Chapter Text
Jimin has always been the one who feels deeply.
No.
Felt deeply.
Past tense.
Relationships have been complicated in ways that even Jimin thinks for himself that love is not something that he will ever have in this lifetime. Or in any lifetime if he’s being honest.
That’s exactly why he agreed to a deal.
Being Min Yoongi’s fuck buddy.
It’s plain simple.
“As much as I want to do it now, I have a patient waiting for me.” Jimin whispers, his head hanging backwards as Yoongi leaves kisses on his neck.
Yoongi groans softly, one hand braced beside Jimin’s head, the other resting low on his waist. He inhales, taking a sniff of Jimin’s scent. Well, Jimin has been on suppressants but sometimes Yoongi just loves to pretend.
“Just one more minute,” Yoongi murmurs against his skin.
Jimin exhales, eyes fluttering shut for a brief second. He doesn’t push him away. Doesn’t tell him to stop.
Because the truth is, he likes it.
He likes this.
The quiet, stolen moments. The way Yoongi touches him like he’s not just convenient. The way he doesn’t rush.
It’s dangerous. Yes, but Jimin lets it happen anyway.
Yoongi’s lips trail up to his jaw, pausing there, their breaths mixing in the small, dimly lit on-call room. The fluorescent light above them flickers faintly, the hum blending with the distant chaos of the hospital floors below.
“Yoongi,” Jimin mutters, softer now, almost reluctant, “I really have to go.”
Yoongi huffs, forehead dropping briefly against Jimin’s shoulder before he pulls back just enough to look at him. His hair is slightly disheveled, lips parted, eyes heavy in a way that has nothing to do with sleep.
“Fine,” he says, though it doesn’t sound convincing. “But you owe me.”
Jimin lets out a quiet scoff, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “I don’t owe you anything.”
“Yeah?” Yoongi raises a brow. “Then what are we gonna do with my angry cock?”
Jimin doesn’t answer that.
Instead, he gently pushes Yoongi back, just enough to create space between them. He straightens, running a hand through his hair, grounding himself, slipping back into something more composed—something safer.
He grabs his doctor’s coat from the chair, slipping it on with practiced ease. Fingers smooth out the wrinkles, tugging at the sleeves, adjusting the collar. By the time he’s done, there’s barely any trace left of what just happened.
Except for the faint flush on his neck.
Except for the way his lips still feel warm.
Jimin reaches for the door, pausing for half a second—not turning back, but not fully leaving either.
“Don’t be late,” Yoongi says from behind him, voice quieter now.
Jimin hums in acknowledgment, then walks out.
The hallway is bright and busy and alive. It always is.
“Good morning, Dr. Park!” Says that one nurse who recently assisted his patient during recovery
“Morning, doc!” Says the other nurse that he recognizes from the peds floor.
“Doctor Park, I’ve already put Mrs. Ju on NPO and she’s been made aware of the procedure for tonight.” Says one of his 4th year residents.
Jimin slips into it effortlessly, nodding, smiling, responding with ease. He’s calm, collected, dependable—the kind of attending everyone trusts and the kind they like.
“Got it, I’ll check on her later,” he replies, already walking past, his steps steady and unhurried.
No one would ever guess where he just came from.
No one would ever guess what he was just doing.
And that’s exactly how he wants it.
By the time he reaches the ER, the atmosphere shifts—faster, louder, more urgent. Nurses moving quickly, stretchers being prepped, voices overlapping in controlled chaos.
Jimin spots Taehyung by the station, leaning back slightly with a chart in hand.
“Hey,” Jimin greets, slipping beside him. “Multiple trauma?”
Taehyung nods, pushing himself upright. “Two cars crashed into each other. EMT said possible head injuries.” He glances toward the ambulance bay, anticipation clear in his posture. “Where have you been?”
“Upstairs,” Jimin answers easily. “You?”
Taehyung snorts. “I haven’t left the ER. Fun.” His tone drips with sarcasm. “Bunch of stomach flu cases. Nothing here is surgical so I will get the first one that comes through that door—I need it.”
Jimin chuckles under his breath. “You’re still gonna call me for a neuro consult though.”
“Obviously,” Taehyung shoots back. “I don’t do brains but I’m not stupid.”
There’s a brief pause before Taehyung narrows his eyes slightly, leaning just a little closer.
“Hm.”
Jimin glances at him. “What?”
“You kinda smell like the on-call room,” Taehyung says, one brow arching in suspicion.
Jimin doesn’t miss a beat.
“Maybe because I was in the on-call room.”
Taehyung stares at him for a second longer, clearly not convinced. “Yeah, but—”
Before he can finish, the ambulance doors burst open.
“Trauma incoming!” a voice calls out.
Everything shifts instantly just as it should.
Taehyung’s attention snaps forward, all previous curiosity gone. “Finally,” he mutters, already moving.
Jimin follows right behind him, expression sharpening, mind switching gears completely.
Because whatever happened upstairs, it stays upstairs.
“Let’s go,” Jimin says, already pulling on gloves.
***
“Suction here, please,” Jimin says calmly, not even looking up as he extends his hand.
The resident beside him reacts a second too slow—but still catches up, placing the suction tip precisely where Jimin needs it. Jimin adjusts slightly, steady, unhurried, like he has all the time in the world despite the ticking clock and the exposed brain beneath the surgical lights.
“Doctor Choi,” Jimin continues, voice even, almost conversational, “walk me through the process of evacuating a hematoma.”
There’s a brief pause.
Not hesitation, just the resident organizing his thoughts.
Then the 5th year surgical resident Choi begins.
“We first identify the location and extent of the bleed through imaging,” he says, voice slightly muffled behind his mask but steady. “Then we perform a craniotomy to access the affected area, carefully opening the skull flap. Once exposed, we locate the hematoma and begin evacuation using suction, making sure to control active bleeding—”
Jimin hums softly. “And?”
“We irrigate the area, ensure hemostasis, and monitor for any signs of increased intracranial pressure,” Choi continues. “Then we close in layers after confirming there’s no ongoing bleed.”
Jimin finally glances at him, just for a second.
