Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sliding doors to Seoul Private General whooshed open on a grey Monday morning, and Min Yoongi stepped into the hospital lobby with a heart that was hammering too loudly for someone who hadn’t even had his first cup of coffee.

He adjusted the knot of his tie for the fourth time and smoothed a wrinkle from his lab coat, then double-checked that his hospital ID badge was properly clipped and facing forward. It was a small thing, but right now, small things were all he could control.

The hospital smelled like antiseptic and coffee and pressure. He hated how familiar it already felt. It wasn’t just any hospital — it was the one his parents owned.

“Technically not ‘owned,’” his mother always corrected with a tight smile. “We’re majority stakeholders.”

Same thing.

Yoongi was used to being looked at as the hospital heir, not as a man who’d graduated top five from med school or someone who’d pulled 72-hour rotations during his residency without falling apart. He was ready to work hard. He just wasn’t ready for the whispers.

He stepped into the staff elevator and exhaled as the doors closed.

Today was his first day as a junior attending in cardiology.

And his mentor?

Dr. Park Jimin.

Yoongi had never met him, but everyone spoke about him like he was a legend — the youngest specialist in his department, absurdly intelligent, intimidatingly efficient, and completely detached. Some said he was cold, others called him a perfectionist. No one called him kind.

The elevator dinged. Time to find out for himself.

⸻

Dr. Jimin was already scrubbing in for surgery when Yoongi arrived at the observation window. He was petite but commanding, standing beside the operating table like he was carved from marble. Not a single hair was out of place. His voice was soft but sharp through the intercom.

“I want suction on standby. And Nurse Han, make sure the clamp tray is correctly aligned this time. We don’t have time for improvisation.”

Yoongi watched, mesmerised. There was an elegance in the way Jimin moved, even behind his mask and gown. Yoongi was so focused he didn’t notice the nurse beside him until she whispered, “He doesn’t tolerate mistakes.”

“Oh,” Yoongi replied, and then gave her a nervous half-smile. “Neither do I.”

She snorted, clearly unconvinced.

⸻

After the surgery, Jimin strode into the staff room like a storm cloud in silk.

Yoongi stood immediately.

“Dr. Park? I’m Min Yoongi. I’m—”

“I know who you are,” Jimin interrupted flatly, shrugging off his scrub top. “You’re late.”

“I’m not—” Yoongi looked at the clock. It was 8:01. “Only by one minute.”

“Which is one minute too many. If you’re here because your parents have shares in this place, I suggest you keep your name out of your work. I don’t tolerate laziness, nepotism, or incompetence. If you’re looking for a smooth ride, this department is not it.”

Yoongi flushed scarlet. His hands clenched at his sides. “I’m not here for a smooth ride, Dr. Park. I’m here to work.”

“Good,” Jimin replied without blinking. “Let’s see if your skills can back up your words.”

With that, he turned and walked out.

Yoongi stood frozen, humiliated, and maybe a little enchanted.

⸻

Jimin didn’t look back. He never did.

He wasn’t cruel — he just didn’t do warm. Kindness invited closeness. Closeness led to heartbreak.

He knew that better than anyone.

Nobody had ever held his hand through life. Every success, every exam, every night of cramming until dawn — he’d done it all alone. And it had made him one of the best. But not… whole.

Behind him, Yoongi was probably licking his wounds. Jimin knew that kind of man — handsome, privileged, with just enough insecurity to make him chase approval. And people like Jimin always got hurt trying to love people like that.

No, thank you.

⸻

That night, in the break room, Taehyung plopped onto the couch beside Jimin with a dramatic sigh and a hot chocolate in a novelty “Cardi-YOLO-gist” mug.

“I heard you made the new guy cry.”

Jimin didn’t look up from his file. “He didn’t cry.”

“Okay, well, he flinched really hard. Hobi said he looked like a kicked puppy.”

“I’m not here to comfort puppies. I’m here to train doctors.”

Jungkook appeared with a banana and zero context. “He’s kind of cute though.”

Jimin’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not helping.”

“We’re trying to help you,” Hoseok chimed in, entering with a sigh. “You’ve been walking around like a haunted icicle again. Let someone in for once.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re lonely,” Tae said, softer now. “You don’t have to be.”

Jimin looked away. He wished that were true.

⸻

Meanwhile, across the hospital, Yoongi sat in the locker room, staring into space.

“Wow,” he muttered to himself. “What a first day.”

Namjoon poked his head in. “You survived?”

“Barely. My mentor hates me.”

“Oh. That’s just Jimin. He hates everyone.”

Yoongi blinked. “Is that supposed to help?”

“It is, actually.” Namjoon grinned. “He only hates people he finds intimidating. Or attractive.”

“Don’t.”

“I’m just saying!”

Yoongi rolled his eyes, but a tiny spark flickered in his chest anyway. Attractive, huh?

⸻

It was only Day One.

But already, Min Yoongi was falling headfirst into something he didn’t understand.

And Dr. Park Jimin? He’d felt a crack, just the smallest one, when Yoongi met his gaze and didn’t back down.

And he hated that he’d felt it.

Chapter Text

Min Yoongi’s first official week as a junior attending felt like a year crammed into five exhausting days.

He fumbled with digital charts, misfiled a patient intake form, and nearly collided with a wheeled ECG cart on Monday. On Tuesday, he couldn’t find the damn crash cart. By Wednesday, he was sure he’d dropped a sterile glove during prep and had to redo the entire setup while Dr. Park Jimin stood silently beside him with the kind of glare that could curdle milk.

By Friday morning, Yoongi was running on three hours of sleep, half a protein bar, and sheer, vengeful pride.

He refused to fail. Not because his parents would hear about it, not because the board might smirk behind closed doors, but because he wanted to earn it. Especially with Jimin watching.

Because that was the worst part, really — despite the way Jimin always seemed one second away from freezing him solid, Yoongi couldn’t stop noticing the man. Not just his looks (though those were a problem in themselves: sharp cheekbones, rosebud lips, the way his hair curled at the nape of his neck after a long shift). No, it was the way he worked — impossibly precise, impossibly calm, impossibly distant.

And Yoongi was starting to admire all of it. Even the cold.

⸻

On Thursday afternoon, Yoongi was charting post-op notes when he looked up and noticed Jimin standing nearby, arms crossed, watching.

Yoongi straightened. “Dr. Park.”

“You left the previous patient’s blood pressure trend unlogged.”

“Ah—yes, I’ve got it here—”

“You did it manually?”

Yoongi braced himself for a reprimand. “Yeah. The chart reader wasn’t syncing, so I took notes during rounds.”

Jimin stepped forward and looked at the chart. His lips pressed together in what Yoongi almost thought might have been approval. “Your notation’s clean.”

Yoongi blinked. “Thank you.”

Jimin didn’t reply. He turned and walked away, but something about the way he did it — just a touch slower, as if he were thinking — made Yoongi sit a little straighter.

⸻

What Yoongi didn’t know was that Jimin had been watching all week.

At first it was caution — rich boy, connections, another lazy intern with a safety net. But then he saw the way Yoongi stayed late without being told. The way he fumbled and flushed, how he asked questions when he didn’t know something, how he listened.

He was smart. Sensitive, too. Almost too much.

Jimin didn’t want to see it. Didn’t want to acknowledge the way his chest twisted when Yoongi looked disappointed in himself. Jimin had spent years building walls, and Yoongi — nervous and clumsy and earnest — was a threat to every one of them.

⸻

It was Friday when Jimin walked into the staff break room and overheard two doctors whispering at the coffee machine.

“Did you see the new guy?”

“Min Yoongi? Of course. Silver spoon. He’s only here because of his parents. Did you see how he panicked in the emergency consult?”

“He won’t last two months. Guarantee it.”

Jimin’s spine went rigid.

He cleared his throat, loud and sharp. Both doctors turned and paled.

“If you have time to gossip, you clearly have time to recheck the prep list for the Cardio C rotation.” Jimin’s voice was ice. “Min Yoongi is under my mentorship. If you question his position, you question mine.”

They mumbled apologies and fled.

Yoongi, who had just walked in behind them to get tea, stood frozen near the door. He’d heard everything.

Jimin turned toward him and blinked, surprised.

