Chapter Text
There is a comprehensive list of rules to be followed when working in a hospital. Some are:
- Abide by the hippocratic oath.
- Try not to kill anyone.
- Be respectful of both patients and coworkers.
- Don’t get overly attached, and thus overemotional.
- Don’t date a coworker, especially an authoritative figure.
- Don’t have sex on hospital premises.
Mingyu abides by rules one and two with his entire being, not permitting anything less than perfection. With the exception of one person, he follows rule three with no effort at all. Four is a work in progress—he’s spent too much time crying in utility closets and into his boyfriend’s chest over patients who’ve passed away after all life-saving measures were exhausted.
Rule number five was broken before Mingyu even began his internship at Asan Medical, seeing as he works alongside his boyfriend, Wonwoo. Naturally, Wonwoo is an attending surgeon and the son of the Chief Surgeon.
(To their credit, they’ve never broken rule six.)
In his opinion, it’s not even a big deal. It has no bearing on his position as intern, nor is it a reflection on his skills. If he gets to scrub in on surgeries, it’s because of his ability, not because of who his boyfriend is.
While he’s firm in his beliefs, Mingyu saunters into the intern locker room with his hood up and his hands deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched in to make himself appear smaller. Luckily, the only early morning occupants are Chan and Seungkwan, who greet him with smiles and peppy good-mornings. He breathes a sigh of relief and unclenches his muscles.
"You look tired," Chan observes, head tilted as he peers at Mingyu from the open door of his locker. "Are you okay?"
"That's an incredibly kind way of saying you look dead on your feet. And I've seen corpses," Seungkwan says. He tips a packet of probiotics into a bottle of water. "Were you on call?"
Mingyu digs into his locker for a fresh pair of scrubs, finding a set under a half-eaten bag of honey butter chips and an old textbook. The mess makes him sick to his stomach, but he vows to tidy up later. "Thanks. And yeah, they let me scrub in on an emergency appendectomy.” This is a safe space; bragging is allowed. He smirks. “I made the incision.”
Chan laughs. "Congrats, but don't let Jihoon hyung hear you say you got in on that," he says, retying his shoelace. "He'll say it was nepotism or something."
"Yeah. We're not all sleeping with the Head of Cardio," Seungkwan adds, after he’s drained the bottle.
It’s the exact line of conversation Mingyu was hoping to avoid.
They’re both joking, of course, but Mingyu is exhausted from his late night, his adrenaline and excitement having worn off. He’ll bounce back once he’s doing his morning rounds, never one to cling to negative vibes. In the present time, however, he goes quiet as he sheds his outside clothes and changes into scrubs.
His non-reaction has both Seungkwan and Chan scrambling to recover: Seungkwan rises on tip-toe to fix Mingyu’s bedhead, and Chan tosses him a green apple, gesturing for him to eat. In predictable fashion, Mingyu’s annoyance evaporates in no time. He munches on the apple as Seungkwan sifts his fingers through his hair, wiggling in slow-growing happiness. The affectionate touch is more than welcome.
“Aw, puppy,” Seungkwan coos. If he’s being this heavy-handed in trying to cheer Mingyu up, Mingyu must’ve looked pretty upset. “When’s the last time you saw Jeon seonsaengnim?”
This time, the mention of his surgeon boyfriend is welcome. “Too long,” he groans.
The door swings open with a bang. “How long, an hour?” Jihoon drawls, sloughing off his backpack as he joins them.
Mingyu tries not to cower. “Three days,” he answers, timidly.
Jihoon grunts in disinterest (as if he didn’t ask to begin with!) and busies himself with his scrubs.
Lee Jihoon’s presence—whether physical or in conversation—is more undesirable than a perforated bowel. The guy is a machine with an eidetic memory, but a disastrous lack of bedside manner. He’s sharp and meticulous, allowing no room for error. The one time they scrubbed in on the same surgery, Mingyu fucked up by dropping a scalpel into an open chest cavity. The mistake fed into Jihoon’s belief that Mingyu is talentless, having earned his position by way of Wonwoo’s influence.
They have a long and storied history, with most of their mutual dislike stemming from one source: Mingyu’s relationship with Dr. Jeon Wonwoo. Their first meeting was a mere five months ago, as two rookie residents amongst a gaggle of thirty hopefuls, but it’d only been a few hours into their residency when Jihoon decided he didn’t respect his fellow bright-eyed, bushy-tailed intern.