“Good,” he says. “You didn’t miss anything.”
There’s a subtle shift in the air. Maybe relief or probably pride.
“But,” Jimin adds, eyes returning to the surgical field, “knowing it and doing it are two very different things, Choi. Got it?”
“Yes, sir.”
Jimin works in silence for a few moments, precise and efficient, letting Choi observe every movement.
“The next time you impress me,” Jimin says suddenly, like it’s nothing, “I’ll let you take the lead.”
Choi blinks. “Sir?”
“On a case,” Jimin clarifies, tone casual. “Under supervision.”
There’s an awfully prolonged second of pause,
Then, “Thank you, Dr. Park.”
Jimin doesn’t respond to that—just continues, finishing the procedure with the same steady hands, the same quiet authority.
One thing to know about Doctor Park is that he has always loved teaching. He loved learning everything he could just to take his time teaching it to someone else. Maybe it’s what he can call his purpose.
At least at this part—being a doctor and a teacher, he never messes anything up.
At least with this, there are books to read about and protocols to follow. There is a way of discerning what is right and what is wrong.
Just after the surgery, the OR doors swing open with a soft hiss.
The doctor pulls his cap down as he steps out, running a hand through his slightly damp hair. The hallway feels cooler, quieter compared to the intensity inside.
Across from him, another set of doors opens almost at the same time.
Yoongi steps out, already sighing loudly, his posture loose but his eyes still sharp from hours of focus.
They spot each other almost instantly. And Jimin doesn’t miss the way Yoongi raises a brow to acknowledge his presence.
As if moving in instinct, Jimin jerks his chin slightly. “Brain bleed.”
Yoongi exhales. “Hip replacement.”
There’s silence but their steps somehow match each other’s. They’re walking side by side until they reach the changing areas.
Then they both glance up at the OR board mounted on the wall, scanning the schedule out of habit.
Jimin traces the lines quickly though he already knows his schedule for the day.
Yoongi leans in just a bit closer, double checking his schedule too.
“Three hours,” Yoongi mutters.
Jimin hums.
Neither of them says anything for a second longer than necessary… then they move.
Not toward the lounge. Not toward the cafeteria either.
The on-call rooms are quieter anyway. More private. More equipped of what they want to do next.
The door clicks shut behind them.
Silence settles, thick but awfully familiar.
Jimin leans back against it, exhaling slowly, the tension of the surgery finally catching up to him. His shoulders drop just a fraction, his head tilting back.
Yoongi watches him for a moment.
“You look tired,” he says.
“I am tired,” Jimin replies, eyes still closed. “Just give me a minute.”
There’s a pause.
Then Yoongi steps closer, not touching yet—just close enough that Jimin can feel the shift in the air.
“We’ve got time,” Yoongi murmurs.
Jimin lets out a quiet breath, eyes opening just enough to meet his.
“Yeah,” he says softly.
Just enough time to forget everything else again. It’s not tender. It’s not slow.
It never is.
Yoongi closes the distance first, hand coming up to cup the side of Jimin’s neck as he kisses him—firm, immediate, like they’ve both already decided how this ends. Jimin exhales into it, one hand gripping Yoongi’s scrub top, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away.
There’s no hesitation.
There hasn’t been, not since the first time.
A month ago, it was supposed to be a one-time thing. A bad day, a worse breakup, and Yoongi is just… there. Easy. Familiar in a way that didn’t demand anything from him.
Just this. Just sex.
Now, it’s become something they fall into without thinking— something convenient, something that works.
Well at least for the two of them, this is what works.
Jimin stumbles back slightly when Yoongi presses forward, the back of his knees hitting the edge of the narrow bed. He lets himself fall, breath catching as Yoongi follows, crowding him down onto the mattress.
Yoongi has always said that this mattress will probably paralyze Jimin one of these days. It just has to be the worst one in the market and the hospital decided this is what they should give their doctors to sleep on.
To be fair, sleeping on it is a whole different thing than sleeping with someone on it.
Their kiss breaks only for a second—just enough for air, for a quiet curse under Yoongi’s breath—before it resumes, messier now, rushed.
Time is ticking.
They both know it.
Everything about it is quick because that is usually what this is. It is something temporary for both of them. Something that can be done in minutes.
Hands that know where to go, how to move, what gets the reaction they want. No lingering, no dragging things out. Just heat, pressure, lust, the kind of closeness that burns fast and fades just as quickly.
Jimin turns his head slightly, catching his breath, eyes unfocused for a moment as the tension that’s been sitting in his chest all day finally starts to loosen.
The alpha’s cock drags unutterly well inside him, earning every quiet moan from his swollen mouth. His fingertips are digging on the other’s back, leaving some redness that will just fade away at the same time they walk out of the door.
It’s not about affection.
It’s not about love.
It’s relief.
Pure, simple relief.
A distraction from the chaos outside those walls. From the weight of decisions, the pressure, the endless responsibility.
From everything Jimin refuses to feel too deeply anymore.
Yoongi presses a final kiss against his jaw, slower this time, like a brief pause in the rush—something that almost lingers before it doesn’t.
Then it’s over.
Yoongi comes in the condom and Jimin comes in between their tummies.
Just like that.
Jimin lies there for a second longer, staring up at the ceiling, chest rising and falling as he steadies his breathing.
“Three hours,” he mutters, voice a little hoarse.
Yoongi lets out a quiet huff beside him, sitting up, running a hand through his hair. “More like two and a half now.”
Jimin snorts softly.
They don’t talk about what just happened because they never do. They are well aware of the boundaries. They are well aware of where this relationship falls under.
Just sex.
Instead, Jimin pushes himself up, already reaching for his clothes again, fixing himself with the same precision as before. Every crease smoothed out, every button in place.
By the time he’s done, he looks like nothing happened.
Like he didn’t just let himself unravel for a few minutes in a dim on-call room.
Yoongi watches him for a second, something unreadable flickering across his face—but it’s gone just as quickly.
“See you later, Dr. Park,” Yoongi says, tone back to neutral.
Jimin glances at him briefly.
