Work Text
Every morning, without fail - assuming he’s actually gone home the previous night - Yoongi hears his alarm sound at
exactly
4:00 a.m., and every morning he wakes up during the second round of seven beeps, regardless of how much sleep he’s gotten.
This morning is no different, he blinks sleep from his eyes, waiting for his vision to focus and his hibernating limbs to regain function. Yoongi turns his head to look out the one window in his bedroom, parallel to the bed. The blinds remained open, he liked to look at the sky, and since he lived on the third floor, it was unlikely anyone was looking in. Still, there lies the irrational fear that once he’ll look out and find a face staring back. It’s still dark outside, as it should be, only interrupted by the lights of passing traffic below. But a soft grey is beginning spread across the night sky, dimly lighting the bedroom. Yoongi sits up and leans over, switching on his bedside table lamp, allowing his eyes time to adjust before climbing out of bed and flipping on the bedroom light (he repeats this action three times); he runs fingers through his tousled blond hair, yawning.
Some mornings, the counting starts almost as soon as his eyes flutter open- he’s overwhelmed by the feeling that something is wrong, his head fills with numbers and the incessant tapping and organizing is all he can do to keep from exploding. Imploding. But this morning, fortunately, his thoughts are quiet, almost silent - calm and content with no compulsions gripping his mind. He stands in the middle of the bedroom for a moment, enjoying the quiet.
This is great, because he can take an average-length shower, wash his hair
and
scrub his skin until it’s a newborn pink
once
. He can brush his teeth
once
, dress himself
once
and wash his hands to conclude his bathroom routine - lathering, rinsing, but
not
repeating. On these days, Yoongi feels like he can do anything, frankly.
For breakfast, he makes his pot of coffee
once
, placing the filter and filling it with coffee beans correctly. He makes his bowl of cereal once: first milk, then rice flakes, for optimal cereal-to-milk proportions; honestly he hates milk. In its raw form he’ll only actually ingest almond milk, and even then only in his cereal - he’ll cook with milk, he just hates the taste when plain. Not
once
does he dump out the milk, refill the coffee grounds, or return his mug the cabinet just to retrieve it again.
These things wouldn’t particularly feel like feats or great achievements to other people, to
normal
people. But for Yoongi, it was a big deal. He dealt with OCD, among other things, but he could handle it, usually. He was fine as long as most everything stayed consistent and there were no surprises. Though, pulling a spoon from the left rack of his utensil drawer, he thinks that a warned surprise would definitely be worse. Time was the enemy, really. Yoongi hated having time - time meant he’d be left thinking and worrying and succumbing to his paranoia. Time, a concept completely fabricated by people, was Yoongi’s greatest adversary.
He takes a thoughtful sip of coffee - plain black; something of a purist, Yoongi stuck with a very plain food palate, and rarely tried new foods, fearful he wouldn't like them, or that there was a skillfully hidden ingredient he loathed. His eggs were unseasoned, like his steak, his chicken, his pastas. Really, his diet consisted mostly of fruit, it was simple, and could be prepared and eaten quickly - something important, due to his hectic and unpredictable schedule. He really shouldn’t even drink coffee, the caffeine heightened his anxiety and made the compulsions worse - but he needed some way to power through grueling shifts at the hospital, and operations that could last for
hours
; he could deal with a little heightened anxiety, it was okay, as long as he didn’t have too much.
This morning has been one of his best in recent weeks. Often he awakens, panicked, and shuffles around his apartment straightening and organizing and washing his hands - a harmless habit, one would think. Except that sometimes he couldn’t stop - his hands were just too dirty. Never mind that this was irrational, that in reality there was nothing there, he just needed to wash his hands - sometimes until they bled. He would pour milk for his cereal and dump it down the sink, pour and dump again - sometimes until he ran out of milk. He would fill the coffee maker with water, dump the water and fill it again, pour the coffee grounds then toss them and start again. Sometimes, he would spend all of his allotted two hours in the morning showering, scrubbing and rinsing and lathering and repeating, repeating, repeating.
Walking into the locker room at precisely 6:45 a.m. - again as he does every morning - Yoongi expects silent greetings from a few fellow surgeons, small nods or forced smiles, maybe even rushed a rushed
‘Hey’
.
He does
not
expect to see several new faces, each donned in pristine lab coats and blue scrubs, standing in the narrow space between lockers and sitting on the small benches, creating a half circle around one of the other senior surgeons. These must be the new residents - and because this isn’t expected is perhaps why the situation irritates him. His heart begins hammering and then, numbers.
One. Two. Three.
Dammit, he was doing so well today.
They don’t belong in this locker room. Their overseer could justify their infiltration as giving them a tour of the facility.
Still
, they should
not
be in this locker room. Yoongi needs to change into his scrubs and coat, he needs his work sneakers, he needs the keys to his office - all locked in locker three - which a female student,with long dark hair pulled into a bun leans against. Yoongi’s skin
crawls
, he needs to sanitize the door, and wash his hands, and she needs to get the hell
off his locker
. Not only is it annoying and unsanitary - at least to him- but the
disrespect
-
“Ah, Dr. Min.” The director speaks - she has platinum blonde hair (obviously not natural) pulled up high on her head, and the black glasses with thick square frames pushed up on her nose. he doesn’t remember her name, he doesn’t care to - feigns surprise and flashes Yoongi a confident smile, one that demands him to comply with whatever she’s about to ask of Yoongi - she seems to forget Yoongi is the superior, here. “I was hoping to run into you,”
Of course
she was, “So you could speak with these guys before their residency officially begins.” She should know better, she should
know
not to do this Yoongi - it throws off his routine and nobody enjoys working with a frazzled Yoongi but
here she is
doing
exactly
that; the counting continues -
Four. Five. Six. Seven.
“Sure, I suppose.” He answers grudgingly, because he can’t refuse - he just wants to change and wash his hands; he wonders if anyone else can hear the counting.
Eight. Nine. Ten
. No, again.
One. Two
. Can anyone else hear?
“Why don’t you start with how you became interested in medicine?” She prompts, because Yoongi definitely no experience giving speeches whatsoever - he doesn't. When participating in meetings and conventions, he generally writes down notes and passes them to another coworker, but
still
. He tries hard not to scoff or shoot the woman an icy glare as he proceeds to spins the most generic tale he can think of in answer to the interns expectant gazes.
“Okay; see, I knew from early childhood what I wanted to become - a surgeon,” Lie. “And I knew what it would take to achieve it.” Lie. “So I worked diligently through grade school, college, part time jobs,” Truth. “To get myself here - and eventually I became one of the best in this institution.” Truth - he was one of the most elite in not only the hospital, but the area as well. He wasn't only recognized for his skill, apparently, though he tried to ignore it - he’d heard of giddy interns crushing on Dr. Min and fantasizing about some forbidden relationship. Not to disappoint, but he really had issues with intimacy, he’d have to pass. “And, well, here we are.” He adds, figuring it sums up his tale rather nicely.
Liar
. Three. Four. Five.
Liar. Liar. Liar.
Six
.
He observes the intern’s unsatisfied expressions - the were expecting a story, no doubt - a page turner, something inspirational. Yoongi remains quiet for a moment, giving them time to mumble amongst themselves; he then shakes his head, and starts again.
“That’s not all what happened, it’s even less interesting than that, really. I’m here because I graduated top of my class - both in high school and pre-med, and later med school - and had no idea what the hell I wanted to be.” He crosses his arms, watching shock play over the faces of his audience. It's not exactly true, but it will do for now. “In fact, I still have no idea what I want to be. I could quit tomorrow and pursue botany, really.” His voice rises in both volume and sternness, he can feel the interns becoming puzzled.
Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
Again. Again.
One
. Again.
“Let me tell you what it’s like, working here.” The director opens her mouth to cut Yoongi off, but he silences her with a wave of his hand - she shouldn’t have asked him to speak in the first place. “It’s stress. It’s not being home for three days because of how much work there is to do. If you think you’re going to buy some nice house or a fancy car after your first year of salary, try again. If anything, you’ll move into some tiny, single-bedroom apartment close to the hospital - “ He’s interrupted by one of the interns.
“Why?” The kid asks, cheekily - Yoongi wants to hit him. He won't, though - he’s not a violent person, he just has violent thoughts.
Two. Three.
Again.
One. Two. Three. Four.
“Because, kid.” Annoyance tinges his voice. “The hospital will be your life. Your social circle will shrink and shrink until you don’t know anyone outside of this place. ” He pauses for a breath, “Why are you going to get an apartment close by? Because you won’t be home enough to maintain a large house - to mow the lawn, vacuum - you won’t have the time to do things like that, the patient comes first.”
Several nod in understanding, and Yoongi feels a hand on his shoulder. He shrugs it off, immediately disgusted, and tries to not growl at the woman -
Don’t touch me.
“Consider this.” Yoongi reasons to himself that these kids need to take a step into reality, that they need to know what it’s really like, what they’re getting themselves into. “Several of you will drop out. Some after the first shift, some after the first patient death you witness, and some more than halfway through the program because they just can't handle it. Keep in mind this is not easy - you will lose sleep and miss meals, and someone will, eventually, die on your watch.” He watches as the shock and surprise becomes horror - he looks at the woman, who has a similar expression. Serves her right, really.
“Thank you Doctor.” She says, all too cheery in attempts to keep the mood light and moves past Yoongi to open the door and usher the terrified interns out. They move quickly, eager to escape the tense atmosphere. Before the woman can leave, Yoongi taps on her shoulder.
“Close the door, we need to talk.” He orders. She complies, and when she turns to face Yoongi, she’s livid.
“How dare you - “ She begins, but Yoongi cuts her off; the numbers echo in his mind - he’s always hated confrontation.
Two. Three. Four. Three. Two.
“
How dare I
?” He hisses. “How dare
you
? You should know better, you should
know
not to make me do that. Everything is wrong, now, because of that.” He huffs, breath shaky, and spins on his heel, marching himself out of the locker room and to an empty bathroom, where he braces himself on the sink with his head bowed, counting. Most of the hospital staff were aware of Yoongi’s issues, mainly because when he got in one of his
moods
, he was near impossible to work with - so the other doctors usually left him alone or tried their best to appease him.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Again. One. Two. I have things to do, just let me get to ten. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Please. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Two Three. Four.
He turns on the faucet, waiting a moment for the water to warm before wetting his hands - as per stated by the official hand washing rules, which most people seem to ignore when they soap first - then pumps a dollop of soap out of the dispenser.
Five. Six. Lather, rinse, repeat. Lather, lather, scrub. Rinse -
again
.
More soap.
Lather. Seven. Eight. Nine
His phone comes to life in his pocket, the noise and vibrations startling him out of his loop.
Rinse. Dry.
At least in his profession, compulsive hand washing is almost necessary, it makes him feel less out of place in the environment. Of course, that doesn't mean it's healthy. He takes a deep breath, inhaling and exhaling slowly, before swiping to answer.
“Hello?” He asks apprehensively - he’d answered before he had a read the name displayed on the screen, a mistake on his part, because now he was terrified of who could potentially be on the line with him.
“Yoongi!” A familiar voice rings out cheerfully; it’s Namjoon. One of his two friends from college. The other was Namjoon’s husband-to-be, Seokjin, who’d more of less been responsible for Yoongi and his compulsions during college. There was also Taehyung - another face from his past, a tale for another day.
“Oh, hey, do you need something?” He inquires, relaxing and cradling his cell between his shoulder and ear in order to pull out another paper towel and wipe down the sink, and another to turn off the faucet. Most would take Yoongi’s response as pretty rude, but really, that was just Yoongi - he liked to get right to the point.
“No, I don’t, but - “ Yoongi turns his wrist to check his watch and, realizing it’s nearly 7:00, speaks, cutting of Namjoon - he needs to dress out, he’s almost late.
“I can’t talk now, Joon. I gotta go.” He taps ‘end call’, trying to ignore the rising guilt because this happened almost every time Namjoon calls. He slides his phone back into his jeans and stares at himself in the mirror - his cheeks are flushed, but he looks otherwise okay. He really should wash his hands again, but there's no time - he needs to dress out. Taking a shaky breath, he reluctantly forces himself out of the pristine bathroom and into the hall, already bustling with activity. Though the activity never really stops around here - there’s always someone getting hurt.
He tries to stay out of the way as much as possible - moving out of the paths of jogging nurses and techs pushing carts of equipment - as he traverses down the hall and turns left into the, thankfully, now vacant locker room. He stands in front of his locker, trying not to touch it too much, as he inputs the combination.
9. 19.; admittedly, the odd numbers are irritations, but you can’t pick the combination for a lock bought from a bargain store. He tugs the locker open by where the lock clasps, and immediately retrieves his package of sanitizing towels from inside. It takes three towelettes before the front of his locker is satisfactorily clean and he’s allowed proceed with changing into his hospital clothes. He dresses hastily, removing one garment at a time to replace it with the other, before folding his casual clothes neatly and stacking them precisely then slides his coat on, steps into and laces his shoes, retrieves his office keys, and replaces the lock, leaving the locker room and heading for his own private office.
Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine.
His private office located on the fourth floor, is safely nestled in a quieter corner of the hospital. Outside, a few steps down the hall, stand two vending machines, one filled with water and energy drinks, the other filled with light yet vitamin-rich snacks - things one would find in a hospital. Usually, his office is ignored, and there’s rarely any commotion on his floor - it’s predominantly patients stable and in recovery. This is great, usually, as it’s quiet enough for Yoongi to finish any paperwork he has, or just to have somewhere to sit and breathe, but it’s not entirely
practical
for a surgeon who can potentially be called into the OR at any moment. However, he usually spends his time on other floors - delivering samples, checking on his patients, and just generally lending a hand where needed - so he could compromise with an out-of-the-way office.
Really, he should be somewhere doing
something
at the moment, volunteering to assist in an operation or something along those lines - but judging by his meeting with the new interns in the locker room earlier, he figured should probably wait in his office for a few them to find their way up.
One. Two. Three
.
Yoongi kind of liked getting new residents, though, not at first. In the beginning weeks, until they get comfortable, the new residents almost always follow Yoongi around, breathing down his neck and launching a barrage of questions he didn’t have time to answer. He liked it around the halfway point, when the’ve become somewhat confident in themselves, and they could do basic treatments on their own. Yoongi could have them perform some of his lesser tasks and dump any paperwork on them without needing to supervise, though, he always kept a steady watch to make sure all was being done right. It was towards the end of their residencies when Yoongi tended to get annoyed. They generally quit going to him before doing things and began neglecting their paperwork, not to mention how antsy they were to perform surgeries, especially on their own. It was annoying, more than anything. Yoongi usually had to tighten reins a bit to put them back in their place; after all, they were still being trained, they didn’t entirely know what they were doing, not yet.
Yoongi sighs, leaning back in his chair, and listens to the numbers counting up in his head.
Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine… Ten
. He did it, right, he can breathe now.
No sooner than the panic subsides does he hear a soft knock, two raps, on his office door.
“Come in.” He calls out, not sure of what he should say because how often is he in his office? Exactly never, and he’s about to greet at
least
one new intern who’s beginning residency and will always look for Yoongi in his office
first
for the next month before figuring it out.
When the door opens, Yoongi is expecting at
least
one, not
exactly
one - but he supposes that’s what happens when you scare everyone before the first day even officially begins. It wasn’t exactly odd for him to only receive a handful of trainees, being one of the more
difficult
mentors, but he’d always had somewhere in the area of four or five students.
Not
one
.
“Dr. Min?” The younger - he looks like an innocent child, really - asks timidly, half his body still hidden behind the door; Yoongi nods in response, humming.
“And you are?”
“Ah, Jimin.” He answers, fully stepping into Yoongi’s office and bowing deeply. He’s small, smaller than Yoongi - but just barely so. He stands straight up, running a hand through his deep brown hair, nervously.
“You’re my intern?” Yoongi asks, and after receiving an affirming nod, asks “You’re the only one?” Another nod.
“There was three of us, originally. One walked out almost as soon as we started, they got really sick at the sight of a burn patient, another - the one who asked you a question earlier, actually, left
before
we even started, saying something about how he wasn’t about to waste his life in this place, and then they asked me if I felt I’d learn better under a different mentor.” He explains, fidgeting, and Yoongi nods thoughtfully.
“So you picked to work with me?” Yoongi asks, making sure that this was entirely Jimin’s decision - many were forced to work with Yoongi by higher ups, so it wouldn’t be entirely irrational that they were forcing one intern on him in attempts of remaining somewhat fair - Jimin nods.
“My parents didn’t want me to dance.” He adds, and Yoongi is sympathetic towards the boy - he understands what unsupportive parents feels like - it takes all of his will to stop himself from counting again, he needs to
move
. He pulls out his desk drawer, dropping in his phone and apartment keys and sliding it back shut; he drops his pager and office keys into his coat pocket and stands, neatly pushing his chair in and walking to his office door, opening it.
“Well? You coming?” He asks Jimin, who’s standing in the center of his office looking very confused.
“Oh! Right, sorry.” He mumbles, moving past Yoongi and out the open door. Yoongi follows, pulling the door softly shut behind him and locking it - he hated people in his office without his knowledge. Yoongi turns and begins walking down the hall. “Where are we going?” Jimin asks, a few paces behind him.
“Well,” Yoongi starts down the first flight of steps - elevators were terrifying, so Yoongi took the stairs - “I’ve a few patients I want to check on, I need to check on lab work, and then I have to scrub in for a surgery in,” He pauses, consulting his watch, “Two hours, which you’re expected to observe.” He reminds the intern - he can almost feel happiness pulsing off the kid; not everyone got to experience surgery on their first day.
“Right, of course, yeah.” He follows Yoongi as quickly as he can down the steps without tripping. Yoongi hits the first landing and turns to face the younger as he does.
“Don’t tell me you were expecting an easy day, Jimin.” Yoongi teases lightly, as the resident comes to a stop next to him, absolutely beaming.
“Of course not.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“What? No, Jin, I don’t need a
babysitter
.” Yoongi protests into the receiver of his cell, exasperated. Seokjin, an old friend from high school and Yoongi’s self-appointed guardian, had called unexpectedly with the decree that Yoongi (a perfectly capable, successful surgeon, mind you) should acquire a roommate - so that
somebody
knew he was alive, since he did such a bad job at taking care of himself, apparently. He could look out for himself just fine most of the time, he didn’t need Seokjin or anyone else looking after him. Yoongi knew he meant well, he almost always did, but the thought didn’t offer any comfort - thoughts of failure had seeded themselves in the back of his mind, as if he were somehow disappointing the elder, though he knew that wasn’t the case.
In all fairness, though, Seokjin
does
have a valid point - Yoongi habitually worked three or four twelve hour shifts consecutively, generally making do without an Actual Meal™ or Actual Sleep™ in between; it wasn’t uncommon for nurses to find the surgeon curled up on a bed in a vacant room, or in a supply closet - he hadn’t slept in a closet nearly as often (only once actually), but still. Thankfully, though, the hospital staff rarely disturbed him - probably out of fear. The rumors Yoongi heard whispered when passing huddled groups of interns painted him as cold and intimidating, which may or may not have to do with the few instances he’s made interns cry because they woke him for things he either didn’t care about or could be done without him; or maybe they just didn’t want to upset him and send him into a fit of hand-washing.
It’s not like Yoongi was the only one who took naps at the hospital, everyone had at one point or another. Well, anyone who’d worked a residency, at least. There were rooms with bunks scattered throughout the hospital for staff use, except that they were used for other things besides sleeping, so instead he chose to nod of in empty rooms with sterile bedding that no one else had touched, because no way was he sleeping in the same bed someone screwed a nurse on.
Still, even when home Yoongi was perpetually awake, too concerned with showering and scrubbing each and every inch of his body until he deemed himself finally clean, and making sure that his apartment was neat and orderly - arranging throw pillows the right way, fixing the drapes, and things of similar nature. If there were any particularly tough cases, he would sit at his small dining table for hours, pouring over medical textbooks for a solution, or at least
something
that could provide some insight. Maybe he got lost in his own thoughts rather than reading, it was hard not to when each time he looked up, he saw the empty seat across from him - nothing like sitting alone at a table meant for two to make him think about how exactly he’d gotten himself here. Therefore, he only averaged about three or four hours of sleep on a good day. However, on Saturdays, his usual day off, he refused to leave the comforting embrace of his bed unless it was absolutely necessary - or his compulsions got the better of him, forcing him to go around tapping on and counting and checking things; that usually didn’t happen, though, because he wasn’t
that
bad (he was, but it’s hard to admit that to himself).
“Yoongi, we’re not even sure if you’re feeding yourself properly.” Seokjin argues in his familiar motherly tone - one Yoongi’s heard many times since his first year in college, when he was actually on his own; it was another valid point, and Yoongi groaned. He really only ate whatever cheap, quick take-out was around his apartment, or quick snacks of fruits or chips from the hospital cafeteria between rounds; he had no recollection of the last time he actually prepared a real, full meal for himself because his schedule didn’t allow him time to cook, and he was okay with that, he enjoyed being busy. Because of that, though, he’d lost weight since college - a lot of weight.
So, okay, maybe there were a
few
miniscule reasons to worry - but definitely not enough to warrant the need for a roommate.To be fair, though, Jimin - his new intern - had been making sure he ate something between procedures.
“
We
?” Yoongi’s social circle almost entirely comprised of coworkers he’d become acquainted with at the hospital and Seokjin, so when someone used a plural pronoun, he needed clarification. The present issue, however, was too dire to ignore - “You know what never mind that, I don’t want someone living with me-”
“Regardless of what you
want
, Taehyung is moving in. Today.” Seokjin cuts Yoongi’s words, and he feels his throat constrict at the name; he’s silent for a moment - almost sent into psychogenic shock.
