and most animals, the intestines are always—to some extent—noisy. Food, liquid, and gas are constantly processed by the interior muscles, and it creates a steady background hum of activity. But from what you can see of Jeongguk's abdomen, it's entirely silent and still.

You see the organs relatively clearly through his abdominal muscles, which—despite being thick and surely strong as hell—aren't quite as dense as his pecs. And his organs are there; blood is circulating to and through them; they're just…dormant.

But as you glide the probe over to where his bladder should be, you don't find it. Only on the third pass do you spot it, appearing entirely empty and therefore tiny. It confirms what he said about his near-perfect closed-loop system, where his kidneys don't really output urine unless to get rid of excess fluid.

Quietly amazed, you wipe the gel from his abdomen and some stray streaks that you previously missed on his chest.

Your next target is his arm, but before you do anything else, you quietly stand from the chair, softly padding out of the exam room to pay the locker room a quick visit. Considering everything Jeongguk is doing for you and your curiosity, you can at least make it as comfortable as possible for him. That's the reasoning behind bringing him your personal pillow, carefully putting a hand under his head to slide the pillow in under it.

Just like the lion's paw, Jeongguk's limp arm is—besides warm—incredibly heavy. Struggling a little more than you care to admit, you maneuver it to hang off the edge of the table and into your lap, where his body heat radiates straight through your clothes.

Holding onto that big, heavy, veiny arm, you touch the probe to his biceps, and what you find is so, so interesting. While his heart looked a tad bit bigger than that of a regular man his size, it appeared disproportionately strong, the muscle responsible for its contractions dense and thick, almost like his pecs.

Similarly, the muscles in his arm show up bright on screen, so dense that you barely see through them. It explains perfectly why he's quite a bit heavier than he appears.

You don't rush, feeling alright about taking your time since Jeongguk is sleeping either way. Besides the muscle bellies themselves, you spend quite a while inspecting the different tendons in his arm. As well as you can, at least.

Where the tendons are exposed, like the biceps tendon on the inside of his elbow, they're thick and bright on screen. Clear and sharp. But where they disappear in under too much overlaying muscle, they blur as the soundwaves scatter. You can't conclude much more than that they're thicker than a human's, but you felt that even when you palpated him earlier.

The biggest discovery, however, is probably when you move the probe to the inside of Jeongguk's biceps and over his brachial artery. It's the arm's main blood supply, and it should be well-developed for any relatively fit and strong man. In fact, its size shouldn't be that much of a surprise when you can feel the outline of Jeongguk's even while he sleeps.

But the moment the artery is centered under the probe, and you see the on-screen numbers measure the diameter to be 5.6 millimeters wide, you blink in shock. Almost dropping the probe, you scramble to dig your phone out of your pocket and open the browser, searching for the average brachial diameter for a human man.

3-4 millimeters. Ish. Apparently, an exceptionally strong climber measured at 4.4 millimeters and attributed his almost superhuman strength to his wide arteries. And Jeongguk's is 5.6 millimeters.

His arm rests limply in your lap as you note the numbers down on a nearby stray piece of paper, underlining it twice, as if you'd possibly forget. That has to be one of the big explanations, right? For his super strength? His muscles and tendons are disproportionately strong on their own, yes, but they can generate so much more force and for so much longer because his body can provide them with an almost endless supply of oxygen.

God, now all you need to know is what the hell is in his blood. With that additional puzzle piece, you feel like you're one step closer to solving the mystery that is his strength.

When your own heart finally calms down from the discovery-induced adrenaline high, you find yourself simply watching the flow of his blood for a few minutes. For some reason, it's very soothing, like watching waves hit the shore on an empty beach.

Before you turn off the machine and clear Jeongguk's skin of the remaining gel, the last thing you do is adjust the settings to also thoroughly inspect the uppermost level. His skin.

As expected, and aligning with what you've already seen, it is noticeably thicker. There's not much fat, but the skin itself is thick. You reach for the pen again, writing down a question.

'Sensitivity?'

You power the machine off, the absence of the low humming suddenly making the room almost eerily quiet. Jeongguk is still fast asleep, his handsome face so youthful. You smile to yourself; he wasn't lying when he said that he was a heavy sleeper. Still, you don't watch his face for too long, for some reason convinced that he, at any second, will open his eyes and stare at you. You don't know what you find scarier: him suddenly and unceremoniously staring at you, or finding you staring at him.

Pushing the ultrasound cart away slightly, you settle back into your chair again, carefully grasping his arm. It's one thing to see something on screen—pretty badly portrayed, at that—it's another to feel it. In your line of work, your patients can sometimes show you what's wrong, even if they can't outright tell you. But they can also be entirely stoic or just simply unreliable, and so you've learned to rely a lot on your hands, feeling for whatever's not right.

Rolling your chair just a tad closer, still with his hand in your lap, you run your hands softly up to his shoulder, planning to get a better feel than the previous preview. Throwing a quick glance at his face, you confirm that he hasn't reacted.

You start by tracing your fingers over his shoulder cap, feeling exactly where the thick muscle fibers anchor onto his collar bone. Lifting one hand from his skin, you trace the same part on yourself just to compare. While your attachments are distinctly human; still relatively strong but with a certain degree of "give," Jeongguk's feel much harder. It makes sense because, as established, a muscle can't be stronger than its bone attachments allow it to be.

Returning your hand to his shoulder, you slide your fingers down a little further, carefully prodding the inside of his armpit for the lymph nodes.

There's a sound.

Almost like a quick exhale of air. Your gaze snaps to Jeongguk's face, but he hasn't moved a muscle, still entirely quiet and relaxed. You must've imagined it, or it was the ultrasound machine finally powering down completely. Old things like that make random sounds, after all.

You let your hands move again. Just like the lymph nodes in his neck, the nodes in his armpit are harder than normal, for a human at least.

Continuing further down, your hands reach his biceps and triceps. You've seen the thickness of his upper arm before, even had your hands on him briefly earlier tonight, but it's another thing to really get to feel. You won't deny that palpating the dense muscles makes your heart skip maybe an extra beat, but you'd absolutely keep that fact to yourself. Besides increasing the inevitable attraction you feel toward him, the curious scientist in you is thrilled.

Jeongguk's biceps is incredibly well developed, no surprise there, but you're almost surprised at just how dense his triceps is. Additionally, as you prod the muscles, eyes unfocused on the wall, you note that there's basically no intramuscular fat, or at least you can't feel any. You continue to trace the three heads of the triceps, mapping where they anchor to the elbow.

Concluding that, yeah, he's got a physique rather similar to human men, just leveled up and engineered to withstand more force—like… a lot more—you slide one of your hands down to his wrist, grasping it and lifting.

Struggling just a little, you move his heavy lower arm slowly back and forth, folding it at the elbow, just to get a glimpse of his range of motion. You think perhaps it's a little greater than what's considered normal in a human, but flexibility in humans is highly individual. It could be for vampires as well? You wouldn't call his range of motion unnatural, at least.

With that out of the way, you continue your descent, feeling for the elbow's attachments in the other direction, toward his forearm. They feel just as strong, no surprise there. With your left hand, you feel for the right spot in the middle of his forearm, carefully digging your thumb into the flesh. There's not a lot of give, and it takes a quite a lot of pressure, but then you see it; how his middle finger twitches. Moving your thumb a little to the side and pressing, you get the index finger to react, too.

His wrist is thick and so are the veins running on both sides of it. Actually, all sides of it. You lift his hand again, gently rolling his wrist to test the range of motion of that joint as well. There's zero friction, no sounds or jumps, just fluid motion.

The results remain consistent when you move on to feel the muscles in his hand and his fingers, very gently stretching and curling them. Your own wrist pops occasionally—something it's always done—a reminder that you, at least, are human.

"What are you feeling for?"

The low voice breaks the silence just as you're done with his pinky. It startles you, and your wide eyes flit to his face to find his dark eyes watching you.

"God, don't scare me like that," you complain, exhaling. But you also feel your cheeks heat. His voice didn't sound… newly awoken. "How long have you been awake?"

"Uh, since you started feeling me up," he grins lazily.

"I wasn't feeling you up," you defend, groaning internally. You've been 'feeling him up' for way too long. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Don't worry, I said that you could, didn't I?" he continues, and you can tell he doesn't mind. "And it felt nice; I didn't want you to stop."

You roll your eyes, cheeks very warm.

"So did you learn anything?"

You nod, excitement overriding your embarrassment because you did. "Yeah. So, in conclusion: your muscles are dense. So much so that it does make it more difficult to see past them on the ultrasound. And probably why it was a little harder to hear your heart as well. Your heart is a little bit bigger than what I'd consider normal in a human man, but it works roughly the same, only stronger and capable of moving more blood around. Your brachial artery, however," you say, lightly tapping the spot on his inner biceps. "Is insane."

Jeongguk lifts his eyebrows and sits up, stretching briefly. "How is it insane?"

"The average brachial diameter for a human man is around 3 to 4 millimeters; some peaking at roughly 4.5. Yours is not only thick and extra muscular, but it's 5.6 millimeters in diameter; that's a lot. Logically, that would mean that not only is your heart pumping a lot of blood around, but your veins and arteries are better equipped to deliver that blood to your muscles. And to your other organs, of course."

Jeongguk listens intently, quietly curious, as you continue.

"So not only are your muscles denser, your heart bigger, and your veins and arteries thicker to handle the added pressure, your tendons are crazy thick as well. If they weren't, you'd probably risk tearing the muscles from your bones with how strong you are. You also seem to have a slightly wider range of motion? I don't know if that is a vampire thing or a you thing? For humans, it varies a lot, even among those that don't have connective tissue disorders like Ehlers-Danlos."

"Never thought about it."

You shrug. "Then it's probably not a big deal. The movement of your joints, at least your elbow, wrist, and fingers, is very smooth. No clicking or incongruence."

"Like you have?"

"You noticed that?"

He smiles and nods. Then he tilts his head. "What… was it that you did when you pressed on my forearm?"

"I was feeling the tendons that control your fingers. Seeing if I could manipulate them."

"My fingers?"

"Mhm. Look," you say, holding your hand out.

Jeongguk fulfills your request, holding out his forearm and watching as you trace his warm skin to find the spot again. "Relax your hand. Hold on. Okay, see?"

With your thumb pressing down, his middle finger moves, curling slightly.

"Oh? That's cool."

"Yeah. A bit of a party trick," you grin, letting go of his arm and leaning back. "Oh, almost forgot. Your abdomen is very… quiet. Not a lot going on there as you probably knew. And your bladder is practically entirely empty, which supports what you said about your mostly 'closed loop' system."

"Yeah. That, I knew," he smiles widely.

With your cheeks burning yet again, you reach for his shirt, handing it to him. "Thanks for… letting me do all of this."

Telling yourself that it's not weird to be fascinated by him and his anatomy doesn't make you feel any less of a perv, unfortunately.

"No problem. If this is how it is going to the doctor, I kinda wish I could go too."

You laugh. "This is not how it is at the doctor's. And if it is, you need to report the doctor."

"Why?" he smiles, and fuck, you dug a grave and stepped right in.

Why? Because it's inappropriate?

"Well… for one, I'd say we're… friends? I don't have the responsibility to treat you for something like a doctor would for their patient. I'm actually not even a doctor; I'm a vet, and the way I work is a bit different than how a doctor would with human patients."

"You go by touch?"

"Yeah. I use my hands to evaluate a lot. Besides, you're not a human, and you shouldn't be asleep at the doctor's."

He puts the shirt back on, amused.

A thought hits you. "You don't have any doctors of your own? Vampire doctors?"

It's still odd to say the word out loud.

"We do, but not a lot since we rarely need them. We have a few different… services, but they're more like caretakers. Like, if someone gets poisoned or actually dehydrated, they can help take care of them. Quite a few vampires live in solidarity, so it can be hard to survive things like that if you don't have anyone to take care of you."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Those friends you were with, at the bar that night?"

"Also vampires," he grins. "They're not from around here but Tae—Taehyung—is thinking of renting a house here for a few months."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

It makes you wonder…

"There aren't any other vampires here. At least not right now," he says, clearly having realized your train of thought and met you at the station.

"Oh."

He tilts his head. "Are you relieved?"

You think about it. "Uh… I don't know? I guess that makes the chances of being killed by something supernatural… lower, but… I mean, you're nice."

He laughs, lifting his arm to look at his watch. "Oh, shit. I have to go."

"You have… plans? At ass o'clock?"

"Uh… yeah. Vampire plans," he starts, eyes however widening slightly at his own words. "…That definitely do not involve hunting humans for food."

It's your turn to laugh. Does he sound like a bad liar? A bit, but it sounds more to you like he just wants to make sure you're not getting the wrong idea and trips a little over his words in the process.

"Okay. Have fun? And, uh, thank you again for… you know, letting me do all of this."

He grins. "Anytime. Text me when you're home."

Your cheeks get no break tonight, it seems. Still, you nod as you watch him throw the jacket back on as well.

You drive home, falling asleep right after putting his blood in the fridge. And you dream about his warm body and dark eyes. And it hits you as you wake up, that you weren't scared. Nervous and... aware, sure, because you inevitably like the very handsome and charming vampire, but even as he joked about his vampire plans, you were never truly scared.

<previous | next>

Clearing his throat, Hoseok carefully takes another sheet. His shoulders are stiff, there is an ache in his lower back, and he craves the kick of caffeine so badly he starts to hallucinate it on the tip of his tongue. His eyes scan over the paper, double-checking the paragraphs on it as he reaches for a binder, neatly placing the document into a plastic wallet before rolling his chair towards a shelf, stashing the papers away, and rolling back to his desk.

“If only they brought her in sooner, we could’ve actually done something more—”

“It’s not your fault, Doctor,” Hoseok rasps out, “She’s lucky enough to have been sent here at all.”

His thoughts repeatedly drift to their newest patient. He feels the guilt building up in his chest, he feels the sorrow tugging at his heart and he has to rapidly blink the tears away before they can blur his vision again. Scars piled upon scars, bruises decorated her from head to toe, her hair knotted into clumps where blood had dried. He’d seen many awful cases in his two short years at the clinic, but this—this was entirely different.

Absentmindedly, he rubs over the scratch on his arm, hissing at the slight burn of it.

It took hours just to get her to calm down before they could sedate her and treat her injuries.

Shaking his head, his gaze lands on the doctor, who for what was probably the fifteenth time in the span of twenty minutes, sighs again. He watches his mentor, noticing how his face seems to have aged a couple of years as the lights dull his features, dragging shadows across tired skin.

Dr Jones sighs, again, and begins to reach for his bag.

“Where are you going?” Hoseok’s voice carries a note of suspicion as he watches the man pack his belongings.

His mentor simply nods towards the clock, before focusing on stuffing his laptop into an already half full bag.

“Oh-” Hoseok blinks, twirling a pen in his hand. “I didn’t realise it was this late already.”

Dr Jones’ eyebrows scrunch together as his lips stretch into a thin line, “We’ve had a busy day – you should get going too, Jeong.”

“I suppose you’re right, sir.” He sighs out, reaching for his own belongings. Not that he had many in the first place – a crappy government-issued laptop and three pens, to be exact.

Like clockwork, Hoseok slung his bag over his shoulders, stepped out and watched as Dr Jones busily switched the irritating lights off and closed the office door. A short but melodic beep sounded out, indicating that the door wouldn’t open without their keycards. But more importantly, indicating the end of another long and gruelling day.

“What are your plans for tonight then?” He asked as they began walking down the hall, hands in pockets, shoulders hunched.

Dr Jones shrugged, groaning as he rolled his head back. “I think I’m gonna finish up the paperwork, then annoy the missus a bit. You?”

The hybrid copied his mentor’s action, hissing at the stiffness in his joints. “Not sure. I’ll probably finish watching my show.”

“You still haven’t finished it?”

He shook his head with a smile.

“Seriously?” Dr Jones laughed, “I guess you’ll have to binge it tonight then. I don’t want you doing any more work tonight, Hoseok.”

“I wasn’t planning on it. After today, I feel like I need a week to recover.”

As the two approached the ward, Hoseok slowed his steps. Even now, the fox hybrid was on his mind.

“You’re thinking again,” Dr Jones points out.

Shaking his head, Hoseok tries to rid his mind of her, if even at least for a moment. It’ll take time for her to wake up, let alone recover – going to check up on her would be pointless. Yet the memory of her scars and bruises keeps flooding his mind, like a poison that won’t go away no matter how many antidotes he takes.

“It’s nothing.” He finally mutters.

The doctor continues to watch his student, the two stood in the middle of the hallway. He briefly glances at the long stretch of windows behind him, eyes immediately finding the resting fox. Tight straps keep her bound to the crappy hospital bed, clearly intended to prevent anymore accidents.

It has only been a couple of hours since she’d arrived, but Hoseok already seemed to be deeply affected by her.

“You know,” He starts, “You can always go in and sit beside her, talk to her.” Hoseok opens his mouth, a retort dying on his tongue, “Maybe familiarising yourself with her will… Help.”

The two stand in a tense silence, their sights hovering on the unconscious, bruised hybrid.