“Yeah,” he replies. “Don’t mess up your next case.”
Yoongi scoffs. “You wish.”
And just like that, they step out of the room separately.
Back into the hospital.
Back into their roles.
Like it’s nothing more than stress relief.
Like it’s nothing at all.
***
Jimin has just finished an entire day of back-to-back surgeries.
He likes that.
He’s used to that.
There’s really nowhere else he wants to be other than an operating room—where everything is controlled, where everything makes sense, where emotions don’t get in the way of precision.
“I haven’t seen you all day,” Hoseok says, feet propped up on the armrest of the couch while the rest of his body lies flat across it like he owns the entire room.
Jimin huffs, grabbing a mug from the cupboard. “I had a tumor resection—a nasty one, by the way. Wrapped around structures it shouldn’t even be near.” He pours himself coffee, the familiar scent grounding him. “Couple of craniotomies too. It was a long day. How about you?”
“The peds floor is flooded with severely sick kids and I’m sad about it,” Hoseok sighs, one hand resting on his stomach, thumb absentmindedly rubbing over the curve. “Probably just the hormones. I’m used to this.”
Jimin smiles faintly at that, leaning against the counter before taking a sip. The warmth settles in his chest, welcome and steady. “How’s your little pup?”
“Oh, god,” Hoseok lets out a soft laugh, shifting slightly. “She’s been moving like crazy. I swear she’s already got Taehyung’s energy.”
Jimin glances at his bump—noticeably bigger now, enough that Hoseok had long switched to looser scrubs. “Are you excited? Taehyung’s been talking about it a lot. Said he’ll definitely cry.”
“God, he is so dramatic,” Hoseok groans, though there’s no real annoyance in it. “I can never catch a break because of him.”
Jimin chuckles, finally settling into the single couch across from him, letting his body sink into it. His muscles ache in that dull, familiar way. His mind, though… his mind is quieter than usual after a day like this.
“It must be nice,” he says after a moment, almost absentmindedly, staring into his cup. “Building a family of your own with the love of your life.”
He doesn’t even know why he said that.
Maybe because he’s seen it happen.
Jimin and Taehyung went to med school together so he knows the alpha well enough to know that he’s the type to sleep with almost anyone. Taehyung was not one who did feelings.
Intern year—Hoseok, bright and loud and impossibly alive even after thirty-hour shifts happened and Taehyung was drawn in like it was inevitable.
The rest of them orbited in their own ways, Namjoon, Seokjin, Yoongi—all from different paths, somehow ending up in the same place as them.
Ever since their intern year, the six of them have been competing against each other. Stealing cases from one another, sleeping on any free bed in the ER, even eating each others’ leftovers.
Hoseok was always the constant one.
And Taehyung who once swore he will never do feelings… just fell.
Hoseok chuckles softly, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “It’s perfect,” he admits. “Not easy. Never easy. But… worth it. Every single part of it.”
Jimin hums, taking another sip.
“Does it scare you?” he asks.
“All the time,” Hoseok answers immediately. “Carrying a life? Bringing someone into this world? It’s terrifying.” His lips curl into a soft smile. “But I’m not doing it alone, so… it makes it a little less scary.”
There’s a quiet stretch between them.
Comfortable.
Familiar.
“Taehyung talks to her every night,” Hoseok adds, voice softer now. “He reads to her. Sometimes sings— arguably terribly.”
Jimin snorts. “I need video proof of that.”
“Absolutely not,” Hoseok laughs. “That’s blackmail material and he will never forgive me for giving you such power.
Before Jimin can respond, the lounge door swings open loudly.
Voices.
Footsteps.
Alpha presence—immediate and unmistakable.
Jimin rolls his eyes before he even looks up.
Taehyung and Yoongi walk in mid-conversation, both still in scrubs, both looking like they just stepped out of something intense.
“I’m telling you, if we didn’t get that bleed under control—” Taehyung cuts himself off the second he sees Hoseok.
Everything about him softens instantly.
“Hey, baby.” he says, already crossing the room.
Hoseok smiles. “Hey.”
Taehyung sits on the armrest near Hoseok’s feet without hesitation, gently lifting one of them into his lap. “Long day?” he murmurs, hands already working, pressing into the arch with practiced ease.
Hoseok exhales, melting. “You have no idea.”
“Are you okay?” Taehyung asks, glancing briefly at his bump.
“Yeah,” Hoseok nods. “She’s just been active.”
Taehyung’s lips curve, soft and fond, his hand briefly resting over Hoseok’s stomach before going back to the massage.
Jimin looks away.
Not in discomfort—just… habit?
He doesn’t know when he started to do that. He just did. Whenever he sees Hoseok and Taehyung being sweet and in love, he looks away. He feels like he’s intruding. Like this isn’t something that he should watch.
Across the room, Yoongi drops into the chair beside him, close but not too close. Familiar distance.
“Hey,” Yoongi says.
Jimin glances at him briefly. “Hey.”
That’s it.
No one questions it.
No one looks twice.
They’re coworkers. Friends.
That’s all anyone needs to know.
Taehyung and Hoseok fall into their own quiet bubble—murmured conversation, soft touches, the kind of ease that only comes from something real, something built over time.
Jimin stares ahead, fingers loosely wrapped around his mug.
And somewhere, quietly, at the back of his mind, he wonders.
If he wasn’t like this.
If he wasn’t Park Jimin.
If he wasn’t so… tired of trying, tired of feeling, tired of things falling apart,
Would something like that have found him too?
Would he have let it?
Or would he have ruined it before it even had the chance to grow?
Jimin takes another sip of his coffee, expression unreadable because he himself is confused.
***
“I didn’t know you’re here for the conference too.” Jimin raises a brow, picking up the neatly printed—almost painfully generic—pamphlet from the registration booth.
Yoongi shrugs, adjusting the lanyard around his neck. “Shocking, right?”
Jimin huffs out a quiet laugh, scanning the program. “Do you have a presentation? Or are you just here to listen?”
“I have one this afternoon,” Yoongi replies. “Case presentation. And… something I’ve been working on.”
