Chapter Text
Jimin looks around his apartment for what feels like the hundredth time today.
Everything is clean.
Painfully clean.
The shelves are dust-free, his medical journals arranged properly instead of stacked carelessly across the coffee table, the kitchen counter wiped spotless, even the throw blankets folded neatly over the couch like he’s trying to convince himself this place belongs in one of those expensive apartment magazines instead of being the home of an overworked neurosurgeon who practically lives at the hospital.
It doesn’t even feel like his apartment anymore.
It somehow feels staged.
Jimin exhales slowly as he lowers himself onto the couch, one hand instinctively supporting the weight of his belly first before the rest of his body follows.
Twelve weeks.
He’s twelve weeks pregnant. And there is absolutely no hiding it anymore.
Definitely not with twins. Not with how his body has started changing faster over the last two weeks alone.
Jimin has always been small. Lean. Petite for an omega. Even back in medical school people used to joke that he looked too delicate to survive neurosurgery until he started outperforming everyone in the room. His frame was never built to carry much weight, which is exactly why the pregnancy feels so obvious on him now despite still technically being early.
His tummy curves visibly beneath his shirt now. It’s not huge, not really but it’s already undeniable.
Enough that his scrubs fit tighter around the waist. Enough that his lower back aches after standing too long. Enough that he feels heavier every morning he wakes up.
And God, he feels heavy. He does not mean just physically. Everything feels heavier now. His thoughts. His decisions. Especially his future.
Jimin leans back carefully against the couch cushions, staring at the ceiling while his palm slowly rubs over the curve of his stomach.
The hospital knows.
Well—not fully.
People know he’s pregnant because there’s no denying it anymore. The pediatric nurses smile at him knowingly whenever he walks by. Residents rush to carry things for him now. The attendings tell him to sit down more often. Even patients have started glancing toward his stomach before congratulating him softly.
People are happy for him.
And somehow, that terrifies him.
Because not everyone knows about Yoongi.
There are suspicions, sure. Jimin isn’t stupid enough to think their friends haven’t noticed the way Yoongi hovers around him now. The way he appears whenever Jimin looks even remotely tired. The way he knows exactly what snacks Jimin likes lately. The way his hand instinctively finds the small of Jimin’s back in crowded hallways.
People notice.
But knowing he’s knocked up and knowing who knocked him up are two very different things.
No one really understands what this is between them.
Hell, Jimin barely understands it himself.
And maybe that’s why this entire setup still feels awkward sometimes.
Because the deeper they go into this, the harder it becomes to define.
At first, it was simple.
A stupid arrangement between two exhausted doctors who found comfort in each other’s bodies.
No strings attached. No promises. No future.
Now Yoongi is moving into his apartment, they attend ultrasounds together, Yoongi knows how Jimin likes his tea when he feels nauseous, and now Jimin unconsciously waits for Yoongi’s texts during long shifts.
Now there are twins growing inside him.
Twins.
Jimin closes his eyes briefly.
The more serious everything becomes, the less he knows what the right answer is supposed to be.
Jimin has spent most of his life pretending certainty comes naturally to him because he’s good at medicine. Good at decisions. Good at carrying responsibility without shaking under its weight.
But this?
He has been terrified since the second he saw two lines on that pregnancy test.
Terrified of Yoongi leaving.
Terrified of Yoongi staying.
Terrified of needing him too much.
Terrified of letting someone become important enough to ruin him.
And yet even if Jimin keeps trying to deny it,
Yoongi makes everything better in ways Jimin notices when he’s alone at night— like how Yoongi started keeping crackers in his locker after Jimin mentioned nausea once.
Like how he memorized the timing of Jimin’s supplements without being asked.
Like how he checks if Jimin ate before asking about anything else.
Like how he never pressures him whenever Jimin grows distant or overwhelmed.
Yoongi just stays and Jimin doesn’t know what to do with that kind of care yet.
Because care has always felt conditional in his life.
But Yoongi keeps showing up anyway.
The thought alone makes Jimin’s chest ache strangely. His apartment suddenly feels smaller again.
At the hospital, there’s distance between them naturally created by busy hallways and operating rooms and schedules that barely align. Seeing Yoongi there feels easy because there’s always an exit. Always another floor to disappear into.
But here, there’s only this apartment— one living room, one kitchen, two bedrooms.
And a space that’s both too big and too small for the two of them.
Jimin drags both hands down his face with a groan, elbows digging into his knees as he sits on the couch.
God.
What if this ruins everything?
What if living together changes things too much?
What if they get too comfortable?
Too attached?
What if Yoongi wakes up one day and realizes this isn’t what he wanted after all?
Jimin’s throat tightens immediately at the thought.
Because despite everything—despite how uncertain he still feels—the idea of Yoongi leaving now hurts in ways it didn’t before.
And maybe that alone says enough.
The doorbell suddenly rings.
Jimin startles slightly, blinking himself out of his thoughts.
Right.
Yoongi.
He’s here.
Something nervous twists immediately in Jimin’s stomach as he pushes himself off the couch carefully. His body protests a little now whenever he stands too fast, his center of gravity already beginning to shift in ways he’s still adjusting to.
At twelve weeks pregnant with twins, everything feels heavier now.
His back aches easier. His legs tire faster. Even standing up feels different.
Jimin waddles slightly.
Just slightly.
And absolutely no one is allowed to mention it.
He shuffles toward the front door with a quiet sigh, one hand unconsciously resting beneath the curve of his stomach before he wraps the other around the knob.
Then he opens it.
Yoongi stands there with two suitcases beside him and a paper bag hanging from his wrist. He smiles immediately the second he sees Jimin.
“Hey,” Yoongi says.
Jimin swallows strangely which he kind of hates, “Hi.”
There’s still awkwardness between them sometimes—not the bad kind. Just the kind that comes from two people trying to figure out how to exist around each other outside of hospital corridors and tangled sheets.
Because this is awfully domestic.
Yoongi’s eyes instinctively drop toward Jimin’s stomach before lifting again, concern immediately flashing across his face. “You should’ve stayed sitting. I could’ve opened the door myself.”
Jimin rolls his eyes lightly. “Yoongi, I’m pregnant, not dying.”
“You say that like you didn’t literally faint three weeks ago.” The alpha mumbles because he will never let Jimin live that down.
“That was one time.”
“But still, you fainted.”
Jimin groans immediately. “Please stop bringing that up.”
“I can’t,” Yoongi replies solemnly. “It was traumatizing. I almost became a widowed single father before even becoming a father—ang getting married.”
Jimin stares at him then lets out an unwilling laugh. Yoongi visibly relaxes at the sound of it— like that was the entire point of the joke in the first place.
The realization settles warmly in Jimin’s chest.
“I brought food,” Yoongi says, lifting the paper bag slightly. “And fruits. Also Seokjin hyung said if I don’t make sure you snack properly, he’ll revoke my medical license himself.”
“That sounds exactly like him.” The omega huffs.
“Hm. He looked serious too. I got scared.” Yoongi mumbles, confusing Jimin if it’s sarcastic or not.
“I guess there’s a first in everything.” He teases.
“Hey, I scare easily.”