Yoongi didn’t say anything. But for a second—just one second—their eyes met. And Jimin saw it: that flicker of surprise, of something deep and quiet breaking open behind Yoongi’s eyes.

And just like that, something shifted.

⸻

That evening, Yoongi sat in the on-call lounge, sprawled on the worn couch and thumbing aimlessly through his phone. His brain was fried. His heart was still beating a little too fast from what had happened earlier. Had Jimin just… defended him?

He sighed and opened the app Namjoon had recommended.

“Try it,” Namjoon had said. “No faces, no bios. Just your words. Maybe it’ll help you clear your head.”

Yoongi hesitated, then tapped “Sign Up.”

Username: StarSong

Age: 30

Occupation: Doctor (ugh)

Bio: Trying not to fall apart. Likes cats, records, long walks in the cold. Send memes, not small talk.

He almost laughed at himself, then hit Submit.

A minute later, a notification: You have a new match.

⸻

Across town, Jimin lay sprawled in bed in his pajamas, glaring at Jungkook, who was standing over him with the most smug expression known to man.

“I dare you,” Jungkook said, arms crossed. “Come on, hyung. One week. Just see what it’s like.”

“I don’t have time for this.”

“Liar. You finished your reports and then reorganised your sock drawer. You need this.”

Jimin grumbled, grabbed his phone, and reluctantly opened the anonymous dating app Jungkook had installed earlier.

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

He filled in his details with all the passion of a corpse.

Username: OrchidHeart

Age: 31

Occupation: Healthcare (vague enough)

Bio: I like silence, early mornings, and keeping my head down. Don’t waste my time unless you’re serious. Or funny. Or both.

He hit Submit. One second passed.

You have a new match.

Jimin rolled his eyes. Probably a bot.

But something made him open the message anyway.

⸻

StarSong:
Hey. You okay? You look like you’ve had a week.

Jimin blinked.

Then smiled, just a little.

OrchidHeart:
I have had a week. You psychic?

StarSong:
No, just had one too. Maybe we survived the same storm.

OrchidHeart:
Maybe.

StarSong:
Do you believe in coincidences?

OrchidHeart:
Not really.

StarSong:
Me neither.

⸻

They didn’t know.

But something had begun.

Something big.

Chapter Text

The messages started slowly.

An occasional ping in the quiet of the on-call room. A vibration on a desk in between consultations. A private smile in the sterile glow of fluorescent hospital lights.

StarSong:
What’s something that made you smile today?

OrchidHeart:
I watched a child sing to their IV drip like it was a microphone. That was funny.

StarSong:
That’s weirdly adorable. You’re a doctor?

OrchidHeart:
Unfortunately.

StarSong:
Same.

⸻

Neither of them were expecting much from the app.

Yoongi thought it would be a temporary distraction from his impossible crush on his mentor. Jimin thought it would be an exercise in futility — some harmless way to prove Jungkook wrong, to demonstrate that people didn’t really see him, not for who he truly was.

But within days, something shifted.

They started messaging in the mornings. Then over lunch. Then after shifts, during the hours when the hospital was finally quiet and neither of them wanted to face the silence of home alone.

⸻

OrchidHeart:
Can I ask something weird?

StarSong:
Absolutely.

OrchidHeart:
Do you ever feel like no matter how much you succeed, you still feel like you’ve failed?

StarSong:
All the time.

OrchidHeart:
Like… you do everything alone, and you think that should make you proud. But instead, it just makes you tired.

StarSong:
It does. But I think… sometimes we convince ourselves that loneliness is safer than wanting more.

OrchidHeart:
That’s exactly it.

StarSong:
Then maybe we’re both overdue for more.

⸻

Jimin stared at his phone far too long that night, thumb hovering over the keyboard. He didn’t send another reply. He didn’t know how.

He wasn’t used to this—being seen, even through a screen.

He rolled onto his back, phone pressed to his chest, heart pounding.

That’s when Jungkook barged in.

He froze mid-step, looked at Jimin’s flushed cheeks, the shy curve of his smile, and gasped like a cartoon character.

“Oh. My. God.”

Jimin sat up, scandalised. “What?!”

“You’re blushing!” Jungkook pointed dramatically. “Are you texting someone hot?! Is he hot? Is he tall? Tell me he’s tall. Hyung!”

Jimin shoved a pillow at him with a scowl, but the damage was done. Jungkook screeched with delight and bolted down the hallway screaming, “HE’S IN LOVE! HE’S IN LOVE WITH A MYSTERY MAN!”

Jimin covered his face with both hands, groaning into his palms.

But… he didn’t stop smiling.

⸻

Elsewhere in the hospital, Yoongi sat curled in a chair in the resident lounge, a half-drunk coffee forgotten beside him and his phone glowing softly in his lap.

He’d just read a message that said:

OrchidHeart:
Sometimes I feel like I was built for work but not for love.

He hadn’t known what to say at first. But now he typed, fingers slow but steady.

StarSong:
I think love just doesn’t know how to knock on your kind of door. I think it needs to be invited in quietly, with tea and silence.

OrchidHeart:
And maybe a cat.

StarSong:
Definitely a cat.

He grinned to himself, warm in a way that had nothing to do with the overactive heating vents.

Jin strolled in, nursing his own coffee, and paused when he saw the look on Yoongi’s face.

“What’s that expression?”

Yoongi blinked. “What expression?”

“The soft one. The dreamy one. The I’m texting someone who might ruin my life but I’m into it anyway one.”

Yoongi sighed and leaned back against the headrest. “I’ve never talked to someone like this before.”

Jin sat beside him, curious now. “Like how?”

Yoongi looked down at the screen again, where the latest message from OrchidHeart sat waiting to be read.

“He gets it,” Yoongi said softly. “It’s like he hears the quiet parts. The ones I usually don’t say out loud.”

Jin didn’t reply at first. Then he leaned in and clinked his coffee cup against Yoongi’s. “Careful, Min. That kind of connection? It’s addictive.”

Yoongi smiled. “I hope so.”

⸻

Somewhere across the city, Jimin laid in bed, reading over Yoongi’s last message again.

StarSong:
You don’t have to be less closed off. You just have to let one person in. Just once.

Jimin pulled his blanket tighter around himself and whispered into the dark:

“Maybe I already have.”

Chapter Text

The surgical theatre was unusually quiet that morning.

Yoongi stood at the prep table, methodically arranging his gloves and instruments, sweat prickling under the collar of his scrubs. Dr. Park Jimin stood across from him, radiating frosty indifference, hands deft and elegant as he triple-checked everything. The tension between them was practically sentient.

Yoongi had spent the past hour trying to pretend he hadn’t noticed how unfairly beautiful Jimin looked with his hair tucked under his surgical cap, a single strand loose at his temple, or how his voice — even when barking instructions — sent goosebumps across Yoongi’s arms.

It was infuriating.

Jimin was his mentor. He was cold, clipped, aloof.

And Yoongi was obsessed.

He’d gotten better. He’d stopped fumbling. His charting was clean. His incisions were precise. He stayed late, he studied hard. He didn’t whine or complain. But it was never enough.

Every time he looked up, Jimin was there — watching, judging, saying nothing unless it was to correct him.

And then, that morning, it finally snapped.

“Clamp,” Jimin said curtly.

Yoongi passed it. Smooth. Efficient.

“Wrong side,” Jimin said sharply, taking it from him anyway. “Again.”

“I gave you the side you gestured toward—”

“Pay attention. This isn’t daycare.”

Yoongi blinked. His jaw clenched. His hands curled at his sides.

The nurse beside him looked away awkwardly.

Surgery continued, flawless as always. But the silence was colder now. Thicker.

After the operation, as they peeled off gloves and gowns, Yoongi turned, jaw tight.

“Why do you hate me?” he asked, too quietly to be casual, too direct to be brushed aside.

Jimin paused. Didn’t meet his eyes.

“I don’t.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“I just…” Jimin exhaled, slow, tight. “I don’t have time to babysit.”

Yoongi’s chest burned. “I’m not asking for babysitting. I’m asking for respect.”

Jimin’s reply was cold, but his eyes were not. “Then earn it.”

Yoongi swallowed hard, nodded, and walked out without another word.