Mingyu accepted the internship at Asan Med braced for gossip to swirl around; it’d be naive to think he wouldn’t be a hot topic once everyone found out about his relationship with Wonwoo. He just hadn’t expected for anyone to outright hate him. Jihoon, however, is intense in all he does—hence why he’d skipped past silent judgment and straight into undisguised disdain.
The timer on Mingyu’s phone blares. Relief washes over him—saved by the bell. “Ah, gotta start my rounds.”
“See you later, hyung!” Chan says. Seungkwan pats him on the back before sending him on his way. Jihoon says nothing, which is perfectly fine.
In the lobby, Mingyu smiles at hospital personnel as they trudge by, filled with a small burst of energy whenever someone bids him hello. The hint of camaraderie on a gloomy and wet Monday morning is enough to wash away the sour taste Jihoon left in his mouth.
—
On his floor, Mingyu puts his beeper to charge and scans around for his clipboard. A sudden tap on his shoulder nearly makes him jump out of his skin—but it’s just Wonwoo. Well, not just Wonwoo. It’s his boyfriend who he hasn’t spent time with in ages . At the sight of him, Mingyu is filled to the brim with warmth.
This morning just keeps getting better.
“Hey, babe,” Wonwoo says, brandishing a cardboard cup of coffee. Mingyu snatches it eagerly, only to drop it on the counter in favor of throwing his arms around Wonwoo. He laughs and burrows his face in Mingyu’s neck, his glasses smushed against Mingyu’s throat. He smells like oranges today, bright and fresh.
They’re alone, so Wonwoo pulls back to kiss the corner of his mouth, and Mingyu feels electricity down to his toes.
“‘Morning,” Wonwoo says, their noses brushing. “I heard you made the first cut on an appy last night.”
“Yes, I did.” Mingyu grins wolfishly. “A very nice Lanz incision. It’ll barely scar.”
Wonwoo chuckles, his hands splaying dangerously low on Mingyu’s hips. “Very sexy.”
Mingyu runs his palms over the slope of Wonwoo’s shoulders. They both make time for gym sessions and have fit bodies, but Wonwoo’s musculature never fails to make Mingyu feel faint. He digs his thumbs in, feeling out for tension and knots.
Wonwoo groans under his breath. “God, I’ve missed you,” he admits. “I forgot how tough it is to be an intern.”
Mingyu shrugs. “It’s okay, I mostly enjoy it. Though I could use a nice rest in your king-sized bed. After I fuck you senseless, of course,” he adds in a whisper.
Wonwoo sways forward, gripping Mingyu’s forearms. “Stop it.” He sounds firm, but instead of intimidating Mingyu, it turns him on. So not the time.
“What?” Mingyu blinks innocently, the corners of his lips twitching. “I live to serve.”
Wonwoo melts under Mingyu’s words. The swooning is mostly an act, but Mingyu thrives knowing that some of Wonwoo’s coyness is real.
He’s seen Wonwoo in the OR, bent over an open chest, a beating heart pulsing before him, and the surgeon doesn’t even bat an eye. From the operating theater, Mingyu could only see the top of his head and the occasional glint of his spectacles; under Mingyu’s spell, Wonwoo wears an embarrassed frown and a ruddy complexion.
Perhaps it’s a little selfish, but Mingyu relishes in the times he can crack Wonwoo’s poker face. He mainly uses his powers for good, but breaking Wonwoo’s outward composure is one of his favorite things to do. Screw coworkers like Lee Jihoon that cry power imbalance—they don’t know his dynamic with Wonwoo; how more often than not, Wonwoo is happily beneath Mingyu’s thumb.
A nurse brushes past them with a bow and mutters, “Excuse me,” bringing Mingyu back to the present. It’s early enough that the floor is quiet, but it won’t be long until phones are ringing and staff is running amok.
“What time are you done today?” Wonwoo asks, sotto voce.
Mingyu pouts. “3 p.m. I might need a little nap when I get to yours. Sorry.”
Wonwoo scoffs. “You could sleep through our entire date and I’d be okay with it.”
“I’d prefer not to,” Mingyu giggles.