“...Taehyung?” He asks, almost whispering - the pair had lived together for several years in college, first sharing a dorm on-campus, and then later an apartment off-campus. It worked well enough, with the two eventually becoming quite close - but that was so long ago. Yoongi hadn’t forgotten about the younger - Taehyung was one of those people you remembered, even if you only met them once.
Then, counting.
One. Two
. No, stop.
Three.
“Yes,
Taehyung
- I gotta go.” Yoongi can hear the elder’s name called in the background, it’s probably some impatient bridezilla irate about color swatches that didn’t perfectly compliment each other, an issue Yoongi hadn’t realized could
be
an issue until Seokjin became a wedding planner and dealt with adult tantrums weekly.
A wedding planner was definitely not a career Yoongi would’ve picked for Seokjin, mostly because of his dedication to the restaurant both Yoongi and Taehyung worked at for most of college. Seokjin had become the manager, and more or less ran the place - so why a weddings? He got paid enough from the restaurant, and Namjoon made much more than the pair needed at his job as an executive for a producing company. ‘
Why not both?
’ Seokjin had asked when Yoongi confronted him about it - as it turns out, wedding planning was just for fun, and he was good at it - the restaurant was still his biggest concern.
“Jin I-” Yoongi tries, but the line had already clicked dead - he huffs dropping his cell back into his desk drawer, annoyed, then compulsively reaches in, arranging his smartphone and other items correctly. If everything is neat and orderly, then he’ll be able to work more efficiently, because he wouldn’t be distracted by useless clutter (probably).
Four. Five.
“Taehyung…” he mumbles; he hadn’t seen the kid in
years
, not since he moved out of their crappy shared apartment and into a
much
nicer one closer to the hospital, and Taehyung back into his grandmother’s house. They’d lived in the tiny two-bedroom apartment for years, never bothering to move into a larger one in order to save money. Though it’s unlikely he’d ever admit it, there was a part of him that deeply missed the younger - they’d gotten along well despite their conflicting personalities; the two were polar opposites, really.
Taehyung was bubbly, happy, and sociable - the kid was always open to making new friends, and became the moodmaker in their small household. He loved all things cute and accepted everyone without hesitation, though, he had childish tendencies. He enjoyed children’s cartoons, snacks, and plushies. He also regularly experimented with food, creating some rather
interesting
dishes in which Yoongi was almost always forced to try - and the kid could
talk
. Taehyung had the ability to single-handedly carry on a conversation for
hours
, fluidly switching between topics.
Yoongi, on the other hand, was blunt, quiet, and greatly treasured the time he spent alone - he had a hard time around people for as long as he could recall, and would much rather spend his time one-on-one with
just
Taehyung or sitting behind a computer screen, working. He often upset his relationships due to his sharp tongue and cold attitude - he couldn’t help it - so he tried to keep his words short and impersonal, because you can’t mess up friendships if you don’t have any. Additionally, he had some tendencies towards anxiety that manifested as OCD - which tended to make everyday tasks difficult (and when things were difficult for him, they tended to be difficult for people around him). For example, he couldn’t stand eating in the cafeteria - it was noisy, and Yoongi couldn’t bear the uncleanliness.
Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Eight. Wait, no.
So, yeah, they were something of an odd pair. Somehow, though, their relationship worked - they became what each other needed in a time of chaos and confusion.
Taehyung became Yoongi’s social crutch, mainly because the elder tagged along most of the time (only because Taehyung insisted, of course), as well as his main emotional support. Taehyung, unlike most, took Yoongi’s mental afflictions in stride, and did all he could to ensure Yoongi was comfortable, because an uncomfortable Yoongi was a handful to deal with. He didn’t let Yoongi spiral down into the depths of his darkness, he made sure Yoongi ate, he didn’t let him sleep most of the day. He also made an effort to recognize Yoongi’s tics, triggers, and supply the praise Yoongi’s esteem so greatly relied on. He became a constant for Yoongi, something familiar, and Yoongi needed familiarity to feel comfortable, to relax.
In return, Yoongi didn’t swat away the younger’s touches (and Taehyung was
very
physically affectionate), and followed along as much as he could. When Taehyung had problems - it was rare, but it happened - Yoongi was there to talk him through it, being as he dealt with his own daily; the kid could rant for
hours.
Usually, Yoongi listened, but he did serve as Taehyung’s voice of reason when needed, such as the time Taehyung wanted to run a babysitting business out of their dorm, and later their apartment - Yoongi shot down the idea both times, but conceded the second time and allowed the younger to adopt a kitten. He tried Taehyung’s dishes (mostly) without complaint, and just let Taehyung be Taehyung - it wasn’t much, but it was enough to make him happy.
The thought of living together again was terrifying. Already Yoongi’s mind was racing with the multitude of scenarios, rational and otherwise, that could take place upon their first meeting.
What if he’s changed?
Was the first worry Yoongi’s anxiety provided - if Taehyung was the slightest bit different, Yoongi would have to completely readapt - and it was difficult enough the first time. He had to get used to the younger making the weirdest sounds, his expensive taste in clothing, his regular misadventures, and his craving for physical affection. Of course, all that came after they tried their hardest to stay out of each other’s way.
Seven. Six. Five.
Yoongi lets out a long, brooding sigh and slumps forward in his seat, his head resting on the cool metal of his desk. It was only ten, barely three hours into his shift and he could already feel the beginning of a migraine behind his eyes. It wasn’t like there wasn’t any space for Taehyung - Yoongi lived in a decent sized two-bedroom apartment on the third floor of a nice-enough complex. As to why he’d purchased a two-bedroom accommodation for just himself, he wasn’t sure; ‘just in case’ he answered, though, it may have had something to do with Taehyung, because maybe he’d thought about this already in the past. With his salary, which absolutely sucked until he completed his residency a few years ago, Yoongi could easily afford something larger and nicer, something that would fall within the lines of luxury, but flaunting his financial status seemed frivolous - he wouldn’t be home enough to take care of it, anyway. He settled on where he thought he would be the most comfortable living.
Four. Three. Two.
Dammit.
There wasn’t really anything wrong with Taehyung taking the second bedroom, it had been practically untouched since Yoongi had moved in, save for the one time he actually brought someone home - having a stranger in his own bed made him extremely uncomfortable, a side effect of his OCD, and even then he’d panicked before anything could happen because the amount of microbes (millions, by the way) exchanged during sex is absolutely terrifying. Aside from that, the room was unused, the bookshelf holding several copies of various medical books Yoongi had collected, all proportionally-aligned, and the impeccably-made bed being the only sign of inhabitance. It wasn’t a big deal, really it wasn’t, so why was he so adamantly against it? Maybe he wasn’t against it exactly, but if he had the choice, Taehyung would not be moving in.
You’re afraid of change.
His subconscious supplies and yeah, that was true. Yoongi lets out a small chuckle - he hadn’t thought this much about Taehyung in
years
, and here he was fretting over the younger’s return into his life. He couldn’t afford to worry about it anymore right now, though, - he was still at work, and there was always something to do.
As if mirroring his thoughts, the tiny black pager in the pocket of his lab coat begins vibrating and letting out several shrill, high-pitched beeps in a row; it’ll follow the pattern of seven beeps, then a two-second pause, continued four times. He releases a small sigh, fishing the device out of his pocket and checking the code, before rushing out of his office - he learned a long time ago to always take a page seriously. Before Yoongi makes it far, Jimin, is running towards him full-speed with an armful of files and reports. He watches as he almost takes out a nurse, a tech pushing a cart of supplies, and trips twice before finally making it to walk alongside the elder, huffing.
“What is it, kid?” He asks, figuring Jimin is here to inform him of the purpose of his page.
“Bad.” Jimin wheezes out, and it’s enough to freeze Yoongi’s blood for a moment. They saw a lot, and in his short week here, Jimin had seen a lot, too - so it had to be pretty horrific for Jimin to consider it bad; the kid looked innocent, though, he’d seen some of the worst. , “I really don’t think - “ he begins to interject, but Yoongi has already rushed off, not bothering to ask exactly what the situation was and leaving Jimin breathing heavily in the middle of a bustling hallway.
Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
Thank you.
It’s very bad, Yoongi finds when he reaches the first floor - A&E, or the accident and emergency ward, where the ambulances unloaded patients. As soon as the ambulance arrives and he sees the patient - a girl - he understands why Jimin had said it was bad, and the kid had only heard it over the call a few minutes before the ambulance arrived.
The girl is bleeding heavily, crimson flowing from her arms, opened by long slashes, he presumes; each is covered with a mass of soaked-through bandages, which is not a good sign because soiled bandages means that she’s been moved too much to allow the blood to form clots. He’s frozen, only for a moment, and the counting begins.
One. Two.
Not again.
“Get me an OR, we need to close her up and provide transfusions before shock takes her.” He shouts, and the rails of her gurney are up as she’s whisked down the hall by nurses, Yoongi following close after, running through his head all the possible complications he could encounter. He’s about to scream at somebody to page his intern, but then Jimin is jogging beside him, asking if he’s okay.
Three. Four. Five.
“I don’t know - as soon as I operate, find someone else to take her, please.” He orders, and Jimin nods, turning on his heel to dash off again - Yoongi doubts the kid wants to be in the OR any more than he does. “Wait - I need you in there with me.” He grabs Jimin by the shoulder, shoving him forward to keep running - only a few more yards to the OR. The kid nods, understanding, and they both shove through the doors.
Six. Seven.
In an instant, Yoongi’s tossed his lab coat to the side, scrubbed his hands, put on a cap, gloves, and a mask, and is at the table, helping connect various hoses and wires to the dying girl.
Eight. Nine. Eight. Seven.
Do we have to do this now?
“Get those bandages off and fresh ones ready, as well as needles and sutures.” He orders and two surgical techs dash of for his requested supplies. “Jimin, what’s the risk here?” He asks the kid over his shoulder, who’s standing just out of the way.
“I, uh - shock.” He answers after a moment of pause - a habit he needs to kick before it becomes fatal. “Cardiogenic.” He tacks on at the end - correct.
“Meaning?” Yoongi quizzes, while intubating the patient, she’s already unconscious, so he doesn’t bother with anesthesia, not that there’s any time; Jimin doesn't miss a beat with his response -
“Usually left ventricular failure, there's not enough blood for the heart to pump around, so it pumps harder, making it bleed more, then it tries to pump even harder to compensate and it keeps going until the patient, until she dies.” He explains simply, Yoongi wishes he’d use better terms, but the kid is right, technically.
“Good, get on her other side and help stitch, quickly. “ Yoongi sets a tray of needles and ‘thread’ on the other side for the younger. He strips the bandages off his side and begins cleaning with saline - there was so much blood, dried and fresh. It’s stressful, because the blood has clotted the gauze to the skin at some places; it’s tedious, because he has to work slowly to separate it because he doesn’t want to tear the skin anymore.
Six. Five. Four.
“What?”
“
Stitch
, Jimin.
Now -
we don’t have time for this.” Yoongi snaps at the younger’s questioning - he doesn’t mean to, this is just a difficult situation - suicide attempts always were. Jimin doesn’t say anything more, dashing to the side opposite Yoongi and beginning to strip bandages and clean the wound. “Horizontal mattress stitch.” He adds, prepping the needle.
Three. Two. One. Two.
Two hours and an inconceivable number of stitches later, finds Yoongi sitting on the floor, back up to the OR wall, and knees pulled up, taking slow, steady breaths. The cleaning staff is bustling around him, hosing blood, saline, sweat, and anything else down the drain. The table is being stripped of its covering, sanitized, a new covering placed. The monitors are being wiped down with a cleaning solution, and someone is disposing of their used supplies, erasing any evidence of their work. Soon enough, there’ll be another patient on the table, a different person with a different life.
Yoongi is exhausted. Somewhere during the process of stitching up the girl - she was fourteen, he found out - the counting had stopped. It did that sometimes, when he was too busy or exhausted to follow his compulsions down a spiral.
“Hey.” Jimin crouches down in front of the elder surgeon, shaking his knee gently.
“Yeah?” He croaks out - these cases were hard, and they had a lasting effect - especially on Yoongi. Not because of the physical damage, but the mentality the patient had to have been in, and the fact that Yoongi has shared that same mentality more than once in the past. Jimin must be a mind reader, or just extremely empathetic, because all he does is pull Yoongi up to standing - the kid is stronger than he looks, Yoongi learned after watching him carry around stacks of files and charts for hours on his first day.
“Let’s go,” He mumbles, and drags Yoongi off to his fourth - floor office, presumably so Yoongi can have some peace; he thinks this might be his last shift for the day.
When Yoongi stumbles through his apartment door at almost eleven after the remaining three hours of his shift and another twenty minutes spent on the bus ride home, and then another two minutes fidgeting with his impossible door lock, Taehyung is the last thing he expects.
But there he is, lounging on Yoongi’s couch with phone in hand and several bags and suitcases surrounding him, head shooting up as soon as he has the door open; and if Yoongi weren’t mentally and physically
exhausted
, he might do more than just stand there in the doorway and stare.
“Ah, Yoongi! I was just about to call!” Taehyung smiles cheekily, the same box smile Yoongi hasn’t been on the receiving end of in years; he won’t admit he’s missed it, though.
“Yeah, I, uh - got caught up.” He stumbles out, running a nervous hand through his hair - how is he supposed to do this? Maybe that’s not the question, maybe he should try and understand why this is so
hard
.
“From Jin’s phone call, it seems you get caught up a lot.” Taehyung teases, and Yoongi can see the mischievous glint hasn’t left the younger’s eyes. He figures that both Seokjin and Taehyung had plotted this together, rather than Jin just offering the room to Taehyung.
“I - yeah. It’s fine, though.” He defends, finally moving from his position in the doorway to place his bag on the small dining table a few feet away. Fuck, how is he supposed to do this? Taehyung doesn’t
seem
, any different, but, that doesn’t means nothing has
changed
- right?
Yoongi is in the middle of wrestling with his subconscious when Taehyung comes up behind him, wrapping his arms endearingly around the surgeons wait - it’s enough to make Yoongi flinch violently.
“Sorry, sorry.” He mumbles, “It’s just, it’s been a long time, Tae.” He explains, the familiar nickname rolling off his tongue with ease - maybe this wouldn’t be totally awful.
“It’s okay, I understand.” Taehyung offers him a soft smile in apology - it’s genuine, and a wave of guilt drenches Yoongi because this is
Taehyung
his
best friend
, and here he his treating him like a total
stranger
. Taehyung motions to his pile of luggage in the middle of Yoongi’s sitting room. “So, do I have a place to put all my anime, or?” He asks, and Yoongi chuckles; the kid sure knew how to lighten the mood.
“Over here.” Yoongi leads the younger down the hall to the untouched bedroom. “This is yours, I guess.” He rubs the back of his neck, anxiously.
“This is great!” Taehyung practically beams, and Yoongi’s chest swells. “You know, Yoongi,” Taehyung starts, his tone more serious, “I missed you.” For a moment, for what must be the fifth time that day, Yoongi is stunned - frozen, for a moment before answering.
“Yeah, Tae - I missed you too.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
On that first day so many years ago, Yoongi thought the universe must be against him, putting him in the same room with Taehyung - the two were drastically different, and Yoongi would’ve put in for a room change had Seokjin not convinced him to stick it out - something about getting out of his shell; never mind that room changes weren’t even a
thing
, probably, unless it was something significant. OCD qualified as something significant, he remembered seeing it on a scholarship application, so just maybe he could pull it off.
“You two will be good for each other, just try.”
Seokjin had insisted - reminding Yoongi that the elder knew just about everyone, even people who went to other schools, he just had a friendly aura about him that pulled people in; still, he wasn’t sure - how would an extrovert such as Taehyung be good for someone as introverted as Yoongi? Maybe extroverted and introverted weren’t the right words to describe the two - ambiguous and particular if you would. Yoongi didn’t understand it, he thought that, at the least, the two would avoid each other - and at worst, there’d be constant unrest in their tiny dorm room.
There wasn’t constant unrest, but more of a persistent tension between the two, an awkward barrier that neither even attempted to crumble. Try Yoongi did, though, he was polite to Taehyung when the two happened to be in the room at the same time, he passed honest judgement when the younger paraded around in new outfits, and just generally tried to stay out of the way. Yoongi kept to himself as much as he could, in order to keep from bothering Taehyung with his ever constant anxieties and compulsions. He brought the younger back food when he went out, tried not to instantly jump up and sanitize spills, and just tried to keep his
issues
under wraps. This annoyed Seokjin, who insisted Taehyung
really
wanted to be more than just casual acquaintances, but the elder didn’t meddle - Yoongi was trying, and that was enough, Seokjin wasn’t going to try and push it.
The pair didn’t become any closer than casual acquaintances until the end of their first term, when Yoongi’s anxiety was at an all-time high due to the ever-important exams that would decide his future, regardless of the fact that he picked medicine just to have something to study, he still wanted to do well. For the few weeks before, he’d downed more coffee than he should, than anyone with anxiety
ever
should, barely slept, and skipped meals - all to have more time to study. See, the thing about his degree plan, and about medical school in general, was the ruthlessness of it all, no time to do anything else, and maybe that’s one of the reasons Yoongi was able to do so well, it almost required an obsession to succeed, and he had plenty to go around.
Taehyung stumbled in late one night from a party to find Yoongi at their bathroom sink (thank god they had a private bathroom, just the thought of having to share a bathroom with an entire floor made Yoongi’s skin crawl) furiously washing his hands. It wasn’t the fact that Yoongi was washing his hands that snapped Taehyung out of his just barely intoxicated state, it was the fact that it was just past two a.m., Yoongi was crying, his hands were cracked and bleeding, and the sink was stained pink with blood.
Now, Taehyung had no idea what the fuck to do, because he’d never seen Yoongi like this - the only knowledge he had was from Jin, who’d given him the gist of what he had to do to calm Yoongi down, but still, that wasn’t preparation enough to deal with something like this first hand. Seokjin had tried to explain all the ins and outs of Yoongi’s OCD, but Taehyung had such a short attention span - a side effect of trying to live in both this world and his own.
He was still drunk, mind you, so he couldn’t remember Seokjin’s instructions perfectly clearly - or really at all, for that matter - so he decided to just wing it, talk Yoongi down and see if he could maybe do something about his hands. He entered, making enough noise to alert the other of his presence, and stood next to Yoongi in the bathroom, appalled.
“What are you doing?” Taehyung asked, his eyes glued to Yoongi’s hands and then the almost empty bottle of soap. His mouth might have been slightly opened as he watched, both curious and uncomfortable, and that might have been rude, but he doesn’t think Yoongi cared, he was a bit preoccupied.
“Washing.” Yoongi mumbled, tear tracks staining his cheeks as he stared at his hands so intensely, Taehyung had to examine the skin for a moment himself to see if there was something there.
“Why?” He asked, moving to pull a darkly-colored towel out of the cupboard over the toilet - he knew he’d have to pry Yoongi away from the sink, and that there’d have to be something the elder could rest his hands on that would absorb the blood without making too much of a mess and possibly ruin the deposit he’d put down on the dorm.
“I have to.” Taehyung nodded, feigning understanding, he didn’t understand, and probably never would, but at the moment Yoongi was a more pressing matter. He reached out, slowly, so Yoongi could see what he was doing, and shut off the faucet noting that the metal was warm, almost hot, reflecting the water temperature. He gently took Yoongi’s hands in his, and wrapped the muddy brown towel around them, working as delicately as possible, because the towel was scratchy and Yoongi’s hands looked so painful already. He led the elder out of the bathroom, and then the pair sat in the middle of their dorm room floor. Yoongi, surprisingly didn’t fight Taehyung - he complied, allowing the younger to wrap his hands with the towel and lead him away from the sink.
Sitting on the floor facing Yoongi, who’s gaze seemed too intensely focused on his now wrapped hands - almost as if he didn’t know Taehyung was there - he realized that,
shit
, he really had no idea what he was supposed to do now. Hug him? Yoongi looked like he’d fracture as soon as Taehyung laid a hand on him, and he knew that Yoongi hated being touched in the first place. Still tipsy, Taehyung decided to just find some simple game to occupy Yoongi, because what else could they do at almost three a.m.? So, after reminding Yoongi to stay, Taehyung dashed unsteadily to his room and unearthed a bag of jacks from all the crap in his junk drawer, named appropriately - because why not? He pretended not to hear Yoongi scoff as he sat cross-legged in front of him, dumping out the jacks and balls.
“This game is easy,” Taehyung started, arranging the jacks in some ovoid figure between the two, “You bounce a ball, and as it’s in the air you grab as many jacks as you can -” The younger then demonstrated, bouncing and gathering, then catching the ball, “- and then you catch the ball.” He beamed, hoping his smile was contagious enough to influence the emptiness in Yoongi’s eyes - what most people don’t realize is Taehyung is very receptive, he knows what people are feeling and tries his best to cheer them up.
Yoongi, however, was apparently having none of it - standing and moving past Taehyung in the direction of the bathroom, dropping the bloodied towel on the floor. Taehyung almost fell scrambling up to intercept him, placing his body in the doorway to block Yoongi, easy, considering he was nearly twice Yoongi’s size and a head taller.
“Please, I just - they’re
dirty
.” Yoongi whined, and his eyes welled up with tears - Taehyung could feel his heart break, he shook his head.
“You know you don’t need to.” He said, and Yoongi nodded solemnly. Again, he led the elder back to the floor, each sitting on either side of the game, and the two began to play. After a few games, Yoongi seemed to visibly relax, the tension seemed to ebb out of him, and Taehyung began asking simple, quiet questions in order to understand what exactly he’d walked in on.
“What happened?” He asked, Yoongi refused to look at him.
“I was nervous.” Yoongi’s voice was barely a whisper.
“Why?”
“Exams.” Christ, Taehyung wasn’t going to get anywhere if Yoongi continued with the clipped answers.
“Look, Yoongi,” Taehyung placed his hands on the elders shoulders, gently - at least he tried to, alcohol impaired ones motor skills. “I want to help you, okay? But for me to do that, you gotta talk to me.”