Jimin didn’t watch him leave.

But he didn’t move for a long time either.

⸻

Later that night, both of them were in separate corners of Seoul, faces lit by the glow of their phones, emotions raw in ways they couldn’t show in daylight.

StarSong:
Rough day?

OrchidHeart:
You could say that.

StarSong:
I think my mentor wants me to set myself on fire just to prove I can.

OrchidHeart:
I think I am someone’s mentor. And I think I make everything worse.

StarSong:
Is he that bad?

OrchidHeart:
No. He’s… bright. Full of potential. I just don’t know how to be with people like him. I ruin things.

Yoongi stared at the message, heart stuttering.

He didn’t know who OrchidHeart really was. But that confession? It rang with something he knew too well.

He typed back carefully.

StarSong:
You’re not ruining anything. Maybe you’re just protecting yourself. That’s allowed.

OrchidHeart:
You’re too kind. I’m not used to it.

StarSong:
Me neither.

⸻

The next evening, after rounds, their conversation grew deeper.

StarSong:
What were you like as a kid?

OrchidHeart:
Smart. Quiet. Always waiting for someone to tell me I’d done enough.

StarSong:
Did they?

OrchidHeart:
No.

Yoongi let his head fall back against the wall.

StarSong:
I was the weird kid who hid in the music room and pretended to be fine. Everyone thought I’d have it easy because of my family. But I always felt like I was just there, waiting to be replaced by someone better.

A minute passed.

Then:

OrchidHeart:
You don’t sound replaceable to me.

Yoongi smiled.

⸻

They started sending playlists.

Yoongi made one called Grey Skies and Hot Tea. Jimin’s was titled Sutures & Secrets.

They swapped favorite books. They talked about fear.

StarSong:
I’m terrified of disappointing people.

OrchidHeart:
I’m terrified that I already did.

⸻

On Saturday night, Yoongi lay curled on his couch in sweats, still buzzing from the week, and messaged without thinking.

StarSong:
My mentor at work is so brilliant but so cold. I think I want him to like me way more than I should.

There was no reply for a long time.

Yoongi stared at the screen, heartbeat thudding.

Then:

OrchidHeart:
What do you like about him?

Yoongi paused. Then typed honestly.

StarSong:
He’s brilliant, yes. But he’s also… alone. I can tell. And sometimes I see him watching people like he doesn’t know how to reach out. It makes me want to reach in.

The reply came softly.

OrchidHeart:
Then maybe he doesn’t hate you at all.

Yoongi stared at that for a long time.

He didn’t know why the words made his chest ache the way they did.

⸻

Meanwhile, Jimin sat alone on his bed, phone trembling in his hand.

His heart was in his throat. His walls were cracking. And for the first time in years, someone — even a stranger — had said they saw the real him.

And maybe liked him anyway.

Chapter Text

It happened on a Wednesday — the kind of day that smelled like burnt coffee and thunderstorms and the faint panic of a short-staffed ER.

Jimin had been in the middle of a consult when the trauma call came in. Internal bleeding. Elderly male. High blood pressure. Decompensating fast.

By the time they reached the OR, chaos was already simmering — the nurses rushed to set up, another senior doctor was on the way, and Yoongi, clipboard in hand, was trying to manage the pre-op prep.

Jimin stepped in, ready to take control, when he heard Yoongi’s voice — low, steady, sharp.

“Hold off on the standard protocol drip. His chart says he’s on blood thinners and his platelets are tanking. We need to stabilise with volume and crossmatch, not dilute.”

Jimin froze mid-step.

Everyone else did too.

A second later, the nurse nodded. “You’re right.”

Yoongi didn’t look smug. He just looked focused.

Jimin’s eyes narrowed. “What made you catch that?”

Yoongi didn’t hesitate. “He had bruising on his arms inconsistent with the fall mechanism. I looked up his labs. It didn’t match standard protocol. I cross-checked it on the way in.”

Jimin stared at him, a thousand things flickering behind his eyes.

Then, quietly, he said, “Good call.”

He didn’t smile.

But he didn’t correct him either.

Which, for Dr. Park Jimin, might as well have been a love letter.

⸻

The surgery went flawlessly.

And afterward, in a strange twist of events, Jimin didn’t disappear into paperwork or retreat behind his screen.

He found Yoongi in the corridor, still in his scrubs, checking a post-op chart with pen smudged fingers.

“You live far?” Jimin asked abruptly.

Yoongi blinked, startled. “Huh?”

“I’m driving. You want a lift?”

Yoongi stared at him like he’d been offered a Nobel Prize.

“Oh. Um. Yeah. Sure.”

It was quiet in the car.

Jimin drove with one hand, perfectly calm, while Yoongi sat beside him trying not to spontaneously combust.

The radio was on low — a jazz instrumental, soft and smooth. The scent of clean fabric and something citrusy filled the space between them.

Yoongi snuck a glance at Jimin’s hands on the steering wheel.

They were beautiful. Steady. And for once, not clenched.

Jimin cleared his throat as they neared Yoongi’s apartment building. “Your instincts were good today.”

Yoongi turned. “Thank you. That means a lot, coming from you.”

Jimin’s eyes flicked over to him, unreadable. Then he nodded once. “Rest. You’re no good to me if you’re exhausted.”

The words were clinical. But the tone?

The tone wasn’t.

When Yoongi stepped out and shut the car door, his hands trembled just a little.

⸻

That night, the sky cracked open in a storm.

Yoongi sat curled in bed, phone resting on his chest, the memory of Jimin’s quiet “Good call” looping through his head like a song. His heart felt full and fragile all at once.

He opened the app.

StarSong:
Can I be honest?

OrchidHeart:
Please.

StarSong:
You make me feel like I’m not invisible. Like… I could be enough for someone.

There was no follow-up. Just that.

Yoongi stared at the screen. Vulnerability felt heavy and naked in his hands. But he didn’t delete it.

A minute passed.

Then two.

Then—

OrchidHeart:
Me too.

Yoongi let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. His lips curved up into the kind of smile that didn’t need to be seen to be felt.

⸻

Across the city, Jimin was curled on his couch, phone cradled between his palms.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard, over the idea of saying more.

He didn’t.

But he looked up at the ceiling and whispered, “You already are enough.”

To no one.

To StarSong.

To the boy with ink-smudged hands who had finally, finally made him say good call.

And maybe, just maybe, he was starting to hope.

Chapter Text

It was a quiet Wednesday afternoon when the first crack in Jimin’s carefully constructed world started to widen.

The ER was calm for once. A rare lull. No new cases, no trauma calls, just the soft hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional squeak of rubber soles across the polished floor. The kind of rare peace that made everyone just a little giddy.

Tae and Hobi were sorting donation files near the west wing when they heard it—singing.

Not loud. Not showy. Just a soft, breathy voice floating down the corridor from the supply closet, accompanied by the unmistakable thump of someone’s foot tapping against the metal shelves.

They exchanged a look.

“No way,” Taehyung whispered, eyebrows raised.

“Is that… Jimin?” Hoseok’s eyes sparkled. “Singing?”

They tiptoed closer like detectives, crouched at the door, and peeked in through the crack.

Inside, Park Jimin — Seoul Private General’s most famously frosty doctor — was leaning against a stack of IV fluid boxes, eyes closed, phone in hand, lips moving along to a slow love ballad by Lee Hi. His face was… soft. Unguarded. Smiling.

Taehyung clutched Hoseok’s arm. “He’s blushing.”

“Is that a love song?” Hobi hissed.

“It’s a yearning song!”

Jimin’s smile widened. He looked like someone in love. Or dangerously close to it.

Taehyung turned to Hoseok. “He’s texting someone. Who do we know that could possibly—?”

Both of them blinked.

“Oh my god,” they whispered at the same time.

“Do you think it’s the app guy?” Hobi squealed under his breath.

Taehyung shook his head, eyes wide. “What if it’s someone we know?”

⸻

Across the hospital, Yoongi was standing outside Jimin’s office, one hand half-raised to knock.

He had spent the last week pretending not to fall in love with a stranger online and not be heartbroken by the way his mentor only saw him through glass. But he was tired of pretending.

He finally knocked. “Dr. Park?”

Jimin looked up from his desk, startled. “Yes?”