Jimin frowns, letting out a chuckle, “You literally drill bones for a living.”
“And Seokjin hyung is scarier than bones.” The alpha says as a matter of fact, almost shivering.
Jimin snorts softly under his breath, shaking his head. The awkwardness eases little by little after that.
Yoongi has never really been the type to crack jokes constantly. He’s naturally calmer than that, cooler, quieter. Usually the kind of person who keeps things inside until they matter.
But lately he keeps trying— trying to make Jimin laugh, trying to make things lighter whenever the atmosphere grows too tense between them.
And somehow, that effort affects Jimin more than it should.
There’s a small pause after that— aware that once Yoongi walks inside, things shift permanently again.
Jimin steps aside quietly. “You’re blocking the hallway,” he mutters.
Yoongi smiles faintly before pulling his luggage inside.
And suddenly— finally, Yoongi is here.
Actually here.
Jimin closes the door slowly behind them and for a second, he just stands there watching Yoongi remove his shoes near the entrance like he belongs here already.
The sight does something strange to him. Something warm. Something dangerous.
Yoongi glances around the apartment slowly, taking everything in before letting out a quiet whistle. “Wow.”
Jimin narrows his eyes immediately. “What?”
“You cleaned.”
“I always clean.”
“Nope, not like this.”
Jimin crosses his arms defensively. “I wanted things organized.”
Yoongi grins lightly. “Sure.”
God.
That stupid grin.
Jimin hates how easy it is lately to feel calmer around him. He hates how his body instinctively relaxes the second Yoongi enters a room. He absolutely hates how natural this already feels despite how terrified he still is underneath it all.
Yoongi picks up one of the suitcases again. “Where do you want me?”
The question shouldn’t make Jimin’s heartbeat stumble the way it does.
He clears his throat quickly. “Guest room’s fine.”
Yoongi pauses slightly, “Guest room? Where’s that?”
Jimin nods quickly. “Yeah. The second room.”
There’s a strange feeling crawling beneath his skin suddenly.
Because the truth is—that room has barely been touched for years.
It exists because the apartment came with it.
Not because Jimin expected anyone to stay because no one really comes here. No one stays long enough to need space. Not his coworkers. Not his friends.
Not even Yoongi before all of this.
And definitely not his family.
The only person who had ever truly stayed in this apartment before was Jimin’s ex-boyfriend years ago. And even then, it had never felt permanent. Never rooted.
All these years, Jimin had shut the guest room door and simply… left it alone. Untouched.
Now Yoongi is going to sleep there.
The realization feels oddly intimate despite the distance the room represents.
Yoongi studies him for a second before speaking carefully. “You sure?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t know.” Yoongi shrugs lightly. “Maybe you secretly wanted me sleeping dramatically outside your bedroom door like a guard dog.”
Jimin stares at him flatly. “Please never say that again.”
Yoongi laughs softly. “Fine. Tough crowd.”
Another small smile tugs at Jimin’s mouth before he can stop it and somehow that alone feels significant.
Because lately Yoongi keeps finding ways to make the tension between them easier to carry.
Like he knows Jimin is scared.
Like he knows this whole thing overwhelms him too.
And instead of pushing harder, Yoongi just keeps making room for him to breathe.
“I cleaned the room earlier,” Jimin says quietly after a moment. “Changed the sheets too.”
Yoongi looks genuinely startled by that. “You cleaned the guest room?”
“It was dusty.”
“Jimin.” The alpha warns,
“What?”
The alpha shakes his head softly, smiling in a way that immediately makes Jimin avoid eye contact.
“You don’t have to exhaust yourself for this.,” Yoongi says. “But I get it. You’re just… really trying.”
The words hit harder than expected because he is trying—even if he’s terrified. Even if he still doesn’t fully know what this is between them.
He’s trying anyway.
Yoongi picks up his suitcase again before gesturing toward the hallway dramatically. “Lead the way then, roommate.”
Jimin immediately grimaces. “Don’t call me that.”
“What? Roommate?”
“You make it sound like we’re college students splitting rent.”
Yoongi gasps lightly. “Excuse you. We’re financially stable adults splitting emotional baggage.”
Jimin bursts into laughter before he can stop himself and the sound fills the apartment warmly.
Like maybe this space was never going to feel empty with Yoongi inside it.
For a second, Jimin just watches him there in the middle of his living room holding luggage and grocery bags while making stupid jokes to ease his anxiety.
And despite all the uncertainty still living inside him—despite how terrifying this entire thing still feels—Yoongi makes it better.
That’s the problem.
That’s always been the problem.
***
Yoongi settles into the guest room slowly.
Not because he has too many things to unpack. Actually, the opposite.
Jimin stands by the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest, watching as Yoongi unzips the first suitcase and starts arranging neatly folded clothes into the drawers Jimin emptied earlier that morning.
And somehow—that bothers him more.
“That’s it?” Jimin asks eventually, brows knitting together as Yoongi pulls out another black shirt. “You only brought two small suitcases.”
Yoongi glances up briefly. “Yeah.”
“That’s concerning.”
A quiet laugh leaves the alpha as he continues unpacking. “Why is that concerning?”
“Because normal people own things.”
“I do own things, Jimin.” Yoongi says, taking out the rest of his clothes inside the suitcase.
“You own like… six shirts.” The omega frowns, sweeping the alpha’s things with his eyes. “Which are either black or white.”
“There are more in the second suitcase.”
Jimin walks further into the room now, leaning against the doorframe as he watches Yoongi move around comfortably inside a space that had been untouched for years.
The guest room never really served a purpose before this.
No one stayed over at Jimin’s apartment. Not really.
Even with his ex boyfriend years ago, the one he dated before his other trashy ex, they had always ended up in Jimin’s bedroom instead. The guest room remained exactly what it was now—clean, organized, unused. More decoration than necessity.
And now, Min Yoongi is here.
Folding clothes into drawers like this has always been his place too.
The realization sits strangely in Jimin’s chest.
“You seriously packed this light?” Jimin asks again, eyeing the luggage suspiciously. “How do you survive?”
Yoongi shrugs one shoulder. “I didn’t need to bring my entire house.”
“That’s not an explanation.”
“It kind of is,” Yoongi says, finally looking up properly. “You already have most things here anyway.”
Jimin blinks.
Yoongi gestures vaguely around the apartment outside the room. “Kitchen stuff. Laundry stuff. Towels. Plates. Basic human survival.”
“That’s still weird.”
“And if we’re being honest,” Yoongi continues easily, “we practically live in the hospital already.”
Jimin opens his mouth then closes it because unfortunately, that’s true. Most days begin before sunrise and end long after dinner hours. Their lives revolve around surgeries, consults, rounds, emergencies, and whatever disaster the hospital throws at them next.
Home has always just been somewhere to collapse.
Not somewhere to build a life.
But maybe that’s changing too.
Yoongi hangs up another shirt before glancing sideways. “Why are you staring at me like I’m homeless?”
“Because your luggage looks like a three-day vacation.”
“I packed efficiently.”
“No, you packed like a divorced father.” The omega presses.
Yoongi snorts loudly at that.