The whir of machinery and soft murmurs of background conversations fill the space between them. In the moment, it’s hard to differentiate between all the different sounds, as each footstep, each huff and breath, each beat of the heart monitor seems to attack Hoseok’s senses.

The golden retriever briefly glances at his mentor, ignoring the concerned look in his eye, and clears his throat, “Fine, fine, I’ll go to her. See if anything’s changed since last time.”

Dr Jones says nothing, simply nodding, waiting for the hybrid to take the first step.

When he does no such thing, the man rolls his eyes.

“A’ight. I’ll see you tomorrow. I expect an update on that show of yours – what was it called again?”

“Dexter.” Hoseok muses.

“Yeah, that. Binge it, relax, and update me on it tomorrow.” The doctor pats Hoseok’s shoulder, his hand heavy with a comforting warmth. “And get home safe, ‘kay?”

“Yessir.” Hoseok does a mock salute, watching Dr Jones’ figure until it disappears behind the front doors, becoming one with the darkness outside. His smile fades as he turns back towards the glass, towards the girl. A small scowl grows on his face. For two years now, he’s been treating abused and abandoned hybrids. For two years, he’s felt this hole in his chest slowly grow, day by day, patient after patient. Were all humans truly this cruel? Was Dr Jones just a one off?

He shakes his head, as if doing so would remove his thoughts entirely, but he knows better. And so, he begins a slow pace towards the front door, secretly looking forward to his binging session and the tub of chocolate ice cream that eagerly awaits him at home. But one thought lingers in his mind…

She’s just like any other patient.

--------

“Come on Taehyung! Let Hobi-hyung do his job!” Jimin’s voice called out as he pulled on the tiger hybrid’s waist, using every ounce of strength within him to pull the younger male through the door.

“But what if something happens?!” Taehyung breathes out through his struggle, his knuckles whitening as his grip on the doorframe tightens. There was no way he was leaving – not now, not ever. He grunted as he pulled himself further into the room, the bed where the human rested just a couple of steps away.

Hoseok had been working diligently on keeping the human warm and comfortable, fiddling with a suture kit as the younger hybrids argued, but even he — the epitome of patience — was growing weary. A small furrow crackled between his brows, watching as her skin grew paler and her breaths shallower with every minute. His concern and discomfort grew and tugged at his chest the longer he sat around, suture kit spun uselessly in his hands.

“She’ll be fine! Hobi-hyung is taking care of her!” Jimin exclaimed, voice strained and muscles working overtime as Taehyung continued resisting. It was only a matter of time before the tiger would slip out of his grasp, rushing back over to that damned human—

As the two continued their struggle against one another, a shadow slowly grew over their faces. Accompanied by faint steps, the room grew silent.

It was when Taehyung had finally wrought his way out of Jimin’s hold that he noticed it. His blood burned against the confines of his veins, pumping dizzyingly fast until there was only one thing and one thing only which he could focus on – which was now fully blocked off by a solid wall of flesh and clothes.

Jimin gulped harshly, his grip on Taehyung easing as his eyes settled on the view before him. To see Hoseok annoyed was rare, but to see him pissed off? Now that was cause for concern. Taking a step back, the fox hybrid hoped to avoid the irritated gaze of his hyung.

“You need to go, Taehyung. I need to treat her arm,” His voice was strained as he loomed over the two, “And quite frankly, you grumbling and growling in my ear prevents me from being able to do just that.” He continued, jabbing a finger at Taehyung’s forehead.

Stepping away, Hoseok knew neither of the two would dare move another step. Slipping a pair of gloves on, his brows pulled taut, the latex smacking harshly against his skin as if to emphasise his point.

“B- But hyung—”

“No ifs, buts or maybes. Go sort yourself out. Take a shower. Change your clothes – you stink,” He added pointedly, scrunching his face in disgust, “Eat something. She’ll be all patched up by the time you’re back and then you can have her all to yourself.”

Hoseok continued to keep an eye on the younger hybrid, watching as the gears turned behind his eyes.

“He’s right, Tae,” Jimin nodded, leaning over his friend’s shoulder. “You could risk infecting her with whatever germs you picked up in the woods. Hyung needs a calm, sterile environment.”

Taehyung remained motionless, his pupils blown wide in the dimly lit room. He knew they were right, and yet something kept telling him – no, insisting – to stay. It was a feeling. A feeling that burrowed deep in his chest, gradually clawing its way out, setting his impulses free and clouding his better judgement.

But his thinking was rational – surely – he had every right to want to watch the process, to be by her side, to make sure she’s okay. It was his fault that she got hurt in the first place. So wouldn’t it be cruel for him to leave her alone? Wouldn’t it be cruel to leave her vulnerable?  

Everyone knew of Hoseok’s aversion to humans. He never bothered to hide it. What if he… Did something to her? What if he decided he would hurt her? As some sort of revenge against humanity?

“She’s perfectly safe here, Tae. Hobi-hyung knows what he’s doing—"

“As a matter of fact, it isn’t safe. He hates humans.” He spat out.  

The retriever hybrid took a step back, as if the words themselves had a physical impact on him.

“Everyone knows this. He’s never bothered to hide it, so how can I be sure she’s safe?” Taehyung continued, sounding stern, his voice growing deeper with every word.

An old, familiar warmth ran through Hoseok’s veins. His heartbeat grew louder, pounding mercilessly against his eardrums, but having little effect against the tiger’s words.

“What does he do when he sees or even hears the mention of humans? He throws a face and walks off.” Taehyung was right. He had a valid reason for wanting to stay, surely his hyung couldn’t argue against that— “He snarls like they’re the dirt under his shoe, like they have personally hurt him. Killed his loved ones—"

“Taehyung!”

“Don’t talk so confidently on shit you’ve got no idea about.” Hoseok spat out. Something ugly coiled in his gut as he stared at his gloved hands, brows pulled taut. “Just because I don’t bend over backwards for her, it doesn’t mean I’ll fucking hurt her—” He paused, sucking in a deep, harsh breath through his teeth, “I’m a doctor, for fucks sake. I took an oath.” I promised him. “Whether she’s a hybrid or a human or a sea snail, I’ll treat her to the best of my ability. So now, get the hell out or I swear I’ll drag you by the—”

“W- We get it, hyung. C- Come on Tae—”

The tiger hybrid seemed almost pliant under Jimin’s hands as they dragged him out. Whatever fight there was that’d burned in his body, it had all been snuffed out by Hoseok’s momentary cold-snap. Neither of the hybrids had even heard him speak like this before, yet alone swear—

As the door swung open, Taehyung took one last glance at the human, majority of her figure hidden by an angry golden retriever of a hybrid. Jimin’s hands eagerly dragged him out, desperate to escape whatever wrath the tiger had unwrapped.

“H- Hey, what are you—” Jimin’s voice fell short as he looked at his friend.

“Hyung, let me stay with her when you’re done,” Taehyung spoke, his pupils blown wide as he pleaded with his elder. “I want to make sure she’ll be okay—"

The door shut with a earache-inducing slam. On one side, Hoseok stood motionless, chest rapidly heaving up and down as he listened to the tigers’ pleas from the other side.

“You can come back when I’m done.”

As the pairs of footsteps grew distant, he was left to stew in his scalding state.

Hoseok had known the tiger for years – much longer than he knew Dr Jones – yet the man had never managed to hit a nerve in him like this before. Sure, he avoided any mention of humans like the plague – but to accuse him of intending to hurt one?

Taehyung had crossed a line, and all three of them knew it.

The two would have to talk things out, but as of the current state of things, Hoseok had to school his expression, shove his fermenting frustrations deep down, and focus.

His expression soured as he turned to look at her – asleep, blissfully unaware of the turmoil brewing in his home.

He’d rather be anywhere but here, in such close proximity.

Even after all these years, the stench of human blood made him sick.

--------

The ward was silent. Not the kind of peaceful silence you find in an office or the blissful quiet of a sunny afternoon paired with an iced coffee. It was the kind of quiet that had your stomach knotting in different spots, it was the kind of quiet where others around you could hear even the brief swallowing of pooling spit in your mouth, the kind of quiet that made you want to be swallowed up by the panelled floor beneath your feet.

Hoseok had barely stepped foot into the room, but his patient was already all over him – wide eyed, a big grin stretching across her face the moment his reddish-brown hair broke the reigning white of the room.

“You came back!” She exclaimed, earning irritated glances from multiple other occupants. As usual, she ignored them, opting to silently wait for Hoseok to approach her side whilst her tail swished back and forth.

The smile he wanted to return barely made a crack across his face. He could feel the muscles twitch in exertion, and for a moment he wanted to simply stop. To not respond. To walk right out of that room and never return. But he had to. He promised.

“Of course I’m back. Where else would I go?” He asked, feigning amused annoyance as he rounded her bed, checking her vitals.

The fox gave a small shrug of her shoulders, eyes narrowing as she observed his every move. “Where were you last night?”

Hoseok gritted his teeth. Not in anger, but in silent prevention.

“Oh, I had the evening off.”

“What did you do?”

Prepared for a funeral. “Just the usual – made dinner, watched Dexter. I also went through some documents.” He didn’t want to go in depth. He feared that his true emotions would come to the surface, at which point he’d have little control over anything that would happen there on after.

The fox girl – fuck, he needed to stop calling her that – Rita nodded, though he could tell she didn’t believe a single word that came out of his mouth. After all, she didn’t survive up ‘till now on honesty and naivety. Still, Rita remained silent, observing.

“What about you?” Hoseok finally asked, bringing a chair towards the side of her bed – the side on which her bandaged and stitched arm rested.

“Oh, just the usual,” She was mocking him. He could tell by that playful look in her eye – too bad he wasn’t in a joking mood. “Took a short walk around the clinic, ate shitty hospital food, watched the news.”

The retriever hummed, indicating that he was listening, even as he worked on silently unwrapping her arm.

“And how’s the arm been? Any soreness or pain?”

“Not more than the typical dose.” Again, he hummed.

Did he feel like a complete asshole over the fact that he wanted nothing more than to just get up and leave? Totally. Rita trusted him. She relied on him to help make her feel better again. And he could see that she was getting better every day – slowly but surely. But he had bigger problems on his mind now.

“When will Dr Jones come to see me? He’s been gone since I’ve arrived.”

He knew this question would come eventually. It did so every day since Rita woke up. He should’ve been prepared.

“I- I don’t know.” He tried to keep it short, simple, normal. That’s what his mentor would’ve wanted.

Rita continued to observe how he worked. Her eyes held many questions, but she knew better than to bombard her doctor with questions. Hoseok would’ve probably run away the moment she said that she knew.

That she knew Dr Jones was dead.

“Well, tell him I’ll be waiting.”

“Y- Yeah, I will.”

-----

With practiced ease, he wiped down her arm, removing lingering blood before he turned to his suture kit, finally propping it open.

She’s just like any other patient, Hoseok.

Gripping the needle with his forceps, the remaining hybrid felt his throat tighten.

He brought it through the skin, a frown settling on his face as he noticed her expression shifting. Pulling the needle through, he lifted it, using the forceps to lift the skin on the opposite side before reinserting the tiny blade.

Bleeds just like any other patient.

Carefully, he twisted his wrist, bringing the needle through more skin until it resurfaced.

See? Her skin is the same as a hybrid’s. It rips and it bleeds, and you stitch it back together. Just like anybody else’s.

He then stretched the thread out, before twisting it around the holder and then, finally, created a knot.

The surgeon continued to work in silence, focused on the way the sharp instrument cut through the first layer of skin before tethering the separated flesh.

Just like anybody else’s.

Repeating the process, he eventually eased into its familiarity, his breathing evening out until there was nothing but his body and mind working in fluid cooperation.

In the short time they knew each other, Hoseok had learned more under Dr Jones’ watchful eye than he did in the five years he’d spent at university. He couldn’t say that the doctor impressed a young, bright and hopeful Hoseok at first, but as time went on, he began to appreciate his mentor a little more.

“There’s still so much left for you to learn”, Dr Jones had said back then, the smoke from his cigarette wafting directly into his face. He scrunched his nose, fanning at the air until the grey cloud dispersed.

To be honest, during that first meeting he doubted Dr Jones was even a doctor. Why was he out in the back, smoking when so many hybrids were waiting for him to help?

The needle seemed to become a part of him, flowing through skin with practiced ease until inch by inch, the wound began to disappear.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Dr Jones’ voice rung out in the small ward. Every eye in the room snapped in his direction – that is, apart from Hoseok’s. The intern cursed under his shaky breath, the needle in his hand only inches from stabbing into the patient’s arm.

“With how you’re shaking, your patient is gonna bleed out on the hospital floor before you’ve even tied the first knot,” His voice echoed, stern and unimpressed as Hoseok struggled to grip the needle, sweat beading at his temple as his patient winced and groaned.

“Take a deep breath, you’ve done this before haven’t you?”

“Only on fake skin, s- sir.” His voice came out quiet, embarrassed as the doctor stood, watching.

“Keep going.”

Hoseok’s head snapped in the direction behind him, eyes wide and startled.

“B- But—"

“No but’s. You’ve started this, so you have to finish it,” He paused, smiling reassuringly at the young patient. “Take a deep breath. You’ve done this before.”

The door clicked open as he finished tying the final knot.

Words struggled to escape his throat as Taehyung entered, so he opted to remain silent. He watched as the lines around her eyes began to fade, he watched the colour return to her face. Something akin to relief bloomed in his chest – he hated it.

Working to distract himself, Hoseok tied a gauze around her bicep. He ignored the tiger hybrid as he rounded the bed, hesitantly taking the human’s hand into his own.

A flicker of a grimace before Hoseok sighs, moving away to pack his tools. He could finally get away from her. From her scent. From her helplessness. From her calm. His nose twitched in disgust the deeper he inhaled. His heart rattled harder. The storm in his mind only grew in chaos.

He couldn’t wait to go and finally relax after a long day of working his ass off. He couldn’t wait to go and forget, for at least a couple of hours.

“So… You’ve fixed her arm?” Taehyung’s voice came out nonchalantly. It was almost too much and the retriever knew his friend was feigning it.

Hoseok nodded, organising his kit. He worked hard to keep his focus on the task at hand, refusing to acknowledge the soft relaxed breaths that had her chest rising and falling  

“You’re not staying here the whole night, are you?” He asked, voice strained, his usual hearty smile pulled taut into a fine line. Crows’ feet tugged at the corners of his eyes, which expertly averted the sleeping woman before him. 

The tiger glanced up at him, strands of wet hair curling across his forehead.

“I need to make sure she’s okay.”

“You’re saying you don’t trust my medical skills?” He asked, attempting a joke even as something ugly, something spiteful and sour coiled in his gut. He almost couldn’t believe that the tiger had the gall to doubt his abilities.

Of course the human’s fine. She’s sleeping and breathing perfectly fine. Can’t he tell?

“No, hyung, I just—” Taehyung paused, his head drooping low, finally showing a smidge of the tigers’ real emotions, “It’s my fault she’s in this state. I— I just want her to be okay.”

“She’s fine,” He started, “Her arm should heal relatively quick, so long as she doesn’t move it erratically.”

Taehyung nodded quickly. Relief washed over him, and he thanked his lucky stars to have Hoseok around. It was rare that his hyung had to use his skills outside of his work, to the point that Taehyung almost forgot how sharp his skillset was.  

“Wake me up if anything happens.” The hybrid muttered, deciding that he’d had enough of it. Of everything. He headed groggily towards the door, fist clenched tight around the handle of the suture kit.

“H- Hyung?”

“Yeah?” Hoseok asks, one hand resting on the doorknob, the other just barely tightening around his toolkit.

“I’m sorry,” Taehyung whispers, fingers toying with the human’s limp ones. “For what I said earlier. I didn’t mean any of it.”

“It’s fine.”

Neither hybrid spoke another word. They let the air between them relax, allowed the words to sink in, allowed the small reconciliation to take place.

“Goodnight hyung.” Taehyung finally mutters, watching as his hyungs’ shoulders grew relaxed.

“Yeah, goodnight.”

As he closed the door, Hoseok’s shoulders drooped lower. Having a human so close after so many years had brought back unexpected memories, ones he had unknowingly suppressed.

Heading downstairs, the murmurs of a distant conversation caught his attention. It continued, even as his steps grew louder, closer.

“She can’t stay here,” Namjoon’s voice was sturdy, confident even as he was met with resistance. “You clearly didn’t think this through, you didn’t think about what would happen to you, to us, if you brought her here.”

The kitchen was illuminated by a warm, orange glow. His ears pressed flat against his hair, the lightbulb above casting shadows down his face as the polar bear stared down the youngest hybrid. Jeongguk chewed at his lower lip, resembling more of a prey animal in the presence of their so-called ‘leader’.

“Hyung, i- it’s not like that—”

“It isn’t? Because so far, you still haven’t considered the consequences. I know you’ve met her before, but that’s in the past. That meeting? It took place in an entirely different world.” He paused, rubbing his face, a deep sigh escaping through his nostrils. “Do you have any idea of what happens to hybrids that harbour a human?”

Jeongguk paused, his gaze locked onto Namjoon’s. His bottom lip grew puffy. Hoseok winced as in a split second the younger hybrid bit down hard, drawing blood.