Yoongi stepped inside, fidgeting with the edge of his coat pocket. “I wanted to say… thank you. For what you said after the emergency. About my instincts.”

Jimin blinked, caught off guard.

“Oh. Right. That.”

Yoongi nodded. “It meant a lot. Coming from you.”

Jimin shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Yoongi smiled anyway. “It won’t. I just… I guess I wanted to talk more. About the case. Or maybe just about… things.”

He took a cautious step forward. “Do you ever feel like you’re constantly pushing people away so they won’t leave on their own?”

Jimin’s lips parted slightly, but his eyes shuttered instantly.

“I don’t think this is the time or place for therapy.”

Yoongi’s heart clenched. “I wasn’t trying to be dramatic. I just thought… maybe you’d get it.”

A pause.

Then Jimin, colder now: “I get that you’re still new. And maybe I’m not the mentor you expected. But I’m not here to hold your hand.”

Yoongi stepped back as if burned. His expression twisted—hurt, raw.

He swallowed. “You’re only warm when you’re anonymous, aren’t you?”

Jimin flinched like he’d been slapped.

Yoongi didn’t wait for a reply.

He turned and walked out.

⸻

Jimin sat frozen at his desk for a long time.

The words repeated over and over in his head, like an echo in a cathedral:

You’re only warm when you’re anonymous.

He hated that it was true.

He hated that Yoongi had seen it.

⸻

That night, Jimin curled up in bed with the lights off, the hum of the city muffled by thick curtains. His phone was warm in his hand, the app already open, the conversation with StarSong glowing softly at the top of the screen.

They hadn’t messaged in over 24 hours.

Jimin typed, paused, deleted.

Then—

A voice message appeared.

His chest tightened. He never received those.

He hesitated.

Then pressed play.

And everything shattered.

“Hey,” came a quiet, slightly raspy voice. Soft-spoken. Familiar. Too familiar. “I’m sorry I disappeared for a bit. Work’s been rough. I had a weird moment with someone today, and it got to me more than I expected. I’ve never met someone who can make me feel like I’m on fire and drowning at the same time. But it made me think of you.”

Silence.

Then the voice added, a little shy:

“I don’t even know your real name. But when I talk to you, I feel… not alone. And I think I’ve spent a long time feeling alone.”

The message ended.

Jimin’s fingers trembled.

The phone slipped from his hand and landed on the bedspread with a soft thud.

He sat still, heart pounding, his mind replaying the sound of the voice, the softness of it, the ache buried in the words.

Min Yoongi.

It was Yoongi.

StarSong was Min Yoongi.

And he had no idea.

Chapter Text

They both stopped messaging.

Neither of them meant to.

But when Jimin heard that voice—Yoongi’s voice—pouring through his phone like a secret confession, the world tilted. And when Yoongi didn’t hear back, didn’t even get a double check mark, he panicked.

It wasn’t just silence. It was avoidance. And both of them felt it like a missing heartbeat.

Jimin couldn’t bring himself to respond. He knew what he should do—come clean, confess—but the fear gripped him by the throat. Because if Yoongi found out that he was OrchidHeart, that he’d been judging him in the light while falling for him in the dark…

What if Yoongi hated him?

And Yoongi? He assumed he’d said too much. Gone too far. Maybe scared him off. Maybe the stranger behind the screen had realized he wasn’t worth the risk after all.

So they both did what humans do best when love is near and the heart is fragile:

They ran.

⸻

By Friday, Jimin was back to being distant.

Not cruel. Just distant. Neutral. Polite in the way that meant “we’re colleagues and that’s all.”

Yoongi hated it.

He hated how it felt to say “Good morning” and get a nod.

He hated how the one person who made him feel seen now looked at him like he was made of paper.

And he hated most of all that he missed someone he had never technically met.

⸻

Naturally, their friends noticed. And naturally, those friends were feral.

Taehyung cornered Jungkook in the nurses’ lounge.

“He’s pulling away again.”

“I know!” Jungkook wailed. “He didn’t even react when someone brought him bubble tea. That man is suffering!”

“We have to do something.”

Hoseok appeared, arms crossed. “I’ve already got a plan. Multiple, actually. Pick a flavor: subtle sabotage, accidental intimacy, or full-on ambush?”

Taehyung grinned. “Oh, let’s go full-on chaos.”

“Blessed be,” Hobi whispered.

Meanwhile, Jin and Namjoon were whispering in the cardiology hallway like they were planning a heist.

“They’re in love and too dumb to see it,” Jin muttered. “We have to force contact.”

“Define ‘force,’” Namjoon asked warily.

“Fake emergencies. Rearranged rotations. Strategic closet lock-ins.”

Namjoon sighed. “This is unethical.”

Jin blinked. “So?”

⸻

Operation: Accidental Everything began Monday.

First came the “accidental” room mix-ups.

Yoongi was sent to assist with a patient only to find Jimin already there, chart in hand.

“Oh,” Jimin said tightly. “I thought Nurse Han was coming.”

“She was. Until someone rewrote the rota,” Yoongi muttered.

Then came the shared lunches.

The lounge fridge was mysteriously emptied. Jimin’s lunch? Vanished. Yoongi’s sandwich? Gone.

In its place, a single labelled container: “For Doctors Min & Park. Share or starve. — Love, the Universe.”

They sat at opposite ends of the table in silence, eating from the same Tupperware container, refusing to speak.

Yoongi passed Jimin the fork.

Jimin took it without a word.

Yoongi noticed the faintest blush dust his cheeks.

Progress.

⸻

By Thursday, the chaos peaked.

“Emergency in Stairwell B!” came the overhead page.

Jimin bolted from his desk. Yoongi dropped his coffee and ran too.

They both arrived breathless—only to find Hoseok standing there with a clipboard.

“No emergency?”

“Oh no,” Hobi said brightly. “Just checking the acoustics.”

“The what—”

Behind them, the door clicked shut.

And locked.

Yoongi turned slowly. “Did you just lock us in the stairwell?”

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t not do that,” Hoseok said, cheerfully strolling away.

Jimin covered his face with one hand.

“Of course,” he muttered. “They’re staging a romcom.”

⸻

They sat on the stairs for twenty minutes in complete silence.

Jimin wouldn’t look at Yoongi.

Yoongi, exhausted and heartsick, finally whispered, “Do you hate me?”

Jimin flinched. “No.”

“Because you barely talk to me. You don’t answer when I—” He stopped himself. Bit the inside of his cheek.

Jimin turned to him, jaw tight. “Yoongi, please don’t ask me things I’m not ready to answer.”

Yoongi’s shoulders slumped. “Then don’t be kind one minute and cold the next. I’m not a game, Jimin.”

The use of his first name made Jimin look up. Really look.

Yoongi’s expression was tired. Vulnerable.

“You’re not a game,” Jimin said softly. “That’s the problem.”

⸻

Later that night, Yoongi sat with Jin on the hospital rooftop, drinking tea out of paper cups and watching the city lights blur.

“I think I’ve fallen for someone I can’t have,” Yoongi said.

Jin didn’t even flinch. “Let me guess. Dr. Frostbite and someone online?”

Yoongi exhaled. “Same person.”

Jin choked on his tea.

“I think they’re the same person,” Yoongi clarified. “Or… I want them to be. Because falling for two people at once? That’s not me. I’ve never— But with him, I feel… safe. Like I can be soft and not be laughed at. And with Jimin… he cuts me down, but then looks at me like he’s terrified I might disappear.”

Jin was silent for a moment. Then he said, “You know what that sounds like?”

“What?”

“Two people who are terrified they might be loved for the first time. And have no idea what to do about it.”

Yoongi looked down at his phone.

No new messages.

Still.

But somehow… he didn’t lose hope.

⸻

Back in his apartment, Jimin lay in bed, staring at the unopened app.

One message from StarSong still lingered, unread.

He knew what he had to do.

But his thumb hovered, heart in his throat.

He wasn’t ready.

Not yet.

But soon.

The cracks were widening.

And eventually, something would have to fall.

Chapter Text

The invitation was printed on heavy cream cardstock with gold-foil lettering that shimmered under hospital fluorescents like it had no idea how pretentious it looked.