“Wow,” he mutters. “That was personal.”
Jimin shrugs innocently. “I’m just saying.”
The alpha laughs again, softer this time, and somehow the sound settles naturally into the apartment far too quickly.
That’s another thing Jimin didn’t anticipate—Yoongi trying. It is not in huge dramatic ways. Just… little things. It starts with small jokes, teasing, and gentle comments whenever the silence starts becoming too noticeable.
Jimin never really thought of Yoongi as particularly funny before this.
Cool, yes.
Calm, definitely.
Dryly sarcastic on occasion.
But lately, it feels like Yoongi keeps intentionally softening the edges around them every time he notices Jimin getting trapped inside his own head.
It makes something warm twist quietly inside his chest.
Yoongi closes the now mostly empty suitcase and looks around. “See? Settled.”
“That took you like seven minutes.”
“I told you I don’t own much.”
“That’s horrifying.”
“You sound genuinely distressed.”
“I am.”
Yoongi grins.
God.
Jimin really needs to stop reacting to that stupid grin.
The omega exhales quietly before pushing himself off the doorway.
“Do you want dinner?” Jimin asks suddenly.
Yoongi looks up. “You’re cooking?”
Jimin scoffs immediately. “Absolutely not.”
“That’s fair.”
“I was thinking of ordering.”
“That’s fine with me.” Yoongi says quietly, nodding.
Jimin pulls his phone out while Yoongi finishes arranging the last few things around the room.
“What do you want?”
“Anything you can keep down.”
The answer comes easily and naturally.
And Jimin hates how much that affects him now.
Because Yoongi says things like that all the time lately. Quiet reminders that he’s paying attention. That he notices when Jimin feels nauseous. When he’s tired. When he skips meals.
Always attentive.
Always adjusting himself around Jimin and the twins like it’s instinct now. It scares Jimin a little how comforting that’s becoming.
Dinner arrives nearly forty minutes later because Jimin accidentally ordered enough food to feed an entire department.
“There are two of us,” Yoongi says while unpacking containers onto the table.
“And two babies.”
Yoongi laughs lightly, “Okay, a point is made.”
The conversation flows easier during dinner than Jimin expected.
They talk about work mostly. About Doctor Moon finally surviving surgeries without looking like she’s about to cry during closure, about residents, about hospital gossip that is mostly about Jimin’s sudden pregnancy.
About how Namjoon apparently almost fainted after being awake for thirty hours straight.
“You should’ve seen him,” Jimin says between bites. “He looked spiritually disconnected from earth.”
Yoongi chuckles softly. “That’s just internal medicine.”
Jimin laughs quietly into his food but then Yoongi suddenly goes silent.
Jimin notices immediately.
“What?”
Yoongi shakes his head once, gaze lingering on him. “Nothing.”
“No, what?”
A small smile appears on the alpha’s face, “You’re cute when you eat.”
Jimin nearly chokes, “What?”
“You puff your cheeks.”
“I do not.”
“You do.”
“Are you calling me fat?”
Yoongi looks immediately horrified. “What? No.”
“You literally said my cheeks are puffy.”
“Because you keep stuffing food in your mouth like a hamster.”
Jimin stares at him in betrayal and Yoongi starts laughing before he can stop himself—enough that his shoulders shake slightly.
“You’re such an ass,” Jimin mutters, though he’s already laughing too.
“A cute hamster,” Yoongi says again.
Jimin points accusingly. “Don’t get comfortable.”
Maybe that’s the problem because despite the awkwardness still lingering between them—despite how uncertain Jimin still feels about everything—Yoongi’s presence already fits too naturally inside his life.
Inside his apartment.
Inside the quiet spaces of his days.
And for someone who spent years keeping people at arm’s length—that might be the most terrifying thing of all.
***
The apartment grows quiet past midnight. Yoongi lies awake on the guest bed staring at the ceiling.
Then—
creak.
He exhales slowly through his nose.
Carefully, he shifts onto his side.
Creak.
“…Jesus Christ,” he whispers to himself.
The bed sounds like it’s protesting his existence. He stills immediately, eyes flickering toward the wall separating his room from Jimin’s.
Silence.
Okay.
Maybe Jimin didn’t hear that.
Yoongi waits another minute before trying again, slower this time, adjusting the blanket beneath him.
Creak.
The alpha closes his eyes. Of course.
Of fucking course.
He lets out a quiet sigh and settles flat on his back again, hands resting over his stomach as he stares at the dark ceiling.
The mattress itself is fine— comfortable enough.
But every little movement makes noise like the bed frame is seconds away from collapsing dramatically beneath him and now he can’t stop thinking about it.
Which means he can’t sleep.
Which means his brain—unfortunately—starts thinking.
About everything.
About how weirdly fast his entire life changed.
Three months ago, his biggest concern was whether his residents would survive another thirty-hour shift without combusting.
Now he’s lying awake in Jimin’s apartment.
Jimin’s apartment.
The realization still feels strange even inside his own head because if someone told him a year ago that this would happen, Yoongi would’ve laughed directly in their face.
Him and Jimin were never close.
They existed in the same orbit because of their friends, because of medicine, because the hospital practically swallowed all of them whole over the years.
But Jimin always kept people at a distance—Yoongi included.
And Yoongi, for the most part, respected that.
Then one stupid night at the bar changed everything. One accidental reunion at a bar. One conversation that led to another. One hookup that was supposed to remain exactly what it was—simple and no strings attached.
And now Jimin is twelve weeks pregnant with twins.
Yoongi lets out another slow breath. Even thinking about it still feels unreal sometimes.
He shifts slightly again—
creak.
Yoongi freezes immediately.
“…I’m going to lose my mind,” he mutters quietly.
The apartment remains silent. No footsteps. No annoyed Jimin banging against the wall.
Good.
Yoongi settles again carefully, this time deciding maybe moving at all is simply not an option tonight. His eyes drift toward the half-open luggage near the dresser.
Most of his life reduced to two suitcases.
Jimin looked genuinely disturbed by that earlier.
The thought makes Yoongi smile faintly in the dark. Truthfully, he never cared much about things. His schedule barely allowed him time to exist outside the hospital anyway. Clothes were clothes. Apartments were places to sleep. Most days blended together into surgeries and consults and exhaustion.
But tonight—for the first time in a long while—coming home actually felt like coming somewhere.
Not just stopping somewhere temporarily before another shift.
Home?
The word settles heavily in his chest.
Dangerously heavily.
Because somehow, somewhere along the way, Jimin became important to him.
Not just because he’s carrying Yoongi’s children.
Not just because they accidentally built a future together overnight.
But because it’s Jimin.
Jimin who acts like he’s made entirely of sharp edges but still quietly opens milk cartons for pregnant friends without thinking about it.
Jimin who pretends he hates attention but softens every time someone sincerely takes care of him.
Jimin who carries too much pain alone because no one ever taught him he didn’t have to.
Jimin who tries so hard to seem unaffected all the time that Yoongi notices immediately whenever he lets his guard down.
And maybe that’s the problem.
Yoongi notices everything about him now.
The way Jimin waddles slightly when he’s tired but glares at anyone who points it out.