Wonwoo’s breath catches. “Meet me for lunch at 12, before I leave?”
The nurse has her back turned as she rifles through a file folder, so Mingyu kisses him, pathetically unable to resist. Wonwoo is just as weak—he slides his tongue into Mingyu’s mouth and presses him into the nurse station’s counter. His mouth is redder when he finally forces himself away—shuffling and conversation approaches from around the corner.
Pleased, Mingyu grabs his clipboard and steals Wonwoo’s pen from his chest pocket, slipping it into his own. He feels warm and woozy as Wonwoo waves him goodbye, fondness dripping from his eyes and into Mingyu’s entire nervous system.
—
They’ve been this besotted since they first met a year ago.
Mingyu had been hobbling through his last year of med school, itching to finally secure the title of Dr. Kim and put an end to his academic misery. He’d interviewed for countless residency programs, and his coveted Asan Medical meeting was around the corner. In a lucky twist of fate, the hospital was holding a charity gala the week before his interview was scheduled, and with his heaping tablespoons of networking talent, Seungkwan procured two tickets for the event and graciously gave one to an overeager Mingyu. They spent way too much money on tuxes, repeating a tearful mantra of This is a worthwhile, important investment! as they swiped their credit cards.
And it was. Mingyu is an expert schmoozer, and with his tailored suit and winning smile, he charmed more than one chairperson—even getting a chance to greet Chief Jeon.
As the Chief’s son, Dr. Jeon Wonwoo had been in attendance, too. To Mingyu, Dr. Jeon was a bit of a star. He’d read a ton of his medical journals, all of which were accompanied by an author’s profile and professional headshot. Somehow, the mention of his great father never overshadowed his achievements—he held his own power in the medical world. Though, of course, the family relation didn’t hurt.
Lucky for Mingyu, Dr. Jeon was young and attractive, and Mingyu wasn’t beyond flirting to get a leg up.
Dr. Jeon wasn’t working the floor; instead, he was sitting at a table, reclined in his seat, babysitting a glass of red wine and a small plate of hors d'oeuvres. Merely an observer.
Mingyu had meandered over to the table with a flute of champagne and the top button of his shirt undone, a dashing smile at the ready, but he’d faltered when Dr. Jeon glanced up at him. As much of a romantic as he is, Mingyu hesitates to call it love at first sight, but his knees went weak and his stomach dropped. Dr. Jeon’s expression, visibly guarded, fell when they made eye contact.
“H-hi,” Mingyu stuttered, forgetting his manners. He fumbled to collect himself and bowed deeply in apology. “I mean, hello, seonsaengnim. My name is Kim Mingyu.”
There was nothing inherently wrong with what he was doing—greeting seniors was the social norm—but the vibe was different. As if he shouldn’t have met Wonwoo in such a formal setting.
“Hello, Mingyu-ssi,” Wonwoo had said, standing up to bow deeply in return.
“Oh, that’s not necessary, seonsaengnim,” Mingyu said in a rush, blushing at the subversion of social convention. He bowed again—his forehead smacking the crown of Dr. Jeon’s head. “Oh my god.”
To his surprise, Dr. Jeon burst out laughing, a stilted, staccato sound, and his grin completely transformed his face, scrunching his eyes into cute crescents. Mingyu rubbed his head and pouted, his pride more injured than anything.
The incident broke the ice quite efficiently, and Dr. Jeon signaled for him to sit. They got the formalities out of the way, inquiring about age and department. Mingyu remembers how taken aback he was at Wonwoo’s age—thirty-five. Ten years older than him. But the difference didn’t seem to bother the surgeon. Still trying to network, Mingyu listed his various scholarly achievements, peering at Dr. Jeon through his lashes to ascertain his reaction. Was he impressed? Or was Mingyu laying it on too thick?
The doctor didn’t seem to think so; in fact, his eyes were smoldering as Mingyu continued to speak.
Adhering to the rules, Mingyu let Dr. Jeon direct the conversation, even if he craved to ask him what surgeon life was like—and if his gaze meant anything.