Seoul Private General Annual Charity Gala. Formal Attire Required. Attendance Strongly Encouraged.

Jimin stared at it like it had personally offended him.

“I’m not going,” he said flatly, flipping it onto his desk.

Taehyung, who had just breezed into the office carrying two lavender oat lattes and zero shame, caught the card mid-air. “You are absolutely going.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Hyung,” Tae said, setting down one of the cups like a peace offering, “do you know how rare it is for you to put on a tux and not look like a forbidden fantasy? Come on. For the children.”

“It’s a fundraiser,” Jimin deadpanned. “The children aren’t going to be there.”

Taehyung winked. “No, but someone else will be.”

Jimin narrowed his eyes. “Don’t.”

“I’m just saying,” Taehyung said, sipping his drink, “Yoongi’s going.”

Jimin didn’t reply.

Didn’t have to.

His ears were already turning red.

⸻

Across the hospital, Yoongi was going through the exact same crisis.

“I’ll be awkward,” he told Jin, trying to hide behind a stack of patient files.

“You’re always awkward,” Jin replied cheerfully, plucking the invitation out of his hands. “That’s your brand.”

“Jin—”

“It’s a black-tie event. With music. And fairy lights. And Jimin in a tux.”

Yoongi groaned.

“Oh please,” Jin added, smirking. “You’ll thank me later when you’re slow dancing under twinkle lights and declaring your love through meaningful eye contact.”

“I hate you.”

“You’ll love me when he kisses you.”

⸻

The ballroom was ridiculous.

Soft lighting. Strings of golden bulbs draped from the ceiling like constellations. White-clothed tables dotted with candles. A string quartet in one corner. Champagne flutes. Little hors d’oeuvres on tiny skewers that made Yoongi feel underdressed despite wearing a tailored suit.

He lingered near the edge of the room, clutching a glass of water he didn’t want and pretending not to scan the crowd for him.

And then—

There he was.

Park Jimin.

In a black tuxedo tailored to fit like sin, with soft waves in his hair and a guarded, uncertain look in his eyes as he scanned the room. Like he didn’t want to be there. Like he was looking for someone. Like he wasn’t sure which was worse — being found or being ignored.

Yoongi forgot how to breathe.

Jimin caught sight of him a moment later.

Their eyes locked.

Yoongi smiled. Tentative. Hopeful.

Jimin looked away.

And walked to the bar.

⸻

Five minutes later, Jimin was nursing a champagne flute and regretting every life choice that had led him to this room.

He didn’t belong in places like this. Not where people smiled too much and music played softly like a memory he didn’t deserve. Not where feelings might find him in a crowded room and leave him exposed.

He shouldn’t have come.

He should have stayed home.

He should—

“Evening, Doctor Park.”

Jimin turned.

Yoongi stood beside him, hands in his pockets, a wry smile on his lips. His hair was styled neatly, his suit collar crisp, his eyes soft and unreadable.

He looked… devastating.

Jimin swallowed. “Hi.”

Yoongi tilted his head. “You look—”

“Don’t,” Jimin interrupted, already pink.

Yoongi chuckled. “Okay.”

They stood in silence.

For one second.

Then two.

Then—

“Dance with me,” Yoongi said.

Jimin blinked. “What?”

“Come on,” Jin said loudly from across the room. “They’re about to play a waltz. The tragically repressed doctor slow-burn special.”

Namjoon shushed him, but it was too late. Everyone nearby turned.

The quartet struck up a slow, romantic tune.

Taehyung was grinning from the DJ booth.

“I’m going to murder all of them,” Jimin whispered.

Yoongi stepped closer. “Maybe later. But for now…” He extended a hand.

Jimin stared at it.

Then at Yoongi.

Then back.

And then—slowly, like a man reaching over a cliff’s edge—he took it.

⸻

The dance floor was warm, dappled in golden light and the hush of string instruments.

Yoongi’s hand fit perfectly at the small of Jimin’s back. Jimin’s other hand rested against Yoongi’s shoulder, trembling just slightly.

They swayed in time with the music, too close, too careful, too full of words unsaid.

Then Yoongi spoke.

Soft. Barely audible.

“StarSong?”

Jimin froze.

His breath caught. His eyes flew to Yoongi’s.

“You knew?”

Yoongi’s voice was gentler now. “I guessed. I hoped.”

Jimin blinked fast. “How long?”

“Since the stairwell. Since your silences started sounding like his. Since I realised you were two versions of the same truth.”

Jimin’s throat bobbed.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I was scared.”

Yoongi nodded. “Me too.”

They kept swaying.

The music faded.

They didn’t let go.

⸻

Outside, the night was cool and still.

They stood beneath a sky of a thousand stars and the distant hum of the city.

Yoongi shoved his hands in his pockets. “I didn’t think I’d fall for someone twice.”

Jimin laughed, breathless. “I didn’t think I’d fall for anyone at all.”

They looked at each other. So much passed between them in that silence—longing, apology, fear, hope.

“I thought,” Jimin said quietly, “if you found out who I was… you’d hate me. For how I’ve treated you. For pushing you away.”

Yoongi stepped closer. “You were scared.”

Jimin nodded. “Still am.”

“Me too.”

Jimin looked up, eyes wide. “Then what do we do?”

Yoongi smiled. “We stop hiding.”

And then—

Finally—

He kissed him.

It wasn’t explosive.

It wasn’t rushed.

It was a slow, hesitant brushing of mouths, the kind that asked for permission and offered everything in return.

Jimin’s hands fisted in Yoongi’s jacket.

Yoongi pulled him closer, deeper, kissing him like a secret he’d finally unlocked.

Jimin whimpered against his lips, soft and desperate, like he was making up for all the lost days, all the missteps and closed doors and words left unsaid.

When they pulled apart, breathless and dazed, Jimin whispered:

“I knew it was you the second you said I made you feel seen.”

Yoongi pressed their foreheads together, smiling against his lips. “You always did.”

Chapter Text

Jimin was still trembling when they pulled apart.

The kiss had ended, but the world hadn’t started again. Not really. Not for him.

He stood there under the stars, eyes wide and watery, lips parted, trying to breathe around the thunder in his chest.

Yoongi still had one hand resting on his waist, the other brushing against his cheek as if afraid too much pressure might make him crumble.

And maybe it would.

Because Jimin wasn’t ready for this. Not really. He wasn’t built for softness. He wasn’t made for love songs and lingering glances. He’d built his life out of discipline and solitude. Control was safety.

But Yoongi had taken one look at the fortress he lived in and knocked gently on the door.

And Jimin had let him in.

And now—

“You won’t want me,” Jimin whispered, voice cracking. “Not when you know the real me.”

Yoongi blinked, startled.

“Jimin—”

“I’m not kind. I don’t know how to let people stay. I push and I pull and I break things before they can leave me first. That’s what I do.”

Jimin’s voice shook like a fault line under pressure.

“I’ve spent my whole life trying to be good enough on paper so I’d never have to be anything in real life. Because real people… get hurt. Real people get left.”

He stepped back, eyes shining with unshed tears.

“I don’t know how to do this.”

Yoongi didn’t answer right away. He stepped forward, careful, deliberate, until they were inches apart.

Then he leaned in and pressed the softest kiss to Jimin’s forehead.

And he whispered, “I already know the real you.”

Jimin’s breath hitched.

“And I still want you.”

Yoongi cupped his cheek, thumb stroking gently over the edge of a tear. “I want the brilliant, sharp, guarded man who sings love songs in supply closets when no one’s looking. I want the man who helped me be better even when he pretended he didn’t care.”

He smiled, sad and sweet. “You think you’ve hidden everything, but you haven’t. I’ve seen you. I see you now.”

Jimin closed his eyes, a single tear sliding down his cheek.

And for once in his life, he didn’t brush it away.

⸻

They left the gala quietly.

No fanfare. No goodbyes. Just a shared glance, a small nod, and a silent agreement that the night wasn’t over.

Jimin unlocked his apartment door with shaking hands.

It was neat inside, almost too neat — minimalist and tidy, like someone who didn’t trust themselves with clutter. But the air smelled faintly of laundry detergent and tea, and there was a small succulent on the windowsill. One that Jimin hadn’t managed to kill.