“I know,” Yoongi whispered hoarsely, “I just - I’ve only ever had Jin, and I don’t know, I don’t want to bother you and I’m really a handful when I get like this, you know -” The elder rambled, his voice shaking and works quiet.
“Hey, hey -” Taehyung leaned forward and crushed Yoongi against his chest - it was pretty easy, considering their size difference. “Look, it’s okay, right?”
Yoongi mumbled something in response, though, Taehyung couldn’t understand it because of the shakiness of his voice, the fact that he was speaking into Taehyung’s chest and, was Yoongi crying?
After a few moments, Taehyung felt a wetness on his chest and yes - Yoongi was definitely crying. So Taehyung did what any Supportive Friend™ would do and shifted to where he was leaning against their couch - the college’s couch, really - and cradled Yoongi in his lap, humming a song his grandmother used to sing into the elder’s ear until the sobbing turned to sniffles, then silence then to soft snores as the light grey of dawn began filtering through the windows in each bedroom.
As soon as he was sure Yoongi was asleep, Taehyung stealthily maneuvered to get his phone out of his back pocket, and texted Seokjin - because how could he not?
[Jin??]
[What, Tae? It’s early]
Taehyung groaned, he could just visualize the elder complaining about a lack of beauty sleep.
[But ur awake]
[anyway]
[Yoongi is asleep in my lap.]
The three dots indicating the other was typing appeared, then disappeared for several minutes, before the next text came through.
[What?? What happened?? Is he okay??]
Taehyung had exactly zero answers, but he tried to explain the situation as best he could.
[Remember I went to tht party last night? I got back n he was washing his hands - he was bleeding.]
Taehyung doesn’t really know what else to say - what else can he say? That’s more or less exactly what happened.
[Do you want me to come over?]
He considers Jin’s offer for a minute - if the elder came over to deal with Yoongi, Taehyung could shower and scavenge a few hours of sleep
[It’s k, I got it]
[Tell me if you need help]
Taehyung set his phone face-down next to him on the floor, and shifted to where Yoongi’s chin wasn’t digging in his collarbone. Should he wake him up? Probably not, Taehyung had heard horror stories from Seokjin about what happened when someone disturbed a sleeping Yoongi. So, being Taehyung, he reached up and pulled their fuzzy throw blanket off the couch and draped it around both of them, shifted Yoongi again in his lap, then leaned back against the couch and shut his eyes.
The thing is, Yoongi needed familiarity. After that night, Taehyung was exactly that. Of course, Yoongi tried to avoid him for about a week - he really had no idea how he was supposed to handle the aftermath of Taehyung witnessing one of his breakdowns. But eventually, Taehyung cornered him and they had a lengthy discussion about it, Yoongi explained to Taehyung what it felt like, what to do, when to expect it - meanwhile, Taehyung was surprisingly receptive.
Soon, the kid was Yoongi’s main support, next to Seokjin - it was easier to confide in Taehyung, though; Taehyung didn’t smother like Jin, instead he sat down with Yoongi and they talked about it - or watched an anime, until Yoongi was calm enough and ready to talk. Taehyung treated the elder with more normalcy, talking to him about anything and everything to get Yoongi’s mind of his compulsions. He’d spoon Yoongi on the couch when the elder was so panicked he felt like exploding and needed to be physically held together, and he wouldn’t force food down Yoongi’s throat like Jin had in the past; usually Yoongi had just ended up throwing it back up later, anyway.
Taehyung had quickly become a constant - something Yoongi dearly needed - that’s why when the younger had proposed the idea of the two getting their own apartment rather than risk losing each other as roommates, Yoongi had agreed before the words had been said - he loathed meeting more people than he had to, and having to explain his particular set of issues to new people. Of course, getting an apartment meant getting a job in order to pay for the said apartment - something Yoongi wasn’t keen about. Thankfully, though, there was Seokjin - who’d gotten the pair a job at the restaurant he worked at within a week; Taehyung as a waiter, and Yoongi as a host.
“It was the best thing for you, you wouldn’t be able to stand waiting tables or being in the kitchen - it’s honestly filthy back there, I couldn’t do that to you.”
Seokjin had justified, and, well, he had a point - Yoongi more than likely would’ve gotten fired within days for having a breakdown whilst trying to clean the kitchen, and anything else for that matter. Yoongi really wanted the apartment, so he did as best he could to welcome patrons, seat them, and just generally act as polite as possible before rushing off to wash his hands.
Balancing school and working was difficult, of course, but Yoongi and his determination to stay busy had fared just fine. On slow nights at the restaurant, the managers had even allowed Yoongi to do some of his school work - usually little things like drafting reports - so long as he was ready to work when needed. He managed to pull in a considerable pay, working several shifts a week - though, not as much as Taehyung, whose charm earned him the most tips more nights than not.
Those tips came in handy, and often were enough to pay half the rent alone. However, there was grocery costs, transportation costs - meaning the prices of passes for the bus, and furniture costs - no one had realized that an apartment didn’t come with furniture. However, they managed to get the necessities - two mattresses and a couch - from a second-hand furniture outlet, something Yoongi was more than opposed to; he coated it all with anti-bacterial spray several times before touching it.
When the two first moved in together, Yoongi learned just how much more social Taehyung was - he possessed the ability to make friends anywhere he went, and he tended to bring friends over - after warning Yoongi, of course - he realized how important it was to warn Yoongi of visitors after the first time, where Yoongi had locked himself in the bathroom and washed - lathering and repeating - because they were sitting on his couch and messing it up and they were
dirty
and his couch was
clean
. So he washed, because the voice told him that if he didn’t wash something awful would happen - never mind exactly what, he just needed to wash. When Taehyung finally convinced his friends to leave rather than try to rouse Yoongi from the bathroom, he knocked softly before letting himself in, and Yoongi was there to greet him with the same sight from months before - cracked and bloody hands. So Taehyung did exactly as before - he held Yoongi and let the elder talk and cry until he slept, only this time, he bandaged up Yoongi’s hands while he slept, and he didn’t tell Jin.
As Taehyung became more accustomed to dealing with Yoongi during his attacks, the two became extremely close, to the point where Yoongi didn’t have an issue with Taehyung’s constant touching. In fact, there were nights where the two fell asleep on the couch, tangled in blankets and each other. It wasn’t a relationship - Yoongi didn’t think of Taehyung romantically or sexually - and he was sure Taehyung felt the same; the younger had shown up at home with hickies littering his neck and collarbones more than once, and it hadn’t bothered Yoongi at all - they would still lay across each others laps and watch whatever Taehyung put on while they talked about their days - and sometimes, Taehyung talked about the sex he’d had; Yoongi willed himself deaf, because
“Do you know how many microbes are exchanged during sex?”
Point is, they were close, extremely close, and when Yoongi finished pre-medical studies and scored decently well on his MCAT a full year earlier than expected thanks to doubling course loads and all the dual-credit classes in high school, things were difficult. He finished pre-medical, sent in an application to several different schools - none of which were nearby - and he waited. It looked like he would be the first to move out - and he was - but he didn’t want to potentially ruin his relationship with his roommate if he didn’t have to, so he planned on not saying anything until he was
sure
, meaning that when acceptance letters rolled in - he was accepted into three prestigious schools - he researched the travel times from their apartment for each school, he looked into bus routes, back roads, and train routes - nothing was under two hours, each school was at least three cities away. He would have to move.
In spring, after the semester ended and he’d graduated, he still hadn’t said anything to Taehyung. He needed to, and soon, because his first semester at the school he’d chosen - which offered him quite a bit of money - began the following autumn; he needed to get the conversation over with. Somehow, not the day after graduation Yoongi and his small social circle, meaning Taehyung, Seokjin, and Seokjin’s boyfriend, Namjoon, we’re taking a trip down to a small coastal town where most of the revenue came from fishing, where they spent the weekend after splitting the cost of a cheap, shitty-but-good-enough motel room that smelled vaguely of cigarette smoke (Yoongi hated it) because they were poor but in need of an adventure.
It was early in the morning the day they were planning to leave - the sun had yet to rise - when Yoongi roused Taehyung and the two snuck out of the room and down to the beach where they walked for several minutes in relative silence, but Yoongi’s heart was racing, he was going to break the news. They stopped for a moment, shoulders hunched up as the sea breeze buffeted their bodies, and Yoongi spoke.
“I won’t be enrolling at the university next semester.” Maybe he could play it safe, imply what was happening in fewer words.
“I wouldn’t think so - you graduated, I was there, you know.” Yes, Taehyung was there, and Yoongi was sure he could feel his proud smile beaming down on him as he accepted his diploma.
“Next is medical school, I’ve decided on one, they’ve given me some scholarship money - a lot, actually - and I start in the fall.”
“Oh, that’s good! Then it’s a residency somewhere, right?” Taehyung asks, digging into the sand with his sneaker-clad foot. He’s not getting it, and Yoongi is reluctant to spell it out, but it’s now or never.
“Taehyung-” He closes his eyes, “I’m moving out.” To him, his voice sounds hollow, empty.
Silence.
They walk back down the beach and up to the access closest to the motel, nothing is said. They cross the street and walk six blocks to the motel, condemning silence. Accusing. Taehyung doesn’t speak until they stand outside the door to their room, keycard in hand.
“We’ll talk at home.” That’s all Yoongi receives, the words are quiet, solemn, empty, a broken promise, he sounds like he’s given up. In this moment, as he takes in the younger’s detachment, it's almost as if he’s looking into a mirror, seeing himself reflected upon Taehyung’s face, the same hollowness in his eyes.
The remainder of the morning is perpetually quiet, regardless of the tension between the two housemates; it’s early and nobody wants to leave, but tomorrow is the day those in the dorms - including Seokjin - are to vacate their accommodations. Yoongi and Taehyung could probably pull off staying another day, but they would have to pay for an extra night and meals, and Yoongi’s sure his announcement has ruined the mood, anyway.
The silence is deafening - it hangs over them on the train ride back to their city, on the bus ride to their stop, on the short walk to their apartment. It ends when they get inside and Taehyung sits on the couch, staring blankly at the wall in front of him; Yoongi sits next to him.
“You’ve been accepted somewhere?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re moving out.”
“Tae-”
“You’re leaving me.”
He isn’t sure who cries first, no, he isn’t sure who teared up first, but Taehyung definitely cried first, and Yoongi definitely bit the cuticle on his thumb to keep from sobbing, but tears rolled down his cheeks. It’s the first time he’s witnessed Taehyung break down, and it’s his fault; a lot of things are his fault, but in this instance he feels more guilty than he ever has.
Yoongi mulled over the housing application for the college for two straight weeks. In that time, he didn’t have many full conversations with Taehyung, he was anxious, the latter party was upset. His issue? Roommate selection and what to write in his profile; finally he decided to claim OCD as a disability and inquire about a private room, which was granted. It was insufferably small, but at least he wouldn’t have to meet anyone new. A few weeks before he left, Taehyung apologized for his reaction and avoidance (he’d been spending most nights out), and they bridged the hole that had been dug in their relationship - sort of, at least. Then Yoongi moved out, and they more or less mutually broke contact after a few weeks, which ate at Yoongi for months because Taehyung was his best friend, and now being miles away from both him and Seokjin left Yoongi alone in an unfamiliar environment with virtually no support system, the perfect concoction for a mental illness to spiral out of control.
Yoongi’s OCD had gotten worse since sharing an apartment with Taehyung - back then, Yoongi’s main adversity was the constant hand-washing, and avoiding anything he didn’t first deem as ‘clean’ because he was petrified of catching something - a cold, the flu,
anything
. Once moving out, and into something closer to his medical school, and again to the hospital, there was nobody for Yoongi to talk to, there wasn’t any Taehyung to watch anime with while discussing the day’s events, no Taehyung to give him the constant praise he craved, and no Taehyung to make sure he’d eaten that day - even if the dishes the younger prepared were a bit more
creative
. Being left on his own - or rather isolating himself - Yoongi began counting - the cupboards, the ceiling tiles, the flecks of white in the faux-granite counters - as well as repeating actions - like pouring milk - until he got it right, because he’d convinced himself that if he did these things perfectly, his day would go smoothly, never mind the fact that he didn’t know what
right
was.
Of course, these obsessions and the compulsions to satisfy and appease his subconscious were caused by something else, something deeper. He didn’t think too much into it, he simply reasoned that as he became increasingly nervous about various things, he bacame more nitpicky, spent more time washing and arranging and washing and worrying. When Taehyung had noticed these new compulsions after moving in, he sat Yoongi down and the two talked about it over the hum of an anime for several hours - late into the night, they talked about when the compulsions started, why Yoongi had to perform them (
“I just have to.”
Had been Yoongi’s answer.), and whether or not Seokjin knew - he didn’t, Taehyung had learned. Preoccupied with more or less managing the entire restaurant they’d worked at in college, he had time to do little more than call a few times a week, and Yoongi wasn’t one to admit anything unless it was forced out of him.
“Have you been okay, Yoongi?” Taehyung asks seriously, and Yoongi had to stop for a moment and think about it. Had he been okay? What did that even mean for someone like himself - what was someone like himself?
“I’ve been okay enough.” He hadn’t actually harmed himself, aside from his hands, right?
“Just enough?”
“Just enough.” Taehyung was obviously dissatisfied with this answer, but he didn’t pry - and for that Yoongi was grateful, because he didn’t want to explain that he’d more or less regressed to his high school level of OCD.
After two weeks of living together, they’d more or less gotten as close as they had been in college. Taehyung was back to laying all over Yoongi, talking about nothing and everything and asking questions that were simply baffling - even for a surgeon. Yoongi didn’t mind - he liked having the company, textbooks did get boring every now and then.
It only takes a week of living with Taehyung for the pair to fall into a routine (Yoongi loves routines, routines make him happy) - much as they’d had in college. Taehyung woke at the same time as Yoongi and made breakfast while the surgeon showered, and the younger would knock on the door if he felt Yoongi was taking too long, or possibly giving into his compulsions. Taehyung showered when he got home at night, if he had a shoot that day, in order to clean all the sweat and makeup out of his pores.
Yoongi hadn’t realized just how grueling work was for a model - there we’re mornings Taehyung left first and nights where he’d gotten home hours after the elder. Often, Taehyung told Yoongi everything about his shoots - who had been there, what they wore (or didn’t wear), and the concepts behind the photos. Taehyung usually complained about the meals they received, too - being so concerned with physical looks, the models we’re fed less than the acceptable amount based on height and weight standards - but Taehyung made up for it when he was home; his cooking ability had progressed somewhat since college, he could make full meals now, rather than oddly-colored prepackaged food with his own
twist
, as he called it.
“Everything is sugar free, carb free, quinoa-infused or some shit like that.”
Taehyung had complained,
“Or it’s barely seasoned chicken, or just some kind of smoothie.”
The last complaint had sent Yoongi, upset, into a calorie-counting fit, which was something that had never happened before. He spent a good hour adding up and dividing and averaging Taehyung’s calories intake, then convinced Taehyung quit that agency, and the he eagerly complied - he’d received an offer from another agency recently, anyway; apparently Taehyung was kind of a big deal, though, Yoongi didn’t fully realize it until one day he noticed Taehyung on the cover of a small-time local magazine in the hospital’s lobby.
In return, Yoongi tried to tell Taehyung all he could about his shifts in the hospital - how many patients he had, who should be discharged when, who he was suspected was avoiding taking their medicine, and any flings between the staff. There were limits, though, things he wasn’t allowed to talk about - legal and insurance and confidentiality, Taehyung understood. He asked questions, too, usually about the children in Yoongi’s care - how old they were, what was wrong, how they were healing - Taehyung had a soft spot for children; because of that, Yoongi tried as hard as he could to fix whatever was wrong.
With the addition of Taehyung to the household, a rushed bowl of cereal or toast or fruit we’re no longer suitable breakfast options. Now the most important meal was an intricate affair, almost everyday including eggs, toast, and some type of meat - while Yoongi didn’t exactly hate meat, it wasn’t his favorite thing to eat, a reason for his small and frail stature. Taehyung had nearly fainted at the sight of Yoongi’s bare fridge, empty pantry, and lack of spices and condiments, then placed an order for groceries to be delivered later that day; Yoongi loved living in the digital age, he could order almost anything with limited interaction.
The only change that somewhat bothered Yoongi was Taehyung switching him from coffee to tea - he’d practically lived off coffee for days at a time in the past, especially when he was operating on more than three or four patients in a shift.
“Why?” He asked, bitterly, with a pastel blue mug in his hand. He’d been searching for his canister of coffee grounds, practically tearing the kitchen apart because it wasn’t where it was supposed to be, when he learned Taehyung had thrown it out, even going as far as taking the lid off and dumping the contents into the trash to assure Yoongi wouldn’t go after it.
“It’s better for you.” Taehyung reasoned, “There’s still caffeine in black tea, Yoongi - there’s just no carcinogens.”
Dammit
, Taehyung had to use science for justification. Begrudgingly, Yoongi took their new kettle from the stove, and filled his mug - he didn’t need to look at the younger to know Taehyung had a smug smile on his face. The tea wasn’t that bad, really, Yoongi was just spiteful.
Once at the hospital, however, Yoongi sent Jimin to fetch him a black coffee from the cafeteria - Taehyung could force tea on him at home, but not at work.
After one particularly difficult day, Yoongi nearly collapsed upon walking in the door. He’d nearly lost a patient twice that day - but each time he’d managed to restart the heart. He was exhausted, though, the operation had lasted almost six hours - he’d even sent out Jimin about halfway through and ordered a more experienced surgeon come in and assist.
“Fuck, Yoongi.” Taehyung gasped, dashing to catch the elder before he fell, still in the doorway.
“‘M okay.” Yoongi mumbled, and Taehyung more or less dragged Yoongi onto the couch, and ran tender fingers through the elders hair and over every platonic inch of his body in order to relax him.
“He died twice,” Yoongi mumbles a few minutes later, when he can form cohesive thoughts - the counting that had plagued him during the operation had faded into the background - and for that he was grateful. “But I brought him back - both times, he’s okay.”
“You did good.” Taehyung said softly, and he could feel the elder’s smile at the praise - that was all Yoongi really wanted, someone to acknowledge his success. It took three hours, but eventually Yoongi was fed, changed, and sleeping soundly, his head in Taehyung’s lap.
Another day he felt like absolute shit from start to end, and when he arrived home he contemplated showering and scrubbing himself pink because it would make him feel better - but then he got home and Taehyung was sitting on the couch with a book, and instead of getting clothes and heading to the bathroom he found himself dragging his feet towards Taehyung and dropping onto his knees, burying his face in his lap, silent, and nearly falling asleep as slender fingers ran through his hair and Taehyung sung - he usually sung to himself in the shower, and sometimes to Yoongi on certain occasions to calm him, and this was apparently one of those occasions. At some point he pulled Yoongi into the bathroom and ran a bath, dropping in some scented oil and undressing Yoongi before sitting him in the tub. Taehyung sat on the toilet with his book and Yoongi sat in the tub, absently using his fingers to swirl the water around.
He made no effort to bathe himself, and finally Taehyung dog-eared his page and set his book on the counter, then proceeded to massage Yoongi’s scalp with shampoo and conditioner, holding a hand above his eyes to shield them, and gently scrubbed the days sweat and exhaustion away.
“What was in that bath?” He asked drowsily as Taehyung tucked him in after having toweled his hair dry and handed him a set of clothes to wear.
“Lavender, Sugar.” Taehyung hummed, sitting on the edge of the bed. “It’s good for sleep.”
“I’m tired.” Yoongi confirmed as his eyes drooped shut, and he felt a soft pressure on his forehead and heard a whispered, “
Sleep well
.”, before the bed squeaked as Taehyung got up and the door clicked as it was shut.
It wasn’t a relationship - it was comfortable.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Usually, Taehyung was there when Yoongi got back to the apartment - he would stay up, regardless of how late, to make sure Yoongi actually came home. Usually, Taehyung was there - but not always.
If Taehyung knew he was going to be home late, he’d send Yoongi a text - if the cameras malfunctioned, the shoot ran late, or there was just general drama - he let Yoongi know, because leaving Yoongi clueless was one of the fastest ways to initiate panic; the younger had actually remembered that from college.
Usually, Taehyung would be home soon after Yoongi - maybe an hour later, at the latest. So, when he’d sent the surgeon a text that he was meeting with a photographer after his shoot, Yoongi assumed it wouldn’t take long - so he waited up.
What Yoongi hadn’t expected was for Taehyung to come stumbling in at 1:17 a.m., lips swollen, cheeks flushed, and an array of hickeys littering his collar bones - exposed by his low-cut tee.
“Oh, you’re still up?” The model asks, gently shutting the door and turning the lock - Yoongi knows he’ll check it before he goes to bed.
“Yeah, I wanted to make sure you got back.” Yoongi reasons, it seemed fair, being as the younger waited up for Yoongi almost every night - or until the surgeon informed him he’d be working another shift.
“Wanted to? Or had to?” He asks, words laced with concern - lately, he’d been trying to help Yoongi discern whether his actions were his or an effect of his compulsions; Yoongi thinks deeply for a moment before answering.
“Wanted to, I think.” Taehyung nods.
“Good. Sorry, I lost track of time.” He smirks, and Yoongi quirks an eyebrow.
“I take it your
meeting
went well, then?” The elder teases, and Taehyung chuckles.
“Oh it went
very
well, god he was so
ripped
- like oh my
god
, Yoongs.” Taehyung feigns a swoon, moving to the kitchen and scavenging from their fridge. He pulls out a carton of milk and flips open the lip - taking a swig straight from the carton. Yoongi is disgusted, but he hates milk anyway, so he can’t comment, per Taehyung’s argument.
“That’s great, Tae, but I really don’t want to know.” Yoongi cringes, suddenly feeling the itch to wash his hands. Taehyung really needs to take a shower, there were so many microbes transferred in saliva - and it’s apparent somebody had their lips all over the model, among other things. “Who was it, anyway?” He asks, in attempts to distract himself.