Though Dr. Jeon conversed with him comfortably, the cut of his Armani suit and refined way of speaking belied his social stature. Only snippets of his personality slipped through: a passing mention of WoW, a quick glimpse of his cat-patterned phone case. Mingyu identified nervous ticks, too: bouncing his leg, cleaning the lenses of his spectacles, tracing the rim of his wine glass with a fingertip. Underneath his veneer of composure, he seemed like a normal man, with cute habits and a budding interest in Mingyu’s lips, if his stare was anything to go by.
A waiter served them more alcohol—enough that their limbs became looser in more ways than one. Mingyu had scooted his chair closer, casually sliding his foot between the surgeon’s ankles. Under the guise of being warm from the champagne, he undid his jacket and another button. Dr. Jeon’s reticence made way for something darker—an emotion that led both of them to the opulent single-room bathroom, where Dr. Jeon got on his knees for Mingyu and sucked him off.
When Mingyu attended the gala, he hadn’t planned on the Chief’s son going down on him, but it was a stunning development. He returned the favor with just as much enthusiasm, getting half-hard again at Dr. Jeon moaning his name.
Mingyu had barely finished swallowing Dr. Jeon’s come when the surgeon shakily asked for his number.
“I know it’s unprofessional of me, but... I want to see you again,” Dr. Jeon had said, licking his lips. “Not in a bathroom, of course. Somewhere a bit nicer.”
Mingyu laughed. “I want to see you again, too, Jeon seonsaengnim.”
Dr. Jeon nodded with badly veiled eagerness, handing over his phone. “If it’s not too soon for you, call me Wonwoo hyung.”
“Okay, Wonwoo hyung,” Mingyu replied, grinning. After all, he’d never been one to abide by the norm. Seungkwan always says he’s too frivolous, but Mingyu prefers to think of himself as free-spirited.
With a whine, Wonwoo leaned in and kissed him—a short sweet peck. Their first, since they’d jumped right into oral sex the second the door was locked. They parted with matching blushes and sheepish smiles.
Wonwoo rubbed the back of his neck. “Can I just ask you something?”
Mingyu typed in his number and returned Wonwoo’s phone, jittery with excitement. “Yeah!”
“Are you actually into me, or are you just interested in my pedigree?” he asked, thinning his lips—steeling himself for the worst, Mingyu realized.
Mingyu bit his lip. After a moment, he decided to opt for honesty. “Well, I’d planned on flirting and leaving an impression on you, but that was about it. I don’t make a habit of sucking off prospective seniors, even if they’re influential; my skills can carry me far without that.” Arrogant, perhaps, but deep in his gut, he knew it was important to say.
He grinned, reaching out to straighten Wonwoo’s lapel. “So, yeah. I’m into you. I think you’re sweet and sexy, and I wanna see you again.”
Wonwoo breathed out a laugh, glancing down at Mingyu’s hand. “Okay. Good.”
—
Other than an elderly man joyriding through the halls on his wheelchair and a young woman with a broken leg that chatted his ear off, Mingyu’s shift is uneventful. He’s fallen into a weird, hazy state of existence caused by sleep deprivation. It’ll pass with the help of a bit more caffeine, he thinks, having shotgunned the cup Wonwoo delivered him, so he’s filling a mug with lukewarm coffee in the break room when his phone vibrates in his lab coat.
room 5-b ASAP, reads a text from Wonwoo. already let shua know you’re taking a break. u need a nap. hope thats ok.
Wonwoo rarely ever does this—it’s such an egregious abuse of power, for Wonwoo to pull Mingyu out of a shift whenever he pleases. And, while he doesn’t doubt Wonwoo wants him to rest, putting the two of them in an enclosed space isn’t the wisest idea. Wonwoo isn’t slick either—it’s the only on-call room with a lockable door.
Frankly, Mingyu admires his foresight.
—
Wonwoo is lying on a cot, fiddling with his phone, when Mingyu bursts into the room and turns the lock. He looks up with an incredulous expression.
“Did you run here?”
“Yes,” Mingyu says, already getting down to his underwear.
Wonwoo drops his phone, wide-eyed, making an indiscernible comment as Mingyu strips half-naked.
As stated, they’ve never broken rule number six, but there’s a first time for everything.
Wonwoo makes a smooth recovery, his gaze turning ravenous. While they haven’t seen each other in three days, they haven’t fucked in longer. As anticipation rises, common sense becomes a moot point.
The cot is too small to contain both of them, so he drapes himself on top of Wonwoo; a bit too heavily, because he knocks the wind out of him.