Yoongi stepped inside, taking it all in, gaze lingering on the way Jimin’s hand trembled as he set down his keys.

“You can still change your mind,” Jimin said softly, turning to him. “We don’t have to—”

Yoongi stepped forward.

“Jimin,” he said, voice low, tender, sure, “I want this. But only if you do.”

Jimin stared at him for a moment, then nodded. “I do.”

⸻

They moved slowly at first.

Hands hesitant, touches lingering just a little too long. Yoongi was careful, reverent, as he reached up to brush the hair from Jimin’s face. His fingers traced the curve of his jaw like he was learning something sacred.

Jimin leaned in like he was falling, and Yoongi caught him with his mouth.

Their kiss this time wasn’t tentative—it was hungry, desperate, trembling with everything they hadn’t said.

Jimin gasped when Yoongi’s hands slid around his waist, drawing him closer. Yoongi groaned softly as Jimin clutched at his jacket, lips parting as he deepened the kiss.

They stumbled toward the bedroom, mouths fused, breath ragged.

Clothes came off slowly, like confessions. Each layer peeled away with a whispered sigh, a graze of fingertips, a moment of locked eyes where neither looked away.

When Jimin was bare beneath him, Yoongi didn’t rush.

He paused, breathing unevenly, eyes scanning the man beneath him like he’d never seen anything so beautiful.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” Yoongi murmured.

Jimin nodded, eyes wide, chest rising and falling like a wave.

“I’ve never—” he began, voice hoarse, “never let anyone see me like this.”

Yoongi kissed his shoulder. “Then I’ll be careful.”

⸻

What followed was less sex than it was worship.

Yoongi took his time, hands trembling as he mapped every inch of Jimin’s body with lips and fingers and reverence.

Jimin clung to him like the world might fall apart if they lost contact. Every touch made him feel raw, undone, alive in ways he hadn’t thought he could be anymore.

When Yoongi finally entered him, it was slow. Deep. Devastating.

Their moans were muffled against each other’s mouths. Their movements messy and quiet and desperate.

Yoongi whispered things between kisses—so beautiful, so good, I’ve got you, Jimin, you’re okay, I’m here—and Jimin responded with gasps, choked sobs, hands tangled in his hair as he pulled him closer, closer, like he wanted to be consumed.

It wasn’t perfect.

But it was real.

And it was everything.

⸻

Afterwards, they lay tangled together beneath the sheets, skin damp, chests pressed tight.

Yoongi’s fingers traced lazy circles along Jimin’s spine.

But Jimin’s eyes were wet again.

Yoongi noticed first by the way his breaths hitched, the way his body curled inward.

“Jimin?” he whispered.

Jimin turned his face into Yoongi’s neck. “I didn’t know,” he whispered. “I didn’t know it could feel like that.”

Yoongi tightened his arms around him. “Like what?”

“Like being wanted didn’t have to hurt.”

Yoongi kissed his hair.

“You deserve everything,” he murmured. “And I’ll remind you every day until you believe it.”

Jimin closed his eyes.

And for the first time in his life, he let himself believe—just a little—that maybe someone really could love him, not despite his walls, but enough to help him climb out from behind them.

Chapter Text

The morning light filtered through sheer curtains in soft gold ribbons, painting lazy lines across the white bedsheets and the quiet curve of Min Yoongi’s back.

Jimin lay awake beneath him, chest rising and falling in slow rhythm, one hand resting on Yoongi’s bare waist, the other buried in his hair.

Yoongi was asleep—deeply, peacefully, one cheek pressed against Jimin’s sternum, mouth parted just a little, arms loosely wrapped around Jimin’s ribs like he belonged there.

Which, impossibly, he did.

Jimin didn’t move.

Didn’t dare.

He just stared at the ceiling with glassy eyes and tried to memorise everything about this moment: the weight of Yoongi’s body against his, the warm scent of skin and shampoo and sleep, the softness of the early morning air that had somehow settled inside his chest and quieted every storm.

For the first time in forever, the world outside felt… still.

And he, somehow, felt safe.

“I used to think I didn’t need this,” Jimin whispered, even though Yoongi couldn’t hear him. “That I wasn’t meant for this.”

He brushed his thumb along Yoongi’s spine. “But I don’t know how I ever survived without it.”

⸻

When Yoongi finally stirred, it was with a low, content sigh. He stretched, still pressed against Jimin’s chest, then tilted his head back to blink up at him with the gentlest smile Jimin had ever seen.

“Hi,” Yoongi whispered, voice raspy.

Jimin felt something in his heart break and heal all at once. “Hi.”

Yoongi leaned up, brushed their noses together, and kissed him—soft, sleepy, slow.

They stayed wrapped around each other for a while longer, whispering nonsense and exchanging kisses that turned giggly when their stomachs started to growl.

Yoongi eventually sat up, stretching like a cat. “You have coffee?”

Jimin nodded, dazed, still shirtless and dazed. “Yeah. Kitchen. Top shelf.”

“Mm,” Yoongi said, pressing one last kiss to his forehead before wandering out in just his boxers and socks, like he belonged there.

Like he wasn’t the most beautiful thing Jimin had ever seen.

Jimin fell back against the pillows with a groan and covered his face.

He was so completely, irreversibly, stupidly in love.

⸻

Unfortunately, the universe gave them less than three hours of bliss before reality shattered through the front door like a wrecking ball named Jungkook.

It started with the group chat.

[Hospital Chaos Chat 💉🔥]

Taehyung:
WHO. SNUCK. MIN YOONGI. INTO JIMIN’S APARTMENT?!
EXPLAIN YOURSELVES.

Jungkook:
I saw Yoongi get out of a cab in the SAME CLOTHES from the gala.

Hoseok:
Omg did our Ice King finally MELT??

Namjoon:
Jungkook. Did you just stalk them?

Jungkook:
NO! I was just… walking Mimi and I SAW THINGS.

Jin:
I want photos.

Taehyung:
I want answers.

Jimin:
I want a shovel.

Yoongi:
Good morning :)

⸻

By noon, the hospital knew.

Everyone knew.

Apparently, someone had spotted them together in the parking lot (Jimin had offered to drive Yoongi back to grab his car, which in hindsight was dumb), and the rumour mill churned to life like a machine with endless caffeine.

By the time Jimin arrived for his shift, the stares were brutal.

Not unkind—but pointed. Knowing. Too curious. Too much.

And it sent him spiraling.

He tried to keep his head down, tried to focus on his rounds, but every time someone smirked at him or whispered behind their hands, he felt the old fear creeping in.

They’re going to ruin it. You’re going to ruin it.

People only love you when they don’t know you.

He cornered Yoongi in the stairwell between consults, heart pounding.

“We need to stop,” Jimin whispered, voice frantic.

Yoongi blinked. “What?”

Jimin stepped back, arms crossing like a shield. “This… thing. Us. It’s already everywhere. People are talking.”

“Let them.”

“You don’t get it.” Jimin’s voice cracked. “They’ll pick us apart. They’ll say I used my position. That you— You’re too good for this. For me.”

Yoongi took a slow breath, and when he spoke, his voice was quiet but firm.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Use fear to push me away.”

Jimin looked away, jaw tight.

Yoongi stepped forward.

“You don’t get to un-choose me, Jimin,” he said gently. “Not because you’re scared. Not because people are watching. Not because you think you’re unworthy.”

Jimin’s throat bobbed.

Yoongi’s hand came up to cradle his cheek.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Jimin blinked rapidly, eyes stinging. “You don’t know how broken I am.”

“Yes, I do,” Yoongi whispered. “But I see you too. The real you. And he’s not broken. He’s just hurt.”

He kissed Jimin’s forehead, then pressed his own to it.

“I’ve seen your worst. I still want your best. And I want you. Every complicated, brilliant, guarded part of you.”

Jimin’s breath shook.

Then he melted into Yoongi’s chest like a dam breaking.

⸻

That night, after everything, they lay in Jimin’s bed again, limbs tangled.

The moonlight spilled in through the window, bathing their bodies in silver.

Jimin traced lazy circles on Yoongi’s forearm. “They’re still going to talk.”

“I know,” Yoongi murmured.

“You don’t care?”

“I only care about what you say when the door is closed.”