“They’re arrested, and the human is killed. Or worse, sent into one of those facilities.” Yoongi chimed in from his spot on the sofa, his voice soft, barely distinguishable from the noise coming from the tv.

Namjoon allowed the words to seep in, his gaze finally switching to Hoseok, who’d stalked over to the sink. The dog hybrid said nothing, pulling out the needle he’d used earlier. He was going to wash it, hoping to conceal some of the stench the human left behind before he threw the needle away.

“H- How is she?” Jeongguk cautiously looked up, watching as his hyung turned the tap on.

He shrugged his shoulders, scrubbing at the metal. “She’s all stitched up. Just needs to rest up.” The last thing he wanted was to talk about her.

“And how’s Taehyung?”

The elder paused. He hadn’t expected that. He resumed his scrubbing, biting at the inside of his cheek. Should I tell them?

“He’s fine. Tired but clean.”

Jeongguk hummed in response, before turning back to Namjoon.

“Hyung, I know we can’t keep her, but I can’t let her go back. At least, not there. The entire police force is looking for her.”

He watched as the leader sighed, shaking his head.

“I’m sure if we drop her off in the middle of nowhere, she’ll do just fine. I mean, she survived out in the wild somehow.” Hoseok spoke, bringing the needle to his nose. Her scent seemed to have disappeared.

“W- What? No. We can’t do that either—” Jeongguk exclaimed, before Hoseok interrupted him, holding the needle close to his own nose.

“Sniff it.”

Jeongguk complied, scrunching his eyebrows. “What are you doing, hyung?”

“Can you smell anything?”

“No?”

“Yoongi-hyung, sniff this.” Hoseok walked away, ignoring the youngest’s question.

“No, I can’t smell the human on the needle.” Yoongi confirmed before the hybrid could even reach him.

Namjoon cleared his throat.

“Let’s talk about this when she’s awake,” He paused, watching as Hoseok walked back to the suture kit. His sight moved back over to the panther, who was nervously licking at the fresh cut on his lip, “Let her decide.”

-------

As the night grew colder, the rain had eased into a gentle pitter-patter against the window. Taehyung shifted and turned, his ears twitching at your every soft sigh.

The blankets Jin had brought earlier were too warm and too heavy.

Deep down, hidden somewhere in the pits of his stomach, a dizzying feeling bubbled. He hadn’t put a name to it yet – he didn’t want to. This feeling, this emotion, it lurked like a shadow. Peered over his shoulder, snuck into the darkness of his subconscious through cracks of exhaustion and bewilderment. Like a disease. It was slowly taking control, and he knew it wouldn’t take long until his brain would turn into a befuddled puddle.

He fought to resist it. He wanted to resist it.

But he couldn’t help but falter, as with every breath she took, an unfamiliar — yet comfortable — warmth spread through his chest. It buzzed through his blood, leaving tingling trails of pure, hot excitement all over his body. He wanted to give in so bad.

But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Not because of Jeongguk, or even his hyungs.

It just wasn’t right.

Hybrids and humans did not mix. That hatred for humans, the electrifying need for them to be punished, eradicated, it was the unspoken law. It didn’t pass as presidential speeches or flyers proudly presented everywhere. It didn’t even have a name in daily conversation. Small talk. It had no place in schools or at work or at social gatherings, no. It sat, unseen and unheard, yet always lurking in the darkest corners of everyone’s minds. Like the steady ticking of a clock. It was persistent, yet silent, fading into the back of his mind until his entire body flowed in rhythm with it.

Humans were supposed to be gone.

So, what the hell was he doing, resisting his most raw, most dangerous instincts as this human slept blissfully unaware beside him?

tags <3

It's a rather dark night, you think, as the flickering lights of street lamps barely illuminate your path. You and some of your friends have decided to spend Halloween night roaming the more desolate streets of your small town, rather than attend the party of the school's homecoming queen, the most popular and at the same time most hated girl ever by you and your friends, a common ground that has certainly welded your friendship.

You are reminded of the afternoon you spent at Glenn's house deciding how you would spend Halloween night; Glenn's initiative had been rather unique, since he was not a fan of that holiday.

“It will be fun, everything is so scary at night, we might even meet a real vampire! I mean, not like Edward Cullen, I mean one who doesn't sparkle-” but Glenn's excited monologue had been badly interrupted by his girlfriend, Claire, who had hit him over the head with a book, and who knows why, said book was actually titled Twilight. You remember giggling, willingly accepting that idea, but now...

“We were simply supposed to go for a walk, Glenn,” you mutter ruefully, looking around, “Do you want to tell me where you're taking us?”

The red-haired boy snorts again, settling into his vampire costume bought at a thrift store stall, “Come on Y/N, what would life be without a little thrill?”

Claire, for her part, nods in turn with a euphoric smile, as if she knows something you don't, prancing merrily dressed as a red devil among black lace decorations and lace.

“Life would be as it has always been, wonderful,” you blurt out nervously, freezing suddenly.

The asphalt has run out and the streetlights have stopped dimly illuminating the entire street, you are at the edge of the most talked about lands in your town. When and how exactly did you get there?

“Here we are, my girls,” you hear Glenn say, satisfied with his feat.

“What are we doing here?” you swallow, far from cheerful.

Answering you is Claire, “It's an abandoned castle and this is Halloween night, what do you say?”

You grit your teeth, shaking your head, “You're crazy, I'm not going in there!” you take a step back, your heart stirring, but Glenn stops you in a single moment.

“Where do you think you're going? I promised your brother I'd keep an eye on you,” he tells you sternly, and you know he's right, you can't just leave on your own, the streets are empty but it would still be dangerous.

“Don't you want to see what it's really like inside, aren't you the least bit curious?”

Short answer? No.

More articulate answer? Fuck no.

“Come on, don't be a wimp now!”

You snort, casting a glance at the castle in question.

It is as large as it is gloomy; the older inhabitants of the town have always spoken of the presence of various monsters within it, which is why the lands surrounding the castle are so large, preventing the actual growth of the otherwise large and well-populated town. Some of the land had been ceded to keep the monsters quiet.

That's some bullshit. And you're certainly not a wimp.

What will you find in there, maybe overgrown spiders? You shake your head, certainly nothing up to the Acromantulae seen in Harry Potter.

“I'm not afraid,” you limit yourself to saying, Glenn and Claire seem satisfied with your answer as they begin to step over half of the downed iron bars surrounding the gates of the immense building. It bothers you that they haven't bothered beyond you, but it's Halloween night; you can't really spoil their fun.

You hold on tightly to one of the rusty old iron bars, lift one leg trying not to fall off because of the bulky skirt of your witch costume, and end up straight on the ground covered with dry mud and grass, thank the heavens that it hasn't rained in the last few days, otherwise goodbye costume, although more like an elegant medieval dress and nothing more than that.

“Guys, wait for me!” you exclaim as you turn toward them, but you find yourself rolling your eyes.

The darkness is almost completely pitch black, only the moon high in the sky gives you some brightness in that open space surrounded by green trees and uncultivated grass. Your friends are not there.

“Please tell me this is a joke, please,” you growl, turning only a few seconds to climb over the railing, “Glenn? Claire?”

A shiver of unease snakes down your spine, as if someone - or something - is watching you. But you immediately banish the absurd thought. The Halloween atmosphere always makes everything quite scary; your friends chose that place for that very reason.

Imagining that you simply find them in front of the castle's entrance, you also wander down the path that actually looks like anything else by now. You will meet each other there.

The wind blows without worrying about your bare shoulders because of the dress's boat neckline; the cape had long since been taken away along the way. You bought it in an antique store and the elderly man seemed quite eager to get rid of it. He even gave you a discount.

The sound of falling leaves under the force of the draught is quite terrifying, especially now that you've discovered you can't use your cell phone. There is absolutely no service there, and isn't that how the best horror movies begin?

A frustrated groan leaves your throat, you don't have to think about it.

“Glenn?” you try to call out once more, but along the path echoes the hoots of an owl that is probably scrutinizing you with condescension, wondering why a silly girl like you is wandering around in such a desolate, godforsaken place.

When you arrive at the gates of the castle, you find yourself admiring the extraordinary Gothic architecture of the huge, ancient building made of stone and marble. The fact that it has survived over the centuries without any kind of restoration is a testament to the good materials that were used.

One by one, you walk down the stone steps, sudden thunder jolts you violently, and with fear in your veins you throw yourself toward the immense reinforced door, finding it ajar, a sign that Glenn and Claire must have already entered. You ignore the hint of annoyance, since they could at least wait for you, you must escape the sudden storm.

Wordlessly you notice the large, thick black clouds enveloping the sky, obscuring even the immense full moon.

You carefully close the ancient gateway, looking around the thick-walled atrium decorated with paintings that are surely worth more than your current home, not to mention the carpet you are walking on, though a bit worn, is definitely from the time of the castle's founding. You wonder which lord lived there and whether it can be traced in the history books.

“Claire?” you whisper, afraid of disturbing someone, but who exactly?

Sighing wearily, you really have no time or inclination to play along with your friends, you rest your hand on the wrought-iron railing of the staircase, beginning to climb so that you can find those two idiots as soon as possible and get home safely.

They say 'God makes them and then matches them up,' right? You mentally growl, well, you would’ve just wiped them out instead.

Between corridors that are not real corridors but dead ends, some narrow and some exaggeratedly large, you finally find the wing reserved for rooms, hating the enormity of that place.

“Hey, you ... are you here?” you ask, slowly opening a bedroom door with one eye closed and one only slightly open, fearing to find the two lovebirds doing strange things in the leto of an abandoned castle, because they would be perfectly capable of it.

But what you find is just a lavishly decorated bedroom absolutely empty of any other life forms but you.

“This is definitely a joke,” you chuckle mirthlessly, clutch your arms to your chest, and continue that unwelcome tour of yours, continuing to open rooms at random, with no more expectation of finding anyone in them, until you come to a rather large bedroom.

Quite different from the others, which up to that point had been yes, beautiful, but empty, lacking a soul.

This one was immense just like the castle itself, yet warm, thanks to the burning fireplace. The four-poster bed was adorned with red silk sheets, as were the velvet curtains tied to the solid wooden columns, on the walls finely decorated with gold paint were hung medieval tapestries, depicting hunting parties, running horses and wolves, wolves everywhere. One that particularly strikes you depicts two wolves and a woman in the center, they seem ready to bite her fiercely, you notice with discomfort.

High glass windows with curtains left open allow lightning to illuminate the entire room, followed by a terrible, howl-like rumble.

That horrible noise seems to awaken you from the sort of trance you fell into while admiring the surely master bedroom, and you finally take serious note of the burning fire. Why a working fireplace in a castle uninhabited for years?

“To many the night brings counsel, to me it has brought a lovely maiden, I see...” you gasp surprised and terrified, turning toward the silky, warm, yet slightly hoarse, almost growling voice.

A relatively young man watches you with his shoulder resting against one of the stained glass windows. You had not seen him. No. He was not there before, you are absolutely sure.

His dark, shiny hair has been grown down to his neck, some curling around his sharp, elegant jaw, the neck left bare by his unbuttoned, white shirt is a set of sinuous, sharp, powerful lines. The soft black pants do nothing to hide the wonderful figure of his long legs, his feet are bare, you notice. He feels perfectly comfortable, as if... as if that were his home.

“I-I... I'm sorry, it's Halloween and some friends of mine thought...” you try to explain with your hands clasped to the skirt of your dress, but you are immediately interrupted by the man's sophisticated, sassy giggle.

“They thought it was a brilliant idea to violate my property?” you pale at his question.

“We... the whole town believes the castle is uninhabited,” you reply with a shy breath, trying to justify them.

The young man breaks away from the glass window, slowly approaching you, you take steps back, inadvertently bumping into one of the pillars of the bed.

“And does it look uninhabited to you, little girl?”

Little girl? By the look of him, he wouldn't seem that much older than you, in fact.

Now that he has moved closer, standing only a foot away from you, you notice details of his face that you did not catch a few moments earlier.

He has high, pronounced cheekbones, and his lips seem so plump and soft that you blush at the thought of kissing them, his nose is well-proportioned and straight, while the peculiar shape of his eyes gives him a rather sweet and angelic air, although the fun written in them is anything but angelic.

“I didn't know, I'm really sorry, sir,” and it's true, the last thing you want is to be a nuisance to someone you don't even know, “I'll get my friends back and we'll leave right away, I promise.”

Dark eyes rimmed with long eyelashes watch you closely, before dropping to the rest of your body. Suddenly you remember the deep cleavage of your witch's dress, your skin burning under his watchful gaze.

“Right now there is no one else in the castle, except you and me,” he approaches again, you can feel his warm breath meet your neck, you shiver as the man clasps one hand above your head, around the pillar of the bed, doing the same with the other. This makes it clear how statuesque his physique is, compared to your more petite one, you also catch a subtle citrus fragrance, light and not cloying, is that him?

With a huge effort, you process his words, widening your eyes. No one else?

“But how-”

“In my opinion you made it all up, little girl,” he sneers, "Just admit that it was your curiosity that drove you here," but you shake your head, vehemently denying it.

“I really came here with friends!” you fret, you've never been good at handling pressure and this guy is not helping you at all.

“Oh, really?” a devilish smile makes its way across his soft, smooth cheeks, "So it's just a coincidence that you're wearing this dress?" you don't know how to answer the question, you can't, not when he lowers a hand over you, brushes the outline of your face with a finger, trailing down the delicate line of your neck to your cleavage, your rippling, shivering skin longs to receive his touch once more, you struggle to recover.

“Th-this dress?” you stammer in shame, his finger is still grazing your chest and you are doing nothing to push it away.

“Mh-mh,” he nods, pushing your cleavage down a few millimeters, enough to make you squeak with red cheeks, “How much do you know about this castle and its owners, little girl?”

Nothing, you'd like to answer, but your eyes already communicate your answer as he pulls back, finally letting you breathe. His scent still hovers around you, though.

“Year 1479, the people of the town of Howl enter into an agreement with the seven lords of Midnight, ceding a part of their lands to these noble lords and agreeing to send a virgin once every ten years, on the so-called Halloween Night,” he narrates, leaving you speechless, “In return, none of the townspeople would be hunted down and killed, does that ring a bell?”

“L-Listen to me, I really don't know what you're talking about, I definitely have to go now,” you nod at your own words, but the door slams shut along with a new and terrible rumble, an anguished cry involuntarily leaving your throat.

“The dress you're wearing is soaked in poison, little girl” the imperious tone terrifies you, automatically your body closes in on itself, as a kind of protection.

“This must definitely be a joke, it is Halloween after all,” you whisper to yourself with tears in your eyes.

“It's a security, for us. It ensures that the girls don't run away, because we are the only ones who can neutralize that poison” you don't know why the man started speaking in plural, you just know that you have to leave, even though something inside you is screaming at you not to. Because it could end very badly.

“You'd better take it off, your body might absorb more poison than is really necessary, the sooner we start the better,” he sighs, beginning to take off his white shirt, showing off a well-built, smooth chest and abs studded with thin scars lighter than his skin, swallowing without any more salivation, following long lines of black ink that weave across his pecs, forming some kind of mark, perhaps related to some cult.

“What are you doing!”

The man tilts his head, his soft hair following the movement meekly, and grasps the edge of his pants, running his forefinger and thumb over it defiantly as he watches you, “I'm taking what was given to me, little girl,” he sneers again, not at all impressed by your shock.

It was not uncommon for him and his brothers to be served girls who were totally unaware of their own destiny, they were tiresome at times, they would not stop shaking and crying, praying not to be deprived of their purity, but you smell so delicious that it might make him go beyond your dullness.

The fabric of his excellent quality pants slowly flows over the flawless skin of his toned legs, the blood rushes straight to your cheeks, and your heart misses a beat with a strangled “iiih” as you realize that the stranger has not only freely undressed in front of you, but is not wearing any underwear.

You've certainly never seen a naked man in person, but based on your anatomy books, that is definitely not a normal penis.

With a strange feeling of dizziness and no little embarrassment, you realize that even at rest, it is definitely big, with a swollen base almost as big as perfectly round testicles and such obvious purplish veins that you wonder if it is actually already hard, in its own way. Could that vibrant pink be an indicator? God, what the hell are you thinking?!

After a little dizziness your eyes fly to the closed door, you have to leave, run.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” he asks you, smiling with a hint of danger in his eyes, “Do you want to run? Run away from me? Know that this will only excite me more.”

You try to look away from his cock, with extreme difficulty, as he spoke, his cock had moved slightly, as if agreeing with the man's words. You ignore the slight jolt between your legs.

“If I can get through the gates of your property, will you let me go?” you propose almost shyly, staring into his sly eyes.

“Um... if I let you go, you'd die from the poison, but if that's what you want...” he shrugs, making you frown. The story of the poisoned dress might be bullshit to convince you to let him fuck you, but what if it's not?

You shake your head, it's all just a bluff. This man is clearly a pervert, maybe he gets off on fucking on such nights with stranger women.

“That's what I want.” you assure with a note of panic in your voice, the desire to escape is so urgent you can hardly think, “Open the door.”

But the man shakes his head, “Strip and I will leave you free to roam my lands until I find you.”

“I don't-!” the words die between your lips, his singsong expression gone, giving way to a sternness that clashes with his regal features, the difference making that contrast frightening.