Wonwoo wheezes out a chuckle, reorienting them so Mingyu isn’t crushing him. Wonwoo’s fingers trail along the waistband of the Calvin Kleins he’d gifted Mingyu last month, then dip below the band. While not explicitly sexual, it makes Mingyu hot between his legs.
“Very considerate of you to get me a little break,” Mingyu mumbles into Wonwoo’s chest. “Thank you.”
“You know I was serious when I said you could just nap, right?” Wonwoo murmurs, but his hands betray him, slipping further beneath Mingyu’s briefs to cup his ass.
“Yes, I understand that,” Mingyu says, raspy around the edges, and gently smoothes his palm over Wonwoo’s groin.
The warmth and stiffening shape of Wonwoo through his scrubs renders a nap 100% impossible. The rustle of material and the low moan rumbling in Wonwoo’s chest is the intro to an all-consuming song; Wonwoo rocks upward, and the squeak of the cot is a lewd addition to the melody.
There’s nothing like having Wonwoo under him, making him feel good with little more than one hand. The reverse can be just as good, but Mingyu thrives on being useful.
Even though Wonwoo has a more relaxed schedule due to his position, he still has a ton on his plate. The thought of Wonwoo needing some TLC makes Mingyu’s exhaustion a low note. His adrenaline starts to ramp up—just as much as it did when he made that first surgical cut.
He sets the goal: make Wonwoo leak through his scrubs. The dark blue fabric denotes his seniority, and its hue looks amazing when his top joins Mingyu’s light blue scrubs on the tile floor. He makes a delighted noise at the sight of Wonwoo’s musculature, wrapping his lips around a hardened nipple.
Wonwoo jerks up, thighs closing around Mingyu’s wrist as he rubs him harder, applying more pressure. He circles his thumb over the tip of Wonwoo’s covered cock, pressing into the slit until he cries out.
“I need your hand on me, properly,” Wonwoo breathes, arching closer as Mingyu flicks his tongue.
Mingyu shakes his head, grasping for Wonwoo’s cock as best as he can despite two layers of fabric. Through his scrubs, the obvious shape of his dick is obscene, and Mingyu’s mouth waters. He spits on Wonwoo’s nipple, unsatisfied with just kissing and sucking.
“Jesus Christ,” Wonwoo groans. He humps Mingyu’s hand harder, losing his cool because his intern boyfriend is working him over so well. Being a doctor isn’t what gives Mingyu a God complex. It’s this.
The only time Wonwoo’s adept motor skills and verbosity ever malfunction is when they’re messing around—he clumsily tugs Mingyu up by the hair so they can share a real kiss, licking over Mingyu’s teeth, muffling his anguished noises in Mingyu’s mouth.
The heat of Wonwoo’s cock finally pours forth, precome seeping through his pants; he must feel like a mess in his underwear, so hungry for more that he’s wet and begging. He’s started making these throaty noises, his hips completely leaving the bed to fuck up into Mingyu’s palm. Briefly, Mingyu wonders if the location has anything to do with his eagerness.
Mingyu leans out of the cot and scrambles for his phone, letting out a triumphant, breathless giggle when he wraps his fingers around it.
“Can I take a picture of you like this?” he asks, sitting up. Even against the navy blue, the precome is a visible, spreading stain. Wonwoo’s pants lie low on the V of his hips, the buds of his nipples are swollen, and his pectoral muscles are limned with the sunlight peeking through the blinds. In another universe, Wonwoo is an underwear model. Or a porn star. Fuck, Mingyu wishes he had his DSLR with him.
“Of course,” Wonwoo pants. “You know I trust you.”
“Just to be certain,” Mingyu answers, smirking. He likes to ask, even if the permission has been given months ago. The reminder fuels him further.
He snaps a few dozen photos; his favorites end up being the ones where he has his large hand curled over Wonwoo’s jaw, his thumb on the corner of Wonwoo’s lips, stretching his mouth open. Even on screen it’s clear how pliant he is; how blissed out he’s becoming.
Moderately satisfied, Mingyu tosses his phone onto the discarded pile of clothes, then dedicates his undivided attention to Wonwoo, relieving him of his ruined pants and digging a travel-size bottle of lube from its pocket.