“Hm? Oh, you remember Jungkook? From college?” Taehyung hums, returning the milk carton and interesting himself with finding something else in the fridge, somethings with more sustenance.
“The quiet one who always hung around?” He asks - Yoongi wasn’t the most social himself, but christ, he’d thought the kid was
mute
for several weeks after their first meeting.
“You’re not exactly talkative yourself - but yeah that’s the one.” Taehyung affirms pulls out a bag of banana snacks - why it was in the fridge, Yoongi really had no idea, Taehyung stored things oddly.
“I guess, anyway, he’s a photographer now?” Yoongi hadn’t ever bothered to ask the kid what he was majoring in, or to learn anything else about him, for that matter.
“Mhm,” Taehyung hums around a mouthful of corn with artificial banana flavoring, then swallows - Yoongi had been on the youngers ass for the first several days after he’d moved in for talking with his mouth full of food; it was disgusting, to Yoongi at least. “He’s pretty good, too - it’s a happy coincidence he happened to be at the shoot today.”
“Evidently, I didn’t realize you two were that close.”
“We weren’t - we were just talking and, well…”
“Please, never tell me the full story.” Yoongi begs, standing and stretching. “Anyway, you’re home, I’m going to bed.” He starts down the hall, but his journey is interrupted by Taehyung emerging from the kitchen to envelop him in lanky arms.
“Goodnight~” The younger singsongs - all Yoongi can think about is the millions of microbes left by Jungkook, it’s making him nervous.
“Yeah, goodnight.” He maneuvers out of the youngers hold and continues down the hall, to his bedroom secluded in the back of the apartment - he’s almost to his door when he’s reminded to check the front door and insure it’s locked. Taehyung pretends not to notice as he pads back down the hall and into the living room, unlock and lock the door, then retreat back into his room, where he then burrows under his blankets, and checks that his alarm is set to go off at four a.m., less than three hours from now.
But he can’t sleep. He’s awake thinking about microbes and how easily disease can be spread and he needs to wash his hands - he washed them after eating, right? What about after Taehyung’s hug? No, he didn’t, and there could have been so much bacteria transferred in those few seconds of contact and - was he sure the door was locked? Yes he locked it before he came to bed, but was he
sure
?
One. Two. Three.
Do we have to do this now?
Yoongi sits up in bed and buries his face in his hands and tries to steady his breathing - if the door isn’t locked then someone will come in and they will hurt Taehyung and it will be Yoongi’s fault and he will be left all alone again to spiral deeper and deeper down and he won’t be able to come back up. His hands are still dirty, too, he still needs to wash them - if he doesn’t he will carry some infectious bacteria on his hands and then transfer it to a patient in the hospital and they will
die
, but not before spreading it and creating an outbreak and it will be all Yoongi’s fault.
Three. Four. Five
. Filthy.
Dirty
.
He pushes himself shakily off the bed and stumbles to his bedroom door, pausing to take a breath and listen for Taehyung - silence.
He just needs to check the lock, and wash his hands. He slowly opens his door, exits, and pulls it softly closed behind him. He steps lightly down the hall, to the front door, where he unlocks the door, then locks it back once more - crisis averted. Now, to wash.
Yoongi again pads lightly back down the hall, passed Taehyung’s room and into the bathroom on the opposite side. He flips on the light and shuts the door gently behind him, before turning and catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror.
He’s pale, his cheeks flushed and the color drained from his lips - his blond hair is a tousled mess, and there seems to be a tremor in his hands. He just needs to wash.
So he leans forward, turns on the faucet and waits for warm water to flow through the pipes.
Unfortunately, Taehyung must have developed a sixth sense for when Yoongi was anywhere near a sink, because the next think Yoongi knows is the model has materialized in the doorway.
“What are you doing?” He asks, leaning against the frame - Yoongi doesn’t answer, staring intently ahead at the faucet - a few more seconds and the water would be adequately warm and he could wash.
The few seconds pass, and Yoongi reaches in and wets his hands, then pumps soap from the bottle sitting on the edge of the sink and rubs his hands together, lathering. When he thinks he’s coated everything, he sticks his hands back under the warm water and watches as the suds rinse off - but wait, was he sure he got all of the skin? Between his fingers? He should do it again, just in case.
Before he can reach forward for another pump of soap, Taehyung grips one of Yoongi’s wrists and uses his free hand to shut off the water.
“Tae-“ Yoongi whines, “I need to.” Taehyung merely shakes his head, letting go of Yoongi to dig out and hand towel and hand it to the surgeon, who weakly takes it and begins drying his hands.
Once Yoongi has deemed his hands moisture free, Taehyung leads him out of the bathroom and to the elders bedroom, where he lays down and then pulls a still-standing, still-shaking Yoongi into him. He encases the elder easily due to the size difference, and it’s all Yoongi can do to try and still his trembling.
“Do you want me to sleep here?” Taehyung asks, and Yoongi nods rather than speaking - he’s not sure he can choke out a word without collapsing into sobs because his hands are dirty and he needs to wash them, and he should probably check the lock one more time, but here he is melting into Taehyung’s embrace because he can’t fucking control himself.
So he lets himself melt into Taehyung as the younger trails soft touches down his arms, across his stomach, threaded through his hair.
“What was it this time?” Taehyung asks, softly - he tried to get Yoongi to recognize his obsessions as irrational - sometimes it worked, but this wasn’t one of those times.
“I need to wash my hands or I’m going to infect a patient and start an epidemic in the hospital.” Yoongi gripes, annoyed, because really he shouldn’t be having the conversation with Taehyung - he should be
washing his hands
, and he might as well take a shower, too, at this point. He attempts to struggle out of Taehyung’s hold - but Yoongi has never been strong, so the younger simply tightens his grip and Yoongi lets out a huff of annoyance because he’s
dirty
and he needs to be
clean
, however, Taehyung isn’t going to let go, Yoongi knows this, and his frustration boils into numbers.
One. Two.
Let me go.
Three. Four. Five.
“That’s not going to happen, Yoongi.”
“Yes it is.” Yoongi argues - he knows he won’t, but in light of OCD, that doesn’t matter.
“Yoongi, you wear gloves when operating.” Taehyung tries to reason, but Yoongi is having none of it, he’s
sure
he’s going to contaminate
someone
.
“But, still.” Yoongi doesn’t have another argument, why can’t Taehyung just leave him with his compulsions? It’d be easier for everyone, anyway.
But Yoongi knows he doesn’t think that - he really likes having Taehyung around, he’s added some variety to life the surgeon had been missing - after all, everyone Yoongi knew could stitch impeccably, but none of them could illegally download anime or make amazing hot chocolate like Taehyung; the numbers fade into the background.
“So at the shoot today,” Taehyung begins - it’s an attempt at a distraction, Yoongi knows, but it’s a damn good one. “These two chicks really got into it - and apparently one called the other a prostitute.” The word makes Yoongi’s skin crawl. “But she didn’t deny it, interesting enough - she just called the other an alcoholic.” Taehyung explains, and Yoongi hums - he’d had his own brush with alcoholism in the past.
There was a point during the pair’s time in an apartment in which Yoongi was constantly anxious or depressed - it lasted for months. At some point, as a way to combat his own self-conscious, Yoongi had turned to drinking copiously to either calm himself or feel something other than the crushing weight of existence. He kept away from it when he had school or work, but when he did work - which was several times weekly - it was with the intent to get drunk.
The entire ordeal only lasted about a year - Taehyung noticed and tried to help, then later involved Jin. Together, they helped Yoongi climb out of the hole he’d dug himself. The talk of medication came up - but Yoongi never went through with it, he was afraid the drugs would change him.
He’s lost in his thinking, and that’s perhaps why he doesn’t hear Taehyung’s question the first time.
“Yoongi?” Taehyung’s voice drags him back to reality.
“Yeah?”
“Have you thought about seeing a therapist?” Taehyung’s voice is serious, his syllables laced with concern. “Not a psychiatrist,” He quickly adds, “I don’t think you need medications to regulate you.”
“I don’t like new people, Tae.” Yoongi groans - he wasn’t one to talk, he preferred to listen - so how was he supposed to go somewhere he was expected to do all the talking?
“I know, Yoongi. Trust me, I do.” Taehyung hums, “But, this can’t all be on me - I have a life, too.” Yoongi knows this, he’s known this since college - that’s one of the reasons why he’d been adverse to the younger moving in. He really doesn’t want to put Taehyung under all this pressure, so he concedes one tiny fact.
“There’s a therapist in the hospital - I don’t know anything about them, though - I’ve only passed their office a few times.” That’s a white lie - Yoongi passes the office almost daily, he just pretends he doesn’t notice Jimin glance between him and the door.
“Go see them tomorrow, okay? Please?” Taehyung asks - and he knows he’s asking a lot, and Yoongi knows Taehyung won’t make him do it if it really doesn’t want to.
“I don’t know…”
“Three appointments, Yoongi. That’s all I’m asking.” Taehyung hums - he’s pleading with Yoongi, and the elder knows it’s for his own good, but he still takes a few moments to answer.
“I… Okay.” He shifts himself against Taehyung, his back pressed into the youngers chest. He feels Taehyung smile against his hair, and then the model is quietly discussing future shoots with himself - he doesn’t try to include Yoongi, and the elder is grateful.
As Taehyung rambles on, Yoongi finds himself drifting off, and then he’s asleep, cradled against the younger.
In the last few hours of his shift, Yoongi is found standing outside the assumed therapist’s office, hesitating. He’s going to knock, sure, but what if they’re with a patient? Or they’re not in their office at all?
They’re in, Yoongi can see the top of a black head of hair through the small window in the door. Yoongi has no choice but to go in, once he’d told his intern, Jimin had almost followed Yoongi to make sure the elder actually
went
- he’s going, he just needs a minute, first, no big deal.
He takes a breath, and knocks, turning the handle and pushing the door open. As he does, the black head of hair that’d been hunched over a desk shoots up, and an analytical gaze is trained on Yoongi.
“Hello, I’m Dr. Jung - but call me Hoseok, please.” The mans cheery voice mandates, standing and making his way over to meet Yoongi who’s almost instantly annoyed. He’s dressed similar to Yoongi, only, under his white lab coat is business casual attire rather than blue scrubs - figures, as he’s behind a desk instead of a scalpel. He pauses, and Yoongi takes this as the cue to introduce himself.
“Dr. Min.” Yoongi hums quietly in response, ignoring how the other holds out a hand to shake - he tries to avoid touching people when possible.
“Ah, I’ve heard about you.” Hoseok beams, and it’s making Yoongi uncomfortable, because what is that supposed to mean? Is it rude to ask how the workplace therapist had heard of him? Suddenly he’s terrified, because does
everyone
know about him and his
issues
? Yoongi’s only given in to his compulsions a few times at work, excluding the counting.
“I’m sure.” He moves to sit in the leather armchair in the corner - there’s nothing behind him and he can see everything else in the room, it’s somewhat calming.
“Well, everyone here knows you’re an adept surgeon, but that’s not what I’m talking about.” Oh no.
One. Two.
“It’s not?” He asks quietly, feigning ignorance.
“No, I’ve heard around the hospital - especially from the new interns - that you’re very...
particular
.” He shuts the door softly and locks it before moving back behind his industrial grey desk, a safe distance away from Yoongi. “Is it true?”
Three. Four. Five
. Stop it.
“If you’re asking if I have OCD - then yes, what you’ve heard is true.” Yoongi answers, perhaps a bit too sharply - it doesn’t seem to phase Hoseok, who’s smiling softly.
“I thought it’d be best to check, to make sure the interns aren’t just complaining.” He hums - it’s reasonable, the interns seemed to be the equivalent of moody teenagers at times. “Is there anything else?”
“I-I don’t know,” He stutters, “Maybe?” Probably. Hoseok doesn’t seem phased - if he knew about Yoongi already, had he been waiting for the surgeon to wander into his office?
“I can work with that - assuming you plan on visiting me regularly.” Hoseok leans back in his desk chair.
“I’m here because a friend of mine insisted - he thinks I need help.” Yoongi explains - he only had to visit three times, and he doesn’t intend on becoming a regular.
“Ah, I understand.” Hoseok hums. “Do you think you need help?” Yoongi
knows
he needs help.
Six. Seven. Eight.
“I think I’m okay - I manage.” Liar.
Nine. Ten. Nine.Ten.
“So, what are your compulsions, if I might ask?” Is this really necessary?
“Hand-washing, arranging, I won’t eat mixed foods, I have to have something to drink or I won’t eat.” He lists - he leaves out the counting, though. Hoseok doesn’t need to know everything - not yet anyway; the psychologist nods thoughtfully. He opens his mouth to comment, but is interrupted by Yoongi’s pager in his coat pocket, vibrating and beeping.
“Sorry, I have to go.” He apologizes, standing and checking the page - it’s one of his patients. Not only does it give him a reason to escape, the noise startles him out of the counting.
“Of course - I hope you come back and see me, Yoongi.” Hoseok offers in parting and - as far as Yoongi can tell - it’s sincere.Yoongi doesn’t answer, though, instead he nods at the psychologist and flips the lock, pushing out the door and rushing down the hall.
When Yoongi arrives less than two minutes later (he’d only needed to traverse one flight of stairs, thankfully), his patient is gasping for breath, clutching their chest with a pained expression - he figured this might happen, it’s common in cancer patients. Jimin is at the patient’s side, shouting orders, there’s a sense of pride in this, Yoongi’s done a good job with making a doctor out of the younger, or at least a mediocre job. As soon as Jimin notices Yoongi, he explains the situation.
“Pleural effusion.” He says, breathless, and Yoongi begins quizzing as he scans the monitors.
“Meaning?”
“Fluid in the lungs - we have to get it out.”
“Exactly,” Yoongi praises, “How do we do that?”
“Thoracentesis.” Jimin knows to expect this constant questioning, he’s gotten used to it, and that’s why he explains without Yoongi asking. “We use a needle to draw it out.”
“Are you sure?” Yoongi asks this almost every time, too, so Jimin had come to ignore second guessing himself - a flaw that will eventually be fixed.
“Of course.” He answers too confidently - Yoongi takes it upon himself to dissolve it.
“No, Jimin, we’ll drain some with a needle and send the fluid for testing, then we’ll do a tube thoracostomy.” Yoongi corrects - it might be rude, but he enjoys when Jimin is wrong.
“Oh, okay then.” Jimin’s voice is slightly deflated and it almost pains Yoongi, but the kid needs to learn.
“When that’s done, we’ll have to follow it with pleurodesis to keep it from happening again.” A cart is wheeled in with the needed supplies - the needle and syringe at least, and a few minutes later Yoongi has the needle inserted into the left lung, pulling back the stopper and drawing out bloody fluid. 250 milliliters later and Yoongi is observing Jimin expertly inserting a tube into the patient’s chest - he must have watched an internet tutorial.
“Alright, Jimin, you did good.” Yoongi praises when the younger finishes, watching as he sheds his gloves into a waste bin and cleaning staff disposes of their now-contaminated supplies.
“Thanks - shouldn’t you be leaving soon?” Jimin reminds - he’d more or less memorized Yoongi’s hours, and tried his best to have Yoongi home at least one night a week.
“Probably, I was planning on working through another shift, though.” Yoongi hums, stepping out of the patient's room. “Make sure he’s checked on regularly.” He says to a passing nurse, pointing out their fluid patient - she nods and continues on her way.
“How did it go with Hoseok?” Jimin asks, failing to veil the concern in his voice - even if Taehyung hadn’t moved in, he would’ve had Jimin to worry about him.
“Fine, I guess. It was interrupted by this page, though.”
“Are you going to go back?” Luckily, Jimin’s question is answered by another page - the two are jogging alongside each other when Yoongi answers.
“I don’t know, kid. We’ll see.” Jimin doesn’t like this answer, but Yoongi knows the younger won’t comment further. The two arrive at the patient’s room, only to find two very pale nurses coming out.
“False alarm.” One mutters and walks off, leaving Yoongi and Jimin to give the remaining nurse a puzzled stare.
“He was masturbating.” She offers as an explanation, before following the first nurse.
A wondrous thing about working in a hospital: conversations are often cut short by a page, and after incidents like this, it’s hardly likely trivial things such as Yoongi visiting a therapist will come up again soon.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
When Yoongi panics, he can usually feel it coming. Sometimes days before, and sometimes only minutes - but he could feel it, and the constant anticipation serves to make the attack worse when it finally does happen.There's butterflies dancing in his stomach and pressure on his chest threatening to collapse his lungs at the slightest of inconveniences. Every breath is forced and then his skin is bleeding somewhere he hadn't even realized he was picking.
Suddenly, everything is just
different
, and Yoongi wouldn't be able to explain to anyone exactly how - it was too loud and the noise around him grated at his mind, reducing him to tears, or everything was muted and empty as the voice of anxiety rains down insults and, though Yoongi has heard them all before, they cut and sting with the same fervor as the first time. Everything looks glassy - too perfect, and it was annoying because he was
ruining
it.
Sometimes, it's his fault he panics. Maybe not entirely, and maybe not directly - but give him a minute and he can explain how every one of his actions is an indirect factor and it's
his
fault - there was no point in trying to convince him otherwise, because even if he agreed, the voice in his head continued screaming; it’s his fault, he knows it is.
Like today, when he'd accidentally snapped at Taehyung while the younger was making breakfast - he didn't mean to, but sometimes he couldn't stop the mocking words from rolling off his barbed tongue.
The younger had been ranting about his previous day at work - the managers were forcing him to go on a week-long trip, and he would have to leave in the next few days. The only thing was, he didn't have any warning about it - he and several of his coworkers were irritated, to say the least. When he'd finally turned to Yoongi and said he was angry, Yoongi had, without any forethought, uttered out “Gee, really?”
Yoongi regretted it as soon as the words were out of his mouth, and he tried to apologize but the damage had been done. Taehyung flashed him a seething glare, intense enough to make Yoongi almost wince and step back, before turning back to the eggs he’d been scrambling. Taehyung didn't speak the rest of the morning, and Yoongi left for work without breakfast, or a goodbye as his retort - that's as far as he would go to intentionally hurt Taehyung.
Now, here he is - sitting in his office at his desk with his foot tapping fast enough to rival light itself as he listens to Jimin speaking, staring at the wall. He's
never
in his office, which is probably why Jimin’s voice is so delicate, words laced with thinly veiled concern - the kid could never play poker, one could always tell what the younger was thinking and feeling just by a glance.
“The girl, Yuna - the one who had the valve replaced, she's supposed to be discharged today.” Yoongi identified his patients by their condition, meanwhile Jimin connected with each of them, learning their names and almost everything about them - he was better at that part. Everyday, Jimin runs down Yoongi's ever-changing list of patients and talks about them - whether or not they improved, if they were set for discharge, if they'd died whilst Yoongi was at home.
No.
The last thought had been too much, and Yoongi regretted that, too - he really wishes he had a better handle on his thinking, and that he could just ignore the intrusive thoughts.
Suddenly, Jimin is at his side, and Yoongi realizes he has his head down on the desk, breathing heavily; he's shaking, too - when had that started?
“Yoongi? Talk to me.” Jimin hums quietly, and places a soft hand on the surgeons back in an attempt to soothe him - Yoongi flinches away violently.
“Don't touch me.” Yoongi hisses, burying his face in his hands. (Please touch me.)
“Yoongi, what happened?” Jimin presses, though, he removes his hand at Yoongi's growl - had it been Yoongi who said that?
One. Two
. No.
“
Nothing
, Jimin.” His voice is strained, saturated in equal parts anger and fear.
Three. Four. Five. Six.
What is wrong with you?
“Let me help -” The younger starts, almost pleading, but Yoongi interrupts.
“Don’t you have paperwork to be doing?” He snaps, coldly and viciously, and tries to ignore the hurt flashing in Jimin’s eyes and the guilt stabbing into his heart. Jimin turns away and stalks out of the room wordlessly, and Yoongi is left once again anxious and regretful. He’s glad when his pager goes off a few moments later - it’s a needed distraction. He doesn’t want to go home and face Taehyung, nor does he want to apologize Jimin, so he plans to work as long as possible.
It looks like it’s going to be pretty easy to avoid going home, because when he gets down to A&E, there’s at least dozens of patients. By listening around, he hears the gist of what happened - a major traffic accident involving a bus, a delivery truck, and a number of smaller vehicles - it had something to do with a collapsed overpass. He swallows his panic and inserts himself into the crowd.
The thing is, Yoongi loves working. Not the work itself, just working - he hates when he has no means of occupying himself, when there’s nothing to hold his attention and stave off the thoughts that plagued him. Therefore, when he arrived at the hospital, he usually stayed until he ran out of things to do, became too frustrated, or was forced to stop - Jimin was usually the one to do it.
Working in a hospital as a surgeon, those things rarely happened - especially when he was one of the best - and youngest, at that. Because of this, he was able to work until exhaustion; while some areas had outlawed this particular practice, Yoongi, thankfully, did not reside in one of them - so he works and sacrifices decent sleep and an actual meal to avoid facing both Taehyung and Jimin. He washes his hands only to pick up a scalpel, operate, and wash them again. As soon as he sits down he’s being dragged into an OR - but he doesn’t mind in the slightest.
It was okay, because he was busy; he needed to stay busy - the awful thoughts and compulsions fiercely gripped his mind and squeezed when he wasn’t. If there wasn’t something holding his attention, the anxiety would set in and suffocate Yoongi in his own skin, collapsing his lungs. Constant working probably wasn’t one of the healthiest habits one could possess, and it was easy to indulge when there were so many to operate on, but Yoongi could manage himself, usually, and keep from going overboard.
Usually.