The way his hand instinctively rests on his stomach whenever he’s deep in thought.
The way he secretly likes being taken care of despite pretending otherwise.
The way he laughs harder lately.
The way he looked tonight standing barefoot in the hallway saying hi to Yoongi like this wasn’t terrifying for both of them.
Yoongi presses the heel of his hand briefly against his eyes.
Because he’s in trouble. Real trouble— not because of the pregnancy or because of the responsibility.
Those things scare him, sure.
He’d be insane not to be scared.
Some days he wakes up genuinely terrified about whether he’ll be enough for this. Whether he’ll know how to be a father. Whether he’ll fail somehow despite trying his hardest not to.
But underneath all that fear, there’s excitement too. The kind he can’t even pretend away.
He catches himself wondering about stupid things now.
What the twins will look like.
Whether they’ll inherit Jimin’s eyes.
Whether they’ll be loud or quiet.
Whether Jimin will cry the first time he holds them.
Whether Yoongi will.
The thought alone makes something ache softly in his chest.
Creak.
Yoongi blinks. Right.
The bed from hell.
He carefully turns onto his side again, glaring weakly at the ceiling afterward like the furniture personally betrayed him.
And then—very faintly—he hears movement outside the room.
Yoongi stills immediately. Soft footsteps. Then silence again.
A second later, Jimin’s sleepy voice drifts faintly through the wall.
“Yoongi?”
Yoongi winces.
Shit.
“Sorry,” he calls back quietly. “Did I wake you up?”
A pause.
Then, “Your bed sounds haunted.”
Yoongi stares blankly into the darkness before laughing quietly under his breath. “I noticed.”
Another sleepy silence follows.
And then a quiet, “Try not to fight demons too loudly. I’m trying to sleep.”
Yoongi huffs out another laugh, softer this time. “Yes, doctor.”
“Hm.”
Silence settles again after that but somehow, Yoongi feels lighter now. Like something in his chest loosened just hearing Jimin’s voice through the wall.
Yoongi closes his eyes slowly.
And somewhere between the creaking bed, the unfamiliar apartment, and the overwhelming realization that his future now somehow includes Park Jimin permanently—sleep finally finds him.
***
Yoongi wakes up before the sun fully rises. For a few seconds, he forgets where he is.
The unfamiliar ceiling above him pulls him out of sleep slowly, groggily, until memory settles back into place piece by piece.
Jimin’s apartment. The alpha exhales quietly and turns slightly on the bed—
creaaaak.
Yoongi freezes instantly.
His eyes narrow toward the ceiling like the bed itself personally offended him.
Last night had been… difficult because apparently every microscopic movement on this bed produces a sound dramatic enough to wake the dead.
At one point around three in the morning, Yoongi became so hyperaware of every shift of his weight that he ended up sleeping dangerously close to the edge of the mattress just to keep the frame from protesting.
And somehow Jimin still slept through all of it.
The man could survive surgical residency but apparently not buy a decent bed frame for the guest room.
Yoongi rubs tiredly at his face before carefully sitting up, moving with the caution of someone trying to diffuse a bomb.
The bed still creaks. Traitorously.
He sighs. “Unbelievable,” he mutters under his breath.
After another second, he pushes himself to stand and quietly leaves the room.
The apartment is still dim and silent when he steps into the hallway. Early morning light barely filters through the curtains, painting pale streaks across the floor.
Everything feels strangely peaceful like this—domestic almost and warm in a way Yoongi hasn’t experienced in a long time.
He glances briefly toward Jimin’s closed bedroom door before making his way to the kitchen.
The fridge inspection tells him exactly what he expected.
Coffee.
Milk.
Fruit.
An alarming amount of yogurt and almost nothing that qualifies as an actual meal.
“Surgeon diet,” Yoongi murmurs dryly.
Still, he manages to piece something together. Eggs, toast, and cut fruits. A simple breakfast. Just enough for both of them to eat before work.
The kitchen slowly fills with the soft sounds of cooking. Oil sizzling lightly in the pan. Plates clinking quietly against the counter. The smell of toasted bread and coffee gradually spreading through the apartment.
And honestly—Yoongi likes this more than he should.
There’s something oddly grounding about it.
He’s halfway through plating the food when he hears soft footsteps approaching behind him.
“What the hell?”
Yoongi glances over his shoulder immediately.
Jimin stands at the entrance of the kitchen looking barely awake, blonde hair sticking out in every direction possible like he lost a fight against his pillow. His oversized shirt hangs loosely over his body, one hand resting instinctively against the slight curve beginning to show beneath the fabric.
He blinks slowly at the sight in front of him. “You cooked?”
Yoongi snorts lightly. “Good morning to you too.”
Jimin ignores that entirely as he shuffles closer, eyes immediately falling toward the plates on the counter. There’s genuine surprise written all over his face.
And something softer beneath it. Something pleased.
“I should’ve gotten a roommate earlier,” Jimin says as he drops into one of the dining chairs. “This is convenient.”
Yoongi huffs out a laugh. “You’re using me for breakfast already?”
“Obviously.” Jimin rests his chin against the table dramatically. “You move in for one night and suddenly I wake up to actual food. This is the healthiest relationship I’ve ever had.”
Yoongi nearly chokes on his own breath, “Relationship?”
Jimin immediately bursts into sleepy laughter at the expression on Yoongi’s face.
“Oh my God,” he wheezes. “Relax. You looked terrified.”
“I was.”
“That’s embarrassing for you.”
Yoongi shakes his head while sliding a plate toward him, “Okay, you’re impossible in the morning.”
“Hm.” Jimin picks up his fork lazily.
The omega takes his first bite and visibly relaxes almost immediately. Yoongi notices it right away because lately he notices everything about Jimin even if he doesn’t mean to.
The way he eats slower in the mornings now because nausea still lingers sometimes. The way his shoulders loosen when he’s comfortable. The way he unconsciously touches his stomach without realizing it.
“How is it?” Yoongi asks casually.
Jimin looks up then nods. “Good,” he says honestly. “Really good actually.”
The compliment settles warmly in Yoongi’s chest in a way that feels stupidly satisfying.
Sunlight slowly spills further into the apartment as the city begins waking outside. Jimin sips his coffee carefully before glancing toward Yoongi again.
“Did you sleep well?”
Yoongi pauses for exactly half a second.
“Yes,” he lies smoothly.
He absolutely does not mention the war crimes committed by the guest bed frame.
Jimin hums lightly. “That’s good.”
Then he points his fork accusingly, “You?”
Jimin shrugs easily. “Yeah. Better than usual actually.”
Yoongi tries not to feel too pleased about that answer. Fails a little.
The omega continues eating before suddenly squinting at him suspiciously. “Why do you look tired then?”
Yoongi immediately reaches for his coffee. “Long surgery yesterday.”
“Hm.”
Dangerously unconvinced but thankfully Jimin lets it go.
Probably because he’s too distracted stealing pieces of fruit from Yoongi’s plate instead.
“You have your own,” Yoongi points out.
“But yours looks better.”
“It’s literally the same fruit.”
“Yours are cut bigger and you got the juicy ones.”