Jimin glances at him, mildly curious now. “Oh?”
Yoongi only gives a small, almost secretive smile. “You’ll see.”
Jimin narrows his eyes slightly but doesn’t push. “I have one tomorrow morning. Neuro panel.”
“Of course you do,” Yoongi mutters. “Show-off.”
“Please,” Jimin scoffs. “I am sure you love it because you will surely realize that the doctor you are banging is a genius.”
He earns a chuckle from the alpha before he replies, “Hm, let’s see.”
They fall into step together as they head toward the main hall, the low hum of doctors and specialists filling the space. It’s different seeing each other outside the hospital—same dynamic, but… lighter. Less rushed. Maybe because the majority of the doctors in the hall don't know them the way their friends know them.
They end up sitting beside each other during the morning sessions, half-listening, half-whispering comments under their breath.
“That management plan is outdated,” Jimin murmurs at one point, flipping a page of the program like he’s already half-bored.
Yoongi leans slightly closer, shoulder brushing his. “You just don’t like it because it’s not surgical.”
“I don’t like it because it’s inefficient.”
“Oh my god, you are insufferable.”
“Then why are you sitting next to me?”
Yoongi lets out a quiet huff, eyes still trained on the speaker at the front. “That’s better than sitting with my rivals in med school.”
Jimin turns to him, brows lifting. “Rivals?”
“Yeah.”
Jimin snorts. “Are you delusional or something?”
Yoongi finally glances at him, unimpressed. “No, I don’t think you understand the extent of this rivalry.”
Jimin leans back slightly, clearly entertained now. “Oh, please enlighten me, Min.”
“One of them,” Yoongi starts flatly, “sutured my scrubs to a chair cushion.”
There’s a beat.
Then Jimin blinks.
And then, “What?”
“I sat down after a 28-hour shift,” Yoongi continues, completely serious. “Didn’t notice anything. Tried to stand up—couldn’t stand up rather. I though I was just that exhausted.”
Jimin’s lips twitch.
“Turns out,” Yoongi goes on, “my scrub pants were literally stitched into the chair.”
Jimin breaks.
A sharp laugh escapes him before he can stop it, head tipping forward as his shoulders start shaking.
“You’re kidding—” he manages, but Yoongi’s expression doesn’t change.
“I had to cut myself out of it,” Yoongi adds. “to the point that I ruined my favorite pair of scrubs. RIP to that.”
That does it.
Jimin’s laughter spills out, louder now, uncontrollable, drawing a few glances from nearby doctors. He tries to muffle it with his hand, but it only makes it worse.
“You—” he gasps, trying to breathe, “you’re telling me you just—sat there—stuck—”
“I was stuck,” Yoongi deadpans. “For a solid ten minutes.”
Jimin bends forward slightly, nearly doubling over, his laugh echoing just enough that someone a few seats ahead turns around with a sharp “Shh.”
Jimin presses his lips together immediately, trying to compose himself, but the moment he looks back at Yoongi, he loses it again.
Quieter this time, but still shaking.
“That’s—” he exhales, wiping at the corner of his eye, “that’s actually insane.”
Yoongi shrugs. “You think that’s bad? Another one replaced my surgical gloves with a size too small. Circulation nearly cut off mid-procedure.”
Jimin groans, still smiling. “Okay, that one’s just evil.”
“Exactly.”
Jimin leans back into his chair, still grinning, eyes lingering on Yoongi a second longer than necessary. “And you survived all that?”
“Barely,” Yoongi says dryly. “I can’t blame them. I’m a genius with a mohawk.”
Jimin shakes his head, a soft laugh still escaping him. “You’re unbelievable.”
“You should really quiet your laughs down because that doctor on your left, the one with ridiculously big hair, has been staring at you and I’m afraid I can’t protect you from him.” Yoongi whispers, “I’m afraid his hair knows how to fist fight.”
The omega’s eyes widen, fighting for his life to actually stop himself from bursting out again. His hand lands on Yoongi’s thigh, squeezing it hard until Yoongi reacts violently from the pain.
Lunch comes around faster than expected.
And it’s… bad.
Not just bad—offensively bad for something labeled as a “buffet.”
Bad is even an understatement at this point.
Jimin stands there for a second, tray in hand, staring at the spread like it personally wronged him. “This is what we paid for?”
Yoongi glances over the trays, unimpressed. “Free buffet,” he corrects. “Big difference.”
“That doesn’t excuse this,” Jimin mutters, still eyeing the pasta that looks like it gave up halfway through cooking.
They end up grabbing food anyway—because they’re hungry, and because neither of them wants to go out in the middle of a packed schedule.
Jimin pokes at his plate once they’re seated. “This might be the worst food I’ve ever had.”
Yoongi snorts, already halfway through his first bite like he has lower standards. “You’ve clearly never eaten at the hospital cafeteria at 3 AM.”
“At least that has character,” Jimin says, nudging something around with his fork. “This is just… sad. This is what happens when people stop caring.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m just being honest. Imagine feeding top doctors something like… this.” He grimaces, poking his food once again with force.
Yoongi shakes his head, but there’s a faint smile tugging at his lips.
They eat anyway—or at least try to.
Between bites, they fall into conversation like it’s second nature.
“I had a patient last year,” Yoongi says, leaning back slightly in his chair. “Compound fracture. Messy. But I tried something new with the fixation.”
Jimin tilts his head, instantly more engaged. “New how?”
“Modified plating system,” Yoongi explains, gesturing lightly with his fork. “Adjusted the alignment—made it more flexible so it doesn’t put too much stress on the surrounding tissue.”
Jimin’s brows pull together slightly, thinking it through. “Wouldn’t that risk instability?”
“That’s what I thought at first,” Yoongi admits. “But I reinforced the anchor points. It holds better than you’d expect.”
Jimin hums, interest clearly piqued now. “Hm, how about the recovery?”
“Faster,” Yoongi says. “Less inflammation too.”
Jimin glances at him, impressed despite himself. “Did it work long-term?”
Yoongi smirks slightly. “You’ll find out this afternoon.”