Today wasn’t one of those days - or several days, really - he wasn’t exactly sure what day it had been when he came in, or what day it was now. He’d performed eighteen operations, five of them lasting for at least three hours, two of which had resulted in the patient’s death - one of them was a boy - a
child
- only nine years old; usually, Yoongi didn’t lose patients - definitely not more than one at a time. But he also didn’t usually have this many patients to care for.
Usually.
The deaths weren’t his fault, really; realistically he knew they weren’t, but his anxiety would insist so until he gave up and believed it and, well, there hadn’t been much of a fight this time - he was too exhausted to convince himself the anxiety was lying. Each patient was advised against the procedures, both had minuscule chances of survival, but families had
insisted
, and as a result Yoongi had to break the news to two families; it was awful, but he remained stoic, repeating the same lines he’d said to only a handful of people before - he wondered how many times these words would have to be repeated by other doctors to other families before they were through.
Finally, after four shifts and two power naps in empty beds, Yoongi finds himself stumbling into his office in search of his wallet, phone, and apartment keys after Jimin had shaken him awake - he’d somehow fallen asleep in a corner. He would’ve been ecstatic the younger was talking to him after this morning's conflict - but he only woke Yoongi out of obligation, and spared the elder no words. He drops into his desk chair and exhales relief because his feet
ache
and his eyes
burn
. He digs around in the top left drawer, disturbing the arrangement of other items, he knows he’ll fix them later, and stands, shakily, making his way out of his office and down the hall to the locker room. He hastily changes out of his soiled scrubs and coat into more casual street clothes, ignoring the looks from other staff - nobody wants to see an off-duty surgeon walking the street and taking the bus in bloody clothes.
He’s breathing heavily, and he doesn’t know why; he usually doesn’t become this disoriented during his shifts.
Usually
.
But here he is, an inconceivable pressure sinking on his chest and the whisperings of failure in the back of his mind, and an itch to wash gripping his consciousness; he needs to get home. He slams his locker shut, clicks the lock back on and silently shoulders his way past a few faceless interns and out of the locker room. He ignores the fact that he can hear them whispering - undoubtedly spinning more tales about how terrifying the surgeon is - but he can live with that, for now at least - he has more important things to worry about, like not breaking down in the middle of the hospital.
Yoongi walks out the front doors and is greeted by the chilled air - he doesn’t have a jacket, just his normal tee-shirt and jean, but his skin is alive and buzzing and he’s much too distracted to notice the cold, anyway. He’s exhausted, he’s been awake for what - three, four days? When was the last time he ate? He can’t remember, it’d been operation after operation, with naps shoved somewhere in between. It was hard to focus on anything, really, when you were running on virtually no food or sleep.
Making his way to the station to board a train for the short ride to the stop near his apartment, he attempts to recount his hours - what he ate and when, the patient’s conditions, when he slept and for how long - all things Taehyung would inquire about when Yoongi eventually arrived home - assuming the model wasn’t still angry. Suddenly, working another shift is desirable, but Yoongi knows his limits.
Arriving at the station at approximately the same time as his train, Yoongi realizes that he can recollect almost
nothing
about his past hours; Taehyung will almost surely be annoyed, if he’s not still from their last interaction. Yoongi can’t dwell on it, though - he just hopes the younger will be out or asleep when he finally makes it home. Boarding, he drops himself into the closest vacant seat, exhausted limbs practically sighing at the relief as he sinks into the plastic-covered, poorly-stuffed cushions.
But Taehyung was annoyed already - Yoongi had upset him this morning - or whichever morning he was home last, the days all ran together.
Yoongi doesn’t bother with checking his phone until the bus is more than halfway to his stop - he has four calls and three texts from Taehyung, and nothing from anyone else - the younger liked to check on him, even when pissed, and especially after he worked more than two shifts consecutively, though, Yoongi rarely answered. He almost never had his phone with him - it was always locked in his top left desk drawer, along with his wallet and apartment keys. If the missed texts and call meant anything, it was that Taehyung was definitely not happy. Scrolling through his messages, Yoongi notices his hands are shaking - he realizes they’ve been shaking for the better part of the last of his four shifts. Suddenly, a thought materializes - was he shaking during the last operation? Where he’d lost the boy? He’d started shaking in his office, and the tremors continued off and on - but had his hands stilled during the procedure?
He feels the panic, he hears anxiety screaming - ‘
Your fault
’ - over and over; he can almost visualize his anxiety, personified and standing in front of him, shouting and berating him. He feels his breath hitch, his feet begin tapping fast enough to once again rival the speed of light itself, and his fingers move to absently peel any dry skin off his lips.
Please, not here
, he begs,
we just have to get home
. His heart rate speeds up, pounding as if it were a drum, and the buzzing in his head becomes louder; suddenly everyone on the bus is irritating simply because they’re
there
. Though there’s no need, his brain supplies him with the symptoms of psychogenic shock - it’s ridiculous because he’s
panicking
, not going into shock.
Just have to get home
.
He does finally make it home with no memory of the rest of the train ride, dismounting the train, or walking to his complex and up three flights of stairs and counting each step - but here he is, trying and failing to fit the key in the lock. Finally, he achieves the great feat that is unlocking the door, he lets himself in and Taehyung’s head shoots up from where he was lying across the couch, a muted anime flashing across the television screen.
Fuck.
He’d forgotten the younger was home - he really didn’t want Taehyung to see him like this, and he really didn’t want to deal with Taehyung if he was still pissed. He shuts the door softly behind him, locking it, and steps out of his shoes, aligning them precisely next to the front door. He sets his bag down on their small dining table, tries to ignore the plate of cold food sitting at his place at the table, and immediately goes to the kitchen to wash his hands, he feels
dirty
; he can feel Taehyung’s gaze on him as he switches off the television, and he realizes the younger hasn’t said a word - entirely unlike his boisterous self. He usually greets Yoongi with a cheerful salutation and a boxy grin when the surgeon finally comes home.
Usually
.
“Where the hell have you been?” Taehyung asks seriously from the couch; Yoongi takes it that his last several hours haven’t been what would qualify as ‘usually’. He turns on the faucet, wetting his hands and squeezing a dollop of soap into his palm.
“Working.” He answers simply, trying to keep his tone light. He can tell what mood Taehyung is in - the younger didn’t necessarily approve of Yoongi working himself half to death almost daily, Yoongi knew that.
But working was Yoongi’s life, and Taehyung knew that; he rubs his hands together, working up a nice lather, then rinsing; he squeezes out another dollop of soap. He needs to do it again, he didn’t do it
right
- his itch to wash is hardly sated.
“You haven’t been home in almost-” Taehyung clicks the power button on his phone, most probably to consult the time. “ - four
days
.” Taehyung is infuriated, Yoongi can tell. He lathers his hands, rinses, squeezes out more soap, repeats - he’s stuck now.
Filthy
.
Failure.
Anxiety supplies and yeah, he was.
“It was busy.” Yoongi mumbles out, lathering his hand for the third - or was it the fourth time? He’d already lost count, but he still wasn’t doing it right; another rinse, more soap. Taehyung had surely heard of the overpass collapse, it would’ve made him late to his shoot.
“Three shifts, Yoongi. You
promised
me you would only work three shifts at max.” Yoongi
did
promise that, after the last time he’d collapsed from exertion as soon as he’s come in the door. He’d worked twice this much in a week and, apparently, his body couldn’t handle that. Unfortunate, really.
“I lost track, okay? It won’t happen again.” He amends to the younger as he rubs his hands together.
“Bullshit.” Yoongi almost recoils at the venom in Taehyung’s tone, the younger rarely spoke to anyone like that. “It’ll happen again, I
know
it will - and again and again until you kill yourself from exhaustion.”
He’s not wrong.
Lather, rinse, repeat
. The younger opens his mouth to speak again.
“You don’t eat, you’re sleeping less than two hours a day - almost none of which is at
night
, and you’re
never
home -”
“
Dammit
, Taehyung, just
shut up
!” Yoongi shouts over the running faucet - he regrets it immediately; he thinks he feels tears prickling in his eyes and embarrassment flooding his cheeks. Why can’t he do anything right?
The thing is, though, Taehyung can always come back with
something -
he can always get the last word in - it’s a skill few people know he posses.
“Why? Because I’m
right
? Because you
know
I’m right?” He gets up and waltzes into the kitchen, shutting off the tap before Yoongi can wash again and handing the elder a towel. Even pissed off, Taehyung still cared deeply, and tried to help Yoongi fight his compulsions.
“This is my
job
, Taehyung,” Yoongi argues, his voice steadily rising in volume, becoming increasingly shaky- he hated it, he hated yelling, and today had been such a shit day already. “Just like yours.”
“I’m
worried
about you!” Taehyung shouts back, effectively making Yoongi jump. At this, the pressure seems to press even harder on Yoongi’s lungs - he can’t breathe.
“No one said you had to live here!” He screams, “No one said you had to take care of me, that you have to help me-” His throat constricts before he can continue and,
shit
, is he
crying
?
No no no no no
. He turns away from Taehyung, dropping his head in his hands, trying as hard as he can to swallow the lump in his throat. No one said Taehyung had to move in, but he did - for Yoongi - and the fact that the surgeon had said such a thing absolutely shattered him because he
didn’t mean it
.
A few seconds later, he feels arms wrap around him, and he stiffens at the touch.
“I know.” Is all Taehyung says for a moment, and it only makes Yoongi feel guilty because,
of course
, the younger was so
selfless
. “I know, I know this is your job, and I know how much it means to you. But,
shit
Yoongi, I’m
worried
.”
Yoongi doesn’t respond, and nothing else is said. Instead, Taehyung takes one of Yoongi’s hands, pulling it away from his face, and leads him to the couch - the piece of furniture Yoongi had spent the most on specifically to have a comfortable place to nap - or to collapse onto - and sits. He pulls the elder down once he’s situated and lifts the surgeon’s head into his lap as tears roll down his cheeks.
Taehyung knows, he knows that Yoongi lost a patient, he always does. He probably noticed as soon as Yoongi walked in the door - but he still asks, because if he doesn’t, Yoongi won’t talk about it - and the elder
needs
to talk; it was almost as if Taehyung were his therapist - the idea made Yoongi feel worse because he was putting so much pressure on the kid; maybe he should take seeing Hoseok seriously.
“Did you lose one?” He questions, softly, running a hand up and down Yoongi’s back soothingly.
“Two.” Yoongi mumbles between strangled sobs, Taehyung doesn't say anything for the moment - probably as shocked as Yoongi had been when the monitors flatlined.
“It’s not your fault.”
“I was shaking while operating.” Yoongi argues, though, he’s still not sure if it’s true.
“It’s not your fault.” Taehyung repeats.
“One of them was
nine years old
.” Yoongi retorted, shaking more intensely as the spits the boy’s age, as if it were poison and somehow proved the death Yoongi’s fault.
“Yoongi, really, it’s not your fault. You can’t save everyone.” Taehyung reassures and, of course, Yoongi
knows
that, but
still
. He nods into Taehyung’s thigh, soaking the younger’s sweatpants with tears.
“I know, I just-” He tries, but Taehyung shushes him.
“Hush, Sugar.” It’s a nickname only Taehyung is allowed to use, he moves his hand from Yoongi’s back, and he almost whines in protest, but then fingers are threading through his blonde locks, and Yoongi almost lets out a relieved sigh at the touch. “Just let it out.”
With nothing more to say and the wave of anxiety finally,
finally
cresting and breaking against the shoreline that is Yoongi, he complies, letting out a choked sob and burying himself deeper in Taehyung’s lap, before Taehyung rearranges them with Yoongi’s back against the couch and his face hidden in Taehyung’s chest.
Yoongi quivers, and Taehyung holds him.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Taehyung’s learned that, if you ask almost any adult about school, or even broach the subject, they’ll tell you the same thing every time without fail:
“High school will be the best years of your life.”
That may be true for some, but in Taehyung’s opinion, however, his college years were the best. Sure, they were dusted by poverty and stress, but it was in college when most people seemed to be at peace with themselves, comfortable in their own skin, unlike in high school, where most people try to be someone they’re not at the faint promise of popularity and social acceptance. In college, people just didn’t care, everyone had better things to do - they couldn’t care less about trivial matters, such as if you had a designer handbag, they had an exam next class and were on their third cup of black coffee.
In high school, Taehyung had been mildly popular - he was the kid who smiled at everyone, who floated seamlessly through cliques, and who somehow managed to always have a pantry’s worth of food in his backpack. Sure, there were people he didn’t particularly like, and people who didn’t particularly like him - but for the most part, he was everyone’s best friend, more or less. That was great and all, but still, he liked college better.
A List Compiling the Reasons College is Better - By Taehyung:
As aforementioned, most everyone in college seemed to be over their teenage angst as well as generally more relaxed. It was great, because though everyone was depressed (most people were unhappy, Taehyung had learned), they knew how to make jokes, and how to separate themselves from their feelings every once in awhile in order to finish their assignments. It was then, and only then, that people freaked out - or got completely wasted, whichever was most convenient.
The food was arguably better, there was no denying it. Not only that, there were numerous places on campus to eat aside from the general dining hall. The school was able to take a step away from the bland monstrosities one would find in a public school, and Taehyung hadn't realized how important spices were in a meal until the transition into college - suddenly, he held a deep respect for those pursuing a career in the culinary arts.
Contrary to the popular belief held by most high school teachers, most college professors were chill. They taught what they wanted and when, and sometimes they didn't teach at all, which was cool - Taehyung enjoyed the occasional unexpected day off, even if it only meant he had the time to pick up an extra shift at the restaurant where he waited tables. Surprises were surprises, and Taehyung enjoyed them.
Yoongi. It may seem sappy and cheesy (oh what the hell, it's definitely sappy), but Yoongi had become one of Taehyung’s closest friends, and he cared deeply about him. He knew the feeling was mutual with the elder, Yoongi was just bad with words and using them to express himself - but it was okay, he got the point across by not swatting at the younger when he attempted to cuddle.
Of course, there was the lack of adult supervision and the unregulated drinking, some underage, but those reasons seemed too cliche for Taehyung to include in his comprehensive list - and, yes, his main reason that college was, in his opinion, better, was Yoongi - the elder had that effect on people, whether or not he believed so. When he spoke, there was a certain authority in his tone that made people listen - at least, it made Taehyung listen, and that was a feat in itself.
At first, rooming with Yoongi was awkward, uncomfortable, even. He was (and still is) extremely particular about insignificant things - things Taehyung hadn't even considered to be things - so the younger took to spending most nights out in order to leave Yoongi to his own devices and avoid upsetting the elder somehow. He wanted to be friends, sure, but he hadn’t the slightest idea of how to go about it, not with Yoongi. The elder seemed to be completely and totally adverse to the idea of forging any relationships with anyone other than Seokjin, who’d been his only friend since high school, Taehyung had learned. In fact, almost everything Taehyung knew about his elusive roommate came from Seokjin, the elder was something of an expert on the subject of Yoongi - Yoongology, if you would.
So Taehyung stayed away, trying his hardest to stay out of the room, he went to parties and Yoongi studied - they continued like this until the night Yoongi broke in his arms, staining Taehyung's tee with tears. After that, there was about two weeks of awkward tension - they needed to talk about what had happened. Taehyung wasn't sure how to approach the subject, and Yoongi was (probably) just afraid of bringing it up. But they did, eventually, after Taehyung had more or less forced three shots down Yoongi's throat. Then, they were as close as could be - it took a while, but eventually the two formed an almost unbreakable bond, fueled mostly by Yoongi's anxieties and Taehyung’s constant craving for physical contact - it took a while for Yoongi to open up to Taehyung's touches, too, but eventually if you entered their dorm room, you would almost always find the two lying across the couch, tangled in each other and a blanket.
Yes, Yoongi was one of Taehyung's favorite things about college. He just found the elder
interesting,
unpredictable, and for some reason, Taehyung loved it. Would today be a nervous day, one where Yoongi’s hands shook and his throat constricted? Would he be able to contain himself, and remain somewhat calm until he was able to get home? Or would it be a sad day, where Yoongi cut his classes and refused to leave his bed? His moods were sporadic, and Taehyung rarely knew what to expect - thankfully, though, it hadn’t taken long for him to pick up on the Yoongi’s moods and ever-growing list of tics.
If Yoongi was anxious, Taehyung made sure the elder had everything he needed - well, everything Yoongi
thought
he needed - before heading out to class. Things like a water bottle, tissues, and earbuds. If Taehyung didn’t actually
see
the elder slide these things into his bag, he would check and do it for him, because a calming a panicked Yoongi was tedious and exhausting - not that Taehyung would ever turn away the elder in that state of mind.
However, even after these attempts, there were days when Yoongi panicked regardless - and Taehyung had gotten pretty good at pinpointing when, too. It happened about twice a month, and usually there would be an aura of stress surrounding the elder, and he would constantly fidget - tapping his fingers, clicking his pen, or peeling at his skin. Sure, these behaviors were somewhat obnoxious (especially when he bled from the picking) but Taehyung didn’t bother to correct these behaviors, Yoongi didn’t even realize them half the time, so what was the point?
If Yoongi was sad and spent the day, or even the week in bed, Taehyung made sure to bring him food and water, and to check on him periodically in order to reassure himself that the elder was fine - it wasn’t as if Taehyung expected Yoongi to try anything, but he still needed to make sure; he’d gotten it out of Seokjin one night while the pair was out drinking that, yes, Yoongi had harmed himself, and he’d done it more than once. Taehyung didn’t push any further, and it would’ve been futile, anyway, because Seokjin refused to comment further.
Seokjin and Taehyung had many of these talks, usually after Yoongi had a meltdown, when Taehyung felt obliged to inform him - it felt almost as if Seokjin was Yoongi’s parent, and Taehyung was a babysitter. He would call Seokjin and talk about what had happened, why Yoongi had panicked, and what all he left in his wake - sometimes, it was just sheets torn off the bed, others, there would be pages of crumpled notes torn from Yoongi’s numerous notebooks littering the small space, and it would take Taehyung hours to sort through what was important and what he could toss - after he managed to calm Yoongi, of course.
Just because Taehyung found the elder interesting doesn’t mean their relationship was easy - it was as difficult as all hell. Yoongi had the tendency to act impulsively, and he was very reluctant to try any new things (Taehyung secretly believed Yoongi was kinky as hell - the quiet ones always were), and while they were close, the two often held differing opinions on various topics. This led to many arguments, though, usually one was able to give in before feelings were hurt. Still, Taehyung had to let his Yoongi-centered frustrations somewhere; usually, he ranted to Seokjin, or just called up one of the suitors he was constantly stringing along and participated in some less-than-innocent relations. Once, however, Taehyung had gotten completely and utterly smashed - he found himself in a bar at one a.m. with an acquaintance, ranting about Yoongi, his OCD in particular. He knew he shouldn’t talk about Yoongi’s issues behind the elders back, and definitely not to someone with a very limited understanding of mental illness - but Taehyung was drunk (and to this day, that’s his only excuse).
The next day, rumor had spread to half the campus - except Taehyung’s words had been completely twisted, becoming a sick rendition of the game ‘telephone’. Instead of Yoongi just having OCD, he was painted as insane, as a psychopath and, as the rumor said, he was a necrophiliac. This pissed Taehyung off, but mostly just filled him with guilt, because these were originally his words. The effect on Yoongi, however, was much worse - he ended up missing two weeks worth of classes in order to avoid the hushed voices and terrified glances that shadowed him everywhere he went. Taehyung had apologized profusely, and eventually things returned to normal - however, to this day the younger wasn’t sure if Yoongi had forgiven him.
They had their differences, but that doesn’t mean Taehyung was anything less than ecstatic when Yoongi finally mustered up the courage to mention renting an off-campus apartment together. Of course, he kept (mostly) calm - he didn’t want to scare Yoongi out of his decision. Truthfully, the younger had been hoping for this started getting close, after the first breakdown so many nights ago; Taehyung couldn’t imagine living with anyone else, frankly. Well, that, and Taehyung wasn’t about to entrust anyone else with Yoongi’s fragile mentality. It’d taken months for Taehyung to learn the elder’s tics and habits, and almost an entire year for Yoongi to become somewhat comfortable with someone other than Seokjin. Taehyung knew that familiarity was important in order to keep Yoongi calm, and dammit, he was going to do his damned best to at least try and keep the elder out of the dark hole of despair.
They never really discussed this, the fact that Taehyung was Yoongi’s support system, it was just kind of there - and though Yoongi never said it, he was grateful; it was in the little things that Yoongi revealed his attachment to Taehyung, such as the way he visibly relaxed when Taehyung entered the room, or how he always made sure Taehyung was okay in the rare event he made plans; their friendship was nothing if not strange, but it worked.
Deciding to get an apartment together was one thing - but actually
moving
, that was an entirely different endeavor. Moving from a small dorm room to a tiny apartment was nothing short of a hassle, and Yoongi had a difficult time adjusting, though, that was expected. However Taehyung made sure to keep things as neat, clean, and quiet as possible in order to avoid upsetting Yoongi and sending the elder into a state of panic.
Thankfully, though, moving out of their dorm and into the apartment took no longer than two weeks - Taehyung had enlisted the help of a few friends, and tried to do as much as he could whilst Yoongi was in class - the elder had elected to take extra sessions, in order to finish pre-med quicker, and move on to medical school. However, Taehyung realized that, whilst Yoongi was in class, so were most of his friends. So, instead of him actually moving things during the day, he was stuck home, packing.
It’s not like Taehyung didn’t have class as well, he did, his courses were less strenuating than Yoongi’s - and, honestly, it wasn’t a big deal to him if he failed a course. However Yoongi, on the other hand, needed to pass - not only because his classes were expensive - he needed to prove a point to his parents; whist taehyung wasn’t sure what exactly the point was, he knew Yoongi was nothing if not spiteful, and would keep going until he felt he’d succeeded. So Taehyung packed and moved, and when he wasn’t doing either of those things, he was picking up extra shifts at the restaurant - a little extra never hurt, and Taehyung enjoyed having steady finances to fall back on if needed.