Yoongi laughs before he can stop himself. That sound feels strange coming out of him this easily.
The rest of the morning passes naturally after that—almost alarmingly natural.
Jimin disappears briefly into his room to get dressed while Yoongi cleans the dishes. By the time they’re both ready, the apartment feels lived in already.
Jimin walks back out wearing the most comfortable pair of sweats beneath his jacket, hair finally fixed properly now though still slightly damp from the shower.
Yoongi’s gaze catches briefly on the subtle swell beneath the omega’s clothes.
Jimin notices him looking immediately. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re staring.”
The alpha shrugs, “I am not.”
Jimin rolls his eyes fondly while slipping his shoes on.
Then Yoongi grabs his keys from the counter. “I’ll drive.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.” The answer comes easily and Jimin doesn’t argue after that.
The drive to the hospital is quiet in the comfortable sort of way they’re slowly learning around each other. The radio plays softly in the background while the city moves around them in sleepy morning traffic.
At one point, Jimin nearly falls asleep against the window again. Yoongi says nothing about it. Just drives a little slower over bumps.
When they finally arrive at the hospital parking lot, reality settles back over them almost instantly.
Doctors.
Coworkers.
Just the normal.
The invisible line between personal and professional quietly reappears.
Jimin unbuckles his seatbelt first, glancing toward the hospital entrance already bustling with staff and residents.
Then he looks back at Yoongi, “We should probably go in separately.”
Yoongi hums once in agreement.
Not because either of them are ashamed.
But because this—whatever this is—still feels fragile.
Not ready for everyone else yet.
Most people already know Jimin’s pregnant. It’s becoming impossible to hide now.
But Yoongi?
That part remains mostly speculation and whispers.
And maybe they both want to keep one thing to themselves for just a little longer.
“See you upstairs, Doctor Min,” Jimin says lightly, slipping effortlessly into professionalism again.
Yoongi almost smiles at that. “Take your vitamins, Doctor Park.”
Jimin gasps dramatically. “Are you eighty years old?”
“Get out of my car.”
The omega laughs softly before opening the door but before stepping out completely, he pauses. He looks back briefly and there’s something quieter in his expression now.
“Thanks for breakfast,” he says softly.
Then he leaves before Yoongi can answer properly.
Yoongi watches him walk toward the hospital entrance, blending seamlessly into the crowd of scrubs and white coats.
No one looking at them now would think much of it. Just two doctors arriving for another day of work. Not two people sharing an apartment. Not two people learning how to exist around each other. Not two people quietly expecting twins together.
And somehow, the secrecy of it makes the whole thing feel even more intimate.
***
“Big day today?” Jeon Jungkook asks, nudging Jimin’s arm lightly as they step out of the elevator together.
“Ouch?” Jimin immediately grabs his arm with exaggerated offense. “Violence against pregnant people this early in the morning?”
Jungkook snorts. “Please. I barely touched you.”
Jimin grins, adjusting the hem of his white coat as they walk down the hallway toward the pre-op floor. The hospital is already awake around them despite the early hour—nurses moving briskly between stations, transport staff wheeling patients through corridors, residents clutching coffees like lifelines.
And for the first time in weeks, Jimin feels like himself again.
Enough that the familiar smell of antiseptic and coffee and hospital air settles warmly into his chest instead of making him feel exhausted. Enough that excitement buzzes quietly under his skin.
“Seriously, though,” Jungkook says, eyes dropping toward Jimin’s stomach briefly. “I really do forget you’re pregnant.”
Jimin laughs under his breath while checking his coat pockets for the third time. Pens. Phone. Penlight. Small notebook.
Complete.
“My belly is literally bigger than your head now, Koo.”
“That is medically inaccurate.” The younger omega says with a raised brow.
“Debatable.”
Jungkook’s mouth twitches. “You’re definitely showing more.”
Jimin instinctively rests a hand over the curve of his stomach. “I know.”
“Anyway,” Jungkook says, bumping shoulders with him lightly this time, gentler. “Are you excited to go back to surgery?”
Jimin exhales dramatically, already smiling before he even answers.
“I have been dreaming about aneurysms and craniotomies ever since I stepped back, bun.” He shakes his head. “It’s just good to be back.”
The thought alone makes something emotional pull at him unexpectedly because surgery has always been the one place where Jimin understood himself completely.
Inside the OR, everything narrows into precision and purpose. Every movement matters. Every decision has weight. There’s fear in it, pressure in it, responsibility heavy enough to crush someone whole—but Jimin has always loved it anyway.
He loved the challenge, the control, being able to hold someone’s life carefully between his hands and fight for it.
Even after losing patients.
Even after everything.
He still came back.
“Honestly,” Jungkook says quietly, “everyone’s been waiting for you to return.”
Jimin glances at him. “What?”
“The residents have been terrified.” Jungkook grins. “Doctor Lee is terrorizing the young ones that the residents are talking about changing specialties.”
Jimin gasps. “That’s so mean.”
“It is a mess without you, okay?”
They reach the pre-op floor together, slowing slightly near the nurses’ station where a few staff greet Jimin immediately.
“Doctor Park!”
“Good morning, Doctor!”
“You’re back in the OR today?”
Jimin smiles easily now, something lighter in his expression these days despite the exhaustion pregnancy keeps pressing into his bones.
“Unfortunately for everyone involved, yes.”
A nurse laughs. “Is Doctor Moon gonna survive today?”
“We’ll see.”
Jungkook shakes his head beside him. “You’re evil.”
Then they reach the split between their patient assignments.
Jungkook glances at his chart. “I’ve got room 812.”
“I’m at 806.”
“Good luck not traumatizing anyone.”
“No promises.”
Jungkook grins before heading down the opposite hallway.
And Jimin takes a slow breath before entering room 806.
The patient looks up immediately from her bed then her entire face lights up.
“Doctor Park!”
Jimin smiles warmly as he steps inside. “Good morning, Ms. Choi.”
The woman looks infinitely healthier than when he first met her weeks ago.
Back then, she’d come into his clinic pale and dizzy, complaining about persistent headaches, nausea, and moments where the room spun so violently she couldn’t stand properly.
The scans revealed the tumor quickly. Benign and operable.
But positioned just badly enough to make life miserable.
They had originally planned surgery immediately.
Until, “My wedding,” she’d told him nervously during one consultation, twisting the engagement ring on her finger. “Doctor, is there any way I can wait just a little? Just until after the ceremony?”
Jimin remembered the way her fiancé looked at her that day. Terrified.
Like delaying surgery sounded insane but also unable to deny her anything.
So together, they compromised carefully.
They settled with medication, monitoring, strict precautions. Just a few weeks.
Just enough time for her wedding and honeymoon.
And now she’s here again.
“I can’t believe you’re actually pregnant,” Ms. Choi blurts out suddenly, staring openly at his stomach now.
Jimin immediately laughs. “That seems to be everyone’s reaction lately.”
“You hid it so well before!” She says, “How far along are you?”
“I was trying to.” The neurosurgeon chuckles, “Twelve weeks. Well it’s hard to hide when there are two growing inside.”
“What?!” Ms. Choi gasps, “That’s great news.”