“I like to play, little girl ... but I don't tolerate whining, don't make me angry, because I might decide to take you now, we have a bed available right here and now,” he hisses, clenching his fist against the polished wooden backboard of the four-poster bed. The more he looks at you, the more his balls throb fiercely; he's trying to control his desire; if his cock hardens, that's the end.

You're the first woman he's seen in 60 years, finally his turn has come, and there's no way he'll let you go. Do you want to play? He'll let you, but eventually you'll give in to his desires. The scent of your sweet virgin pussy makes his wolf growl, eager to get out to meet you.

Perhaps you sense something strange, because with trembling fingers you go to unbutton the side opening of your dress, a little sorry to him, the plunging neckline raises and shapes your breasts invitingly, though the stench of the poison with which it is imbued leaves him disgusted. An idea of humans to persuade chosen women not to flee, his eyes scroll over the ancient clock hanging above the door, the hands turn and you have just four hours to go before the poison takes effect, killing you. He would be sorry to see you die without having had a chance to taste you first.

“Tic-Tac, the clock is ticking, little girl... the slower you are, the more likely you are to die,” he informs you with a smile, your fear written all over his face igniting his loins; he has to restrain himself so he doesn't jump on you, and you're aware of that now, too.

Your eyes study his shoulders, they have stiffened noticeably, and with embarrassing speed you unfasten the last side button, letting the soft black fabric of your dress slip off like a veil, leaving you in your bra and panties. You start up under his eyes, which move to observe every nook and cranny of your body, from the soft breasts enclosed in the cups of the purple lace bra, going lower and lower, past the delicious curve of your hips to the tightly clasped mount of Venus covered by more purple lace. You yourself realize that for a man who wants to possess you, that kind of lingerie might make you look like a neatly wrapped gift in his eyes.

“Don't stop,” he tells you hoarsely, his eyes veiled with glowing lust.

The blood leaves your veins; if he were to take you, you would already be ready to receive him. As your fingers move to get rid of your bra as well, you realize you don't find it such a disturbing idea after all, even when you finally pull down the light fabric of your panties, showing off something no boy has ever had the honor of looking at, his nostrils flaring as if to inhale something in the air, you are aroused.

“You'd better start running, little girl, I'm going to give you exactly twenty seconds head start,” his voice comes out as a guttural sound, making you widen your eyes and really run, when the door suddenly opens wide.

You don't even wonder what strange contraption he used to close or open the door without having to physically do it, you just know you are definitely in danger.

Every nook and cranny of the castle is an unknown, he owns it, he may know passages unknown to you; therefore, you always try to wander the corridors with no visible openings. A tense, animalistic roar makes you scream in terror, with spirited eyes you look down the stairs, you are close to the stairs to the hall, the door has not been locked, you just need more time, you can make it.

You sling yourself barefoot down, almost tumbling from your haste and throw yourself out, skipping the stone steps and then to the wild path, short of breath and fear dictating your decisions, you remember it took you a good twenty minutes to get to the castle, but walking the whole path is out of the question, it would be too obvious and easy, you necessarily have to lengthen the path and consequently put in more time to get away from that terrifying place.

With horror you realize that you don't know where Glenn and Claire might be at all, would he hurt them if he found them?

Of course he would.

You don't know the man, but you have noticed all too well the bestial aura around him; he is someone capable of harm, and he will harm you if you cannot escape him.

Your feet step on scattered branches on the ground and you whimper trying to ignore the pain, another roar - or maybe it's a howl? - rips through the air, mingling with the howls of the rushing wind, and you stifle an anguished cry.

Scratches open along your body, trees ravaged by bad weather and never tended seem to want to block your way in every way possible, and the darkness certainly doesn't help.

Like a wounded animal you limp aimlessly, not imagining the hunger of the ravenous beast that sneers at the scent of your blood.

You feel tired, sluggish at times, your peripheral vision somewhat obscured, an excruciating doubt makes its way into your mind. Could it be that the story of the poisoned dress was true?

But why sell it to you, how could the seller have known that your friends would take you to that castle on Halloween night?

You begin to stagger, a sharp twinge in your head stops you, it is so painful that you collapse on the icy, muddy ground.

You realize you are screwed in every sense of the word when a weight suddenly crushes you to the ground, you scream in terror and wide-eyed, trying to shake it off.

Jimin doesn't think twice about clasping you in his vigorous arms, burying his nose on your neck damp with cold sweat, the accelerated beat of your heart rumbling in his own chest, driving him to moan with need. He presses himself against your soft curves, basking in your feverish warmth despite the stormy, icy night.

“Don't hurt me,” you shake your head with your eyes closed, trying to fight the unusual fatigue to plead with him, "Please, I was wrong, forgive me...I won't come back here again, I swear," the boy snorts against your flustered skin.

He reluctantly lifts himself up to allow you to turn toward him, you find some strength to open your eyelids wide, being invested by his sometimes divine appearance. His eyes, no longer as black as you thought they were, are tinged with an extraordinary shade of gold, he watches you from receptive pupils as you notice the grin on his mouth, a mouth larger than you remembered. There is something strange, not human, about him now. And despite the run he must have made to keep up with you, he doesn't have the slightest hint of fatigue in his breath, he's as fucking fresh as a newly bloomed rose.

“You're dying, little girl,” he hums, shaking some hair off your forehead, you lose a beat at the sight of long claws where once there were short, well-manicured nails.

The claw grazes your skin unhurriedly, you feel it scratch without hurting, you anxiously lick your lips closing your eyes, you are so sleepy that you even willingly accept your fate, Jimin snorts through his nose, almost laughing, before lowering himself onto your jugular.

It would be really easy for him to sink his canines into your flesh and bite your throat to rip it out, but fortunately for you he is not a vampire. All he wants is to sink his cock into your pussy and make you cum repeatedly, but if you died it would be hard to put his plan into action. He wants you alive and receptive.

He licks a long streak of saliva onto your delicate neck, heedless of the dirt that has stuck to your skin, before gently biting you. Your reaction is immediate, you start sobbing like a puppy at the feel of his fangs penetrating your flesh, you cling to his shoulders trying to move him weakly from you, and you kick awkwardly with your legs, legs that are locked in a vice grip by his. That way it is easy to feel something hard and heavy pressing against your belly, you try not to think about it as the man seems inebriated by the taste of your blood flowing straight down his throat.

The bitter taste of the poison is revolting, but fortunately your blood has such sweet notes that it counterbalances that horrendous taste in a balanced way, here, now he just has to lick your wound thoroughly. He collects the last rivulets of your blood with his tongue, before dripping his saliva into the tiny holes created by his sharp canines, little holes that begin to close with light smoke, cauterizing the wound and partly removing the poison toxins from your blood.

With no longer a grip on your throat, your head falls limply back to the ground, you gasp trying to fight off the shock of such an experience.

“Mpf!” his tongue invades your mouth treacherously, the taste of your blood making you squeal on his lips, so unfairly soft and pleasant to the touch. The hot and unusually long muscle pushes into your oral cavity eagerly, saving your life has as if awakened the more primal side of Jimin, one of the seven lords who unleashed hell in Howl's town. And the mating ritual has begun, but you cannot know this.

You break free by gasping for air, “W-why?” you stutter breathlessly, “You don't even know me!” you cry as you drive your nails into his forearms, triggering in return a reaction of possession in him, prompting him to grab your thighs and lift them onto his shoulders to your profound horror, he is so wild as he spreads your legs wide open to sink his face in between them that you can't utter a single breath.

As he runs his tongue along your pulsing, hot folds, Jimin realizes with nastiness that during your escape you got wet for him, he had smelled your arousal as he pursued you, on some people the quickened heartbeat has that effect, but the sweet and slightly salty taste of your juices are now a definitive proof for him. And you can't deny it, you love how he teases you by slowly sliding around your swollen clit, plays with it by holding it between his lips and then releasing it after sucking hard, almost biting it. He tortures it by pricking it quickly with the tip of his tongue and then returns to lapping your thick juices from the soft slit, which seems to melt every time that devilish tongue penetrates it, managing to lick and stimulate walls that a normal tongue could never reach.

You shyly move your pelvis against his face, your thighs stained with your arousal tremble against his cheeks, and a terrible heat makes you pant desperately. The man abandons your slit to push himself again against your unbearably sensitive folds, they are so moist that you can hear the noise they make every time that cursed tongue stimulates them to push a few millimeters toward your clitoris, never reaching to touch it.

“God!” you curse, suddenly reaching out an arm to grab his hair, not recognizing yourself when you desperately push him against your pussy, longing for the pleasure he was spoiling you with at first.

His arousal makes him grunt like a wounded animal as he sinks into your core with languid, sensual movements, rewraps your desperate clit with his lips and tongue before continuing with more direct, zigzagging movements, crushing it at times with the flat part of his tongue and then flicking it with the tip soon after. He would never stop kissing and licking you like that, his tensed cock vibrating each time he eats you up a little more, delightedly swallowing your juices, enjoying retrieving them each time they flow between your wide-open, rosy thighs. A clearer, liquid substance squirts slightly out of your slit, causing you to shake around his head, you clench your lower lip between your teeth with tears sliding down your flushed cheeks, you are instigating Jimin to pleasurably hurt you, and the funniest thing is that you don't even notice.

Finishing licking some of that shiny, transparent substance from your inner thigh, the boy moves up your body, biting slowly at the flesh of your belly and then higher and higher to the softness of your breasts, titillating a turgid nipple before pulling it between his lips.

“W-What are you doing to me?” you gasp, wishing he would never stop adoring and cuddling your body, why? Just moments before you were running from his clutches, why are you lifting your pelvis now, inviting him to take you as if you've been waiting for this all your life?

“Are you just...” he murmurs, before kissing your chin with his devilish lips, "Responding to your desire" he kisses your mouth again, an electric sensation forcing you to comply, chasing his tongue with yours, collapsing to the spicy taste that is now all over his mouth, your taste.

With half-closed eyes you realize that the dark lines of ink are moving, taking the shape of a wolf watching you, you have no way to comprehend the unsettling sensation that invades you. The man, with one hand pressed against your bare back, forces you to turn away without you having any say in the matter, you find yourself with your face to the ground and the wind blowing down your back, shivering under his fiery, golden eyes, your legs trembling from the effort to keep you on your hands and knees, fighting the sweet pain pulsing in your naked pussy.

“Now hold still, little girl,” he murmurs in your ear in a husky voice, sensuously pumping his cock with one hand, swollen veins pushing against his palm, which squeezes along the entire shaft to the base, then back to the thick tip from which he is already dripping his thick cum, "I need to get all the venom out of your pretty little body, am I right?" he sneers, positioning himself at your entrance.

You open your eyes wide, panic stifled by arousal, but it's still there nonetheless, clenching your fingers between the grass and damp earth, rubbing your knees against pebbles that make you moan in pain. The length of his cock begins to push against your slit, forcing it open for him, a choked cry leaves your throat, feeling your walls that, despite their wetness, struggle to let him in.

“You're still so tight,” hisses the man unfamiliar to you, "I must spoil you some more, huh?" he chuckles, sliding his hand between your legs, using his index finger to stimulate your throbbing bud, you gasp arching your back and raising your buttocks toward the man, who takes the opportunity to plunge his cock another inch into your entrance, which throbs and squeezes him rhythmically, almost making him lose control of the situation.

The sensation of the claw grazing your folds each time he presses and massages your swollen clitoris brings you almost to the edge, you feel a wild sexual desire, something you never experienced even during your teenage years, a crucial period of sexual development.

“Go ahead, please!” you exclaim breathlessly, pressing your forehead against the ground, every single millimeter that moves inside you without really penetrating you is like torture, your index finger moving languidly, and you're going fucking crazy.

“Are you really begging?” he teases you, you grit your teeth until it hurts, but finally you give in.

“Please... fill me, take me!”

“Do you want it?” he asks again, pulling the tip almost completely out, the only part he had managed to get in, you clench your legs desperately trying to recover what your intimacy has lost.

“Yes! I want it! I want your cock, I want it to fill me all the way, and I want it now!” you growl with an anger that burns under your skin, looking at him from behind, his face is an emotionless mask, but his eyes...oh, those never lie, you read the fire of desire in them, he's suffering that anticipation as much as you are. Bastard.

“You begged for it so well, little girl... I'll just have to satisfy you,” the cavernous tone clashes with his appearance, but it anticipates what happens next and leaves you breathless, abandoning your contracted clitoris he grips your hips tightly, almost penetrating your delicate flesh with his claws, pushing himself into you with a vigorous thrust, instantly breaking the thin membrane at your entrance, effortlessly. The burning that follows makes your eyes water, your body instinctively trying to escape the man's savage assault, suddenly realizing that you have lost your virginity that way, out in the open, sweaty and dirty, just like an animal.

The man on top of you hisses and makes strange deep sounds, inebriated by the sensation of his throbbing cock finally and completely squeezed between your trembling walls, trying to adjust to the abnormal size. You gasp whimpering, moving your pelvis trying to disentangle yourself from the overgrip, his claws are hurting you, but he doesn't seem to want to let go, not now that he is buried so deep.

With a grunt he thrusts out slightly, watching as your pussy instinctively clings to him, as your thick juices and virginal blood wet his entire length, lubricating him. Leaning toward you, he lets a long trickle of saliva fall back between your buttocks, slipping between them reaches the point where you are joined. He thrusts back into you forcefully, striking deeper and deeper, and you feel every detail of his cock penetrating you and thrusting higher and higher, touching points so delicate and sensitive that you howl meekly, like a she-wolf offering her whole self to her mate, the pain has been replaced by the need to be possessed, you move against his pubes with urgency, the thread of pleasure is getting thinner and thinner, you feel incredibly wet, practically soaked, and the sounds of your union are so obscene that you are shamefully aroused. Your walls flutter drunkenly with pleasure, at one point with the thick, red tip he manages to hit the entrance to your cervix with precision, you stiffen whimpering breathlessly, and Jimin collapses on top of you, continuing to move his hips tirelessly and with spellbinding sinuosity.

You take it so well that it is impossible for him not to want to have you again and again, throwing back his head to be hit by the moonlight that increases his desire, his pupils widen and he feels his testicles clench with urgency as the base of his cock swells, making him shake all over. Without a second thought, he begins to enter you with deeper and longer thrusts so that his whole cock sinks into you without any more constriction, he hears you panting and crying and this only causes him joy, you are completely abandoned to him and your sensations.

You're about to come, you're not so ignorant that you don't know what's happening to your body, you've even heard of intense orgasms, but this... god, this is going to be devastating, you know very well. It's nothing like the ones you had with masturbation, this one is deeper, snaking through your lower belly and you feel it in your uterus. You stiffen all over, trying to block the erection that keeps pinning you down between hard, sensual thrusts, every time it touches your cervix you risk going crazy.

“Don't stop me, little girl... It's here, isn't it?” he gasps at you, slamming into you once more, high up between the entrance of your uterus and another sensitive area that makes your clitoris and walls tear with intense pleasure, your toes curl and you can't help but nod desperately, "Alright, love," he replies without even realizing it, kissing your bare, sweaty shoulder, his knot is almost complete, but he wants you to come before he gives you his cum.

He teases a sensitive, turgid nipple with the tip of a claw as he reaches the point of your union, massaging your folds to help you come, though with a hint of naughtiness he doesn't dare touch your clitoris, he wants you to orgasm on your own, knowing that the intensity then will be greater and you will collapse weak and distraught in his arms.

“Oh, fuck-!” you widen your eyes, being hit by a pressing and beautiful sensation of jouissance, sucking him furiously into you amid tremors and searing waves of pleasure, the same clear liquid as before leaks from your slit, this time in a greater quantity, causing Jimin to grunt as he is run over by your jet, slamming into you almost brutally, streams of his cum fiercely fill your core, as if to mark you for life, and finally his knot swells completely, locking him inside you.

Although immobilized, he cannot stop coming, his testicles quivering violently, and only one thing could quell his aching desire. With his eyes now almost completely encompassed by the black pupil, he pushes your hair away from your neck, exposing your previously tortured skin.

“Why does this go on?” you ask feverishly, confused by the enormous weight widening your walls and locking his big cock into you.

“Sssh” he rubs the tip of his nose against you, making you shudder, "Just wait a little longer" his words are followed by an excruciating twinge, his grown canines penetrating like blades into your skin and sinking into your flesh amidst your shocked and submissive screams, your body surrendering to his force, instinctively submitting and waiting for him to finish marking.

Jimin loves blood, your blood, it pleasantly bathes his tongue with its density and sweetness, he moans with need as he loses himself in your scent, instinct commands him to move his hips once more, even though you are both locked together, with a weak moan you take in the last strings of his cum, resting possessively in your belly, you feel heavy and unbearably full, but at least he seems to be finished, you feel him relax as he once again licks the holes left by his teeth, healing them. He looks like a wolf cleaning up after his mate after mating.

“What are you?” you ask wearily, by now surrendering to the idea that the man cannot be a mere human, that probably everything he has told you, from the poison-soaked dress to the deal with the town, is real.

“Jimin” you hear him grunt at such a low frequency that if you hadn't been alone, you probably wouldn't have heard him. You snort weakly.