Jimin looked up, eyes wide and impossibly soft.

“I love you,” he whispered.

Yoongi smiled. “I know.”

Jimin narrowed his eyes. “That’s not the line.”

Yoongi laughed, then pulled him close and kissed his nose.

“I love you too.”

Chapter Text

It was raining that night.

Not heavy — not the dramatic, cinematic kind — just a soft, whispering rainfall, brushing against the windowpanes like fingers tracing stories into the glass.

Jimin sat cross-legged on the floor of his apartment, back against the sofa, nursing a cup of lukewarm tea that had long since gone cold. The lights were off. Only the dim glow of a lamp and the occasional flicker of headlights from the street below illuminated the room.

Yoongi was there too, beside him, close but not crowding him. His legs were stretched out in front of him, socked feet touching the edge of the rug. He was sipping from his own mug, silent, waiting.

He was always waiting.

Waiting for Jimin to speak when he was ready. To reach out. To fall apart, if he needed to.

And tonight, Jimin needed to.

“I used to hide under my bed when I was a kid,” Jimin said suddenly, staring into his cup.

Yoongi turned to look at him, not interrupting.

“Whenever my parents fought. Which was… often. I had this old blanket I’d curl up in. I’d stuff my headphones in and pretend the music was louder than the yelling. Sometimes I’d pretend I was invisible.”

Yoongi’s fingers tightened around his mug.

Jimin’s voice was quiet. Matter-of-fact. Like he’d practiced saying it without emotion.

“It wasn’t even that they were cruel. Not really. Just… cold. Distant. I don’t think they meant to hurt me. I think they just didn’t know how to love someone who needed so much.”

Yoongi stayed still. Listening.

“I always thought if I worked harder, got smarter, earned more praise… maybe they’d notice. Maybe they’d say they were proud.”

He gave a small, bitter laugh. “They never did. But I kept going anyway. Got the grades. The scholarships. The degree. I told myself love didn’t matter. That I didn’t need anyone.”

Jimin’s hands were trembling.

“But then I met you. And suddenly I couldn’t pretend anymore.”

Yoongi set his mug down gently and reached for him.

Jimin didn’t resist.

He let himself be pulled close, tucked against Yoongi’s chest like he belonged there. Yoongi held him, one hand stroking gently down his back, the other pressed flat against his heart.

“I’m not good at being loved,” Jimin whispered. “Sometimes I think if you really knew how lonely I’ve been… you’d run.”

Yoongi kissed the top of his head.

“I’m not running.”

⸻

Later, as the rain continued to tap softly against the windows, they made their way to the bedroom.

They didn’t rush.

There was no urgency, no frantic lust. Just quiet understanding. Soft hands and slower breaths. A kind of reverence that felt holy.

Yoongi undressed Jimin with aching tenderness — unbuttoning his shirt like he was unwrapping a secret. He kissed every inch of revealed skin like it deserved to be remembered.

Jimin undressed Yoongi too, hands trembling but sure, needing the weight of him, the warmth.

They climbed under the covers together, limbs tangling like they’d done it a thousand times before.

“Are you sure?” Yoongi asked, voice low, eyes searching.

Jimin nodded. “I want to remember this. Every second of it.”

So Yoongi gave it to him — slow, affirming, emotional.

He touched Jimin like he was the answer to every question. Kissed his chest, his throat, his cheeks — anywhere he could reach. He whispered soft nothings between every movement, his voice a constant reassurance.

“You’re perfect.”

“You’re mine.”

“You’re not alone anymore.”

When he finally pushed inside, Jimin gasped, arching into him, tears already pricking at the corners of his eyes.

It wasn’t pain.

It was release.

Emotion.

Relief.

He sobbed — quietly, brokenly — and Yoongi didn’t pull away. He held him tighter. Slowed his pace. Pressed their foreheads together and kissed his tears away.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered over and over. “Let go, baby. I’ve got you.”

And Jimin did.

He let go of years of loneliness, of shame, of the belief that he was unworthy.

He gave himself — every fractured piece — to the man who had never stopped choosing him.

When they came, it was together. Shaking, clinging, crying.

Afterward, Yoongi stayed wrapped around him, pressing kisses to his damp cheeks and whispering things like you’re safe and you did so well and I’m so proud of you.

Jimin eventually fell asleep against him, chest rising and falling with quiet peace.

⸻

When he woke again, it was just past 3 a.m.

Yoongi was still there — still awake, watching him with that quiet smile that made Jimin ache.

“You okay?” Yoongi whispered, brushing hair from his face.

Jimin nodded, still drowsy. “Yeah.”

Yoongi kissed his temple. “Don’t move.”

He rolled out of bed and padded across the room to his coat. Fished something from the inside pocket. Then returned, slipping under the sheets again.

“What’s that?” Jimin mumbled, blinking.

Yoongi didn’t speak at first.

Instead, he placed something gently in Jimin’s hand.

It was a stethoscope.

Black tubing, silver chestpiece.

But when Jimin looked closer, he saw the engraving on the side.

PJM ♡ MYG

His breath caught.

“I had it made after I realised it was you I was talking to,” Yoongi said quietly. “I knew you’d mended something I didn’t even know was broken.”

Jimin was speechless.

Yoongi leaned in, pressing their foreheads together.

“You mended my heart,” he whispered. “Will you let me keep yours?”

Tears filled Jimin’s eyes again. But this time they didn’t fall out of fear.

They fell because he’d never imagined someone would love him like this.

And now that he had it, he knew he’d never let it go.

“Yes,” he whispered. “Yes, Yoongi. Always.”

Chapter Text

One year later.

The apartment smelled like coffee and freshly washed linen.

Morning sunlight poured in through gauzy curtains, dancing across the wooden floor and catching in the golden highlights of Jimin’s hair as he leaned over the kitchen counter, eyes squinting at a case report on his tablet.

He was dressed in scrubs, hair still damp from the shower, mouth pursed in that same adorable frown he always wore when trying to work and eat at the same time. A cup of black coffee sat beside him—already half-cold—alongside a half-eaten protein bar and a sticky note Yoongi had left on the fridge:

Eat something real. Or I’m calling Jin. Love you.

Jimin snorted softly.

Before he could respond, the door clicked open behind him.

“I knew you didn’t eat the oatmeal I left out,” came a familiar voice, low and fond.

Yoongi padded into the kitchen, barefoot and rumpled, still wearing his ridiculous soft blue pajama pants covered in tiny anatomical hearts. His hair was a mess, his eyes heavy with sleep, and he was carrying a new mug of steaming coffee in one hand.

“I was working—” Jimin started.

“You were starving,” Yoongi corrected, placing the mug in front of him and pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.

Jimin smiled despite himself. “You spoil me.”

“I love you.”

Jimin froze for just a second every time he heard it. Still. Even now.

Yoongi had said it first over dinner at their favorite ramen spot, months ago, cheeks pink and eyes fixed on his bowl of noodles. Jimin had dropped his chopsticks. Then kissed him across the table.

He still hadn’t gotten used to the idea of being loved like this—quietly, constantly, without condition.

“I love you too,” he whispered, kissing Yoongi’s cheek.

⸻

Hospital life hadn’t changed much.

Jimin still worked too many hours. Still left his shoes by the door in crooked lines. Still hogged the blanket. Still left post-it notes on case files with tiny cartoon hearts and overachieving diagnoses.

Yoongi still brought him coffee between surgeries. Still knew when to leave him alone and when to press a kiss to the back of his neck. Still tucked snacks into his coat pocket with little notes like eat this or perish and you skipped lunch yesterday, goblin.

They were maddening. And perfect.

⸻

Outside of work, however, chaos reigned supreme.

Especially from their friends.

“Did you know,” Jungkook said one night over dinner, chin in his palm and full of mischief, “that Taehyung and I have chosen a wedding date?”

Jimin nearly choked on his rice. “What?! You’re not even engaged!”

Taehyung beamed. “Technicalities.”

“We found a venue,” Jungkook added.

“You still haven’t proposed,” Yoongi deadpanned.

“We’re working on that.”

Jimin turned to Hoseok, eyes wide. “They’re insane.”

Hoseok sipped his wine. “Sweetheart, I live with them. This is tame.”