Jimin rolls his eyes, but there’s a small smile there. “You’re annoying.”
“You’re curious. I like it that way.” He grins, letting out a chuckle, “Let’s keep this curiosity going for a little while.”
“I really hate you sometimes.”
Yoongi shrugs, “At least you feel something for me aside from lust.”
There’s a brief pause as Jimin finally takes a bite of his food—then immediately regrets it.
“…This is worse than I thought.”
Yoongi laughs quietly. “Just eat the bread.”
Jimin does, begrudgingly. “If I get food poisoning, I’m blaming you.”
“You chose to eat it.”
“You encouraged me.”
“I told you to lower your expectations.”
Jimin shakes his head, but there’s no real irritation in it.
“Neuro’s been busy lately,” he says after a moment, shifting slightly in his seat. “Had a glioblastoma case yesterday. Aggressive. Barely resectable.”
Yoongi’s expression shifts—more focused now. “Margins?”
“Clean enough,” Jimin replies. “But you know how it is. It’s never really clean.”
Yoongi nods slowly. “Yeah.”
Jimin exhales, leaning back. “Family was hopeful. I didn’t have the heart to tell them…”
“You never do,” Yoongi says quietly.
Jimin glances at him briefly, then looks away. “It’s not my place to take that away from them.”
“It kind of is.”
The omega pauses to think, sighing, “Yeah but not like that.”
Yoongi studies him for a second but doesn’t push further.
Instead, he nudges Jimin’s tray slightly. “Eat.”
Jimin scoffs. “Bossy.”
“You’ll complain about being tired and hungry later.”
“I’m always tired and hungry.”
“Exactly.”
Jimin takes another bite—smaller this time—and sighs like it’s a personal sacrifice.
“You owe me good food after this,” he mutters.
Yoongi raises a brow. “Do I?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Jimin glances at him, expression dry. “Because I’m suffering.”
Yoongi huffs out a quiet laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”
“A damn take out wouldn’t even hurt your bank account, Min Yoongi.” The omega says with an eye roll. But he knows for a fact that Yoongi will definitely buy him something good when all of these are done.
***
By the time Yoongi’s presentation comes up, the room is noticeably fuller.
Word must’ve gotten around.
Jimin shifts slightly in his seat, sitting a little straighter, arms crossing loosely over his chest as his gaze fixes on the front. The low hum of conversation fades when Yoongi steps up to the podium—calm, composed, like he’s done this a hundred times before.
And then Jimin watches. He really watches.
Yoongi doesn’t waste time on theatrics. No overdone introductions, no dragging context. He starts with the patient immediately—mid-20s, high-impact trauma, multiple fractures, significant soft tissue damage. The kind of case that usually comes with long recovery times, lingering complications, and a very real chance of never returning to full function.
Slides shift behind him—clean, organized. Imaging. Pre-op scans. Fracture lines that look almost unforgiving.
“Traditional fixation methods,” Yoongi says, voice steady and even, “often prioritize rigidity over adaptability. While effective in stabilizing the bone, they can increase stress on surrounding tissue and delay functional recovery.”
Jimin’s brows knit slightly.
He leans forward just a fraction.
Yoongi moves on, introducing his approach—modified plating, dynamic alignment, redistribution of stress across the structure. The diagrams that follow are precise, almost elegant in how simple they make it look.
“This method allows controlled flexibility,” Yoongi continues, gesturing briefly to the screen. “Reducing localized strain while maintaining overall stability.”
Before-and-after images flash.
The healing progression, alignment, and then the rehabilitation data.
“Post-operative recovery time was reduced by nearly fifty percent,” Yoongi says.
There’s a subtle shift in the room at that.
Jimin’s eyes narrow slightly—not in doubt, but in focus.
Yoongi doesn’t rush it. He walks them through the timeline—early mobilization, reduced inflammation, fewer complications than expected.
“And with consistent, structured physical therapy,” Yoongi adds, “the patient demonstrated accelerated functional recovery.”
Another slide appears.
A video this time.
A young man, moving—carefully at first, then with more confidence. Walking. Jogging.
Then a clip of him on a court, basketball, running, jumping, playing.
Jimin exhales quietly, almost without realizing it.
“I’ve continued to monitor his progress,” Yoongi says. “And as of now, he’s returned to full activity with no significant limitations.”
There’s a brief pause.
Then, more quietly, “With disciplined rehabilitation, I’m confident this method has strong long-term viability.”
Silence lingers for just a second longer than usual—not awkward, but heavy with thought.
Then Yoongi straightens slightly.
“This isn’t just about one case,” he adds. “It’s about expanding how we approach recovery. Especially in high-demand patients like athletes, individuals who rely on full mobility.”
His gaze sweeps briefly across the room.
“This is the future of sports medicine.”
There’s no arrogance in his voice just certainty.
He opens the floor for questions.
They come quickly.
Concerns about long-term durability. Risk of micro-instability. Applicability across different fracture types.
Yoongi answers all of them calmly and directly.
Backed by data.
Jimin watches the entire exchange, arms still crossed—but his posture has shifted, more engaged now, more intent.
By the time it ends, there’s a small round of applause.
Jimin doesn’t clap immediately.
He just watches Yoongi for a second longer—taking him in in a way he doesn’t usually allow himself to.
Then, slowly, he brings his hands together.
And claps.
***
“You didn’t tell me it was that good,” Jimin says later as they step out of the conference hall.
Yoongi glances at him, one brow slightly raised. “You wouldn’t have believed me.”
“Try me next time,” Jimin mutters, though there’s a faint smile tugging at his lips.
They don’t linger much longer.
Conferences are exhausting in a different way—too many people, too much talking, too much pretending to be interested in everything.
By the time they get back to the hotel, it’s already evening.
Jimin kicks off his shoes the second they step into the elevator, leaning back against the mirrored wall with a tired exhale. “If I see that buffet again, I might actually lose it.”
Yoongi snorts beside him. “You’re dramatic.”
“I’m traumatized,” Jimin corrects, pressing the button for their floor. “There’s a difference.”
“You ate it anyway.”
“I was starving.”