“I asked you what you are, not your name,” you murmur, the strange, heavy weight preventing you from moving, hissing as Jimin moves awkwardly between your legs, putting you in a more comfortable situation, letting you rest against his chest lethargically, occasionally kissing the back of your neck and licking your neck, or behind your ear.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't like all that attention; you feel a delicious bite around your heart as you cling to his embrace, protected from the evening chill.

You don't know exactly how long you spend like this, maybe forty minutes, maybe an hour, the fact is that finally that thing between your legs seems to melt away, making you sigh almost strangely.

Jimin gently untangles himself from you, leaving your warm shelter slowly and with a feeling of emptiness that stuns you, your legs finally relax and you try to move them to regain some mobility, you feel his cum pushing to come out and two of his fingers enter you, plugging your entrance. No claws, you notice as he slowly turns you around.

You hiss at the burning, your knees are completely ruined, but Jimin begins to sprinkle them with kisses and saliva, the man is back between your thighs again, you can see his long, wild hair shining as he licks and sucks your skin from time to time, all the way to his fingers, he moves them slowly inside you and you twitch involuntarily, closing your eyes at the warmth of his tongue licking a thick streak of cum and juices dripping roughly from you, pushing it down to your hypersensitive clitoris and you moaning in pain.

“Don't do it,” you gasp, closing your legs tightly, but he doesn't give up, grabbing your chin between two fingers and forcing your mouth wide open, your heart faltering with a strange emotion, you let him spit all his creamy load into your mouth, running along your tongue with a surprised cry.

“Swallow,” he orders with a gleam of interest in his eyes.

You do as he tells you, wanting to please him in every way possible, accepting him back into your mouth for a slow, intimate kiss. It is also dominant and sweet, intense.

“I'm Jimin, a werewolf and also one of the masters of the castle,” he explains pushing you against his bare chest, you hug him back as if it were the most natural thing in the world to be there, clasped to him on a bed of dry leaves, "You are my mate, it's no accident that you were chosen ... being a virgin at your age is unusual for humans, but not for us wolves, you waited for me," he emphasizes with fire in his eyes.

“But ... my friends?” you can't help but ask, which makes him chuckle.

“My people have learned to be among humans, they recognized you by scent and led you to me at the right time, they are fine,” he informs you with a caress, “In fact, you should worry about yourself,” he says with a note of reproach.

“H-How?” fear advances again.

“I've waited too many years for your birth, little girl... it's time to repay the wait,” he hums as something hot and hard returns against your belly.

“Jimin, wai-!” too late, the tip of his cock captures your entrance again, this time with more ease and the next thrust has you writhing against him with tears in your eyes, “Oh, shit!”

Your fingers tighten around the phone, a lifeline in a sea of memories. Namjoon. The golden boy of The Seoul Main Hospital, renowned neurosurgeon with hands so steady they could perform miracles. You remember those late-night coffees in the residents' lounge, the way you both argued playfully over patient charts as fatigue gnawed at your resolve. You would swap tired smiles at dawn after long, demanding surgeries, a bond forged in the fires of shared exhaustion. Once, he was a friend, a confidant. But that was two years ago— a different hospital, a different time, and a version of you that feels as distant as a fading photograph.

“Namjoon?” you echo, tasting his name, trying to ground yourself. “Why are you calling me?”

"I—" His voice falters, hesitant, each word seemingly laced with nervousness. He exhales sharply; the sound weighted with the kind of gravity that instantly raises the hairs on your arms. "I didn’t know if I should call you, but I figured you needed to hear it from me." a cold dread settled in your stomach. 

"Hear what?"

There’s a pause, heavy and deliberate

Namjoon's sigh feels like it carries the weight of the world with it. You can almost visualize him, pinching the bridge of his nose in that familiar gesture, a sign that something terrible is about to be revealed. "It’s Jimin. He was in an accident tonight."

Your heart stumbles, a lead weight dropping into the pit of your chest. Jimin's name lands like a devastating blow, stirring emotions you thought were long buried. It’s been a long time since you allowed his name to pass your lips, longer since you permitted yourself to dwell on it. The world outside blurs and tips sideways. You force yourself upright, fingers digging into the fabric of your scrubs as if that might anchor you.

“A bad one,” he continues, his voice taking on a softer tone, laden with what feels too much like sympathy. “Blunt force trauma to the head. He woke up... but he doesn’t remember the last five years.”

Five years.

Your mind races, scrambling to connect the dots, counting back through the years. Five years ago, you were still at Seoul Main Hospital, lost in the chaos of residency. Five years ago, you were still signing your name as Park Y/N—still tethered to him, still his wife. Five years ago, he still loved you with a fierceness that colored every moment you shared.

Your grip on the phone intensifies to the point where your knuckles whitening from the pressure. “What do you mean he doesn’t remember?”

It takes all in you not to cringe from the simplicity of the question, after all you are a doctor yourself, a surgeon nevertheless so you knew what memory loss meant but in such situation, you let the mundane side of you speak.

“He thinks it’s 2021.” Namjoon’s voice is careful, each word measured. “In his mind, you two just got married. He doesn’t remember the divorce. Doesn’t remember you leaving. The hospital, his friends— even himself, to some extent— are all fragments he’s struggling to piece together. But there’s one thing he’s certain about.”

You already know the answer before he says it, and still your chest tightens painfully when he does.

“You.”

A sharp breath escapes you, shaky and uneven. Your free hand rises, pressing against your forehead as if that might stop the flood of memories rushing in. The late-night drives with music too loud, the stolen kisses during shifts, the whispered promises that turned brittle and broke. The fights. The silence. The emptiness. You had buried it all— stitched yourself back together with time and distance.

But now?

Now, Jimin is waiting for you. Calling your name in a hospital room you swore you’d never set foot in again, a place that feels like a ghost haunting from the past.

Namjoon speaks again, his voice softer this time, as if to cushion the weight of his words. “I know this is a lot. I wouldn’t bring it up if it wasn’t necessary. But he’s struggling, Y/N. And right now, the only person who can make sense of this for him is you.”

You shake your head, even though he can’t see you. “I don’t—” Your voice catches on the rawness in your throat. “I don’t know if I can do this, Namjoon.”

There’s a moment of silence and when he finally speaks, his tone is imbued with a gentleness that makes your chest ache all the more. “I get it. But I also know you. You’d never turn your back on someone who needs you, no matter how hard it is to face the past. And like it or not, Jimin needs you.” 

Your eyes squeeze shut, but it does nothing to stop the burning behind them.

The call ends, but the silence left behind is deafening. The weight of Namjoon’s words settles into your bones, unraveling years of carefully built distance. Pulling you back to a time and place you swore you’d never return to.

Jimin doesn’t remember.

To him, you are still his wife.

You press the heels of your palms against your forehead, willing yourself to breathe, to think. But how can you, when the past has just clawed its way back into your life without warning? You should say no. You should stay here, in this hospital where no one calls you Miss Park. Where no one looks at you and sees only the action that led to your downfall. 

But Jimin needs you. And despite everything, despite the years and the pain and the reasons you left, you don’t know how to turn your back on him.

It takes a long time to come to terms with it, long enough that dawn begins to creep into the night, washing the world in pale blue light. You sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall, the decision forming in the spaces between your breath.  Before you can change your mind, you grab your coat and keys, pushing the sane part of your brain as you make your way to the parking lot.

The drive to hospital is painfully familiar. Each turn, each street, each stoplight carries the ghosts of a life you abandoned. The café where you used to meet Jimin between shifts. The intersection where you once argued about something so trivial you can’t even remember it now, but you remember the way he pulled you close afterward, murmuring an apology against your temple.

With every mile, the ache grows heavier. By the time the hospital comes into view, it feels like it’s sitting in your throat, impossible to swallow. Seoul Main Hospital looms just as it always has—tall, pristine, a monument to both miracles and tragedies. You sit in the car for a moment, gripping the steering wheel, trying to steady yourself. But there’s no preparing for this, no way to brace against the flood of memories pressing in from all sides. Then, before you can convince yourself to turn around, you step out and walk through the entrance.

The scent of lavender hits you first—so achingly familiar it almost knocks the breath out of you. The same nurses at the front desk, the same hum of machines, the same too-bright fluorescent lights. Time has moved forward, but Seoul Main hasn’t changed. And neither have the people.

You don’t make it far before you nearly collide with someone rounding the corner. Strong hands catch your arms, steadying you before you can stumble, and then—

“Y/N?”

Your heart drops.

Taemin.

Of all the people to run into, it had to be him.

His dark eyes widen, surprise flickering across his face before something softer takes its place. His mouth parts as he takes you in, two years apart condensed into a single-breathless moment. He looks almost the same. Sharp lines, composed stance, but there’s weariness there now, a carefulness in the way he regards you. 

You try to speak, but the words catch in your throat. Because Taemin isn’t just an old friend. He isn’t just your former coworker.

He was there.

He was with you that night, standing there as the world came undone. He saw it all. The moment you hesitated, the precise second the weight of it all crashed down on you. The moment you lost not only the battle, but your husband. Your career. The life you had built from the ground up.

And now, standing in front of him again, it feels like no time has passed at all.

“Y/N,” Taemin says again, softer this time. “You came.”

You swallow hard, barely nodding. “I… I heard about Jimin.”

His expression shifts to sympathy. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “It’s… complicated.”

You huff out a bitter laugh. “It always is, isn’t it?”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The hospital buzzes around you, doctors and nurses moving past, conversations blending into background noise. But between you and Taemin, the past stretches, heavy and unspoken.

Then, finally, he sighs. “Come on,” he says, tilting his head toward the elevators. “He’s been asking for you.”

And just like that, there’s no turning back.

The elevator ride to the third floor is silent, but the weight of it is deafening. Taemin stands beside you, his hands tucked into the pockets of his white coat, his gaze forward, unreadable. You don’t ask questions, not yet. You’re still trying to steady yourself, still trying to make sense of the fact that you’re here at all.

The doors slide open with a soft chime, revealing a hallway much quieter than the rest of the hospital. You immediately notice the difference, no nurses rushing between rooms, no patients wheeling IV stands across the linoleum floors. It’s eerily still. Private. Of course it is. Jimin’s parents wouldn’t allow anything less.

As Taemin leads you forward, your eyes land on the small group gathered just outside a room. Namjoon stands among them, his voice low and tense, a worry etched deeply across his brow. Beside him, Mr. and Mrs. Park cling to each other, their faces drawn and weary, shadows of concern weighing heavily on their features. Yet it’s the woman slightly apart from them that causes your breath to catch in your throat.

She’s around your age, long blond hair, dressed in a simple blouse and skirt, her hands wrung tightly in front of her. There’s an unmistakable sadness in her posture, the way her shoulders shake just slightly as Namjoon speaks. Taemin slows his steps, as if sensing the exact moment, you realize who she is.

 He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck, before saying, carefully, “That’s Rose. Jimin’s girlfriend.”

The name hits harder than it should.

Rose.

Your fingers tighten around the straps of your bang, a thousand emotions colliding all at once. It’s not jealousy—no, it’s something messier, something you can’t quite name. You’re trying to understand her, this woman who loves the same man you do, the woman who is grieving him in a similar manner you had two years ago. She has every right to be here. More than you do, even. And yet, the moment your eyes settle on the way she wipes at her tears, the way Namjoon’s expression remains firm but gentle, something uneasy knots in your chest.

“He doesn’t remember her,” Taemin says quietly, as if reading your mind. “He only remembers you.”

You don’t know what to do with that.

Before you can even process it, Namjoon looks up and sees you. His lips part slightly, relief flickering across his face. Mr. and Mrs. Park turn next, their expressions unreadable, a mix of emotions so tangled you can’t decipher them. Then Rose looks up and everything stills.

For a moment, it’s just the two of you, staring at each other across the distance, across the years neither of you shared but are now inexplicably tied to. Her eyes, still glistening with unshed tears, widen ever so slightly at the sight of you. Yet, there is no animosity in her gaze. No fury lies beneath the surface. Instead, you find an unexpected understanding, aa quiet sorrow.

She knows who you are. 

Of course she does.

And yet, none of them say anything at first. The air between you all is thick with grief, resentment, and lastly relief. His parents stand rigid and unreadable, their gazes flickering between you and the closed door. His mother’s lips are pressed together, her hands clutched in front of her as if she doesn’t know whether to reach for you or recoil. His father, ever the composed figure, only nods stiffly in acknowledgment.

It has been years since you last laid eyes on them since that fateful night when you signed the divorce papers, convinced that walking away was the antidote for both you and Jimin. You had hoped, perhaps naively, that he would find his path to happiness without you. Yet, here you stand, summoned back into a life you both loved and hated.

Finally, Namjoon sighs and glances toward the door. “We had to sedate him. When we tried to explain what happened these past five years, the divorce and all. He just wouldn’t accept it and completely lost it. We had no choice.”

You understood but you couldn’t help but feel sadness and pity for how it all went down. You prayed, as you drove to the hospital, that in a far lighter scenario he would just accept the current situation.  You steal a glance at his parents, searching for something—blame, sorrow, anger. But all you find is exhaustion, their shoulders drooping under the weight of the current events. Jimin’s mother finally speaks, her voice quiet but raw. “He keeps asking for you.”

There’s no accusation in her tone only an invitation, laced with the heartache of a mother witnessing her child suffer. Your love fell apart. Harsh words were spoken, one that tore the matrimony you once swore by. However, in the fractured corners of his mind, you are still the person he reaches for.

A sharp ache stabs at your chest, unfamiliar and unwelcome. The hallway feels smaller, the walls pressing in. The past and present fold into each other, tangled and inescapable. A long time ago you had so much to tell them, beg for their forgiveness but now it all felt empty. Stretched and overdue. 

Finally, you exhale, forcing down the turmoil clawing at your ribs. “Take me to him.”

Just as Namjoon reaches for the door handle, a soft voice cuts through the tension. “Y/N.”

You freeze.

Jimin’s mother steps forward, her face carrying years of quiet strength, but now, it’s lined sorrw. A sorrow that is not just for her son, but for you too. Her lips tremble slightly as she looks at you, and when she reaches out, her fingers barely graze your arm, hesitant, unsure if she still has the right.

“Thank you for coming,” she says, “I know this isn’t easy for you. And I know… I know how things ended between you and Jimin. But you were my daughter once. And I never stopped—” She cuts herself off, pressing her lips together, shaking her head as if willing herself not to say more.

You stand there, awash in her words, unsure how to respond. Each syllable settles in your chest like stones, weighing you down into a part of yourself that had once ached to hear such affirmation. You had lost so much more than a husband; you had lost a family, a sense of belonging. You try to speak, but nothing comes out.

And then there’s Jimin’s father.

He hasn’t said a word. Hasn’t even properly looked at you except when you arrived. But you can feel it in the way his gaze remains fixed somewhere beyond you, as if acknowledging this whole charade would be too much. But he doesn’t leave. He doesn’t dismiss you. And that, in itself, is enough to tell you that despite everything, despite the past, despite the divorce, he is grateful. Even if he will never say it.

You swallow against the lump in your throat and give Jimin’s mother a small nod before turning back to Namjoon. “Let’s go in.”

The door opens with a quiet creak, and the moment you step inside, the air shifts.

The room is dim, the soft glow of the heart monitor casting faint shadows against the white walls. It’s quiet, save for the steady rhythm of beeping machines and the slow, measured breaths of the man lying in the hospital bed.

Jimin.

For a moment, all you can do is stare.

He’s changed.

The last time you saw him, he had been drowning in anger, exhaustion present on his face, coldness in his eyes cutting you in half. Certain bitterness laced in every word he threw your way just to break you apart. He had been a man hardened by betrayal, by the weight of something that neither of you had been able to fix. His once short black hair has grown out, falling just past his ears, dyed a striking silver. The very color you had once told him would suit him. You don’t know if it’s a cruel coincidence or some distant echo of your past influence, but the sight of it makes something in your chest tighten.

He’s thinner, but not in the way that suggests neglect. His features are more refined, more mature, as if the years have shaped him into someone softer, calmer. He looks—

Healthy.

Happier.

Or at least, he had been. The thought makes your stomach twist. As you step closer, the slight movement stirs him. His brows knit together for a moment, and then, slowly, his eyelids flutter open. You barely have time to brace yourself before his gaze lands on you. And just like that, time stops. For a single breath, neither one of you move. You expect confusion. Uncertainty. Maybe even the remnants of sedation dulling his awareness but instead, what you see makes the air leave your lungs.

Love.

It’s clear, as bright as day, as if the last five years never happened. As if the last time he looked at you wasn’t with coldness and hate, but with the warmth of a man still deeply, undeniably in love with his wife. And it’s that, more than anything, makes your chest ache for the contrast is too much. The last picture of Jimin that nested itself in your mind, was of him turning his back and walking away with a lawyer hot at his tail, not even sparing you a second glance.

But now?

Now, he’s looking at you like you’re his world. Like he still belongs to you, and you to him.

Your hands tremble at your sides.

And all you can think is—

What the hell am I supposed to do now?

The moment Jimin’s gaze fully registers you, his entire face lights up, and a breathless, disbelieving laugh escapes him. His eyes sparkle as he laughs again, wet and shaky, before turning to Namjoon with something akin to relief, as if he had been drowning and was finally coming up for air.