“Good thinking,” Mingyu commends.
Wonwoo’s cock sways salaciously when he chuckles, leaving a lick of precome on his tummy.
“Gyu-yah,” he says, looking hedonistic with eager, spread legs and a swollen, needy cock. “Can you fuck my thighs?”
“Duh,” Mingyu says, laughing in disbelief. He’s so lucky; has been since he met Wonwoo at that gala. “Hands and knees.”
With the creak of the cot, he flips over, presenting his ass for Mingyu’s viewing pleasure.
Why didn’t they break rule number six sooner? It’s hard to believe he came into work today in a quasi-bad mood.
“So hot, Jeon seonsaengnim,” he murmurs, knelt behind Wonwoo, pressing the crown of his cock against Wonwoo’s hole. Almost pushing inside, but sliding upward instead, cock cradled between his cheeks.
“Stop teasing me,” Wonwoo grunts impatiently, falling onto his elbows. “I have shit to do, you know.”
“Aw, me too,” Mingyu says cutely, tapping his fingers between Wonwoo’s legs. “Spread your thighs a bit, hyung.”
Wonwoo’s breath hitches as he moves his knees further apart. Mingyu pours lube onto his palm, spilling some onto the bed sheets, already planning on doing laundry. It’s the least he could do, to make up for breaking workplace policy.
Wonwoo flinches in surprise at the first swipe of wetness between his legs, but is quick to melt into Mingyu’s big hands, muffling whines into the pillow as Mingyu thoroughly coats him with lube. He roves further than necessary: slick knuckles rubbing against his perineum and balls, his thumb spreading a dollop onto his hole. By the time he’s done, Wonwoo is quivering and hugging the pillow, a spot of drool on the lavender-colored case. Mingyu recalls buttoned-up, suave Wonwoo in his expensive tux. Look at him now—torn to pieces by the promise of the younger doctor’s cock between his thighs.
Mingyu shivers from arousal, smearing lube on his dick. He doesn’t need to build himself up—watching Wonwoo whimper and gyrate his hips has him so hard his vision is blurry at the edges. His cock throbs when Wonwoo glances at him from over his shoulder, waiting for instructions.
“Squeeze your legs together,” Mingyu says, his throat tight. Wonwoo’s thighs make a sticky noise when he wrenches them shut. “Good. Keep them like that for me, okay, seonsaengnim?”
“Yes, Mingyu,” he responds dutifully, his answer caught on a gasp when Mingyu pushes in. The head of his cock hits Wonwoo’s balls, and Mingyu claps a hand over Wonwoo’s mouth before the entire floor hears him yell. Mingyu repeats the motion, groaning at the breathtaking grip. Wonwoo’s thighs are strong, corded with muscle, and he strains them together with the strength of an athlete, not letting up as Mingyu sets a fast pace.
It feels spectacular, but irritation starts to build in the base of Mingyu’s back—he needs to see Wonwoo’s face. They both make displeased sounds when Mingyu pauses in order to turn Wonwoo over, but it’s all worth it when he squirts lube onto Wonwoo’s cock and fucks his thighs from the front. It’s less taxing for both of them, Wonwoo’s pale thighs even tighter around Mingyu, and their cocks slide deliciously together with every forward motion of Mingyu’s hips. They make such a pretty picture, Mingyu thinks, adding another splash of pink to the canvas by gripping Wonwoo’s flank hard enough to bruise.
Mingyu comes first, spilling onto Wonwoo’s abdomen, clenching his jaw to keep quiet, his teeth grinding terribly. Wonwoo isn’t as successful—his moan is hoarse and resonant when he orgasms.
“Fuck, hyung,” Mingyu grits out, his head spinning, and yet he’s mindful enough to place Wonwoo’s legs down gently; his hamstrings are most definitely sore. Wonwoo’s breath whooshes from his lungs as he floats down from his high.
Mingyu likes the responsibility that comes afterward: bringing Wonwoo back to earth, cleaning up the mess they’ve made, sorting out all the tedious adult tasks. At this point, Wonwoo has stopped trying to play a part in the clean-up—it genuinely makes Mingyu happy to put things back together, and Wonwoo is lazier than a sunbathing cat. He gets up when Mingyu requests, and obeys when he’s told to lie back down, now in clean scrubs and cleaner sheets.