Jimin smiles, “Thank you.”
She laughs brightly, the sound filling the room with warmth that softens something inside Jimin immediately.
“Seriously, though,” she says excitedly, “Congratulations! You’re going to be such a good parent.”
The words catch him off guard a little. Not because they’re unusual anymore. People have been congratulating him for weeks now.
But he still hasn’t fully gotten used to hearing it.
Parent.
Father.
Appa.
The words still feel too big sometimes. Too overwhelming.
But lately, they’ve also started feeling real.
“Thank you,” he says softly.
“You’re amazing! Twelve weeks and you’re still doing brain surgery?”
Jimin gasps dramatically. “What? You think pregnancy can stop me?”
“Yes?”
“Rude.”
She laughs again before her expression softens slightly.
“I’m glad you’re doing my surgery today.”
Something gentler settles across Jimin’s features. “Yeah?”
She nods. “You make me feel less scared.”
And that always does something to him.
Every time.
Because no matter how many awards he wins or papers he publishes or lectures he gives—this has always mattered more.
Trust.
The terrifying privilege of someone looking at him and believing he can save them.
Jimin walks closer to the bedside, reviewing her chart briefly before looking back up at her.
“How are the headaches?”
“Still there sometimes.”
“Dizziness?”
“A little.”
“Nausea?”
“Better.”
He nods thoughtfully.
Then smiles lightly. “Good. That means we’re removing this thing at the perfect time.”
Ms. Choi exhales dramatically. “Honestly, I can’t wait.”
“Hm?”
“I’m excited to finally exist without feeling like my brain is plotting against me.”
Jimin laughs softly, “That’s fair.”
“And,” she adds conspiratorially, “my husband said if this surgery goes well, he’s taking me to Paris next year because apparently I survived enough stress already.”
“As he should.”
“I told him I deserve designer bags too.” She whispers down,
“You absolutely do.”
She beams proudly then after a second, her gaze drops briefly toward his stomach again, softer this time.
“You should take care of yourself too, Doctor.”
The words settle quietly between them.
And for some reason—they hit differently now.
Because before the pregnancy, Jimin would’ve smiled politely and brushed it aside. But now there are two tiny heartbeats depending on him too.
Two lives growing quietly inside him.
Two little futures he already loves more than he knows what to do with.
His hand rests unconsciously against his belly again.
And this time—when he smiles—it feels different.
“I will,” Jimin says quietly. “I promise.”
***
By the time Jimin finally steps into the attendings’ lounge, exhaustion sits heavily in every part of his body.
The lounge itself is relatively small compared to the residents’ area downstairs. More private. Quieter. A space meant for attendings to disappear into between surgeries and consults. There are a couple of dark sofas pushed against the walls, a low coffee table cluttered with abandoned journals and half-finished paperwork, a coffee bar beside a tiny pantry area, and along the far wall sit the surgery attendings’ lockers lined neatly beside each other.
It smells faintly like coffee beans, antiseptic, and expensive cologne.
Comfortingly familiar.
Jimin exhales slowly as the door shuts behind him.
His surgery had gone beautifully.
Clean resection. Stable patient. No complications during closure.
The kind of surgery that leaves him mentally satisfied.
Physically, however, he feels like his spine is about to detach from his body.
Pregnancy has changed the way exhaustion settles into him. Before, after long surgeries, Jimin would mostly feel mentally drained. Maybe stiff shoulders. Sore feet. Nothing he couldn’t shake off after coffee and a shower.
Now?
Now every hour standing feels doubled.
His lower back aches constantly. His legs feel heavier. Even his abdomen feels tight after standing beneath OR lights for too long.
And carrying twins certainly isn’t helping.
The moment he steps further inside, his eyes immediately find Yoongi sitting near the coffee bar.
Of course they do.
The alpha lounges comfortably on one of the sofas, long legs stretched slightly forward while reviewing charts on his tablet. His reading glasses sit low on his nose, dark blue scrubs slightly wrinkled from a long day himself.
He looks up the second Jimin enters.
And immediately, his expression softens.
“There you are,” Yoongi says simply.
Jimin groans dramatically instead of greeting him properly, immediately dropping onto the sofa across from him.
“My feet are gone.”
Yoongi barely looks sympathetic. “Tragic.”
“I’m serious.”
A quiet chuckle leaves Yoongi as he locks his tablet.
The lounge isn’t empty yet.
One cardiothoracic attending stands near the coffee machine pouring himself espresso while another flips lazily through a journal near the lockers. Someone’s pager goes off faintly in the distance.
Jimin leans back against the cushions with a long exhale.
God.
He missed this. This strange calm that follows successful surgeries.
The feeling of knowing someone’s life is a little better because of your hands.
Yoongi studies him quietly for a second longer before speaking. “How was the closure?”
“Beautiful,” Jimin says immediately, eyes fluttering shut briefly. “The resident barely needed me.”
“That sounds emotional for you.”
“It is emotional for me.”
Yoongi snorts softly.
The cardiothoracic surgeon eventually leaves after grabbing his coffee, followed shortly by the other attending answering a phone call outside. The door shuts behind them.
Silence settles differently after that. The kind that belongs only to the two of them now.
Yoongi reaches beside him toward a paper bag sitting on the coffee table. “I got you food.”
Jimin immediately opens one eye. “You’re my favorite person.”
“That probably changes every day.”
“No, today you’re definitely winning.”
Yoongi hands him a croissant sandwich and a bottled juice.
Jimin stares at the sandwich like it personally saved his life.
“You remembered.”
“You’ve been craving these all week.”
The omega narrows his eyes slightly. “You pay too much attention to me.”
“We live together now. It’d be concerning if I didn’t.”
That still does something strange to Jimin every single time he hears it.
We live together now.
Jimin unwraps the sandwich carefully before taking a bite.
Then immediately groans. “Oh my God.”
Yoongi watches him with poorly hidden amusement. “That good?”
“I would commit crimes for this sandwich.”
“That’s dramatic.”
“I’m pregnant with twins. I’m allowed to be dramatic.”
“Alright. Fair.”
Jimin keeps eating while slowly letting his body relax deeper into the sofa.
The attendings’ lounge has always been one of his favorite places in the hospital. Quiet enough to breathe. Quiet enough to stop performing for a little while.
And lately, Yoongi’s presence inside these quiet moments has started feeling natural in ways Jimin still doesn’t fully know how to process.
Without really thinking about it, he shifts closer until his shoulder presses lightly against Yoongi’s arm.
The alpha stills briefly then relaxes immediately after.
Like this is normal now too.
Jimin sighs softly against the sofa cushion.
“I forgot how exhausting standing in surgery feels now,” he murmurs quietly.
Yoongi glances down at him immediately. “Too long?”
“Six hours.”
“That’s too much.” The alpha replies softly.
“I sat during closure.”
“That’s good. You have to take rests in between.”
Jimin hums, “You really care, huh?”
There’s silence, the alpha just stares at him for a moment before offering a smile.
Neither of them has really defined whatever this is becoming.
But care?
That part is undeniable now.
Jimin takes another sip of juice before letting his head fall briefly against Yoongi’s shoulder.