“And now you’re complaining.”
Jimin tilts his head, giving him a look. “What am I supposed to do?”
Yoongi doesn’t answer that, just shakes his head, but there’s a hint of amusement there.
“Takeout?” he suggests.
“Please.”
They order as soon as they get to Yoongi’s room—something simple, something safe. Something that doesn’t look like it came out of a questionable conference tray.
While they wait, Jimin wanders a bit, glancing out the window at the city lights. It’s unfamiliar, distant—but quieter in a way he doesn’t mind.
“Your presentation,” he says suddenly, not turning around. “You really didn’t think it was a big deal?”
Yoongi shrugs from where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed. “It’s just a case.”
Jimin scoffs softly, finally turning to face him. “That’s not just a case and you know it.”
Yoongi doesn’t argue, but he doesn’t agree either.
The food arrives soon after, saving him from answering.
They settle on the bed, containers spread between them, eating more comfortably this time.
“This is already better,” Jimin mutters after his first bite.
“Low bar,” Yoongi points out.
“Still counts.”
They fall into easy conversation again—cases, techniques, things they’d do differently.
“You’d take the risk,” Yoongi says at one point, watching him. “Even if it’s borderline.”
“If it gives the patient a better outcome? Yeah,” Jimin replies without hesitation. “I’d take it.”
“You are confident.”
Jimin shrugs. “That’s why they call me.”
Yoongi huffs. “Your ego is insane.”
“I wouldn’t be the best if I didn’t have this big of an ego, Min Yoongi. And I’m sure you are too.” The omega says, pointing his fork at Yoongi.
They finish eating, cleaning up after themselves in comfortable silence—throwing out containers, washing their hands, moving around each other without thinking too much about it.
When they’re done, the room feels quieter.
Softer.
Jimin leans back against the headboard again, exhaling, shoulders finally dropping as the day catches up to him.
“You did great today,” he says, voice quieter now.
Yoongi looks at him, something flickering in his expression. “Did I?”
Jimin lets out a small, breathy laugh—almost a giggle, light and unguarded in a way he doesn’t usually allow.
“Yeah,” he says. “You did.”
Yoongi shifts closer.
His hand settles at Jimin’s waist, firm, grounding—and it says more than his words ever do.
Jimin feels it. He understands it.
And he doesn’t move away.
If anything, he leans in just slightly.
“You’re not leaving anytime soon, are you?” Yoongi murmurs, Jimin’s eyes flicking down to where Yoongi’s hand rests.
Jimin’s lips twitch faintly. “Were you planning on kicking me out?”
Yoongi hums, like he’s considering it—but he doesn’t sound convincing.
Their gazes meet.
And then they’re closer.
The kiss this time is different.
Not rushed like the on-call room, not driven by urgency or stolen minutes. It’s slower, softer at first—like they’re both aware of the time they actually have.
But it still carries that same pull.
That same want.
Jimin’s fingers curl lightly into Yoongi’s shirt, drawing him closer as the kiss deepens, unhurried but far from gentle. There’s familiarity in it now—knowing, practiced, something they’ve slipped into enough times to recognize without thinking.
Yoongi’s hand tightens at Jimin’s waist, pulling him closer until there’s barely any space left between them. The movement is instinctive, unplanned—like everything else about this moment. There’s no real starting point, no clear line where it begins. It just… happens. The kind of familiarity that comes from repetition, from knowing each other’s rhythms without having to ask.
The air shifts.
Jimin exhales softly as Yoongi leans in, his lips brushing along the curve of his neck, slow and unhurried. It’s different from the rushed encounters they’re used to, the ones squeezed in between schedules and responsibilities. There’s no urgency tonight, no ticking clock hanging over their heads. Just time. Too much of it, maybe.
Hands move naturally, sliding over fabric, easing things out of the way rather than tearing through them. The motions are practiced but not mechanical—there’s a strange kind of patience in it. Jimin lets himself sink into it, into the warmth, into the steady presence that grounds him more than he expects.
“Need it already,” he murmurs, voice softer than usual, a little breathless at the edges.
Yoongi huffs out a quiet laugh against his skin, the sound low and warm. “Always in a hurry,” he mutters, though there’s no real teasing bite to it. He pushes a finger in, Jimin’s slick making a lewd noise.
His touch lingers, deliberate, like he’s taking his time on purpose. Jimin reacts immediately—he always does—but tonight, it feels more drawn out, stretched just enough to make every sensation sharper. Yoongi has always been good at this, at reading him, at knowing exactly how much to give and how much to hold back.
“I’m taking it slow, alright?” Yoongi says quietly, his voice close enough that Jimin feels it more than hears it.
It’s not really a question.
Jimin lets out a small, frustrated sound, shifting slightly beneath him, trying to chase something that keeps staying just out of reach. “As long as you make it worth it,” he mumbles, half a challenge, half a plea.
There’s a small laugh leaving the alpha’s mouth but he keeps his hand busy. He presses lightly on Jimin’s prostate just enough to hear him gasp. He’s teasing Jimin because he doesn’t really get to do that much.
Another finger goes in just as easily because of the amount of slick that Jimin is producing. “You’re leaking.”
“Sh-shut up,” The omega grinds himself against the pads of Yoongi’s fingers, trying to reach the pleasure he’s chasing for.
Yoongi smiles faintly at that, though Jimin doesn’t see it. His hand steadies him instead, grounding him when he starts to move too much, too fast. There’s something almost careful in the way Yoongi handles him tonight, something that wasn’t there before—or maybe just wasn’t noticeable.
Jimin notices it now.
The way Yoongi doesn’t rush.
The way he pauses, adjusts, watches.
It’s subtle.
But it’s there.
And it makes Jimin’s chest tighten just slightly, though he doesn’t understand why.
“Relax,” Yoongi murmurs, quieter this time.
Jimin huffs out a breath, but he listens. Eventually.
His body softens, just a little, letting Yoongi set the pace instead of trying to control it himself.
The room fills with quiet sounds—soft breaths, the shifting of sheets, the faint creak of movement. Nothing loud. Nothing overwhelming. Just enough to remind them that they’re not rushing through this like they usually do.