The dirty sheets go into a garbage bag, which shouldn’t arouse much suspicion; it’s very believable if he says, “Oh, I spilled my coffee on the bed. Gotta wash the sheets,” to anyone who questions his intentions.
“I should go back to work,” he says, shouldering the bag.
“Not yet,” Wonwoo protests.
Mingyu’s brow shoots up. The suggestion is so unlike Wonwoo, who knows the importance of their work more than anyone. In retrospect, it’s wild he indulged like this to begin with. “I know he’s your friend, hyung, but Hong seonsaengnim could report me. Otherwise you know I’d stay here with you all day.”
Wonwoo sits up. “I’m sorry; I know it’s super unprofessional of me.”
Mingyu tilts his head. Wonwoo is bouncing his leg, and fear ratchets up in Mingyu’s belly at the glint of anxiety in Wonwoo’s eyes. He drops the bag and joins him on the cot, curling up; smaller in his nervousness.
“Did something happen?” Mingyu asks, overanalyzing the spur-of-the-moment quickie. On an average day, Wonwoo would’ve never suggested they’d sleep together in the hospital, because—while they do indulge in covert PDA—anything beyond that wasn’t in the cards. Was this some kind of last hurrah?
“No, not like that,” Wonwoo reassures, rubbing Mingyu’s hunched shoulder, abating Mingyu’s apprehension. The corners of his mouth twitch, and now Mingyu is just antsy.
“Then what is it!”
Apparently amused by Mingyu’s whining, Wonwoo cuffs him gently under the chin. “Do you remember that paper I had published? About the surgical outcomes of mitral valve repair?”
Mingyu scoffed. How could he forget?
He’d never seen Wonwoo that frazzled before. The surgeon had downplayed it, pretending that his pet project wasn’t sapping all life out of him. Mingyu did his best to keep Wonwoo (and his cat, Yangi) well-fed and his house clean, taking Wonwoo out for short walks like an elderly dog.
Only a small, curated number of things could rattle him. Having his words and his name—his family name, really—printed in ink for the medical community to see was high up on the list. For a period, they’d only saw each other for a handful of minutes a day. Mingyu hated it—and did not keep it a secret—but of course he was Wonwoo’s most enthusiastic cheerleader. Wonwoo’s apathy toward his unhealthy habits was the only thing that got Mingyu upset enough to pick an argument, but otherwise, they’d made it through the separation.
Mingyu ignores the incoming tide of dread. “What about it, hyung?”
“Well, the medical board got in touch with me, and... they want me to head a clinical trial to expand upon my findings.”
Mingyu gasps, jumping in his seat. “Hyung! That’s amazing.”
Wonwoo hasn’t said it in so many words, but this has been his dream since he became the Head of Cardiology. He’s been primed to become a great surgeon since the age of five, when his father got him an anatomically-correct model of a human heart for his birthday. This honor affirms all the work and effort he’s made over the years.
Mingyu was inspired to become an orthopedic surgeon after a childhood friend shattered his tailbone—not so much fate as it is ridiculous.
“I know...” Wonwoo says, his hand clammy in Mingyu’s. “I was going to tell you at lunch. I’m sorry, you should go back to work now.”
“It’s going to be hard for me to concentrate now, you terrible, amazing man,” Mingyu whines, nudging Wonwoo with his shoulder. “We have to celebrate before you disappear into your work again.”
Wonwoo winces. “Last time left a mark on you, I know.”
Mingyu brushes off Wonwoo’s unspoken apology. He’s made his absence up to Mingyu tenfold since then. And it’s not like he won’t ever see him! Give him an hour every few days—he won’t be satisfied, but he’ll be temporarily sated. It helps that Mingyu is busy himself, pulling inhumane hours—par for the course when you’re an intern.
“It’s okay.” Mingyu grins. “You were made for this, and I was made to be the world’s most supportive partner.”
Wonwoo’s smile becomes sad. “You are. Sometimes I feel like I can’t give you all the love you deserve.” The second the words leave his mouth, Wonwoo looks away in clear embarrassment.
Mingyu gawks at his reddening neck with astonishment. The bombshell is enough to make his chest tighten. Not once has Wonwoo alluded that he wasn’t enough for Mingyu. Since when has he felt this way?