Just for a second.
Just because he’s tired.
“I think my body feels heavier every week,” he admits quietly. “Like my center of gravity is betraying me.”
Yoongi hums softly. “That’s because you’re carrying two people.”
“When you phrase it like that, it sounds horrifying.”
“It sounds medically accurate.” The alpha says softly, “Which is a valid reason to be horrified.”
Jimin laughs weakly then groans again. “I’m probably gonna demand foot rubs from you when we get home.”
Yoongi glances at him with a faint grin. “Probably?”
“You seem like the type to complain while doing it.” The omega shifts on his seat, slightly moving away.
“I absolutely would.” The alpha lies.
“That’s fine.”
“You’d still make me do it anyway.”
“Correct.”
Yoongi shakes his head, laughing quietly under his breath while Jimin smiles sleepily beside him.
This feels easy lately.
That’s probably what scares him most.
Because somewhere between shared breakfasts, hospital lunches, late-night grocery runs, and Yoongi remembering exactly what food he likes—Jimin stopped feeling alone in this pregnancy.
And maybe Yoongi has stopped feeling temporary too.
The thought settles quietly in his chest as he leans more comfortably against the alpha beside him.
“You know,” Jimin murmurs sleepily, “if someone told me four months ago that I’d be sitting in the attendings’ lounge pregnant with your twins while threatening you with future foot massages, I would’ve laughed in their face.”
Yoongi huffs softly beside him. “Four months ago you barely tolerated me.”
“That’s not true.”
“You called me annoying so many times.” He says like he’s keeping tabs. “And you were a little mean.”
Jimin smiles faintly against the juice bottle because yeah, he was.
And Yoongi always stays still long enough for him to rest.
***
By the time they clock out, the hospital hallways have begun to quiet down. Not completely though because hospitals never truly sleep.
There are still residents rushing between floors, nurses finishing handovers, attendings dictating notes before heading home. The fluorescent lights remain just as bright as they were twelve hours ago, indifferent to the fact that most people are exhausted.
Jimin adjusts the strap of his bag over his shoulder as he steps out of the elevator. His lower back aches. His feet ache. His entire body feels heavier these days. Not unbearably so though. Just enough to constantly remind him that he is carrying two growing lives inside him. The thought still feels surreal sometimes.
Across the lobby, he catches sight of Yoongi near the coffee kiosk. The alpha doesn’t acknowledge him. Jimin doesn’t acknowledge him either. At least not publicly— because apparently this is what they do now. They leave separately. Walk separately.
They pretend they aren’t going to the exact same place. The whole thing is ridiculous. Yoongi heads toward the east exit while Jimin heads toward the west exit.
Anyone watching would assume they are simply coworkers ending another shift and nothing more.
Jimin waits exactly three minutes before making his way toward the physician parking lot. The moment he reaches Yoongi’s car and slides into the passenger seat, he starts laughing. Immediately.
Yoongi has barely started the engine. The alpha glances over, “What?”
Jimin shakes his head. “This.”
“What about this?”
The omega gestures between them, “Do you realize how ridiculous this looks?”
Yoongi pulls out of the parking space. “You’ll have to be more specific.”
“We just walked out of the hospital in opposite directions like we’re spies.”
“Hm.” The alpha replies like it’s not even a big deal.
“We work in the same building.”
“Correct.”
Jimin is a little confused what he’s trying to convice Yoongi in but he says, “We live together.”
“Also correct.”
“We’re having twins.”
The corner of Yoongi’s mouth twitches, “That is still true, yes.”
“And yet we’re acting like we’re conducting some top-secret operation.”
The alpha finally laughs. The sound is low and warm.
“To be fair,” he says, steering them toward the exit, “you were the one who insisted we leave separately.”
Jimin immediately points at him, “Because Doctor Moon was standing near the elevators.”
“So?”
He raises a brow, “So she notices everything, you know?”
That gets a nod, “Alright, fair.”
“And she would’ve figured it out in five seconds. I don’t even know why I’m so scared of my junior.”
Yoongi chuckles.
The conversation dissolves into comfortable bickering after that. The kind that has somehow become normal between them.
Three months ago, they barely knew how to hold a conversation that wasn’t related to medicine. Now Jimin knows how Yoongi takes his coffee. Jimin knows things about Yoongi that he didn’t even ask for.
The drive home passes quickly and by the time they arrive at the apartment, dinner has already been decided—or rather, Yoongi has decided.
Jimin has vetoed three options. Complained about two more. And ultimately contributed nothing useful.
Dinner arrives shortly after they get home. They eat while sitting on opposite ends of the couch watching a medical drama neither of them particularly likes.
Jimin spends most of the episode criticizing the neurosurgical inaccuracies. Yoongi spends most of the episode criticizing Jimin. It feels strangely domestic—comfortable. Dangerously comfortable.
The medical drama continues playing in the background, though neither of them is paying much attention to it anymore.
At some point, the show had become little more than background noise—a steady stream of dramatic music, inaccurate diagnoses, and surgeons making questionable decisions that would never survive a real operating room.
The omega is stretched out comfortably across one end of the couch, his legs draped over the cushions while Yoongi occupies the opposite side.
Somewhere along the way, Jimin had complained about his feet hurting. And somewhere along the way, Yoongi had quietly told him to put them here.
So now one of Jimin’s feet rests on Yoongi’s thigh.
The alpha’s hands work carefully against the sole of his foot while the television continues playing forgotten scenes in the background.
Jimin lets out a long sigh.
The kind that comes from deep in his chest. The kind that sounds almost embarrassingly satisfied.
Yoongi glances up briefly. “That good?”
Jimin opens one eye. “No.”
Yoongi immediately lets go. “Alright.”
The omega practically jerks upright. “What are you doing?”
“You said no.”
“I was lying.”
A laugh slips out of Yoongi before he resumes. Immediately, Jimin sinks back into the couch. The relief is instant. His entire body feels heavier these days.
Twelve weeks pregnant with twins apparently meant carrying exhaustion around like an extra layer of clothing. His feet ache faster. His back complains more often.
Standing in surgery for hours feels different than it used to. Even when he refuses to admit it.
Another firm press of Yoongi’s thumb earns a pleased sound from him.
The alpha raises a brow. “You’re making noises.”
“Don’t ruin this for me.” Jimin points at him without opening his eyes.
“I’m just saying.”
Jimin hums, “Cut me some slack. Our little pups here are making it a little hard for me, okay?”
“Which is why you’re making old man noises now.”
Jimin gasps. His eyes fly open, “Old man noises?”
Yoongi nods, “Very concerning noises.”
“I am literally thirty-three.”
“Sounds a little ancient.”
“Get out.” The alpha chuckles softly.
The sound settles comfortably into the apartment. Jimin finds himself smiling despite the insult. The massage continues and neither of them speaks for a minute.
Then Jimin suddenly narrows his eyes, “Wait.”
“Hm?”
“How are you this good at massages?”
Yoongi blinks, “What do you mean?”
“You knew exactly where my foot hurt.”
“Observation.” The alpha shrugs.
“That’s suspicious.”
“It’s really not.”