Jimin tilts his head back slightly, eyes closing as he lets himself feel it instead of thinking too much about it. That’s always been the point, anyway. To stop thinking.
To just exist in the moment.
The alpha grinds his cock against the omega’s thigh. Jimin’s skin is too smooth, silky even. Yoongi always thinks about how pretty Jimin is. Everything about him.
It doesn’t take long for Yoongi’s cock to enter Jimin’s wet and slippery hole. The alpha drags his cock carefully, in and out.
Yoongi hovers over the omega, staring at his face while he builds up his pace. He likes to see how Jimin’s mouth falls open every time his prostate is touched. He loves to watch the omega tremble through his moans, his legs shaking with anticipation, and his stomach tied in knots.
“You like that?” He lowers his voice down, lowering his head to whisper.
The omega chuckles despite the pleasure, “Fuck,”
“That’s what I’ve been doing, Jimin.” He pushes one harsh thrust, “Yeah?”
“F-fuck you,”
Later, the room settles into silence again.
The city hums faintly outside, lights flickering through the curtains.
Jimin lies on his side, eyes half-lidded, exhaustion finally catching up to him. His body feels lighter, tension eased in a way sleep alone never quite manages.
Yoongi is beside him.
Close enough to feel.
But not touching.
Neither of them says anything.
Because whatever this is, it works.
At least for now.
***
Jimin jolts awake—hard.
His entire body jerks as his eyes snap open, breath catching somewhere between confusion and panic. For a second, everything feels off—the lighting, the sheets, the unfamiliar ceiling above him.
Then it hits.
Hotel.
Conference.
Yoongi.
Jimin turns his head sharply, and there he is—still asleep, completely undisturbed, breathing slow and even like the world isn’t about to end.
“Shit,” Jimin mutters under his breath, dragging a hand down his face.
He fumbles for his phone on the bedside table, squinting at the screen,
And freezes.
“…Fuck! Yoongi!”
Yoongi barely stirs, letting out a low hum, shifting slightly deeper into the pillow.
“Yoongi, wake up!” Jimin snaps, already scrambling out of bed, nearly tripping over his own feet as he grabs for his clothes scattered across the floor. “Yah!”
“What?!” Yoongi growls, voice rough with sleep as he props himself up, eyes barely open, hair a mess. “What?!”
“We’re running late!” Jimin almost yells, hopping on one foot as he drags his pants on. “My presentation is in an hour!”
That does it.
Yoongi blinks, then sits up straighter, some level of awareness finally kicking in. “What?”
“In. An. Hour,” Jimin repeats, already halfway dressed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I still have to shower, I—my slides—my—”
“Okay, okay,” Yoongi cuts in, pushing himself fully upright now, rubbing his face. “Stop panicking.”
“I am not panicking—” Jimin snaps, immediately contradicting himself as he looks around like he’s lost something. “Where’s my—ugh!”
Yoongi swings his legs off the bed, standing up despite still looking half-asleep. “Jimin.”
“What?!”
“Breathe.”
Jimin glares at him.
But he inhales anyway.
Exhales.
Still stressed—but at least slightly more coherent.
“Okay,” Yoongi says, voice steadier now as he switches into problem-solving mode. “You go take a shower. I’ll get your things ready.”
Jimin freezes mid-motion.
“…My things are in my room.”
Yoongi pauses.
“Oh.”
Then a second passes.
“Right.”
Jimin stares at him like this is the worst possible development.
“Great,” he mutters. “That’s just great—”
“Okay, new plan,” Yoongi cuts in quickly, already moving, grabbing a clean set of clothes from his bag. “I’ll change into something fresh and follow you to your room.”
Jimin blinks, trying to keep up.
“While you’re showering,” Yoongi continues, pulling on a shirt, movements quick now, efficient, “I’ll get your things ready. Just tell me what you need.”
Jimin hesitates for half a second, then nods. “Okay. Okay, yeah. That works.”
“What do you need?” Yoongi asks, already slipping into his shoes.
“Suit—uh, navy one. My laptop. Flash drive—it’s in the front pocket. Notes—” Jimin runs a hand through his hair again. “God, I look a mess.”
“You always look like that,” Yoongi mutters.
Jimin shoots him a look. “Not helping.”
“Just go,” Yoongi says, nudging him toward the door. “We don’t have time.”
And just like that, chaos.
They’re out of the room in minutes, Jimin speed-walking down the hallway while Yoongi follows, still fixing his sleeves. Elevator, hallway, fumbling with keycards.
Jimin practically runs into his own room, already stripping off what he just threw on as he heads straight for the shower.
“Five minutes!” he calls out.
“You have three!” Yoongi calls back, already moving around the room, grabbing exactly what Jimin listed.
Laptop, check.
Flash drive, found.
Notes, stacked.
Suit, laid out neatly on the bed.
By the time Jimin steps out of the shower, hair damp, movements rushed, everything is already there waiting for him.
“Marry me,” Jimin breathes out as he hurriedly gets dressed.
They both know there’s no bite into it. There’s really no real intention, maybe that’s why he can just throw those words out like they mean literally nothing.
Yoongi doesn’t even look up but he laughs. “You’re late. Focus.”
Jimin snorts despite himself, buttoning up his shirt, grabbing his things.
They’re out the door again in minutes.
Another rushed elevator ride and fast walks through the lobby.
By the time they reach the conference hall, they allow themselves to stop. They’re both slightly out of breath.
Jimin checks the time.
“…Ten minutes.”
Yoongi exhales. “Told you.”
Jimin lets out a short, incredulous laugh, adjusting his sleeves, trying to smooth himself back into composure.
From the outside, he looks put together like he didn’t just woke up an hour ago and freak the fuck out of his fuck buddy too. It almost looks like he’s been ready for this. But he glances at Yoongi for just a second, and there’s something there.
Something quieter beneath all the chaos.
“Thanks,” he mutters.
Yoongi shrugs. “Yeah, no worries. Just don’t mess up your presentation.”
Jimin rolls his eyes, already turning toward the hall.