“You see? You see, Namjoon?” His voice is hoarse, thick with tears that haven’t yet fallen. “I told you; you were crazy. You were all crazy! How could you even suggest that Y/N and I divorced? Look at her—” He turns back to you, drinking you in like a man who had been lost in the dark for years and had finally found his light. “She’s here. Standing right in front of me. Like an angel.”

The way he says it, with so much conviction, so much certainty, grows buds of sadness in your chest.  Jimin doesn’t know. 

Jimin doesn’t remember. 

You try to remind yourself when he blinks suddenly, as if something just occurred to him, his brows furrowing slightly. “But… why aren’t you wearing scrubs?” His fingers brush against the fabric of your coat, as if checking to see if his eyes are deceiving him. 

“Did you come from home? No, wait, that doesn’t make sense. You work late night shifts. Why would you? Wouldn’t you visit me soo—”

And before you can stop him, before you can pull away, he takes your hands in his, pressing them firmly between his palms as if to ground himself. The warmth of his skin sears through you, and then—

A kiss.

Soft. Reverent. Planted right on the top of your embraced hands.

You nearly recoil, but you can’t. You can’t.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” Jimin murmurs, his voice thick with emotion, his lips still lingering against your skin. “I missed you.”

The storm inside you rages, but you force yourself to smile, to swallow down the nausea creeping up your throat. Because this isn’t about you. This is about him.

He rambles, his words tumbling out one after another, unstoppable, like a dam breaking. His love is overwhelming, suffocating, because it doesn’t belong here, not now, not anymore.

And then—

“How’s your residency going?”

The question slams into you like a freight train.

Residency.

Your mind reels, trying to piece together the timeline, trying to remember who you were five years ago, who you were when Jimin still loved you, when he still saw you as his wife. Because the truth is, you’re not a resident anymore. You’re a fellow now. But if you tell him that, if you let him realize how much time has passed, how much has changed, how much more will he break? So, you lie.

Or at least, you shape the truth. “The job is… going well,” you say carefully, forcing a small smile. 

Jimin hums in agreement, nodding sleepily, his grip on your hand loosening. “Yeah… I know. You’ll get through it, though. You’re brilliant. You always were.” His eyes flutter shut for a moment before he forces them open again, his body betraying his exhaustion. “I feel a little… out of it.”

You exhale, instinctively reaching up to brush his hair back from his forehead. “That’s normal. You just had surgery. Sleep it off. You’ll feel better after some rest.”

Jimin sighs, content, as his eyes finally slip closed. And then, just as he’s teetering on the edge of unconsciousness—

“I love you.”

You stop breathing.

It takes everything in you not to yank your hand away, not to rip yourself from the room and run. You feel sick. You feel trapped. You feel wrong because Jimin isn’t saying those words to you, not really. He’s saying them to the ghost of who you were, the woman he still thinks you are.

You don’t say it back.

Instead, you wait until his breathing evens out, until the slow, steady beeping of the monitor tells you that he’s truly asleep, and then without a word you step away and leave the room.

The moment the door closes behind you, the weight of everything crashes into you all at once. The air is too thick, your chest too tight, and suddenly, you can’t breathe.

“What the hell am I doing?” The words spill out in a choked whisper before you even realize you’re speaking. You stagger back against the wall with your hands trembling and your heart hammering against your ribs like it’s trying to escape. “This… this was a mistake.”

Namjoon steps forward cautiously, his eyes laced with concern. “Y/N—”

“No.” You shake your head frantically, the panic rising and the nausea clawing its way up your throat. “What’s the point of this? What do you want from me? Am I supposed to just—just lie to him until he recovers? And then what? Watch as his entire world crumbles all over again?”

“Y/N—”

“And—and how the hell are we supposed to tell him about that night?” The memory is a gut punch, slicing through the panic with something even worse grief. “He doesn’t even know that, Namjoon. He thinks we’re still married. If he knew the truth—” Your voice catches, and you shake your head, pressing your knuckles hard against your lips to keep yourself from sobbing.

Namjoon looks like he wants to say something, but for once, he doesn’t have an answer. Because there is no answer. There is no right way to fix this.

Taemin, silent until now, finally steps in, placing a firm hand on your shoulder. “Come with us,” he says, his voice calm but unyielding. “You need to sit down.”

You let them guide you away. Your legs are unsteady beneath you while your mind still spinning, still screaming at you to leave before you get sucked in too deep. Behind you, in the hallway, Jimin’s parents remain rooted in place. Mrs. Park clutches at her husband’s sleeve, her heavy breaths of worry, while Mr. Park stares at the floor, unmoving. Rose stands just beside them, her eyes red and puffy, but fixed firmly on you.

Because they all know. They all know that the only thing holding Jimin together right now, his only anchor in this storm is you.

And if you break…

He will too.

The walk to Namjoon’s office is silent, the weight of everything pressing down on you like a boulder strapped to your chest. Each step feels heavier than the last, your mind occupied with everything that just happened. Tlook in Jimin’s eyes, the way he said I love you, the way you couldn’t even breathe in that moment. You feel sick, hollow, like a stranger in your own body, but you keep walking, following Namjoon and Taemin as if on autopilot.

Once inside, Namjoon moves with practiced ease, filling the electric kettle on his desk and preparing tea. The office smells faintly of man’s cologne and old books, the same as it always did back when you worked here. It’s strange how nothing about this place has changed, yet everything about you has.

“Here,” Namjoon says softly, pressing a warm mug into your hands. He sits on the chair opposite of you, hands rummaging through a stack of papers on the desk between you. He fishes out a smaller bundle of papers, pushing the rest aside. Your eyes catch Jimin’s name, and it doesn’t take long for you to connect the dots. He was looking for his chart. You divert your stare to the tea as he begins to explain. 

“Jimin was out drinking,” he starts, running a tired hand through his hair. “It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, but he was… out of it that night. More than usual. He got behind the wheel and crashed into a pole. Luckily no one else was hurt, but he hit the steering wheel hard enough to blank out on the spot.” He exhales, shaking his head. “He needed surgery, his lungs bruised; his pelvis broken but we thought his head was fine. The CT scans didn’t show any major trauma. So, when he woke up with amnesia… it was a shock. A huge one. What puzzles me is the way the amnesia presents itself.”

Namjoon rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture of his growing confusion as he tried to sort through the complexities of Jimin's amnesia. 

“It’s strange,” he said, glancing between you and Taemin, his brow furrowed in deep thought. “In most cases I’ve dealt with amnesia presents itself in similar pattern—patients either lose all their memories or they can’t recall the details surrounding the accident, or sometimes they struggle to store new memories entirely. But Jimin... it’s like he’s stuck in this limbo where just these five years are just... faded, while others remain.”

You skim the chart from afar. “You’re saying you don’t know if he’ll ever recover his memories?”

He shook his head, frustration bubbling under the surface. “It’s not typical retrograde amnesia. It’s…” He sighs. “I was going to explain, but I forgot—cardio surgeon or not, you’ve been under my supervision before. You probably already know.”

You nod slowly. You remember those long, exhausting nights during your residency, when you rotated under Namjoon’s department, learning about neurological cases even though your heart was always set on cardiothoracic surgery. You remember studying memory loss, trauma-induced dissociation, the way the mind protects itself in moments of deep distress.

“I know,” you murmur.

For a moment, Namjoon smiles, almost nostalgic. “Right. Back then, you used to be stuck to my side like glue. And then Kwon stole you.”

You let out a soft, breathless chuckle, the memory of your old mentor pulling you away from neurosurgery flashing in your mind. But it’s fleeting, disappearing the second Taemin shifts beside you.

“We should focus on Jimin,” he reminds.

Namjoon’s expression sobers as he nods. “Right. The best path to recovery—for now—is to let him live in the past. Physically, he needs time to heal, and mentally… we must be careful. If we overwhelm him, it could do more harm than good.”

Your stomach churns. “So, we just…. lie?”

Namjoon exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know it sounds awful, but think about it, Y/N. Jimin values stability. If we tell him everything now about the divorce, about the past five years. I fear he’s going to spiral. He’s already been sedated once today because he couldn’t handle the truth. Do you really want to put him through that again?”

You don’t have an answer.

Because of course you don’t want to see Jimin suffer but this doesn’t feel right either.

Jimin has always valued honesty, even in the worst possible moments. He never liked sugarcoated words or half-truths. He would rather face the brutal reality than be protected by a lie. If he knew what the three of you were deciding right now… would he ever forgive you?

“I don’t think this is the right choice,” you say finally, voice quiet but firm. “Lying won’t get us anywhere. It’ll only hurt him more in the end.”

Taemin, who has been mostly silent, suddenly shakes his head. “I disagree.”

You turn to him, surprised. “Why?”

But he doesn’t answer. Not fully. He just looks at you, something unreadable flickering across his face, before glancing away. Namjoon watches the exchange, then sighs. “For now, let’s just focus on what we can do. We need to make sure Jimin’s body recovers first. His memories… that’s something we’ll deal with later.”

You nod, even though unease lingers in your chest. This felt like a slippery slope, one mistake could create a domino effect that might of a greater scale than you three anticipated. You thought two years could easily be filled but now you struggle with one simple question that slips out. 

“Where is he staying?”

Namjoon hesitates, and it’s Taemin who answers.

“His apartment.”

Your throat tightens. “Our apartment?”

Taemin looks away. “No. He moved out. Last year.”

You stare at him, pulse pounding. “Then—”

“He moved in with Rose.”

The words hit you like a slap. For a moment, you can’t breathe. He really moved on. You saw it a few minutes ago, or rather you saw her.  You knew that, had accepted it immediately or at least, you thought you had. But hearing it now, in this context, after the way he had looked at you just minutes ago, makes something inside of break.

Taemin shifts uncomfortably, as if realizing how much his words hurt you. “He… he was planning to sell the apartment. He told me he would. But I don’t know if he actually did.”

You barely know what to do with this information. It seems like it was Taemin’s mission for tonight to leave you speechless. 

Namjoon watches you carefully. “Y/N… can you do this?”

You don’t know but the worst part is, you don’t think you have a choice. You were a goner the moment he his lips laid a kiss on your touch starved body. You never even knew how much you’ve missed his gentle touch until you felt it, and now you were eager to prologue it. Like an addict. 

You take a deep breath and forces herself to come to terms with the situation. There is no other way. You already came, he saw you, the decision was already made, and you must see it through. As much as it twists your insides, lying to Jimin is the only way to ensure his recovery. Namjoon and Taemin stand beside you, unwavering in their support, and for a moment you feel a sliver of comfort in knowing you are not alone in this.

Together, the three of you return to Jimin’s parents. The tension still lingering in the air like an unspoken burden. Taemin brings up the apartment, cautiously testing the waters, and before anyone else can speak, Jimin’s father interjects.

“His old apartment?” Jimin's father frowned, his brow furrowed.

“Are you sure this is the right choice?” Jimin's mother asked, concern etched on her face. “What if it brings up things he isn’t ready to face?” Taemin locked eyes with her, resolute. “I promise we’ll take it slowly. We won’t push him past what he can handle. But I believe he needs this familiarity to help guide him back.”

Namjoon butts in adding a blanket of security to the sudden decision. “The familiarity of the old place could trigger something in him, jolt his memories.”

You notice Rose take a deep breath before she interjects. “About the apartment…” she said, her voice steady but soft, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. “I know Jimin hasn't sold it.” 

Jimin's mother looked at her, surprise flickering in her eyes. “He didn’t sell it? Why would he hold onto it after everything?”

Rose shrugged before continuing, her voice laced with mutual confusion. “Jimin had a change of heart at the last minute. He was supposed to tell me why that night… before the accident.”

Her words settle heavily between you all. It’s clear that even she is struggling to comprehend everything unfolding before her. She recognizes the silence as an offer to continue so she does giving more information. “He told me he gave the keys to Hoseok. I’ll ask him.”

The mention of Hoseok jolts something inside of you. The last time she saw him was at the funeral. He had stood beside you, quiet but present, offering you words of comfort that you never truly understood. You did the right thing, he had said. Your friendship had always been a strange one—good, but distant. 

“I’ll reach out to him,” you say, surprising even yourself.

Rose blinks clearly caught off guard. For a moment, there is nothing but silence between you before Rose simply nods. Namjoon feeling the tension growing with each question, suggests that Jimin’s parents and Rose head home for the night. They have been here all day, exhausted and overwhelmed. Reluctantly, they agree and begin making their way out, though you can sense their hesitation.

Once they leave, you turn to Namjoon. “I’ll talk to Hoseok in the morning. Right now, I need to go home and pack. If we’re going to do this, I need my things there.”

Taemin offers to help, but you decline, needing space to process everything alone. Namjoon, understanding, gently takes you hand, his touch warm and steady. “Thank you,” he murmurs, echoing the gratitude of Jimin’s parents.

As you step outside, ready to leave, you are startled to find Jimin’s father waiting by your car. You hesitate, expecting coldness or arrogance, but instead, he awkwardly thanks you. The words are strained but sincere. “I’ll call Chief Leeteuk tomorrow and arrange for your transfer back to Seoul Main Hospital,” he adds. “Until Jimin recovers.”

The weight of his words crashes over you. Only now do you fully grasp the scale of this situation, the immense disruption not just to your life but to the lives of so many others.

You shake your head. “I’ll figure something out. Maybe take time off work—”

“That won’t be necessary,” he cuts in. “You know this hospital inside and out. You can continue your work here.”

You want to argue, but you see the resolution in his eyes. Eventually, you sigh, nodding. “I’ll think about it.”

He hands you his business card. “Call this number when you decide.”

With that, they part ways, and you drive home with a mind drowned in thoughts.

When you reach the apartment, you pull out three large suitcases and begin to pack. There was no point in postponing the inevitable. The simple act of folding clothes and placing them into bags feels mechanical, almost numbing. At some point, you open a bottle of red wine, pouring yourself a glass to steady your nerves. Then, it dawns on you that you never informed her hospital of the sudden departure.

Grabbing your phone, you dial your best friend’s number.

“Y/N! What the hell happened? You just disappeared!”

“Something came up. A family matter. I’ll tell you more about it tomorrow.” It’s not a lie, not entirely, and explaining further requires energy you don’t have.

Wendy hums, suspicious but doesn’t press. “Well, good thing Yoongi covered for you. Took in your cases without a second thought.”

That catches you off guard. “He… did?”

It wasn’t surprising that Yoongi stepped in occasionally but for him to do on his own accord without refusal at first was strange. He seemed stand offish at times, opting to keep to himself for dealing with others was too much for him so he rarely took on other’s shifts or cases.

“Yeah. Honestly, I don’t know why you two never explored the waters.”, Wendy teases. “He’s totally your knight in shining armor.”

You sputter, face heating up. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh, please.”

You and he shared an undeniable chemistry that others noticed right from the start of your fellowship. While you both excelled in different fields, you worked exceptionally well together when cases required collaboration, often finishing each other's sentences and actions. The two of you were described as a "twisted duo," a description you felt fit Yoongi far better than it fit you. However, Wendy insisted that you were unaware of how spookily well the telepathy between you and him worked. Hence the twisted duo name.

As Wendy continues to tease, you suddenly feel overwhelmed, thoughts spiraling back to Jimin. The contrast between past and present is suffocating. You offer her a poor excuse and hurriedly end the call, gulping down the rest of the wine.

You continue packing until your hands brush against a familiar box. You catch your breath, knowing exactly what’s inside before you even open it. Old photographs stare back at you. There’s Jimin smiling on your first date, pulling you close during your trip to Rome. There’s a picture of him at Hoseok’s wedding, so drunk that you barely managed to get him into the car afterward. That memory is one of your favorites; despite his intoxicated state, he was utterly smitten with you and the way you looked in that dress. He couldn’t keep his hands to himself all night, making you feel embarrassed when an elderly couple shot you a disapproving look. But all of that faded in comparison to his love confession when you helped him into the seat and buckled him up. At first, you ignored it, thinking it was just the alcohol talking, but he repeated it over and over, even going so far as to open the window and shout to the car next to you just how much in love he was.

Memories flood you all at once, raw and unbearable. You trace the images, fingers trembling. And then—you break.

Tears spill freely, chest heaving with sobs. Now when you are face with all of mess, with the cruel irony of Jimin’s memory loss, you realize just how deep the wounds still run.

As you cry and cry until you have no tears left to shed.

-

When morning comes, you wake up and immediately spring into action. Searching through your phone, you scan for Hoseok’s number. One of many you rarely dialed after the split. When your fingers land on his name, you press the call button, heart pounding as you wait. A few seconds later, a familiar voice answers, your name spoken in disbelief.

You greet him, albeit awkwardly. Two years have passed since you last spoke but there’s no point in skirting around the issue. “Have you heard about Jimin?” you ask.

Hoseok sighs. “I heard about the accident. Last time I checked with his parents, he was still in surgery. I wanted to call again, but…” he trails off before explaining that his twins have been sick, keeping him and his wife occupied. “I was planning to check in this morning.”