At the end of the day, both Yoongi and Taehyung would make the trip to their brand-new shitty apartment, where Yoongi would work his ass off cleaning, unpacking, and arranging until he was satisfied - then the next day, they started again.
Their new apartment wasn’t the best, but it wasn’t great, either. In fact, the place, like most of the units surrounding it, was pretty worn down - enough so that Yoongi cleaned for an entire weekend straight, even going as far as scrubbing the baseboards to ensure there was no trace of the previous tenants. Taehyung stayed out of the way, he knew there were some things Yoongi just had to do - so instead he unpacked, setting out things for Yoongi to put away wherever the elder deemed suitable.
The place they now called home was small, to say the least. Yet somehow in merely a thousand square feet, they managed to squeeze in two bedrooms though, to be fair, they were the approximate size of an electron. There was also a shared bathroom - and, oddly enough, there was a second door that separated the toilet and shower from the sink and vanity. Convenient, but odd nonetheless. They also had a small kitchen and a living area - there was no actual dining space, so the pair improvised, shoving a table and two chairs in the corner. It wasn’t anything special, but it was away from campus, and they could afford it on their meager pay from irregular restaurant shifts - it was enough.
Things were different, though. Now, instead of tuition and boarding, there were bills to pay - electricity, water, internet, and gas (there wasn’t a need for cable, not with online streaming). There was the price of groceries and transportation fees, too. Luckily though, Taehyung only happened to be enrolled in two courses at the time, and was able to work most days. Not only that, but his boisterous personality and his effortless charm earned him above-average tips - it still wasn’t much, but it helped. Once or twice, the thought that he was working harder than Yoongi to make this work passed through his thoughts - but he quickly shoved it away.
Yoongi was trying just as hard as Taehyung - he even stopped refilling his prescriptions as often as he should in order to help with rent. Rather than take his anti-anxiety medications daily, he resorted to taking the pills only when needed. Really, this pleased Taehyung, not only because of the extra cash, but because the younger feared Yoongi was reliant on the medications - he desperately wanted Yoongi to get better, but it was hard to improve when your medications and doses were constantly being altered. Yoongi also slowly began venturing into the campus dining hall for meals - they were covered by meal plans, and whatever wasn’t used would just go back to the school, anyway. Therefore, the pair milked their plans as much as they could, and would often smuggle leftovers home to eat later, rather than cooking or purchasing another meal.
Really, if anything, renting an apartment together had strengthened the bond between the two - there were plenty of late nights, where one sobbed into the others chest; there were arguments, one of which sent Taehyung away from home for four days (Yoongi was worried sick); and there were nights where they talked until the grey light of morning filtered through the windows - but through it all, they were together, and that’s what matters. It wasn’t perfect, but that was okay, because in those few years they were what each other needed. Taehyung knew it wouldn’t last forever, though, and the thought scared him at first, but he came to accept it - they wouldn’t always be together, and that was okay.
When Seokjin had called at three in the afternoon on a drizzling Tuesday, Taehyung knew something was up, because 1.) Seokjin always texted before calling, to make sure Taehyung was free to talk and 2.) Seokjin usually only ever called on the weekends. If none of those answers sufficed, then it was 3.) the concerned tone Seokjin spoke with, making him sound more motherly than manly. The elder wasted no time with pleasantries, moving quickly to the topic of his anxiety - Yoongi. Taehyung was less than surprised.
“He’s really struggling.” Seokjin had explained - Taehyung sighed.
“Yoongi is always struggling, it’s his mental illness - I don’t see why you needed to call me about him.”
“When was the last time you talked?” The elder asked, and Taehyung had to think a moment before answering.
“Graduation, when he moved out.”
“Taehyung,” The seriousness in Seokjin’s voice put ice in the younger’s veins, “He’s killing himself. He hardly sleeps, and he’s so thin…” Taehyung didn’t speak for several moments, stunned by the news of the surgeon’s deteriorating mental state. Somehow, though, Taehyung isn’t caught totally off guard - he expected something like this to happen.
“So what do we do?” He’d practically whispered into the receiver.
“He has an extra bedroom, you should think about moving in with him - you’ve lived with him in the past, and I think it’ll really help him to have someone familiar around.” Seokjin had answered almost as soon as the question was out of Taehyung’s mouth, as if he’d already been considering this.
“Do you really think that’s a good idea?”
“You’re one of the few people he trusts - I’m really worried about him.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll do it.”
“Thank you, really,” Taehyung can hear the relief replacing Seokjin’s worry - he’s not entirely on board with the idea, but Yoongi is his friend, and the fact that they haven’t spoken in years is going to change that. “I’ve gotta go - thank you, Tae.” The line clicks dead.
Taehyung shoves his phone in his pocket and grabs his keys - he needs to pack, and for that he needs boxes.
“I’m going out!” He shouts over his shoulder to his grandmother as he pulls the door shut behind him. The day is bright and sunny, and the trees are alive with bird songs - it’s Taehyung’s favorite type of day, but he’s too worried about Yoongi to enjoy it, and rightfully so. Seokjin had sounded genuinely fearful over the phone, which meant things must’ve been bad - but there was no time to dwell, Taehyung had things to do if he were to be moving in the next week.
Taehyung’s been on Yoongi’s couch for the past hour and a half - he’d made sure to arrive when Yoongi should, so the elder wouldn’t walk in and discover someone on his couch. However, after thirty minutes of waiting outside, Taehyung gave up and used the key he’d received from Seokjin to let himself in, where upon he placed himself on the couch, and hasn’t moved. If Yoongi was really as bad as the younger was led to believe, he didn’t want to risk upsetting anything the surgeon may have precisely arranged - he wanted to start this out the right way.
When Yoongi finally comes in, he looks absolutely wrecked - and Seokjin’s right, he has gotten thinner. Still, Taehyung immediately greets his old friend, because that’s who he is.
“Ah, Yoongi! I was just about to call.” He flashes a smile at a shocked Yoongi.
“Yeah, I, uh - got caught up.” If Taehyung retained anything from his study of Yoongology, hair-touching is definitely a sign that Yoongi is nervous.
“From Jin’s phone call, it seems you get caught up a lot.” Taehyung tests, still halfway hoping that maybe Seokjin is wrong, maybe Yoongi is okay.
“I - yeah. It’s fine, though.” Yoongi moves to set what Taehyung assumes to be his work bag on the table - a much nicer one than in the last apartment. Taehyung notices there's two chairs, and briefly wonders how many nights Yoongi has eaten alone - if he’s eaten at all. The thought shatters Taehyung, though he’s careful not to show it. Instead he pushes himself off the couch, and moves to envelop the elder in a hug - Yoongi flinches, and Taehyung immediately releases his hold.
“Sorry, sorry. It’s just, it’s been a long time, Tae.” There’s something about the way Yoongi uses his nickname, the familiarity of it, that relaxes him.
“It’s okay, I understand.” Really, Taehyung expected a lot worse, he wasn’t sure how bad Yoongi was right now, if he would allow any physical touches. “So, do I have a place to put all my anime, or?” Taehyung motions his head towards his small pile of luggage on the floor - Yoongi chuckles, a good sign.
“Over here.” Taehyung is led to an impeccably clean bedroom, and Yoongi speaks again, “This is yours, I guess.” Taehyung wants to point out that this isn’t necessary, that if Yoongi really believes he’s fine, he can say the words and Taehyung will leave.
“This is great!” Taehyung leans in to look around the bedroom. It’s furnished plainly, which makes sense - Yoongi was a minimalist. “You know, Yoongi, “ He adds, “I missed you.”
“Yeah, Tae. I missed you too.” The words fill Taehyung with a warmth he hasn’t felt since graduation - maybe this wouldn’t be as tedious as he’d originally thought.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Jimin wasn’t abused - his parents just showed their affection in different ways, that’s all.
(The scar on his hip said otherwise, but don’t ask him about that.)
Maybe his father had something of an iron fist that rained upon Jimin regularly, and maybe his mother had a steel voice that burned like acid when she berated Jimin, and maybe he brought bruises to school more often than not, and maybe he flinched in class when anyone raised their hand, but it wasn’t abuse - they we’re just trying to keep him in line, to make him better. They loved Jimin, he knew that, it was just hard for other people to see.Admittedly, things weren’t great at home, and Jimin did agree that sometimes his parents could be unreasonable - but they usually weren’t. When Jimin messed up, he got punished - it was as simple as that. Of course, his brother didn’t have it nearly as awful as he did, and that wasn’t a great feeling - but still, things could be worse.
(He repeated those words, hoping they would give some comfort. They didn’t.)
When he was taken from his parents at fifteen and placed in a foster home, Jimin was confused - there was nothing wrong, at least to him there wasn’t. For weeks he heard the same word used over and over when anyone discussed - abuse. But Jimin didn’t believe it, he wasn’t abused - why couldn’t anyone understand that? Mr. and Mrs. Oh, Jimin’s foster, and later adoptive parents, were some of the nicest people Jimin had ever met. They were kind and generous, but held high expectations for their new son - and Jimin rose to meet them. They were peaceful and gentle, yet they were also disciplined - within just a few weeks under their care, Jimin had become quite well mannered.Mr. Oh, his father, was a greying old man, steady and silent, but strong in his opinions. He was the owner of a small business, and had been for many years - his home reflected his wealth; the house had more guest rooms than the hosts had guests, as well as a separate guest house. Mr. Oh was also a man of influence in the community; to maintain his image, Jimin needed to play the part of the perfect son. It wasn’t too hard, really, just make good grades and stay out of trouble.Mrs. Oh was a kind-hearted woman without a job - she didn’t need one, her husband made more than enough to support the two of them; the addition of Jimin hardly made a difference. Instead of working, Mrs. Oh took to caring for the neighborhood children, making dresses and clothes when anyone needed them for an event, and always contributing to the school’s yearly bake sale. She was generous, too, tipping more than necessary and always sending Jimin off with a considerable allowance. All in all, they were probably the best parents Jimin could ask for - but still, there was something missing.
(It was the abuse, but he won’t admit it.)
The thing that annoyed Jimin about his new parents, about his new family, was that they were always so gentle with him. There wasn’t breaking any dishes, throwing any furniture, or screaming - there wasn’t even a slap across the face when Jimin talked back; instead he was told to sit in his room or take a walk, they’d talk again when he’s cooled off. There was a sadness that surrounded Jimin for a while after moving - there wasn’t a reason, really. Jimin just didn’t have anything he wanted to do - it sucked, hearing all the other kids at school talking about what they were going to do with their lives. It hurt more when he heard them talk about their parents - even though Mr. and Mrs. Oh were much better than his biological parents, he missed them. Of course, he never said that to the counselor he met with twice a week - a tiny woman with wire glasses always low on the bridge of her nose - he told her that he was okay, that he was happy. Eventually, the appointments were discontinued - he was fine, why keep paying for a therapist?
(Of course, as one will come to learn after talking to many victims of abuse, he was lying.)
It was the beginning of his second year of high school when Jimin decided that he needed to get involved, that he needed to do something. So he did what any other fifteen year old boy would, he joined the dance team. Okay, maybe that’s not what all teenage boys would do, but that’s what Jimin did. His mother was thrilled, it gave her that many more outfits to make and the ability to participate in Jimin’s life.His father, however, was less than pleased - dancing was or girls, not boys, and Jimin was just that. Had Mrs. Oh not spent three hours convincing Mr. Oh in a gentle voice behind their bedroom door, Jimin may have been forced to quit the next day. Unfortunate, really, because Jimin had finally found something he enjoyed. Enough so, he even wanted to pursue it as a career at one point.Jimin didn’t even have to bring it up to know Mr. Oh wouldn’t allow his son to become a professional dancer. Not only was dancing for girls, a career in the arts was futile from his perspective - Jimin needed a steady job, something that guaranteed he’d make money. So Jimin danced until he graduated, and spent those two years figuring out exactly what the hell he was going to major in.Jimin ended up doing the only other thing he was interested in - he went to medical school. He liked helping people, he liked taking care of others, he just liked being good .
(Not so strange, since he nearly killed himself trying to please his parents.)
“ My parents didn’t want me to dance .” He’d told Yoongi, and that was true, his father was very adamantly against it, (“ No son of mine will be a dancer. ” - never mind Jimin wasn’t technically his son). So Jimin was off to medical school, much to the dismay of one of the girls in dance - they’d been planning on going to a dance school together. He almost failed out in the first semester of college - too many nights out partying and not enough spent hunched over a textbook, studying. Fortunately, in college, you were an adult - which meant no report cards sent home to parents at the end of each quarter, meaning Jimin was able to keep his parents in the dark as he kicked his own ass into gear. Less vodka, more coffee, or maybe vodka in coffee?He ended up trying the vodka in coffee after suggesting it to his roommate - some kid named Minho that’d forgotten almost everything about as soon as he’d introduced himself. It was a terrible idea, would not recommend. He still went out, of course, he still had one night stands with various girls across various majors, though, he made sure to stay clear of the nursing students, he didn’t want to accidentally sleep with someone who’d possibly be one day working under him. You know.Numerous crying sessions after binging animes, an inconceivable amount of ramen, and three thousand-count packages of index cards later, he graduated. His parents we’re so proud, they threw him a party when he returned home that summer - but that was only pre-med, he’d just gotten his bachelor degree in biology.Medical school was its own endeavour - and it was expensive. Thank god his parents were well-off financially.He was determined not to dick around too much and repeat his first semester of pre-med. Of course, that didn’t last long. He could buy his own alcohol now - how could he not?Again, he almost failed, only this time out of medical school entirely. It wasn’t that hard really, you just had to try. After the first semester, try Jimin did - he had something to prove. Not to his parents, or his teachers, but to himself, that there was nothing wrong with him. ( Of course, if he has to prove it, doesn’t that mean there is, in fact, something wrong? ) Jimin tried, and he graduated. He wasn’t anywhere near the top of his class, but he wasn’t at the bottom either - he was nestled safely somewhere in the middle. His parents were proud, of course they were - not to mention that having a child to attend and graduate from medical school boosted his father’s influence - but it wasn’t enough. Not for Mr. Oh, at least - Jimin needed to start making money. His parents had paid for his college, he was grateful for that, but they wanted to be paid back, or his father did, at least. They weren’t asking for the full amount, in fact, they were asking for less than a fifth of it, and Jimin didn’t even have to pay it back until he was making money and completely independent, several years after he’d found a job.The thing is, something happened to Jimin during his time in college, though, he supposes it’s the same process everyone goes through. Jimin found himself, to put it simply. He met people, and some of those people became close friends. He talked, he opened up about himself and his experiences, and he learned that maybe this was what he needed to do all those years ago when he was seeing a professional every Tuesday and Thursday. His parents noticed this change, too, when Jimin was home for the holidays. The Christmas before he graduated, they talked long into the night about it. Jimin admitted he’d lied - that he wasn’t okay, that after everything with his birth parents, he’d been scared and lost for a long time. Jimin also admitted that he’d put all of that behind him, that he’d gotten better on his own. He watched as he told all this to them, he saw them smile with tears in their eyes when he told them that they’d done a good job, that they’d raised him well, that he was happy . ( He wasn’t lying this time, either. ) Jimin’s first day at the hospital was both exhilarating and chaotic, eye-opening, to say the least. Sure, he’d shadowed at hospitals before - small ones near the college - and he’d sat in on operations. Hell, he’d even had to give a wrinkly old man a sponge bath - but actually being there was different. Everyone was rushing around, voices belonging both to staff and patients overlapping each other - for a moment, Jimin was scared, he’d heard enough yelling to last a lifetime, but he remembered why he was here.His first meeting with Dr. Min was...interesting. Their supervisor had gathered them all in the staff dressing room, where they were to be introduced to one of the surgeons.“ He’s one of the best you’ll ever meet - we’re lucky to have him .” She had explained as Jimin and his fellow interns filed in, forming a sort of half circle around her as she spoke. This guy sounded pretty cool, and insanely smart - Jimin was intrigued.He hadn’t expected the surgeon spoken so highly of to be a small, tired man that looked like he’d shatter if you so much as breathed in his direction, or to be so small - he was Jimin’s height, maybe just slightly taller.He hadn’t expected the surgeon to look so upset at the sight of them gathered in the locker room, he hadn’t expected him to look so irritated .“Ah, Dr. Min.” The woman smiles, and the surgeon doesn’t return the gesture. “I was hoping to run into you, so you could talk to these guys before their residency officially begins.”“Sure, I suppose.” The doctor mumbles, but his mind seems to be elsewhere - for a moment his gaze is trained on a spot to Jimin’s left - he turns to find a girl (Seolhyun?), leaning against a locker - why does it look like he’s glaring daggers at her?“Why don’t you start with how you became interested in medicine?” Jimin’s supervisor suggests, watching Dr. Min expectantly - he thinks he catches a snort of some sort before the elder speaks again.“Okay then; see, I knew from early childhood what I wanted to become - a surgeon, and I knew what it would take to achieve it. So I worked as hard as I could - through grade school, college, part time jobs - to get myself here - and eventually, with enough perseverance, I became one of the best in this institution. And, well - here we are.” He doesn’t even look like he believes his own story - rather, he just looked impatient. There’s a few muted whispers around Jimin - they’d all been expecting something interesting, something motivational - the surgeon’s story was not. Dr.Min sighs, and then begins again.“That not at all what happened - it’s less interesting than that, really.” Jimin, along with everyone else, is confused. “I’m here because I graduated at the top of my class, both in high school and college for pre-med, and later med school - and had no idea what I wanted to be. In fact, I still have no idea what I want to be - I could quit tomorrow and pursue botany, really.” There’s hushed mumbling among the interns, because honestly, how can someone be a surgeon just because?“Let me tell you what it’s like, working here -” The surgeon raises his voice, and suddenly their supervisor is very eager to interrupt, though, she isn’t given the chance. “It’s stress. It’s not being home for three days because of how much work there is to do. If you think you’re going to buy some nice house or a fancy car after your first year of salary, try again. If anything, you’ll move into some tiny, single-bedroom apartment close to the hospital-”“Why?” Everyone’s head whips towards the owner of the voice - everyone had been thinking the same thing, but only he had the guts to say it; Jimin’s not sure if he wants to be him or not.“Because, kid,” The surgeon almost growls, and now Jimin is sure - he doesn’t want to be that guy. “The hospital will be your life. Your social circle will shrink and shrink until you don’t know anyone outside of this place. ” He pauses for a breath, “Why are you going to get an apartment close by? Because you won’t be home enough to maintain a large house - to mow the lawn, vacuum - you won’t have the time to do things like that.” Jimin isn’t sure how he understands, but he does - what the surgeon is saying makes sense - because the patient should come first, right? He watches as the supervisor lifts a hand and places it on the disgruntled man’s shoulder, and before she even touches him, Jimin knows it’s a bad idea - Dr. Min shrugs it off, and continues his lecture.“Think about this. A little less than half of you will drop out. Some after the first shift, some after the first patient death you witness, and some more than halfway through the program. Keep in mind this is not easy - you will lose sleep and miss meals, and someone will, eventually, die on your watch.”“Thank you, doctor.” The woman interrupts, and it’s a good thing she does, because Jimin isn’t sure he wants to hear anything more. She moves past him and opens the door, silently signaling to the interns to file out into the hallway - they comply. They’re then led to an empty boardroom - Jimin hadn’t expected there to be a boardroom in a hospital, though, after thinking about it, he decides they probably do need one - where they are joined by their supervisor only a few minutes later, the woman wearing the same confident smile she’d greeted them with.Since their dismissal from the locker room, the interns - including Jimin - had been nervously chattering among themselves. The topic of conversation: their supervisor was mostly likely being berated by a crazed surgeon. Funny, how every other student had taken one look at Dr. Min and wrote him off a crazy - a mad doctor, even. ( Jimin wouldn’t realize just how true that was, not yet, anyway. ) Upon the supervisors entrance, they all promptly shut up, conversation seizing fast enough to give away the fact that yes, they were talking about her. She paid no attention, though, instead hurriedly going down a list, grouping interns by their mentors, and sending them off into hospital. It took Jimin a moment, but then he realized she didn’t call his name .“You would be Jimin, right?” The woman asks, sitting down in a seat across from him. “You’re mentor was to be Dr. Min.” Really ?“Oh…” He looks down at the table, not sure of how else to respond.“So, if you feel you would learn better under someone else, we can arrange that - what you saw today was-”“No - I want him.” She looks just as surprised as Jimin feels. Did he think we would learn better under someone else? Truthfully, no - really it just seemed like Dr. Min was a tired man trying to keep the interns from making a mistake. Wouldn't Jimin want to work under someone like that? Under someone who was honest? “I mean - I think I’ll learn well under him.”“Well, then,” she starts with a sigh - he can tell she disapproves of his decision. “You'll find his office on the fourth floor - wait for him there.” It takes him nearly thirty minutes, but eventually Jimin finds himself outside the door of his new mentor’s office, mumbling to himself.“Just do it, he's not that scary.” He raises his fist and knocks twice, gently. He listens for a moment, before hearing a voice from the other side of the door.“Come in.” Jimin takes a breath and turns the handle, slowly pushing the door open, peeking his head around - and there behind his desk sits Dr. Min, the same thin blond that lectured them that morning.“Dr. Min?” He asks, shyly - he knew who this was, they'd already met, and the surgeon’s name was on the wall outside. But it never hurt to check, right?“And you are?”“Ah, Jimin.” He smiles as he steps fully into the office, closing the door behind him. He turns back to face Yoongi, running a hand through his chestnut hair - a habit that literally everyone made fun of, but Jimin just couldn't seem to stop it.“You're my intern?” Jimin nods, watching as Yoongi seems to look behind him, as if he's waiting for someone else to enter. “You're the only one?”