Jimin sits up slightly, “No, seriously.” He points accusingly. “Who taught you this?”
“No one.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Yoongi laughs, “I know anatomy.”
“That is not an explanation.” The omega says, “And you know bones.”
“I know muscles too, okay? Ortho isn’t all just about bones.”
The omega squints. Still unconvinced but he settles for that answer.
Then another press against the arch of his foot makes him melt back into the couch again, “Oh.”
“Found something?”
Jimin closes his eyes immediately, “Never mind.”
“Thought so.”
The alpha’s grin is audible in his voice. For a while, they simply stay there. The television keeps playing. The apartment remains quiet.
Jimin doesn’t realize how tired he actually is until the first yawn escapes him.
Then another.
Then another.
The alpha glances over just in time to catch Jimin trying—and failing—to suppress yet another yawn.
“There it is.”
Jimin frowns, “What?”
“You’re done.”
“I’m not done.”
“You yawned four times.”
“It was two.”
“It was six.”
“You’re making numbers up.”
The alpha pats his foot lightly, “You’re falling asleep.”
“I’m not.”
The statement is immediately followed by another yawn—a particularly large one. Yoongi doesn’t even bother hiding his smile anymore.
The sight is unfairly cute.
Jimin glares or at least attempts to. The effect is somewhat ruined by how sleepy he looks.
The alpha finally lets go of his foot, “Come on.”
The omega blinks.
“Hm?”
“Let’s call it a day and go to bed.”
For a moment, Jimin considers arguing. Purely out of principle but then another yawn sneaks up on him.
He sighs dramatically.
“Fine.”
“Very brave decision.”
“Okay, do not push it.”
Jimin stretches his arms above his head and instantly regrets it when his lower back pops.
He groans.
Yoongi immediately looks over. “You okay?”
“You’re right. I’m becoming eighty years old.”
They make their way down the hallway together. The lights have already been dimmed. Their footsteps are the only sound.
At the end of the hallway, they pause.
Two doors.
Two bedrooms.
One apartment.
The arrangement still feels new. Still strange. But not nearly as strange as it did yesterday.
Yoongi slips both hands into his pockets, “Goodnight, Jimin.”
The omega smiles. Small. Sleepy. Genuine.
“Goodnight, Yoongi.”
After they part ways in the hallway, the apartment gradually settles into silence.
The television has long been switched off, the dishes have been washed, and the soft glow from the kitchen has disappeared one light at a time. It feels strange, Yoongi thinks, how quickly a place can become quiet when there are only two people living in it.
On the other side of the apartment, Jimin falls asleep almost immediately.
Pregnancy exhaustion rarely gives him much of a choice these days. The omega had barely made it to his room before he was already rubbing sleep from his eyes. By tomorrow morning, he probably won’t even remember the last few minutes of their conversation in the hallway.
Unfortunately, Yoongi isn’t nearly as lucky.
The mattress itself is comfortable enough. The guest room is clean, the sheets smell fresh, and the pillow is significantly better than the ones in most on-call rooms. Under normal circumstances, he would have been asleep within minutes.
The problem is the bed frame.
Every single time he moves, it complains.
The first creak makes him freeze.
Lying flat on his back, Yoongi stares up at the ceiling, listening carefully for any sign that the noise has traveled through the apartment. Nothing happens. The silence remains undisturbed.
Slowly, he exhales then he shifts again.
The bed answers with an even louder creak.
Yoongi closes his eyes, “Seriously?”
He tries sleeping on his side, the bed creaks.
He rolls onto his back, the bed creaks.
He adjusts the blanket, the bed somehow finds a way to creak again.
At some point, the entire situation becomes so ridiculous that he has to stop himself from laughing.
The wall separating his room from Jimin’s suddenly feels much thinner than it did earlier. His mind immediately jumps to the possibility of waking him up.
The thought alone is enough to make him sit upright.
Jimin already struggles with getting proper rest. Between the pregnancy, the twins, the changes happening to his body, and the lingering exhaustion from pushing himself too hard for weeks, sleep has become something precious. The last thing Yoongi wants is to become another reason for him to lose it.
He glances toward the doorway, then at the bed, then back toward the doorway.
Decision made.
Carefully, he throws off the blanket and climbs out.
The process of moving the mattress turns into an operation worthy of the hospital itself. Every movement is calculated. Every shift is slow. Every sound makes him pause and listen.
It takes nearly fifteen minutes to lower the mattress onto the floor without causing a disaster.
By the time he finishes, the bed frame has been pushed awkwardly toward the corner of the room, looking abandoned and vaguely offended.
Yoongi places both hands on his hips and studies it. Then he nods once.
Problem solved.
The solution isn’t elegant, but it works. It always comes back to that for him.
Find the problem.
Fix the problem.
Move forward.
The philosophy has followed him throughout most of his life. It carried him through medical school, residency, fellowship, and every impossible case that landed on his operating table. When something breaks, he fixes it. When something hurts, he finds a way to make it hurt less.
The irony isn’t lost on him that the same instinct has slowly started applying itself to Jimin.
At first, it had been the small things. Like remembering to bring him snacks. Or keeping water nearby. Checking whether he’d eaten lunch. Making sure he sat down when he looked too tired.
Then the list somehow kept growing. From doctor’s appointments, to prenatal vitamins, to researching pregnancy symptoms at two in the morning. The. learning what foods might help with nausea.
Paying attention to the things Jimin never says out loud.
The strange part is that none of it feels like work. It never has. That realization still catches him off guard sometimes. Because none of this was supposed to happen.
A few months ago, Jimin was simply another surgeon working in the same hospital. Brilliant, intimidating, frustratingly beautiful, and entirely separate from Yoongi’s life.
Then there had been the bar.
One decision.
One night.
And suddenly everything had begun changing directions.
Now he’s sleeping on a mattress in Jimin’s apartment.
Now he knows exactly how Jimin takes his coffee.
Now he knows which side of the bed Jimin prefers, which fruits he likes most, and how his nose wrinkles whenever he’s annoyed.
Now there are two babies growing inside the omega’s stomach.
Two tiny lives that somehow feel impossibly important already.
Yoongi lowers himself onto the mattress and folds an arm beneath his head.
The apartment is quiet again. Properly quiet this time.
Beyond the wall, Jimin is sleeping.
The thought settles somewhere deep in his chest.
And maybe that’s the thing that surprises him most.
For someone who has spent weeks trying to understand how his life managed to change so drastically, the answer always feels remarkably simple whenever he looks at Jimin.
He cares.
Maybe more than he should.
Maybe more than he intended.
But denying it has become increasingly pointless.
The feeling is there whether he acknowledges it or not.
A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
Tomorrow morning they’ll probably eat breakfast together before pretending to be normal coworkers again.
Jimin will complain about something.
Yoongi will pretend not to enjoy listening.
And somehow, their strange little arrangement will continue moving forward one day at a time.
The thought follows him as his eyes finally begin to feel heavy.
And he can’t keep his mind off the comforting knowledge that Jimin is only a room away.
For reasons Yoongi still isn’t entirely ready to examine, that thought is enough to let him finally fall asleep.