“I won’t.”
And just like that, Dr. Park Jimin steps forward again.
***
Jimin’s presentation ends to applause.
Not loud, not overwhelming—but enough.
Enough to signal approval. Enough to tell him he did what he always does: delivered, precise and composed, every word measured, every slide purposeful. He answers the last question with ease, offers a polite nod, and steps down from the podium like it’s just another day.
Like it didn’t take everything in him to get there on time.
Like the chaos of the morning didn’t happen.
Like nothing ever really touches him.
He returns to his seat beside Yoongi, posture still straight, fingers adjusting the edge of his sleeve.
There’s a beat.
Then, without looking at him, Jimin leans just slightly closer and murmurs—
“Now we can finally leave.”
Yoongi huffs quietly, almost amused. “That eager, huh?”
“I’ve fulfilled my obligations,” Jimin mutters. “I’m free.”
Yoongi glances at him. “You sound like a patient who just got discharged.”
“Honestly, the feeling is the same.”
Yoongi doesn’t argue.
They don’t stay for the next speaker.
They slip out quietly, unnoticed in the shuffle of shifting attendees and low murmurs, stepping out into the open air like they’ve both been holding their breath inside that hall.
The city greets them differently in the daylight.
Less formal.
Less suffocating.
Jimin stretches his arms slightly as they walk, rolling his shoulders. “I needed that.”
“To escape?” Yoongi asks.
“To not think about innovative medicine for at least two hours,” Jimin replies.
“That’s optimistic.”
“Let me pretend.” Jimin snorts. “Some of their presentations are hard to believe.”
The alpha shrugs like he’s not even trying to support Jimin’s words.
The younger one gasps, raising a brow, “Come on, you don’t think they are a little, you know? Like… borderline delusional.”
It takes Yoongi a second to process the omega’s words before he guffaws laughing out loud, halting their steps altogether.
“Okay, that’s… yeah, you make sense.” Yoongi chuckles, trying to steady his breathing again.
There’s silence after all of that. Not really uncomfortable but more like settling.
They walk without much direction at first, just following the flow of streets, passing unfamiliar shops and small cafés, the noise of the city softer here compared to the conference halls.
“Food?” Yoongi asks eventually.
“Yes. Real food.”
They find a place tucked along a quieter street—not fancy, but warm. The kind of place that smells like something good is always cooking. It’s enough.
They settle into a table by the window.
Jimin leans back slightly, exhaling. “This already feels better.”
“Your standards are low after that buffet,” Yoongi says.
“Don’t remind me.”
And then they order.
For a moment, it’s just silence—not uncomfortable, just… there. The kind that doesn’t need filling.
Then Yoongi speaks.
“What is he again?”
Jimin blinks. “What?”
“Your ex,” Yoongi clarifies, tone casual but there’s something under it. “What is he?”
Jimin rolls his eyes almost immediately, leaning back in his chair. “A jerk.”
Yoongi hums, like he expected that answer. “That’s it?”
“What else do you want me to say?” Jimin shrugs. “He’s just… a jerk.”
But there’s something in the way he says it—too light, too dismissive.
Like he’s skipping over something.
Yoongi watches him for a second. “Didn’t seem like just a jerk.”
Jimin lets out a quiet breath, gaze drifting toward the window. “He wasn’t.”
A pause.
Then, softer—
“He was… a lot.”
The food hasn’t even arrived yet, but Jimin’s already picking at the edge of the napkin in front of him.
“It was complicated,” he continues, voice still light, but not as effortless as before. “Everything was always… intense. Every argument turned into something bigger than it needed to be.”
Yoongi stays quiet.
Lets him talk.
“And somehow,” Jimin adds with a small, humorless huff, “it always ended up being my fault. Maybe it was really my fault.”
He shrugs, like it’s nothing.
“Every fight,” he says. “My fault. Every misunderstanding—my fault. Every bad day he had somehow became something I had to fix.”
Yoongi’s jaw tightens slightly.
Jimin doesn’t look at him.
“I think at some point,” Jimin goes on, voice quieter now, “I just… started believing it.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“I mean,” he lets out a small laugh, but it doesn’t quite land, “if everything keeps pointing back to you, maybe you are the problem, right?”
Yoongi doesn’t answer that.
Because it’s not a question that deserves agreement.
Jimin leans back again, forcing a lighter tone. “To be fair, I had some pretty bad relationships before that too.”
Yoongi glances at him.
“Well,” Jimin adds with a shrug, “not just romantic ones.”
Another small pause.
Then—
“I’ve got a pretty fucked up family too, you know.”
He says it so casually.
Like he’s talking about the weather.
Like it’s just another fact.
Then he smiles—a little too quick, a little too practiced.
“But hey,” he adds, lifting his shoulders, “builds character, right?”
The food arrives just then, the server placing the plates down between them.
Perfect timing.
Jimin immediately reaches for his utensils, like the conversation never happened. “This already looks better.”
Yoongi doesn’t move right away.
He watches Jimin for a second longer.
The way he brushes everything off.
The way he turns something heavy into something easy.
The way he laughs like it doesn’t matter.
It does.
It obviously does.
And for the first time, Yoongi realizes something that sits heavier than he expects—
Jimin doesn’t just avoid love.
He avoids anything that might make him feel too much of it.
Even the bad parts.
Especially the bad parts.
Because feeling it at all might mean admitting it hurt.
Yoongi finally picks up his fork.
“You’re not the problem,” he says, almost offhand, like it’s just a passing comment.
Jimin pauses for half a second.
Then he scoffs lightly. “Debatable.”
“It’s not,” Yoongi replies simply.
Jimin glances at him.
Searches his face for something—mockery, maybe.
Finds none.
So he looks away instead, taking a bite of his food.
“Let’s not get into that,” he mutters.
Yoongi lets it drop.
For now.
But the thought stays.
Because beneath the jokes, beneath the ease, beneath whatever this thing is between them—Yoongi knows.
Jimin’s way of coping?
It’s not just avoidance.
It’s self-destruction disguised as indifference.
And Jimin doesn’t even realize it.