“There were three of us, originally.” Jimin starts, launching into the story of his hectic morning. “One walked out almost as soon as we started, they got really sick at the sight of a burn patient,” they weren't even really doing anything, just wandering around the hospital until they were told to stay out of the way. Jimin himself hadn’t enjoyed the sight, but it wasn't enough to make him sick. “Another - the one who asked you a question earlier, actually, left before we even started, saying something about how he wasn’t about to waste his life in this place, and then they asked me if I felt I’d learn better under a different mentor.” He explains, fidgeting, while the surgeon nods.“So you picked to work with me?” Jimin nods - why does he sound so surprised? He's not sure why, but he feels like he needs to explain why he's here in Dr. Min’s office.“My parents didn't want me to dance.” The surgeon doesn't say anything, but a look of understanding flashes in his eyes - it's only there for a moment, but suddenly Jimin feels a wave of sadness from the elder. ( Soon, he’d learn that there was an ocean behind that wave. ) He watches, silent, as his mentor goes through the motions of putting things away in his drawers - noticing how precisely he places things, and how he shifts his chair a few times after pushing it in - this Dr. Min was definitely an odd one. Jimin's too busy considering what possibly could be wrong with the elder, what possible event could've traumatized him as a child, that he doesn't notice the surgeon stepping out.“Well? You coming?” Coming? Where the hell were they going? Then, Jimin remembers he's an intern now, and his job is to follow the elder around.“Oh! Right, sorry.” He passes the surgeon, stepping out into the corridor as the door is pulled shut and locked behind the pair. They down the hall, Jimin lagging a few paces behind as he examines his surroundings. “Where are we going?”“Well,” they come to a flight of stairs, and the elder keeps talking without checking that Jimin has followed, “I've a few patients I want to check on, I need to check on lab work, and then I need to scrub in for a surgery in two hours.” He lists, checking his watch, “Which you're expected to observe.” Surgery? On the first day? Jimin can't fight the smile that appears on his face as he follows the elder down the stairs.“Right, of course, yeah.” He stops as Dr. Min does on the first landing and turns to him, a humored smile on his lips.“Don't tell me you were expecting an easy day, Jimin.” Jimin smiles as he reaches the landing, stopping in front of the surgeon.“Of course not.” His first shift was eye-opening, to say the least. Not only did he learn the basic inner workings of the hospital, he learned a bit about his mentor, too. He learned the elder washed his hands more than necessary, that he lined up his tools a certain way, and that there was an order to everything he did - and hell hath no fury like the surgeon when someone interfered with that order.Of course, it hadn’t occurred to Jimin that Dr. Min may be a textbook case of OCD, until he and a few other interns were gathered around a table during lunch, discussing how their day had gone up to that point.“How’s Min?” A girl - probably from a different school - asks, catching Jimin off-guard.“What?” He mumbles around a mouthful of peanut butter sandwich.“We heard he’s a nut job, like, crazy OCD.” That makes sense - Jimin thought the elder was just a bit particular about his work.“Oh - he’s not crazy.” He defends immediately, “He’s actually really good, I observed a surgery today.” Several mouths hang agape as he mentions this, and Jimin continues. “He just likes things certain ways, and he likes keeping his hands clean. Not really OCD…” Jimin scratches the back of his head, lifting his sandwich for another bite.“My mentor said he’s washed them until they bled more than once.”“Oh…” Maybe that made Dr. Min OCD - but still, he wasn’t crazy. Jimin doesn’t say anything else, and the topic changes fluidly to the different types of surgeries each intern wanted to witness. “Hey, Dr. Min?” Jimin asks as he follows the elder through the empty corridor, carrying an armful of patient files.“Please, call me Yoongi - I hate ‘doctor’.”“Oh, okay. Yoongi?” Jimin tries again, the name feeling foreign on his tongue - the elder sighs.“What is it, kid?”“Well, I have two questions…” Jimin fingers the edges of his paperwork nervously. Yoongi stops, moving against the wall, and Jimin follows.“Shoot.” He crosses his arms, looking at Jimin expectantly.“Why haven’t we been back to the office all day?” This wasn’t Jimin’s Actual Question ™, but it had been bothering him just as much. Yoongi had told him to leave all the files at the nurses station and they’d pick them up again later - but Jimin had, foolishly, insisted.“I’m never in my office - the sooner you learn that the better.” He answers simply, a small smile on his lips - he was just letting Jimin carry stuff around to teach him a lesson. “Second question?” Jimin takes a moment before he asks, because you don’t just talk about this stuff.“Are you really OCD?”“Yes.” Jimin wasn’t expected such a quick answer, or such a simple one. He’d expected harsh words, maybe a lecture about how he shouldn’t believe everything he hears. As he ponders this, he doesn’t notice Yoongi push off the wall and start walking again - Jimin has to run to catch up. “Look, kid, I’d love to tell you the story of my life, but that’s not in my job description - I’m just here to make you a doctor.” Jimin would’ve asked Yoongi more about his OCD, but after their short exchange, he wasn’t given the chance. Before Jimin realized it, he’d been awake for a full day, and then two, and then he was being sent home - okay, so he may have fallen asleep in Yoongi’s office after sneaking back up there to drop off his small collection of various materials - but still.Yoongi was interesting alright - most of the interns agreed that Dr. Min was clearly the best surgeon in the hospital. Rumor had it that he held the highest surgery success rate, and that there was no one even close to equaling it. Jimin noticed, however, noticed something else about Yoongi - there was an air of sadness around him. Whenever the elder smiled, it rarely met his eyes, and he never associated with anyone out of his own will. But again, according to everyone, Yoongi had always been this way - there was nothing to worry about.Within a few weeks, Jimin had more or less become the bridge between Yoongi and everyone else in the hospital. It was easier to talk to the intern, most people had reasoned - besides, Jimin wouldn’t lash out at anyone. Well, probably. It was somewhat annoying, though - the constant being pulled aside by other staff and given information to pass to his mentor meant Jimin spent less time observing and more time playing messenger. Slowly, though, Jimin did learn - both from Yoongi and about him. In the same day he performed his first tracheostomy, he learned that Yoongi refused to eat anything in the hospital that wasn’t made in front of him - which meant he ate mostly fruit, if anything. Jimin also learned that, while Yoongi went a concerning amount of time without eating or sleeping, it wasn’t something to worry about - according to the elder staff, he’d been doing that for as long as anyone could remember.Still, Jimin was concerned. There wasn’t much he could do, he only saw Yoongi at work, and most of that time he was answering questions or taking notes from behind a window as the elder operated. To Jimin, there was more wrong with Yoongi than just OCD. Everytime he tried to talk to Yoongi, though, the elder reminded that he was there to teach Jimin and nothing more - and once, he even said to Jimin that there was no point in trying - he was beyond help, and Jimin should just focus on becoming the best he could be. Still, he would try, because Jimin believed nobody was beyond help. ( Or, maybe because Yoongi reminded Jimin of himself. )
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Truthfully, Yoongi hadn’t been doing great the last few days. The tiniest things set him off, he felt as if he were walking on eggshells - no, that’s an awful comparison. He can imagine the sounds of the shells cracking and breaking, how horrible that sound would be; he almost cringes.
It happened, it wasn’t a big deal really. He’d gotten himself in a little bit of a rut, but he’d get out of it on his own, probably. That, or Taehyung would pull him out, whatever works. He’d almost been late to work the last two days because during his ritualistic morning shower, he just couldn't convince himself that he was clean. Per Taehyung’s decree not even a full month after he’d moved in, Yoongi wasn’t to lock the bathroom door. This was for obvious reasons and he struggled to accept it, until he started doing it just so Taehyung would leave him alone and let him wash his hands because really was it that bad? (Yes, it was.)
Yoongi had only locked himself in the bathroom a few times, but that’s all it took, then Yoongi came home one day to find that the doorknob had been replaced and was now lacking a lock. Point is, not having a lock made it that much easier for Taehyung to check in when he felt the surgeon had been in the bathroom too long, and had he not barged in and forced Yoongi out and disregarding his nakedness, he may have had to call in.
Upon that, he’d been caught furiously washing his hands three times this week by fellow staff - that in itself wasn't so bad, the entire hospital knew about him and his issues. No, it was the fact that the water was tinged pink with blood and Yoongi was nearly hyperventilating. Each time, another doctor had to wrestle him away from the faucet and escort him down to Hoseok’s office, hands wrapped in their standard-issue towels and cheeks ruddy with embarrassment. The two would sit and talk - at least Hoseok would - until the blood clotted, then someone treated his hands and dismissed him, because it’s impossible for Yoongi to work when his hands bleed every time he flexes them.
Of course, Taehyung was equal parts ecstatic and concerned in light of Yoongi’s shortened shifts. Ecstatic, because they got to spend time together - he could show Yoongi his daily outfit, and they could have lunch - an occasion saved for the Saturday’s when Yoongi was off. Concerned, because this meant Yoongi was doing worse. Yoongi hadn't been doing great when Taehyung moved in, sure, but since then he’d improved. He was eating more, sleeping more, and washing less - he even gained a little weight, though, Taehyung didn’t mention it - Yoongi was strangely sensitive about his appearance. Things had been getting better - but now Yoongi was back at square one, maybe even zero - he’d been sent home. Taehyung tried not to talk about it, instead he made sure there was something Yoongi could eat while he was out working and gave him a small container of moisturizing cream to help with his hands.
Yoongi hated it. He was fine at home, but as soon as he stepped into the hospital, he devolved into an anxious, mess, mind occupied by thoughts of soap and numbers. If someone in a lower position were struggling this much, they probably would’ve been let go already - but Yoongi was one of the best, and if the hospital fired him, there would be several more eagerly awaiting his application; medicine was much more political than most realized. So, while Yoongi’s job was secured, his sanity most certainly was not - and neither was his intern, apparently. Because Yoongi just couldn’t get his shit together, he’d been pulled aside by his boss - a short, stocky man with only a few hairs left on his head, that until he could prove he was ‘mentally fit’, he would no longer be responsible for his intern.
So, Jimin began shadowing various other doctors - whoever would allow him to observe. Of course, the younger still somehow conveniently ran into Yoongi every couple hours in the hall and inquired about how he was doing, and Yoongi would tell him not to worry, and they would both pretend Jimin wasn't stopping by his office every half hour to leave various notes and files on his desk (how he managed to sneak away that often was beyond Yoongi). The files were nothing important, and the notes were just little encouragements scribbled on post-its and stuck on the edge of his desk. They didn't help at all, but Yoongi would be lying if he said they didn’t make him smile - just a little bit.
After two weeks of good behavior, all was forgotten and everyone moved on. Yoongi recovered from whatever lapse he was going though, and they let Jimin return - the surgeon wouldn't admit how relieved he was, because that would mean admitting he was attached to Jimin, and that was an ego boost the kid certainly didn't need. They didn't talk about Yoongi’s sudden lapse - of course Jimin tried to, he tried to understand what had happened, but Yoongi waved him off each time, sending him to check on lab work or a patient or an OR.
Taehyung tried to figure it out, too, but the younger was working so much lately, Yoongi didn’t want to distract him from his career. Taehyung was becoming increasingly well known - he was something of a hot topic in the modeling world, apparently, with several agencies trying to recruit him. He was coming home later and later, and sometimes, he worked more consecutive hours than Yoongi.
Unsure of what else to do, Yoongi took to seeing Hoseok - there was no way he was confiding in Jimin, the kid needed to focus, and he felt like enough of a burden to Taehyung already. So when he had time, the surgeon would talk with Hoseok, choosing the same leather chair near the window every time. Of course, their sessions never lasted long, Yoongi just had too much to do, and Hoseok had actual patients to speak with. Yoongi never bothered with making an appointment, he just wandered in when work was slow and Hoseok wasn’t with anyone, after all, Hoseok never seemed to mind.
“They, just, they don’t understand.” Yoongi huffs, wringing his hands in his lap, shoulders tense. Today, some fellow surgeons had made some not-so-subtle remarks about a certain less-than stable Dr. Min as they ate their lunch a few tables away. Yoongi had been prepared to say something, to shoot a scathing remark about how many lives he’s saved compared to them - but Jimin had merely laid a hand on his arm and reminded the elder that he had a procedure to scrub in for. After changing out of his soiled scrubs and sending Jimin home for the day, Yoongi found himself in Hoseok’s office - he wasn't sure where else to go, really. Hoseok was the only person in the hospital, aside from Jimin, who would deal with him when he got this irritable (at least, with these semi-regular visits, Yoongi had become somewhat less irritable, but still).
“What don't they understand?” Hoseok asks, calmly; he's always calm with Yoongi. He's sitting in a black leather chair, the match to the one Yoongi occupied, a notebook resting on the arm.
“I need things a certain way.”
“Why?” One. Two. Shut up.
“I just do.” Yoongi mumbles, practically whining - like a child. Hoseok is silent for a moment, jotting down whatever it was in Yoongi’s words that intrigued him. “It's not like I enjoy being like this.”
“Dr. Min, do you know why it is we develop habits like these?” The psychologist asks, leaning forward.
Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Happy?
“No.” While Yoongi knows how to sate his OCD urges (whatever it tells him to do), he's never really tried to understand why it was there in the first place.
“You see,” Hoseok begins, rubbing his hands together, “these behaviors - your compulsions - they develop when you're stressed, or when you feel overwhelmed. It's a way to maintain control - it makes you feel better to perform them, right?” Yoongi thinks this over for a moment, before offering a small nod in affirmation. He opens his mouth to respond, but he's interrupted by the pager in his coat pocket coming to life. He fishes it out, silencing it, and offers Hoseok an apologetic look.
“Go ahead, I’ll be here.” Hoseok smiles - that's all it takes, and Yoongi is down the hall, Jimin running to meet him.
The thing is, Yoongi doesn’t condemn anyone for needing to see a counselor. It was a good thing - normal - part of his job was sending his patients to Hoseok when he deemed necessary. So what, sometimes people need a little help - it’s fine. Really, he believes most people benefit from speaking with one at least once - he just loathes the idea that he needs one, that's all, people think he’s crazy enough already. He wasn’t particularly traumatized as a child, his parents just chose to ignore the idea that their youngest son had issues no one could see.
Yoongi’s mental illness appeared out of nowhere - like he’d awoken one morning with a cold and never recovered. He wasn’t (physically) abused, he wasn’t raped, nobody close to him died (or maybe he had, when he tried to kill himself), he just didn’t have a reason to be so messed up. Suddenly, he became obsessively clean, obsessively organized, easily panicked, and an empty shell that once held the ambitious Min Yoongi.
Yoongi’s parents were normal - meaning they refused to believe Yoongi had Actual Problems ™. He was just moody, and he liked things clean. Yoongi was normal, he faked sick to get out of going to school like other kids, not because he was manically depressed or shaking from anxiety, not because he couldn’t get clean enough to step out of the shower and not be tardy. No, he had to be taken to a psychologist because he was moody, not because he was caught harming himself, pinching bruises into his sides. Among his very real mental illness there sprinkled little fears - of abandonment, of intimacy, of being misunderstood - but he was just a bit moody, right? All teenagers try to kill themselves, right?
Nobody knew Yoongi had attempted suicide, no one aside from Seokjin, anyway. Taehyung knew something had happened, but that came much later, after the two had been introduced. To this day, neither Yoongi or Seokjin had explained it to the younger, and he was sure they never would, and Taehyung seemed content with not knowing. Unconsciously, he begins replaying the events to himself.
Yoongi’s parents and elder brother left one rainy Friday night to attend his father’s company Christmas party a few cities over. Because of the weather, and because his parents would undoubtedly indulge themselves with a few glasses of champagne, they decided to go ahead and spend the night in a hotel. Of course, because of Yoongi’s adversity when faced with crowds, he was to stay home - he obliged. This was it, this was perfect. He’d been thinking about it for months at this point, how and where he would do it if given the opportunity - and there was a part of him that tried to deny the fact that he would.
As soon as he was sure they were gone for good, Yoongi found himself digging through his parents' liquor cabinet - he knew what he was going to do, what he wanted to do - he needed the encouragement, a little push to send him over the edge. Yoongi unearthed a bottle of strong vodka, cracked the seal, and took a swig (disgusting), it took all of his willpower not to throw it up.
He was tired, tired of the constant voices in his head, tired of the anxiety, of the constant arranging and cleaning and of the routine sleepless nights - he was tired of himself. One hour and half a bottle of vodka later, he was sifting through the bathroom medicine cabinet for painkillers left over from the time he’s fallen off his bike and nearly shattered his shoulder - he found roughly two thirds of the bottle remaining; he’d rarely taken them, the pills made him feel funny.
He didn’t have anything else - he could slit his wrists, but he knew the odds of succeeding were low, and there weren’t any razors lying around. He could miss the vein or not go deep enough - besides, he couldn’t get over the idea of the pain, or the mess it would make. His parents didn’t own a gun, and he had no idea where the hell he would hang himself from, so pills instead. He reached up and clicked the bathroom door locked, and swallowed the first handful of pills along with his pride, blinking back tears. He did this three more times, chasing the pills with vodka, and then kept drinking until the bottle was empty. He spent an hour with his head bent over the toilet, vomiting until he couldn’t move and he felt like his stomach was a painful coil, and then he blacked out.
Yoongi wasn’t sure how long he was out - but when he woke up, he felt like absolute shit - roadkill, a used condom, etc. - his throat was dry and his head throbbed, and he was plagued by the fact that he couldn’t even kill himself properly. He was alive - what could he do? There wasn’t much to do - the bathroom was a mess, he was a mess, and his parents would be home soon. He cleaned up, trashed the empty vodka bottle and the pill container, bleached the bathroom and took an ungodly length shower, the majority of which was spent sobbing, and then he called Seokjin - the elder picked up immediately.
“Yoongi?” He asked, rightfully concerned - Yoongi hated using the phone, he never called anyone; he was quick to explain himself.
“I tried to kill myself.” His voice is hoarse, empty.
“What? Where are you?” The elder asked, frantic, and Yoongi could hear shuffling in the background.
“Home.”
“I'm coming, we're talking.” Yoongi wasn't given a chance to respond before the line clicked dead, so he unlocked the front door and waited.
When Seokjin arrived a mere fifteen minutes later, Yoongi was on the couch in the main room, curled up into a ball with several blankets concealing him, picking at the cuticles on his hands. He was mumbling to himself, counting to ten because that’s what the psychologist had suggested, it would make him feel better, right?
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
The elder found him immediately, peeling the blankets off and forcing Yoongi up and into his car, which was, at the time, a tiny dark sedan that could hold no more than five people. Seokjin was one of the four people Yoongi trusted behind a steering wheel, the other three being his parents and older brother.
Seokjin drove silently, eyes staring straight ahead like a responsible driver, though, his attention was elsewhere. Neither spoke, Yoongi because he was too exhausted, and Seokjin because he was too concerned, probably. Yoongi let his head fall against the window, watching as the world passed outside. It wasn’t long before they arrived at Seokjin’s, and the elder brought Yoongi up to his bedroom, sitting the younger down on the bed, kneeling in front of him.
“What happened?” He asked softly, and Yoongi shrugged in response, met with, “Don’t give me that.”
“Do we have to do this now?” He whined, burying his face in his hands. “I really feel awful, I don’t want to talk yet.”
“Okay, okay,” Seokjin placed a gentle hand on Yoongi’s shoulder - he flinched, but the elder’s crooked fingers remained. “But, we’re talking before you leave.” Yoongi agreed, then laid back on Seokjin’s bed, staring up at the ceiling - which still had dozens of plastic glow-in-the-dark stars scattered across it from childhood, he claimed he was too attached to take them down. After a few moments, Seokjin laid next to Yoongi, opening his arms, and the younger gladly slid into them. It was quiet for a moment, until Yoongi felt tears welling in his eyes and pushed his face into the bed, concealing it, while clutching onto Seokjin’s sleeve.
Yoongi isn’t sure how long they stayed like that, with Seokjin rubbing gentle circles into his back and the younger crying quietly, tears soaking the cotton sheets. At some point he must’ve fallen asleep, because the next moment he woke to find himself alone in the bed. Before he could call out for Seokjin, the elder returned with a steaming bowl of chicken soup and a bottle of water; he noticed Yoongi awake and set both down on the wooden bedside table then climbed onto the bed.
“You okay?” He asked, and Yoongi answered again with a shrug - how was he supposed to feel after attempting suicide? Ideally, he wouldn’t feel anything, because ideally he would’ve died - but things never seemed to happen as Yoongi liked. “So, are you gonna tell me what happened?”
“I just, I didn’t want to do it anymore.” Yoongi admitted, with another shrug. He began counting quietly to himself - it was supposed to calm him, right?
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. He repeated the numbers to himself, one to ten and back again, as if they were a mantra, a prayer, to quiet his mind. Unfortunately, it didn’t work, and Yoongi found himself gripping Seokjin’s tee once more, pulling him down.
“Hey, hey, just relax.” Seokjin cooed softly, motherly, as he hooked an arm around Yoongi’s waist. “I’m right here.”
“I think,” Yoongi choked out, “I think my parents hate me.” (It made just as much sense now as it had back then.)
“Yoongi… They just don’t understand you, yeah?” The elder spoke slowly and carefully. Yoongi knew that already, though. “Here, just, stay here tonight, for the rest of the weekend, even. My parents love you - you can even start coming over during the week, they won’t mind.” Seokjin suggested, catching Yoongi off guard.
“Why?”
“I think it’ll help, you being out of the house more - your parents seem to be a lot of your… problem.”
“... I’ll see about it.”
“Please do. I want you to graduate.” They both knew Seokjin wasn’t referring to Yoongi’s grades - but nothing more was said. Instead Seokjin coaxed Yoongi to eat more than half the soup and change into some of his too-small clothes that he kept around in case someone (Yoongi) needed them. After that weekend, Yoongi spent more nights at Seokjin’s home than his own - true to the elders word, his parents didn’t seem to mind. The Kim's welcomed Yoongi with smiles each time he was over - even when he was there five days a week. Yoongi hadn’t been kicked out, his parents hadn’t disowned him, he simply felt more comfortable with Seokjin’s parents when compared to his own - and they treated Yoongi as a son. Not that his own parents hadn’t - it was just different with them. They even took Yoongi’s issues in stride, serving him smaller portions with all the foods separated, keeping around plenty of fruit for when Yoongi refused to eat anything that had been prepared, and paid attention to how much he washed his hands.