You pause at the mention of his children. Memories of Hoseok and his wife’s struggle to become parents resurface, and for a moment you forget why you even called. Regaining your focus, you congratulate him before quickly summarizing the situation.

Hoseok listens in silence before finally speaking. “And what’s the plan?”

You hesitate but tell him the truth about making Jimin live in the past until he fully recovers. To your surprise, Hoseok much like Taemin, agrees with the idea of you taking care of Jimin.

“You’re the only one who can do this,” he says simply. “I’ll leave the key at the front desk at hospital after I visit Jimin.”

You thank him, and the call ends. With a deep breath, you load your suitcases into the trunk of your car and then dial the number Jimin’s father gave you. He picks up in mere seconds.

“I’ll take the transfer,” you tell him, knowing there’s no point in resisting. Working at another hospital wouldn’t make sense under these circumstances.

His father sounds relieved. “I’ll handle all the paperwork and reach out to your chief.”

After thanking him, you drive to your hospital, needing to wrap up loose ends. As you pull up to the entrance, you spot Yoongi outside, cigarette in hand. He smirks at you and wordlessly offers a cigarette despite knowing you don’t smoke. It was a going on joke between you two. A mockery of your statement that “The fault in our stars” wasn’t as corny as Yoongi describes it. After that he never lets you live down the quote about the cigarette. 

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile. Yoongi still doesn’t ask why you weren’t there last night, instead giving you space to explain on your own terms. And so, taking a deep breath, you do. You tell him about Jimin’s accident, the amnesia, and the transfer. You half expect him to be upset, but he only nods in understanding.

Your relationship with Yoongi has been… complicated. It started a year ago, the result of one too many drinks after celebrating a successful surgery. Since then, you’ve kept things casual, just two people filling each other’s lonely nights. There were no expectations, no strings. However, when he agrees with Taemin and Namjoon, supporting this decision, you feel an unexpected pang of something you can’t quite place.

As you both step inside, Yoongi teases, “Maybe this is exactly what you need.”

You frown, trying to decipher his words but there’s no time to dwell. Almost immediately, nurse Layla rush toward you, handing you charts. Your mentee, San trails behind, listing off patients and conditions until you stop him.

“There’s been a change of plans,” you say, glancing at him. “I’m being transferred to Seoul Main for a while.”

San’s face falls. “But…. but I want to keep learning under you.”

You sigh, touched but resolute. “I’ll be back.”

He doesn’t seem convinced, but there’s nothing more you can do. Handing him the charts, you instruct him to wait for Dr. Schuber’s call before heading toward the chief’s office. When you step into his office, Leeteuk’s on the phone, his usual stern features softened with amusement. His laughter echoes lightly before his tone shifts into something more serious. "I understand," he says into the receiver. "I’ll help as much as I can." His eyes lift to yours as he gestures for you to take a seat. You settle in waiting for him to finish.

When he finally hangs up, he leans back in his chair, eyes filled with something akin to sympathy. "I spoke with Mr. Park," he begins, "I heard what happened. I’m truly sorry about Jimin." He doesn’t linger on the subject, respecting the weight of it, and instead moves on, pulling out a piece of paper and scribbling something down. "The official reason for your transfer is the lack of fellows at Seoul Main. They’re understaffed, while here we have three people under each mentor. It makes sense."

You exhale, nodding. "Thank you, Chief. I won’t let you down. I’ll do my best at Seoul Main."

Leeteuk’s lips curl into a proud smile. "I expect nothing less."

A warm sensation spreads in your chest as you leave his office. The bittersweet feeling of leaving, of change, settles over you.

You make your way to the surgeons’ rest lounge, where you spot Wendy sprawled on one of the beds, her scrubs wrinkled from exhaustion as she focuses on a post-op chart. "General surgery is a pain in the ass," she groans the moment she spots you. "Should’ve been a dermatologist."

You chuckle, taking a seat beside her. "Rough night?"

"Try night from hell. Some teenager came in with severe abdominal pain. His parents were a nightmare, demanding every test possible. Turns out, the kid had something shoved up his ass but was too ashamed to admit it. Can you believe that?" She rubs her temple in frustration. "Yoongi tried to warn him that after surgery his parents would know – I mean who wouldn’t notice their child can’t sit on their ass – but the kid begged us to come up with a cover story."

You wince in secondhand embarrassment. "And this is exactly why I chose cardio."

Wendy snorts. "Please, like you don’t have weird cases. Didn’t you start in neuro before switching?"

You shrug. "At least no one’s shoving things into their brain or heart."

Wendy grins. "Tell that to the kid who inhaled a whole ass ball and had to have it surgically removed from his nasal cavity."

You shake your head with a laugh. "Still better than a sex toy in their ass." You pause, a smirk tugging at your lips.

“Not gonna lie, trauma surgeons are saints. I could never stand there, get a CT done and see an object, clearly intended for pleasure, inserted where it shouldn’t be. And keep a straight face.”

You wanted to explain to Wendy that unlike other surgeons, any topic related to sex only made her laugh her ass off – pun fully intended. If you had to list any flaw of hers on the resume, that would be the top one, laughing during awkward moments. You could start listing of all the times that go her in trouble but then you’d be staying here until the next year.

Then, shifting gears, you exhale and tell her about your transfer, detailing everything that happened last night. Much like with Yoongi, you recount how Namjoon called, the accident, and then the part that makes you hesitate, Jimin has a girlfriend. 

“Y/N,” Wendy said, leaning in closer. “It’s understandable but you know it’s been two years, right? Life keeps going, even when we’re not ready for it. It’s only natural that he would have moved on.”

 “Yeah, I get that,” you replied, voice thick with frustration. 

Wendy studies you, a thoughtful expression on her face. “And what about you, Y/N? You’ve been hanging out with Yoongi a lot. I know you I turn a blind eye often, but you’re sleeping together. ” 

You roll your eyes knowing well enough how the situation between you two was vastly different. For starters no labels were used and heck you didn’t even know where Yoongi lived, most of the time you hung out at your apartment. “It’s not like that with Yoongi. We’ve just found comfort in each other’s company, nothing more.”  

 “Come on, don’t tell me knowing his dick size and meeting his brother is just keeping each other company” Wendy teased, attempting to lighten the mood. 

Okay so you knew the ins and outs of Doctor Yoongi, and perhaps you had the chance to meet his brother but, in your defense, it was a total coincidence. His brother had a mild heart attack and Yoongi ever so praising of your skills directed him to you so in conclusion you knew his brother as Mr. Min, your patient not as Yoongi’s older brother Yeon. 

“It’s just messy. Here I am, dealing with Jimin’s memories and feelings, and I can’t just ignore that. It feels wrong.”

 “Life is messy, sweetie,” Wendy said, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “But you’re strong enough to figure it out. You just need time.”

 “I know I need time,” you sigh, staring down at the bed. “I’m just sorry for leaving my shift. I didn’t mean to abandon you.”

Wendy shrugged, a playful twinkle in her eye. “Please, don’t worry about it. Yoongi and I have your back. Trust me, we covered for you. Just take things easy, okay? You have enough on your plate without stressing about work.” 

“Thanks, Wendy,” you said, a small smile breaking through your worry. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

Just as you were about to yap a bit more about the situation your phone buzzes. Namjoon’s name flashes on the screen. Jimin is waking up. You should be here. A wave of nerves rolls through you. You quickly type out a response, telling him you’re on your way.

Wendy watches you carefully. "So, are we postponing girls’ night?"

You nod. "Until this whole mess settles."

She smirks. "Figures. Just promise me you won’t take any shit from anyone at Seoul Main. You know how male-dominated the field surgery is."

You chuckle. "I was expecting a speech about Jimin."

Wendy shrugs. "Honestly I feel like my emotional capacity is reaching its limits. That little sucker used most of it and you got like 20%. Anyway, don’t forget about us while you’re there."

A lump forms in your throat at the thought of leaving again, of facing Jimin again. Wendy nudges you toward the door. "Go. I need sleep before I start hallucinating."

As you were about to leave the room you heart Wendy half-whisper. “If you see any hot dudes, be sure to send me their pictures.”

You chuckle, steeling yourself before heading out. 

When you arrive, Namjoon is waiting at the front desk standing beside a man you don’t recognize. As you approach, Namjoon greets you with a small smile. "Y/N, this is Dr. Kyungsoo, neurosurgeon. I asked him to consult on Jimin’s case."

Kyungsoo stands by your side, noticeably a head shorter than Namjoon. His short black hair frames his face neatly, and his plump lips give him a slightly prominent and inviting look. His big doe-like brown eyes seem to take in everything with a serious intensity, giving him a contemplative aura. However, as he greets you, a big smile breaks across his face, instantly softening his demeanor and making him appear much younger than the serious expression that lingered just moments before. 

You shake hands with him before Namjoon hands you a pager and a key card. "This will give you access to the third floor, where Jimin is, as well as the surgeons’ lounges. Only a handful of nurses know about Jimin’s condition." He hesitates for a second. "You’ll be happy to know that Jisoo is one of them."

A strange feeling twists in your gut. It reminds you too much of seeing Taemin again, Jisoo had been there that night. You school your features and nod, absorbing the information. Namjoon starts explaining the layout of the hospital, but you cut him off with a teasing grin. "I left two years ago, not twelve."

He chuckles. "Feels like twelve."

The three of you step into the elevator. As it ascends, Kyungsoo and Namjoon discuss the possible causes of Jimin’s amnesia. You listen but focus on steadying your nerves. When the doors open, a rush of déjà vu washes over you. Jimin’s parents are there, his father on the phone, his mother sitting beside Rose, their hands clasped tightly.

You greet them, but your gaze barely lingers on Rose. There’s an unspoken tension between you, a mutual uncertainty on how to act around each other. Namjoon introduces Kyungsoo to Jimin’s parents, giving you the perfect excuse to slip past them and into the room.

Jimin is standing by the window, watching the sky shift outside, the colors melding like the emotions swirling in his heart. There’s no television, no phone. Namjoon thought too much information at once might overwhelm him, but Jimin has one focus: you. When he turns and sees you, his face illuminates with an almost otherworldly smile, as if your presence alone brings warmth to a cold room. His eyes, usually bright with mischief, are now filled with deep adoration, crinkling at the edges as he stretches his arms out, eager to embrace you. 

Your heart clenches, a mix of longing and fear tightening within your chest. You step forward, surrendering to his pull into a hug that feels like home. He buries his face in your neck, inhaling deeply, a low sigh escaping his lips. "I could never get tired of your scent," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. 

You freeze for just a second.  If he notices your stillness, he doesn’t say anything; instead, he tightens his hold on you, as if afraid you might slip away. 

His breath mingles with yours, creating an intimate rhythm that seems to soothe the chaos within. "I was scared when I woke up and you weren’t here," he confesses, his voice trembling, vulnerable. 

You silently wish you could promise him everything would be okay. "It felt like my world was falling apart when Namjoon told me it’s 2026, not 2021. That we’re—" his voice breaks, fragile as his eyes shimmer, "divorced. That you left Seoul Main Hospital."

The words pierce through the vulnerability of the moment, leaving you breathless. Warm tears soak into your skin as Jimin pulls back slightly, his puffy red eyes searching yours with an intensity that makes you feel as if he is looking straight into your soul. 

"Y/N, I—I don’t know how to do this without you," he says, each word laced with desperation and love that binds your heart in a vice. His weakness shatters something deep within you, the weight of it heavy and consuming. Logic tells you that the truth would be kinder in the long run, but looking into his tear-streaked face, filled with fear and longing, you realize in that moment you can’t tell him. Not yet. The love reflected in his gaze is a tether that keeps you from breaking apart entirely, and for now, you choose to hold onto the fragile warmth of this bittersweet reunion.

You and Jimin don't notice between your emotional exchange that the doors have opened and that Jimin's parents and Rose have entered the room, accompanied by Namjoon. The soft click of the door closing barely registers in your mind, too caught up in the warmth of Jimin’s embrace; in the way his body fits against yours like a puzzle piece that was never meant to be separated. It isn't until Namjoon clears his throat, a deliberate interruption, that your awareness sharpens. 

Your gaze flickers to Rose, who stands frozen near the door. Her expression is an unreadable mix of hurt and anger. You see the way she blinks rapidly, as if trying to hold back tears that threaten to spill. Guilt twists like a knife in your stomach. You shift, instinctively trying to create space between yourself and Jimin, but his fingers tighten around yours. The weight of his touch is grounding, but in this moment, it feels suffocating.

Jimin frowns at your movement. "Where are you going?" he asks, his voice laced with confusion. You hesitate, casting a glance at Namjoon before answering, "I just thought I’d stand with Namjoon and the others." The words sound weak even to your own ears.

Jimin’s frown deepens. "Why? You're my wife. You're supposed to be here, with me." His words land heavily in the room, unchallenged yet piercing. Rose stiffens before she abruptly turns on her heel and rushes out. The sound of her hurried steps echoes down the hallway. Jimin’s mother exhales softly, her gaze darting between her son and the door Rose just exited through. For a moment, she seems to contemplate following her, but then she looks at Jimin, at the desperation in his eyes as he holds onto you and stays.

Namjoon, sensing the growing tension in the room speaks up shifting the focus on him. "Jimin, we’re keeping you here for three more days before discharging you. After that, Y/N will take care of you at home." His words are measured, calm as if carefully weaving a delicate bridge between reality and the illusion Jimin still holds onto. Then he subtly nods at you, a silent prompt for you to begin adjusting Jimin to the truth of your present.

Jimin’s grip on your hand is unrelenting, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a way that should be comforting, but all you can focus on is the fire creeping up your spine, the overwhelming pressure of his expectations.

You gently take Jimin’s hand, placing a small mirror in his hands. As he gazes into it, a look of confusion flickers across his face, then deepens into disbelief as he sees his reflection. The familiar shape of his face remains, but the long, silver hair cascading down his shoulders is a stark reminder of the years that have slipped by. “Since… since when did I dye my hair?” he murmurs, running his fingers through the silken strands, as if trying to grasp the time that has passed.

You can see the wheels turning in his mind, the realization dawning on him. “Five years did pass by, Jimin. Namjoon was right, it’s 2026 now,” you explain, your voice tender. The mirror reflects more than just physical changes; it mirrors the essence of the man he was and the man he has become.  Jimin stirs his gaze to you staring at you intently, his dark eyes searching yours as if trying to latch onto something solid amidst the whirlwind of news. 

"The president now is Yuk Seongu. I completed my residency a year ago," you continue, carefully choosing details that might make the reality easier to digest after the sudden shock.

For the short amount of time you were under Namjoon’s mentorship he highlighted the importance of stating the current president when assessing a patient for amnesia. Back then, and even now, you felt as if that question was misplaced. In midst of an emotional breakdown and coming to terms with years being stolen from you why would anyone care about politics?

Jimin processes your words, his brow furrowing. He hurriedly places the mirror onto the nightstand as if it burned him. "Is that why you weren’t wearing scrubs yesterday?" 

His question catches you off guard, but you recover quickly, nodding. "Yes, I’m currently a fellow under..." You trail off, glancing at Namjoon for help, and he promptly supplies, "Doctor Junseo."

You repeat the name, your gaze returning to Jimin, who seems lost in thought, his lips parted slightly as he tries to absorb everything. Everyone in the room expects him to ask something logical, something about the time gap, about his medical condition or about what happened. But when he finally speaks, his question catches you totally off guard.

"Where’s your ring?" His eyes drop to your bare fingers, the absence of the silver band suddenly feeling like an accusation. "Even when you were busy in your residency, you always wore it. You only ever took it off during surgery."

Silence falls over the room. Your breath catches in your throat, your heart pounding so loudly you wonder if everyone else can hear it. How do you even begin to answer that?

You try to recover from the question, but the words stick to the back of your throat. It had never occurred to you that Jimin would notice the absence of the ring and honestly it had never even occurred to you to put it on.

Jimin proposed to you on your fourth anniversary. At the time, you were only twenty-four, young and ambitious. Initially, you felt hesitant about marriage because your career required many sacrifices, and you worried that you would only hold him back. However, Jimin believed that everything was perfectly aligned, especially since you were doing your residency at his parents' hospital, where he worked in the finance department. 

You remember the excitement and joy you felt at the thought of calling him your fiancé, and eventually husband. Despite the challenges you faced and the uncertainties ahead, you accepted his proposal. You can still picture the moment he lifted you into the air, twirling you with pure happiness as you held his face in your hands. In that instant, time seemed to stop, marking one of your many victories.

The ring had been a family heirloom, passed down through generations of Park men. It was always given to the eldest son to propose to his prospective wife. Jimin hadn’t needed to plead for it; his grandmother had a soft spot for you. She admired your unwavering commitment to two things: your career and Jimin.

When your marriage fell apart and you both reached the heartbreaking conclusion that divorce was your only option, the ring became a painful reminder of everything you had lost. You had wanted to return it and give it back to him, but Jimin refused. His voice was filled with bitterness as he declared that the ring was tainted with misery, and he couldn’t bear to return it to his grandmother after failing her. You understood his anger, you had always understood Jimin. Deep down, however, you wished he could have set aside his pride just once to understand you in return.

Unfortunately, the weight of hatred and hurt was too great to overcome. So, you took the ring and locked it away at your family home, putting as much distance between you and it as possible. 