Jin was already crying into a napkin. “They’re just so happy,” he wailed. “We’re all happy. Everyone’s in love. I need to sit down.”

“You are sitting,” Namjoon reminded gently, patting his back.

Jin burst into louder sobs. “He remembers things.”

⸻

They planned a picnic in the hospital courtyard for their one-year anniversary.

It wasn’t fancy. Just the people who mattered. A few blankets spread on the grass, food in mismatched containers, and Yoongi in a black sweater that made Jimin stare too long and walk into a bench.

Jin made a toast that started as a joke and ended in more tears.

Hoseok raised a cup of lemonade and said, “To finally!”

Tae and Jungkook held hands and immediately began planning another wedding. “We could do a double ceremony!”

“You’re not even engaged!” Yoongi yelled again.

“YOU’RE ABOUT TO BE,” Jungkook shouted back.

Everyone blinked.

Jimin looked up.

Yoongi’s cheeks flushed.

“Oh my god,” Jin breathed. “Oh. My. God.”

Yoongi stood up slowly, brushing his hands down his thighs.

He looked nervous. Earnest. Soft.

Jimin was already starting to tremble.

“Jimin,” Yoongi began, stepping forward, pulling something from the pocket of his coat. “I know I already asked you to let me keep your heart. And you did. You’ve let me love you every day for a year, even when you were scared, even when you didn’t think you were ready. But now I want to do something more.”

He held out a small box.

Inside was a simple silver band. Elegant. Classic. Engraved on the inside.

Always.

“I don’t want just forever. I want every day. I want bad mornings and long shifts and quiet nights with too much ramen. I want to hold you when you’re tired and laugh with you when you’re weird and tell you I love you until the words are too small to hold what I feel.”

Yoongi dropped to one knee.

Jin let out a sob that could be heard in the next ward.

“Park Jimin,” Yoongi said, voice shaking, “Will you marry me?”

Jimin covered his mouth, tears streaming down his cheeks.

And then he was nodding, dropping to his knees in front of Yoongi and wrapping his arms around his neck.

“Yes,” he whispered. “Yes, yes, yes.”

The ring slipped onto his finger like it had always belonged there.

Everyone cheered.

Jin collapsed into Namjoon’s lap.

Hoseok took a video while sobbing.

Jungkook screamed, “WE’RE NEXT!”

Taehyung pulled out a fake bouquet from his coat and tossed it in the air.

⸻

That night, back at their apartment, Jimin curled into Yoongi’s chest beneath soft sheets and whispered against his shoulder, “I still can’t believe you chose me.”

Yoongi, sleep-mussed and smiling, pulled him closer.

“I’ll choose you,” he murmured, “every single day.”

Chapter Text

The Wedding

The wedding took place in a sun-drenched garden behind the hospital where they met.

Yoongi had originally voted for a courthouse ceremony with minimal fanfare.

Jimin had laughed in his face.

Which meant, naturally, that Taehyung and Jungkook took over the planning with the energy of two caffeinated wedding planners on a deadline from hell.

There were mood boards. Color palettes. An argument about boutonnières that involved glitter, three crying fits (one was Jin’s), and Namjoon getting banned from florals after an accidental allergic reaction.

On the day, it all came together.

The garden was bathed in gold as the sun began to set. Rows of white chairs lined a cobbled aisle scattered with petals. Jin sobbed before anything had even started, dabbing at his eyes and mumbling about how he’d always known Jimin was meant to find someone who looked at him like that.

Yoongi stood at the front of the aisle, pale and still and absolutely wrecked in his fitted cream suit, watching every guest filter in and barely registering a single one.

Until he saw him.

Jimin walked down the aisle in ivory, sharp and soft all at once, every step confident despite the shimmer in his eyes. His hair was perfectly tousled, his smile a nervous curve that stole the breath from Yoongi’s lungs.

They met in the middle.

“I’m gonna kiss you,” Yoongi whispered.

“Wait five more minutes and you can do it legally,” Jimin teased, eyes crinkling.

Their vows were handwritten.

Jimin’s was short, but trembling: “You made me believe I could be loved, and then you proved it. Every day.”

Yoongi’s voice cracked on the first line: “You took a shadow and taught him to stand in the light. And I will love you for every breath I get.”

Even the officiant teared up.

When the kiss came, it was not modest. It was long, passionate, and complete with Jimin’s hand in Yoongi’s hair and Yoongi pulling him in like the world might fall apart without that kiss.

The guests erupted. Jin screamed. Jungkook howled. Taehyung fainted into a decorative hedge.

⸻

The Honeymoon

They flew to the coast. A small seaside town with blue skies, quiet beaches, and a private villa where no one knew them as doctors or husbands or anything except two people in love.

Yoongi had expected a quiet few days of beach walks and naps.

He did not expect what happened on the third night.

Jimin had cooked dinner in a linen shirt and nothing underneath.

And when Yoongi stepped into the dining room, freshly showered and still toweling off his hair, Jimin locked the doors behind him.

“You’re not getting out of here tonight,” he said, voice low and playful.

Yoongi froze. “Oh?”

Jimin walked up to him slowly, barefoot and devastating. His shirt slipped off one shoulder. His smile was all heat.

“I love you,” he murmured, fingers grazing down Yoongi’s chest, tracing the line of his ribs. “But I’m tired of you always being in control.”

Yoongi’s breath caught. “Jimin—”

“Shh,” Jimin whispered. “Let me love you.”

He pressed Yoongi back into the nearest wall and kissed him hard.

There was no shyness now. No hesitation.

Jimin’s hands were sure as they tugged the towel from Yoongi’s hips, fingers dancing over sensitive skin. His kisses were fierce, bruising, mouths open and gasping as he pressed his husband against the cool plaster, hips grinding slow and deliberate.

Yoongi moaned—needy, trembling, undone.

Jimin didn’t stop.

He led him to the bed, pushed him down gently, and straddled his hips with reverence and fire in equal measure.

He worshipped him.

Kissed down his chest like every freckle was sacred. Sucked marks into his skin that said mine, mine, mine.

When he sank down onto Yoongi’s cock, he held his gaze the whole time.

Yoongi whimpered—so wrecked, so overwhelmed—and Jimin just whispered, “Look at me. I want to watch you fall apart.”

And he did.

Yoongi sobbed his name as he came, clutching Jimin’s thighs, head thrown back.

But Jimin didn’t stop until he’d kissed him breathless again, until both of them were trembling messes wrapped around each other, sweat-slicked and ruined.

“I love you,” Yoongi panted, voice hoarse. “God, I love you.”

Jimin smiled against his jaw. “Good. Because you’re mine.”

They made love again, slower this time.

Then fell asleep tangled in each other’s arms, the sea breeze rustling the curtains and moonlight silvering the sheets.

⸻

Married Life

They returned from the honeymoon to a fridge full of “Just Married” cupcakes, glitter bombs in every drawer (Jungkook), and a full box of coupons from Hoseok for “1 Free Emergency Emotional Breakdown Session.”

Living together as husbands wasn’t very different.

Except that now Yoongi wore a wedding ring he fiddled with whenever Jimin wasn’t around. And Jimin added “Min” to his hospital ID badge and blushed every time someone called him Dr. Min in passing.

Yoongi still made him coffee every morning.

Jimin still left notes in his lab coat pocket: You’re the hottest man to ever survive med school. Don’t argue.

They bickered about laundry. About closet space. About whether the cats should be allowed on the bed.

They made up in the kitchen. And the shower. And sometimes the backseat of the car after a particularly long shift.

Love settled in like a second skin.

Comfortable. Permanent.

The chaos never left. But neither did the joy.

Always

A year after their wedding, Jimin still woke before dawn sometimes, heart racing, convinced it had all been a dream.

But then he’d roll over.

And there Yoongi would be.

Hair messy. Lips parted. One arm curled protectively around Jimin’s waist like he knew even in sleep that they belonged together.

And Jimin would lean down and kiss him awake, soft and smiling.

“I still can’t believe you chose me.”

And Yoongi, sleep-warm and blinking, would smile like the sun.

“I’ll choose you,” he’d whisper, pressing a kiss to his ring, to Jimin’s lips, to the place over his heart, “every single day.”