“I didn’t mean to say it like that,” Wonwoo amends, sighing. “It just came out badly. What I mean is, I feel greedy keeping all your love to myself.”
Mingyu can’t drop his bewilderment. “But hyung, your love is more than enough! I’ve never been with someone that treats me as well as you do? Or treasures me as much? Why—”
“Mingyu, stop,” Wonwoo chuckles, and Mingyu deflates, but nearly purrs when Wonwoo runs his fingers through his messy hair. He knows how much Wonwoo likes the permed look on him. “I know. I’m just worried that I won’t balance everything well enough.”
Though Wonwoo excels under pressure, he needs a sufficient amount of decompression time in order to do his best all over again the next day. It doesn’t leave much time for dates or intimacy.
“You do the best you can. That’s all I expect from you,” Mingyu says simply. “I’ll fall asleep in your bed and be there to cuddle when you’re ready. We can eat breakfast together and, if you’re not too tired, I can give you my signature morning blowjob.” He smiles widely, his own idea a profound comfort. “I know it’ll be for a few months. As long as you’re not having doubts about us, I’m fine with it, hyung.”
Wonwoo stares at him for a moment then emits an annoyed growl, kissing Mingyu hard on the lips. “See what I mean? You’re too good to me.”
Mingyu giggles. “Okay, I have to go now. Are we still on for our dinner date?”
“Of course,” Wonwoo says warmly, patting Mingyu on the ass as he leaves the on-call room first, hefting the unwieldy garbage bag.
He runs almost directly into Jihoon, who jumps spritely away from the door. Right, it’s the Cardio wing; Jihoon is assigned to this floor for their bi-monthly department rotation. Barring the chief, he is possibly the worst person Mingyu could run into after fucking his boyfriend while on duty.
His post-coital high burns off like a dead firework. “S-sorry, Jihoon-ssi,” he stammers, gripped by mortification. “I was just—”
“I don’t care,” Jihoon deadpans. “I just forgot my beeper in there—”
And with stunningly awful timing, Wonwoo emerges from the room. The embarrassment threatens to consume Mingyu whole—though it’s probably nothing compared to Wonwoo’s. The senior surgeon chokes behind him.
“Jihoon-ssi!” Wonwoo initiates a startled, hasty bow. “I apologize if we... kept you waiting. We just had to... go over some stuff,” he says lamely.
From his scalp to beneath his shirt, Jihoon glows red. He bows in return, stiff as a board, but minding his manners. If this is the department he wants to specialize in once the year is over, it pays to be polite to the higher-ups. Evidenced by Jihoon’s pinched expression, that fact is the only reason he shows deference to Wonwoo.
“Mingyu-ssi, thank you for your help. You may return to your station on the Ortho floor,” Wonwoo says, inclining his head in subdued farewell.
“Bye, hyung—seonsaengnim.”
Wonwoo walks away haltingly, glancing back multiple times until he’s swallowed by a group of visitors.
“You’re blocking the door,” Jihoon says, nudging Mingyu’s arm firmly. “Move.”
“S-sorry.” Mingyu unsticks himself, taking a huge step into the hallway. Though Wonwoo gave him a clear way out, fear anchors him to the vinyl tile.
It’s at the tip of Mingyu’s tongue: please don’t tell anyone about this. Jihoon isn’t a gossipmonger, nor is he cruel. At least, Mingyu assumes. Would he be beyond taking this transgression to HR or—worst-case scenario—the Chief? Mingyu can taste his morning coffee as it rises in his throat.
Jihoon darts inside, and returns just as briskly, closing the door with a definitive snap.
Mingyu shivers when Jihoon fixes him with a hateful glare, and almost whimpers in relief when the other intern turns on his heel and struts away. He counts his lucky stars that Jihoon didn’t bite out any of the foul names Mingyu has been called behind his back, even though he might’ve been thinking them.
Unluckily, Jihoon hadn’t said anything about keeping the incident to himself. For all Mingyu knows, Jihoon is heading straight to the Chief’s office. Fuck.
It’s a harsh reality check—the first time he’s ever felt anything but pure joy about his public relationship with Wonwoo. He’s shaky and gulping back terror as he puts the dirty sheets to wash in the hospital laundry room and runs back to the Ortho floor.