Standing before Jimin as he awaits an answer, you wonder how to explain all of that in just a few words. After a moment of silence, you explain, "I lost it once during a complicated surgery. I had to change into fresh scrubs after getting soaked with a patient’s blood, and I was rushed into another procedure immediately afterward. By the time the cleaning crew came through, it was misplaced. When we finally found it, I decided to leave it at home as a precaution." 

Jimin studies you carefully for a long moment before finally nodding. Then, in a gesture that feels achingly familiar, he lifts your hand and presses a lingering kiss to your palm. The warmth of his lips sends a wave of comfort through you.. He then asks, "Can we have some time alone?" 

Jimin’s father shifts uncomfortably, his posture rigid afraid that you might slip. Before he can voice any objections, Jimin’s mother intercedes, her voice soft yet firm. "Of course." With that, she gently ushers her husband out the door, with Namjoon trailing behind them. Once alone, Jimin watches you intently for a long moment before reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. "What more did I miss?" he asks.

You hesitate. "What do you mean?" 

"Your hair is longer and darker. You used to wear glasses during residency, but now you don’t. Did you switch to contacts or? Did you finally learn to parallel park?” His voice is light and teasing, but there's genuine curiosity beneath it. 

You exhale, adjusting to the way his touch still feels like second nature. "Mochi passed away four years ago. She lived with us towards the end of her life, and her favorite pastime was knocking glasses off the counter. You had to clean up way more than you liked." 

Jimin chuckles, a sad yet fond sound. "And your career?" 

"I tried neurosurgery, but..." You sigh. 

He smirks knowingly. "You never had the patience for it." 

You swat his arm playfully. "I could have if I had Namjoon’s mind of steel,” you smirk before softening, "I went into cardiothoracic instead." 

Jimin grins. "Good choice. You stole my heart; you better learn on how to take care of it." 

You groan, hiding your face behind your hands, laughter bubbling up despite yourself. With him, it was always easy. Then, Jimin’s faces becomes letting you know that whatever he’s about to say has been bothering him for a while. "Namjoon told me I lost control of the car and hit a pole. He didn’t want to tell me, but Taemin let it slip that I was intoxicated. What happened that night?” 

You feel at loss for words. You don’t know the reasoning yourself and the only person who could cast some light on the situation probably would rather punch you in the face than help you. “I wish I could help you, but I am unsure myself.”

Jimin frowns looking to the side, silently playing with your fingers. Something he started doing absentmindedly whenever he was stressed. He stops for a second, still not looking at you as he speaks. “I was relieved that nobody was hurt but I can’t help but feel confused by my own actions. I know I would never drink and drive. It just doesn’t seem real. It doesn’t seem like me.”

He looks at you, his eyes a mirror to his emotions. He was fighting an internal battle which he kept to himself more so to not overwhelm you, sensing that you were already on the edge. 

Instead of further grilling for information he smiles and quickly changes the topic. "At least get me a TV. I’ll die of boredom." 

You felt like you can breathe again so you chuckle trying to mask the fear that lingered. "I’ll talk to Namjoon." 

A nurse knocks on the door. "Time for some tests." 

The nurse walked to Jimin's side, offering him a reassuring smile as she gently lifted his arm. You positioned yourself on the opposite side, carefully sliding your hands beneath him to provide additional support. Together, you lifted him into the wheelchair, ensuring he was comfortable before she starts wheeling him out.

As they were about to exit, he asks "Will I see you later?" 

You nod. "Of course."

You watch Jimin disappear down the hallway, a strange hollowness settles in your chest. This is going to be harder than you anticipated. Jimin has lost two years of which you know nothing about. As much as you want to help, you feel just as much an outsider to that time as he does. 

You wanted to dwell more on it but, the sharp beep of your pager shatters the silence. Front desk. You don’t waste a second, opting for the stairs over the elevator, your heart pounding from more than just exertion. The hospital is a world of cold, sterile air, and yet, as you rush through it, you feel like you’re suffocating.

At the front desk, a familiar figure stands. Jung Hoseok is dressed in a neatly pressed suit, though his tired eyes and slightly disheveled hair tell a different story. He looks older and worn out, as if the weight of sleepless nights has carved itself into his face. You notice how his hair is shorter than you remember, and how tiredness clings to him like a shadow, no doubt a result of his children’s relentless energy. 

He waves at you, offering a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "Y/N," he greets, his voice tinged with fatigue as he hands you a set of keys. "How's the situation?" 

"The same," you reply, catching your breath, "We’ll see if he’ll remember more once we get to the apartment and visit some places." 

Hoseok nods, but then his expression turns serious. "Do you plan on telling him about you know?" His voice is quiet and cautious, as if saying the name might shatter something fragile in the air. 

A shiver runs down your spine as you shake your head. "No, there was no right moment. Honestly, I don’t know if there ever will be. It would just reopen old wounds. And right now… isn’t the time." 

Hoseok studies you for a moment before exhaling slowly. "Yeah, I get that. Is there anything I can do?"

You bite your lip, contemplating. "If you have time, could you help me fill in the gaps? I don’t know much about Jimin’s job after the divorce. It’s hard to navigate conversations when I have no idea what changed."

He agrees immediately. "Of course. I’ll drop by again tomorrow or the day after. I just need to check my schedule. I only saw him for a minute or two, the clients are ruthless. They keep pestering me as if I was the well of all information about the stock market."

His words offer some relief, but then he says something that throws you off balance. "I haven’t seen the apartment since Jimin gave me the keys. That was two months after the divorce." 

Your brows knit together in confusion. "I thought he moved in with Rose?"

Hoseok’s expression shifts when he realizes what you’re thinking. "Yes and no, he and Rose only started dating last year. He left the apartment because there was too much sadness there. He said he needed a change, so he rented a place near the company instead. He gave me the keys because Dae and I wanted to expand our family, but… I couldn’t live there. It was too tragic. Therefore, I never used it."

Rose’s words echo in your mind and before you can stop yourself you say it out loud, wanting to be certain. "He was planning on selling it, right?" 

Hoseok nods. "Yeah. He even found a buyer, but… they backed out." 

"Did he say why?" you ask, but he shakes his head. "No. He just said to keep the keys. No new owner, no reason to bring them back to the company." 

"Do you know what happened the night of the accident?" 

"No, no one does. His family doesn’t even know." Before you can explain further, movement catches your attention. 

You turn and freeze. 

Seonghwa.

The young resident stands a few feet away, his expression a mix of shock and disbelief. The papers he was carrying slip from his grasp, fluttering to the floor in a scattered mess. You watch as realization dawns on him as he continues staring at you as though he is seeing a ghost.

Hoseok turns at the commotion, narrowing his gaze as he studies the younger man. There is something familiar in Seonghwa’s features, and you see the moment recognition flickers in Hoseok’s tired eyes. But before he can say anything, you are already moving, kneeling beside Seonghwa to gather the fallen papers with quiet urgency.

Although he stutters, he manages to greet you and Hoseok. Once the papers are collected, he looks at you and attempts to start a conversation, awkwardly asking how you have been. Like Seonghwa, you find yourself at a loss for how to navigate the moment, so you settle for small talk, giving him a polite smile. "I’m well. I hope you are too."

Hoseok, who has been observing quietly, suddenly pieces it together, the young resident from the that night. Recognition flashes in his eyes, but he says nothing, only checking his watch before turning to you. "We’ll talk later, Y/N. I’m already late for work.

You nod, clutching the keys in her hand. "Thanks again."

As he walks away, Seonghwa exhales slowly and shifts on his feet. "Namjoon told me I would be working under someone new," he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just… didn’t think it would be you." 

You blink at him, slightly taken aback. "Namjoon never mentioned this to me." 

Seonghwa nods, as if that makes perfect sense. You take a deep breath, adjusting to the reality of your new professional dynamic. "Well," you say, straightening up, "there are a few patients we need to check on. Let’s get to work." 

Sensing the awkward atmosphere lingering between you, you quickly assign him a task. "Check on each patient and inform me when you're done. I still need to change into my uniform and greet the chief." 

Seonghwa furrows his brows. "Greet the chief? Why?" 

You tilt your head. "It’s common courtesy to greet your boss." 

His lips twitch slightly. "You’ve already seen Namjoon." 

You stare at him, processing his words. "Wait… what?" 

"Namjoon became the chief just a little over a month ago."

Although perplexed at information that Namjoon decided to keep from you, you can’t help but feel a bit proud. “Then I guess we immediately go to work.”

Seonghwa smiles as he begins to scan through the list of patients. He explains their conditions, the procedures that were performed, and the potential checkups. As the two of you walk, you’re reminded of the old times when he used to trail behind you. However, instead of the nervous first-year resident who once cowered under your stern gaze, you now see a confident future cardiothoracic surgeon completing his final year of residency.

After a long day in the operating room, you find yourself transitioning from the upbeat environment of the hospital to the familiar weight of anticipation as you make your way to the car. The drive through the bustling streets of Seoul reflects your mixed emotions. 

As you step into the apartment you once shared with Jimin, the soft glow of the overhead lights illuminates the elegant surroundings. Located in an upscale neighborhood, the entrance welcomes you with its polished wooden floors and high ceilings that make the space feel both expansive and intimate.  

In the air lingers a faint floral scent, suggesting that someone has taken great care to maintain the place. You glance around, noticing the carefully arranged furniture that echoes memories of laughter and shared moments. The black sofa, draped with a soft throw blanket, still stands at its familiar angle, as if waiting for you to sink into it once more. 

You can’t help but smile. The same sofa has once sparked a playful disagreement between you and Jimin, who thought its color was too dark for a room designed to catch the morning sun. The large windows allow ample light to flood the space, creating a striking contrast with the sofa.

Setting down the three suitcases, you stroll through the living space, taking in the memories. It’s as if time has stood still; nothing has changed. A wave of nostalgia washes over you, mingling with an unsettling sense of estrangement, as the apartment feels like a memory frozen in time. What truly catches your eye are the photos of you and Jimin, still proudly hanging on the walls of the living room.

Taking an en route to the photos, you catch the lingering feeling of confusion wash over you slowly then all at once as you come near. The photos are in pristine condition, a contrast to what you last remember seeing them. The vision of Jimin lingers as he yells smashing each frame against floor. Shards of glass spread all over the floor. He stomps over it, further crumpling the photos. You trace the wooden frame, fingers stopping at your carved initials. 

Why did he put them back? The question floats in the air, and suddenly you feel like you’ll choke if continue searching for the answer. Instead, you proceed into the bedroom and the sight that greets you is a comforting one.

The bed is neatly made, and not much has changed. But as you stand there, you feel an overwhelming urge to explore further, to delve into the past. Yet, given the emotional roller coaster of the past two days, you pause feeling that venturing too deep might stir up memories best left undisturbed. Instead, you make your way downstairs to the kitchen hoping to find some semblance of normalcy in a cup of coffee. 

You recall that Jimin always kept basics stocked, and you hope he didn’t throw all out. As you reach for the cabinet above the sink where you used to keep the coffee, your movements feel almost instinctual, as if you haven’t lived in another apartment for two years. To your surprise, nestled beside the bag of coffee is a package of white tea, one of your favorites.

But it’s not just the tea that catches your eye. The cabinet seems to be a curated collection of your favorites. It is stocked up on all the items you once adored, from the German chocolate Riesen—Jimin would always tease you about your peculiar liking for them—to your beloved brand of coffee, and even the soy sauce you preferred for your ramen noodles. It’s as if the cabinet had become a small shrine to your favorite things.

As you stand there, staring at the familiar items placed in the cabinet, you feel a new wave of confusion washes over you.  You’re left wondering why he hadn’t removed them entirely. Was he holding onto these memories, or had he simply pushed them aside to avoid the hurt they might bring? The realization that living in this once-shared space might be too much for him sinks in, leaving you conflicted. Part of you wants to cherish these tokens of your past, while another part grapples with the understanding that he likely sought to create distance from reminders of you, leaving you uncertain about what to do with the unraveling emotions swirling inside.

Pushing the emotions aside, you decide to take a quick shower, hoping the warm water will wash away some of the tension that has built up throughout the day. Afterward, you sit down to make a list of things you need to buy for the apartment in order to transform it into a space in which you and Jimin had been supposedly living for the past five years. 

You jot down groceries, hygiene such as shampoos, razors and all the trivial essentials that make a home feel complete. But then you pause, a wave of realization washing over you. All Jimin’s clothes are at his apartment with Rose. You feel your emotional limit approaching as you wrestle with the idea of having to call her and ask for his things. It feels like too much, especially considering your last encounter. Though Jimin may currently see you as his wife due to his amnesia, you are painfully aware that you are, in reality, his ex-wife. 

You started to feel lost and uncertain about what to do next. It was ironic that as a surgeon, you often must make decisions so quickly that you rarely have time to think them through. Yet now, you were struggling to make even the simplest choice. In a moment of clarity, you decided it might be better to ask Hoseok or Namjoon to handle the situation, letting them do the heavy lifting while you figure out the rest.

You decide that tomorrow is a fresh start, hoping things might feel a little better. As you turn off the lights in the living room, the quiet envelops you, and it dawns on you just how tired you are. Climbing upstairs, you hesitate in front of the doors of the bedroom. It feels too soon to sleep there, so you opt for the guest room instead. 

As you settle onto the unfamiliar sheets, just as you feel yourself drifting off, your phone buzzes. You glance at the screen to see a message from an unfamiliar number. 

Sweet dreams—don't let the bugs eat you and think of me. 

P.S. Namjoon finally gave my phone back. 

You stare at the ceiling for a while, the words piercing through the cozy haze of sleepiness. You know it's Jimin, yet confusion washes over you. Why would Namjoon hand Jimin his phone back? Did he go through it? Did he erase the photos of Jimin and Rose? The thought leaves you feeling unsettled, and frustration bubbles beneath the surface.

summary: The gods put her to sleep. The world woke her up for revenge. Twelve hundred years ago, the world nearly ended in a flash of purple lightning and a promise. To save the realm of Ravus from an ancient darkness, demigod siblings Y/N and Jungkook were sealed away in a magical slumber, destined to wake when the world needed them most. But when Y/N claws her way out of the salt and sand of a strange shore, she finds a world that has forgotten her name. The towering marble spires of her home are dust, the Nine Ancients are a myth, and she is a living weapon in a time of peace that's starting to bleed. Worse, she's alone. Her brother is missing, possibly dead; her sword has probably settled at the bottom of the ocean; and a new shadow is rising from the East—a fearsome General who commands the darkness with a terrifying familiarity. Surrounded by a band of mismatched protectors who aren't sure whether to view her as a savior or a time bomb, Y/N must decide if she is fighting to save the future, or if she is the monster the future was designed to forget. Under a sky where the stars have shifted, and the history books are wrong, the "destiny" the gods wrote for her is starting to look like a death sentence.

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book i: katayn / altharia ~44.9k chapter one ~4.5k chapter two ~5.1k chapter three ~5.1k chapter four ~5.0k chapter five ~7.0k chapter six ~4.1k chapter seven ~5.1k chapter eight ~4.6k chapter nine ~4.4k

book ii: port maris / aethelis ~49.1k chapter ten ~4.5k chapter eleven ~5.0k chapter twelve ~4.1k chapter thirteen ~5.4k chapter fourteen ~5.7k chapter fifteen ~6.0k chapter sixteen ~5.6k chapter seventeen ~6.6k chapter eighteen ~6.2k

book iii: the stelreth mountains / kragstin ~45.5k chapter nineteen ~5.1k chapter twenty ~4.9k chapter twenty-one ~4.8k chapter twenty-two ~4.7k chapter twenty-three ~4.3k chapter twenty-four ~4.1k chapter twenty-five ~5.1k chapter twenty-six ~6.8k chapter twenty-seven ~5.7k

book iv: the vespar steppes / the cerulean expanse ~50.1k chapter twenty-eight ~4.4k chapter twenty-nine ~5.0k chapter thirty ~5.0k chapter thirty-one ~5.3k chapter thirty-two ~5.3k chapter thirty-three ~4.6k chapter thirty-four ~5.5k chapter thirty-five ~4.9k chapter thirty-six ~10.1k

book v: draykspire / the weaver's keep ~49.7k chapter thirty-seven ~5.2k chapter thirty-eight ~5.0k chapter thirty-nine ~6.2k chapter forty ~6.0k chapter forty-one ~7.5k chapter forty-two ~6.0k chapter forty-three ~5.1k chapter forty-four ~4.6k chapter forty-five ~4.1k

book vi: aethelgard / meridia ~42.3k chapter forty-six ~6.0k chapter forty-seven ~4.0k chapter forty-eight ~3.7k chapter forty-nine ~4.6k chapter fifty ~4.2k chapter fifty-one ~3.6k chapter fifty-two ~5.1k chapter fifty-three ~5.5k chapter fifty-four ~5.6k

book vii: ravanis ~37.5k chapter fifty-five ~4.3k chapter fifty-six ~4.0k chapter fifty-seven ~3.1k chapter fifty-eight ~5.5k chapter fifty-nine ~4.9k chapter sixty ~6.8k chapter sixty-one ~5.0k chapter sixty-two ~4.6k chapter sixty-three ~6.1k