Yoongi wasn’t any better at Seokjin’s, but he wasn’t any worse, either - that was something, right? Of course, he still had to go home, and he tried to stay out of his parents way - it wasn’t the best parent-child relationship, really, but it worked for both parties: Yoongi wasn’t constantly criticised, and his parents weren’t dealing with a ‘problem child’.
Yoongi’s social aversion throughout his school years didn't necessarily get him into trouble, but it did make things a bit difficult, lonely, even. For example, he didn't attend the homecoming dances, or any dances, until his senior prom when Seokjin more or less stuffed him into a suit and forced him into the limo. When they arrived, rendezvousing with Seokjin’s friend group, the elder turned to Yoongi's and said “If you can't find me, find them.” Thankfully, though, he didn't have to and was able to avoid quite a few pictures, as well as the dance floor. He didn’t participate in any clubs or academic events. There was, however, theatre for a brief time in high school, though, he was only following Seokjin around and staying out of the way until rehearsals were over.
It wasn’t a bad thing, but it wasn’t great, either. Often, teachers expected the students to answer questions and just generally participate - and Yoongi knew all the answers, he just refused to speak. Sometimes the teachers would shake their head and continue, sometimes they would lecture about the incompetence of students in the modern day, and on a few occasions, they gave up teaching all together and left the class to their own devices. Of course, when these things happened, Yoongi felt pretty generally guilty, but he still didn't speak.
Every day after his last class, Yoongi would lean against the same spot in the hallway and wait for Seokjin. Most days, they would just walk together to the car and head home, or Yoongi would wait for the elder to finish whatever it was he had to do after class. Some days, when seeing Seokjin, he would wrap his arms around his waist and let out an unsteady breath - Seokjin took this as his cue to do whatever he needed quickly, so they could head home.
This arrangement continued until graduation - Yoongi had been terrified because that meant change, and Yoongi didn’t cope well with change. So, as a solution, Seokjin suggested they attend the same college, but Yoongi would apply for a random roommate as a way to force him out of his shell a bit. The only thing is, Yoongi hadn’t planned to live this long, he had no idea what to study.
After about a week of thought and research - because Yoongi loved research - he decided on medicine. If he couldn’t die, he might as well get some sort of warped revenge by making sure other people didn't - get revenge on existence itself and all that - but what branch of medicine? Not pediatrics, he hated kids, and not oncology, he didn’t fancy delivering bad news. Finally, he settled on becoming a general surgeon after one particularly eye-opening article and a suggestion from Seokjin - something about how Yoongi’s detached personality would help him succeed. So, Yoongi was to become a surgeon. With Seokjin's help, he applied for various scholarships - it wasn't enough to pay for everything, but what he won was better than nothing.
The thing was, Yoongi didn't particularly care about medicine - he didn't particularly care about anything. Still, he took the oath, and he vowed to heal all he could. His parents knew that, too, so when Yoongi came to them with his decision, he was met with raised eyebrows and “If you say so”. He hadn’t expected their support, and he was prepared to move along without it, like he’d done most his life. So Yoongi applied to Seokjin’s university, he was accepted, and he moved in with Taehyung. And, well, you all know how that went.
Generally, pre-medical studies took four years, long enough to major in a particular science - Yoongi chose biology, it seemed to be the easiest. He spent his first two semesters living on campus - after his first semester with Taehyung, it was clear to the both of them that they would be long term roommates. For the remaining semesters they requested each other - and then for the second year, they moved out to a nearby apartment complex, in which the tennates were primarily students. However, moving off campus left Yoongi in something of a predicament - he’d be leaving Seokjin.
Seokjin was Yoongi’s best friend, his safety blanket - he knew that much. What he didn't know was how far those feelings extended, how deep they ran. It was confusing, and he wasn't so sure why being away from the elder riddled him with guilt, or why watching as he and a freshman philosophy student by the name of Namjoon flirt riddled him with jealousy. He began wondering that maybe somewhere down the line, he’d fallen in love with him - but was this really love Yoongi was feeling? Or was it a product of his anxiety, of his need for familiarity - he decided that it was, probably, that he needed to be away from the elder for a while. Maybe being around Seokjin for so long had caused Yoongi to become protective of him, a ‘leave him alone because he’s mine’ type of relationship - so okay, he’d take a step back. It worked, kind of.
Yoongi was fine on his own, Taehyung made sure he would be. He forced Yoongi to order his own food, make his own phone calls, and go places alone - eventually, he could. Still, when he was around Taehyung or Seokjin or anyone he recognized, he was more or less glued to their side - but it was okay if they weren't around.
That was one of the differences between Taehyung and Seokjin. Taehyung, while he took care of Yoongi, more or less forced him to become independent because “I’m not always going to be here to do things for you.” Seokjin, meanwhile, coddled him. He let Yoongi hide behind him, he spoke for him, and did just about everything for him. That didn’t fly with Taehyung. It’s not that he was insensitive, he understood that some things were hard for Yoongi, and sometimes he coddled, too, but he wanted Yoongi to be his own person, as he explained it.
Yoongi had told all this to Hoseok - and he’d listened and praised Taehyung’s efforts to help Yoongi adapt.
“He must have been a good friend.” Hoseok hums, pen moving across the pages of his notebook.
“He is a good friend, he still does things like that.” Yoongi say, and Hoseok looks up, quirking an eyebrow.
“I thought he moved away?”
“He did but, well, he kind of moved back in.” Because of me is what Yoongi doesn’t say, but he doesn’t have to, because Hoseok already knows. This is when Yoongi realizes just how much Taehyung has done for him, and he decides that he’s going to get better, if not for himself then for Taehyung.
Hoseok agrees.
It’s Saturday morning, and it’s four a.m., which means Yoongi’s alarm is blaring in his ear. He shuts it off, and listens to the sounds of Taehyung, the perpetrator of all things that go bump in the night. Right now it sounds like he’s in the kitchen making breakfast - but then he’s bursting into the bedroom, opening the blinds and throwing a pair of jeans and a sweater in Yoongi’s general direction.
“Get up, we’re going out.” He orders, and there’s not time for Yoongi to question before he’s back in the kitchen with whatever the hell he’s doing.
Taehyung has made and decorated a cake, Yoongi learns, after he’s dressed himself and made his way out of the bedroom. It’s not that he’s made and decorated the cake, it's that it looks almost professional, with the words “Happy Birthday Jeonggukie” written in neat cursive with red icing and small flowers and swirls along the edges.
“Where the hell did you learn to do this?” Yoongi asks, awestruck as he examines cakes, moving around it to see each side.
“My grandmother has a knack for baking, and I used to help her.” Taehyung says over his shoulder - he stands at the sink washing dishes with an icing-smeared towel thrown over his shoulder.
“It’s Jeongguks’s birthday?”
“Yes, and you’re going to the party.” Yoongi makes a noise at this, because the last time he saw Jeongguk was literally when they were in college. Taehyung must hear Yoongi’s internal monologue, because he starts talking again. “Look, he’s grown up a bit, and he talks more now, and you two have me in common. So, it’ll be fun.”
“This seems like a bit much for a fuck buddy.”
“Yoongi, we’ve been dating for more than a month.”
“What?” Has he been that oblivious? Thankfully, Taehyung doesn’t seem offended, it’s normal for Yoongi to be out of the loop.
“Don’t worry about it-” For Taehyung, he tries not to. “-The party venue is this really beautiful garden, you can just wander around if you’d like. But I would like you to meet him, or well, re-meet him.” Okay, okay, Yoongi can handle that.
“Hey, Tae?”
“Mm?” He’s bent over the sink, scrubbing caked on, well, cake, out of the bottom of a cake pan.
“Remember you wanted me to see the psychologist at work?” Taehyung stops scrubbing and shuts off the water, turning towards him and drying his hands.
“Did you?”
“I.. I did, yeah. I’ve been kind of, talking to him when I have nothing else to do.” Yoongi admits, eyes trained on the floor because suddenly this is difficult to talk about, though, he can’t place why.
“I knew it.” Taehyung smiles and wraps Yoongi in an absolutely bone-crushing hug.
“How?” He chokes out as the breath is squeezed out of him. Taehyung lets go, and he’s beaming.
“You’ve been better, and it’s not my fault because I’ve been on so many shoots lately, and I’m willing to bet you haven’t found a significant other, so it had to be that.” Taehyung reasons, turning back to his mess and continuing to scrub. “There's quiche for you to warm up.” He hums, head nodding in the direction of the fridge. Yoongi pulls it out and cuts himself a piece. He’s watching it in the microwave when Taehyung says his name.
“What?”
“I’m proud of you.” Yoongi smiles, pretends that the praise doesn’t mean absolutely everything to him, and eats his breakfast.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Throughout his student career, Yoongi didn’t go to parties specifically because he was too shy, too socially awkward to put himself in a room full of people he hardly knew. But this was Jeongguk’s birthday party, and Jeongguk was Taehyung’s boyfriend and Taehyung was Yoongi’s best friend, so he was more or less obligated to attend. It wasn’t a big deal, not really, the only thing was that in order to make him feel better, Taehyung had said something along the lines of “ You make more in a week than anyone else there.” , and maybe that had scared him a bit because what if he came off as pretentious? But okay, okay, it’s fine. He’s not going to freak out, because he doesn’t want to ruin this for Taehyung. He thinks back to some of the suggestions Hoseok had given him for dealing with thoughts like this - would anyone there actually know his salary? No, not unless Taehyung had told them, and he didn’t even know Yoongi’s salary. The most anyone would really know is that Yoongi is a doctor, that’s all, so there’s no need to get worked up because lots of people are doctors. Okay, so it’s fine; Yoongi closes his eyes and inhales deeply, before breathing out slowly, and returning back to his quiche - there’s small cubes of ham mixed in, and he doesn’t mind it one bit. The party wasn’t until one in the afternoon, which meant that there was plenty of time to kill before they actually had to ready - well, before Taehyung had to get ready, Yoongi was already dressed in what had been thrown at him, and because this is what had been picked for him, he assumed the attire to be casual. Because he had been up since the night before baking and decorating - which he must’ve started late as he wasn’t even home when Yoongi went to bed - Taehyung elected to nap for a few hours, which left Yoongi awake at five a.m. with nothing to do. So, he went through the motions of cleaning and organizing - making his bed, straightening textbooks, and scrubbing every last bit of icing off the kitchen counters. By the time he had finished, Taehyung was ready to leave. He ushered Yoongi into the backseat of an Uber and set the cake in his lap before climbing into the passenger seat. As they drove, Yoongi busied himself with shifting the cake in his lap to keep it level and looking out the window, while Taehyung chatted with the driver. True to Taehyung’s word, the venue is beautiful. There were a couple different pavilions, one of which had been selected for the party - rumor had it that decorating was Taehyung’s job, and it must have been, because no one else could make so many colors work together so well. Almost as soon as they arrived, Taehyung set down the cake on a table and pulled Yoongi over to where someone with chestnut brown hair crouched with a camera held up to his eyes, pointed at a small flower growing between two slabs of concrete. “Jeonggukie~” Taehyung hums and he stands up and wow, this is not the Jeongguk he remembers - he’s almost a full head taller than Yoongi, and he’s much more muscular than Yoongi recalls him to be - he looks almost nothing like the scrawny college freshman he once knew. “Hey, Tae.” He presses a kiss to Taehyung’s cheek before turning to address Yoongi. “You haven’t changed.” He smiles, but he doesn’t make an attempt to touch and thank god he doesn’t. “You look completely different.” Yoongi replies, smiling as well because damn, puberty hit Jeongguk like a truck. “Much hotter.” Taehyung adds, winking and it takes all of his willpower not to roll his eyes. Jeongguk shakes his head and starts talking about the party, and Yoongi is hardly listening, he just follows the pair as they walk around until he leaves them to sit down with the cake for lack of anything better to do. The party is in full swing, and though he hates to admit it, Yoongi is becoming the slightest bit uncomfortable - it has nothing to do with anyone there and everything to do with the amount of people, but he takes a deep breath, because he’s going to hold himself together - for Taehyung. He gets up and decides he’s going to explore this garden a bit further, after all, Taehyung told him he could. If Yoongi had been walking around in this garden years ago, around the time he’d tried to kill himself - realistically he wouldn’t have, because he rarely left the house, but if he had - he would’ve thought about how dirty it is outside, about the soil underneath his feet, about all the meiofauna living in it, and about the fleeting nature of it all; everything dies, so why bother? But here, right now, he thinks about how beautiful the flowers are, about how well-maintained this garden is. He thinks about how it’s simply beautiful day - the blue sky is painted with soft white clouds, birds sing all around him, butterflies float on the gentle breeze and everything is just right . It’s a good feeling, and he keeps walking. Eventually, near the back of the garden, far from everyone else, he finds a hedge maze - the Yoongi of the past wouldn’t go in, he’d be too afraid of getting lost, but he’s not the Yoongi of the past so why not? He takes a step in, and another, and pauses just to make sure he’s not going to freak out, and then he’s gone. It’s not long before he’s lost himself in his thoughts - he makes a wrong turn and comes to a dead end and he sees the first time his hands bled, coincidentally at his grandmother's birthday party after she’d held his hands in hers that smelled like cigarettes for too long; Another one, and he sees the first time he showered long enough to miss the bus; another one, when he tried to kill himself. It keeps going - when he fell apart in Taehyung’s arms the first time and every time after, when he moved out, when he almost killed himself working, the patients he lost, Taehyung coming back, their fights.Finally, he reaches the center and finds a small pond filled with lily pads and a bench on the sandy bank. He takes a seat on the worn wood - Past Yoongi wouldn’t have, because who knows what was on this bench before him? What germs could possibly be lurking, waiting? But he doesn’t think that, instead he’s looking at his reflection in the glassy surface of the pond, he really looks at himself, and he sees it: He’s changed. He’s still Yoongi, but his cheeks are fuller, his lips are pink instead of grey, his hair looks soft and full, not flat (Taehyung had made him dye it black after his roots started coming in), and he doesn’t have bruises painting the skin under his eyes. He looks healthy, he looks alive . There’s footsteps behind him, and he turns to see Seokjin - Seokjin - what is he doing here? “You’re here?” He asks and Seokjin nods, smiling softly as he looks at Yoongi - how different he must seem since their last meeting, before Taehyung moved in. “Yeah, Tae wanted me to meet his man - and he thought I should see you.” Oh . One. Two - stop it, there’s no need. “Well, here I am.” “Here you are.” Seokjin sits down next to Yoongi, and his reflection is joined by another. He feels a gentle hand on his knee. “How are you?” “I’m okay I think.” He says slowly, locking his hands together; he watches himself in the water as he says this. “You look better - Yoongi, do you feel better?” Seokjin presses, and Yoongi knows that if he really didn’t think so, he wouldn’t say it; he thinks this over for a moment, and it’s true, he does feel better. “I do.” “I’m proud of you.” The praise makes Yoongi smile just a little bit. “Thank you, for everything. I know I kinda hated you for making Tae move in - I really thought I was okay.” He explains, not looking at Seokjin himself, but at the elders reflection, because he probably wouldn’t be able to say this to his face. “That’s the thing, Yoongi,” He starts with a sigh, “You always think you’re okay - even after you, you know, you acted like it was nothing.” “I know.” “You we’re overworking yourself.” “I know.” “But look how far you’ve come, how much better you’ve gotten - Tae said you were seeing someone?” Seokjin asks, of course he mentioned that. “Yeah, just the psychologist at work.” Yoongi nods, “I guess it’s helped.” They’re both quiet for a moment, it must be obvious to everyone how much better Yoongi has gotten, but he himself is just now realizing. “You know I used to be in love with you?” He admits quietly. “Yoongi, everyone knows you used to be in love with me.” Oh god, was it that obvious? He can feel heat rising in his cheeks as embarrassment floods his body. “Really?” “Really, that’s why you needed a different roommate, so you would realize that you loved me because you trusted me, because I was always around.” Yeah, that’s true - still, though, he holds an appreciation for Seokjin, for putting up with his shit for so long. “Just, thank you, okay?” “We should get back.” Seokjin pats his shoulder. “Come on, Tae will be missing us.” The party goes well, Taehyung and Jeongguk are disgustingly in love, and Taehyung keeps saying that he’s The One™. It’s cute, but at the same time it makes Yoongi sad, because that means moving out and getting married and just living his own life - and he should be able to, he deserves it, but still, Yoongi has a hard time imagining life without the younger. There’s that, and the fear that, if Taehyung leaves, Yoongi will end up right where he started - an empty shell working himself to death. He imagines collapsing in the corridor at the hospital, or during an operation - he imagines this over and over, until he talks to Taehyung about it because these visions are damn near bringing him to tears, and they make him want to wash his hands - they’re all healed, he doesn’t want to dry them out again. “It’s okay, Yoongi, I expected this.” Taehyung hums when he admits what’s been plaguing him. They’re sitting on the couch, Yoongi hunched forward, his head hanging as Taehyung rubs a gentle hand up and down his back soothingly. “You’ll be okay without me, I know you will.” He reassures. “But what if I’m not?” It’s a lame excuse, it’s not even an excuse at all, it’s the words he’s been thinking to himself each time he attempts to convince himself that he’d be fine on his own. “Yoongi, why are you worrying about this now? Jeongguk and I have only been dating a few months, I’m not leaving you anytime soon.” Yoongi knows that, and maybe it’ll be a while but the point is it’s going to happen. “I just - you’ve done so much, you and Seokjin, I’d hate to fall back into a hole as soon as I’m left alone.” He’s picking at the backs of his hands, and Taehyung stops stroking his back to take them in his. “That’s not going to happen, Yoongi. You’re not going to let it - you’re better than that now. You’ve been getting help, you’ve been on medications-” That was true, Hoseok lightly suggested that he try medication again, just small doses to control his anxiety, and it was an all-natural formula, so it didn’t make him feel funny, and he wouldn’t become addicted. “You’re going to be okay, I promise.” “Okay, okay.” He inhales deeply. then exhales, doing this until his heart rate slows. “Okay.” The next day at work, Jimin catches him off guard. “You seem happier.” Yoongi had asked if Jimin had noticed anything about him change in recent weeks, to see if he was really the only one who had no idea. “Do I?” “You smile more, and it’s like, you’re just lighter?” Jimin explains as he reads a patient’s chart - he’s been getting good at doing things on his own, with little or no guidance. “I’m not sure how to explain it. When we first met, you just had this sadness about you, you know?” He doesn’t, because he can’t see himself from the outside, but he kind of understands what Jimin is saying. “I kind of had an epiphany recently.” “Really?” Now Yoongi is leading him down to an OR; today, Jimin gets to help remove a tumor. “Just, that I’ve gotten better, but it’s scary because what if I get worse again.” He pushes into the OR, moving to the sink to scrub all the way up to his forearms. “I don’t think you will, not to the point that you were.” Yoongi hears him, but doesn’t say anything because he’s trying to make sure he only does this once. He lathers, rinses, dries, and that’s it, there isn’t an urge to do it again. He puts on gloves, a mask, and then he’s at the table talking to the patient - not arranging his tools. “How you feeling, sir?” He asks as Jimin moves to his side. “I just want to drink again, son.” It’s an older, greying man, with cancer in his colon - everything was backed up, but Yoongi’s job was simply to remove the tumor, someone else could deal with the blockage. It was profound, the only reason the man had come in at all was because he couldn’t drink anymore - there was nowhere for it to go. “We’ll get you fixed up,” he nods his head towards Jimin, “My trusty intern here will be helping us out.” “You look like a good kid - make sure he does a good job.” The man chuckles weakly. “Yes sir.” Jimin promises, then a mask is being placed over the patient’s mouth and he’s unconscious. “What are we doing, Jimin?” He asks as everyone takes their place.“A partial colectomy?” “Right, and we’re taking lymph nodes, too.” He explains, as a scalpel is handed to him. “Do you know why?” “Because once the cancer hits the lymph nodes, it’ll spread quicker.” “Good.” Yoongi grins under his mask, he’s taught Jimin well. He poses to make the first cut, and a tech raises their hose, ready for suction. “I think - and I’m only a psychologist - but I think you can do just fine on your own.” Hoseok is sitting in his same seat across from Yoongi, notepad balanced on his knee as usual. “Everyone thinks that - but it’s just, a lot of ‘what if’, you know?” Yoongi explains, looking out Hoseok’s window. “Yoongi, you’re living in the past here. You’re going back to when you lived alone before, when you’re OCD was really bad, right? But a lot has changed since then, you’ve improved, and you’ve been given the tools to manage your anxieties.” That’s all true, and Yoongi’s know it to be so, but hearing it all listed out for him helps. “I know - I just don’t want to let anyone down.” He reasons, looking back towards Hoseok, who’s smiling fondly; Yoongi wonders if he’s this close with all his patients. “I don’t think you will, you have a habit of exceeding expectations.” He looks at his watch. “I’m sorry I have to do this - but I have an actual patient in about twenty minutes, you’ll have to go.” “Of courses - I’m sure there’s work for me to do.” He nods and stands, stretching before moving to exit the room, he has a foot out the door when he hears Hoseok again.“Don’t forget what we’ve talked about; don’t live in the past.” “I won’t.” He promises, ducking out the door. He finds Jimin in the hallway, sitting cross-legged on an abandoned gurney. “What’re you doing out here?” He asks as Jimin slides off, landing on the tiled floor with a gentle thud. “I was waiting for you - I didn’t have anything to do.” “There’s always something to do.” Yoongi hums, leading the way to the cafeteria. “Okay, I didn’t have you to tell me what to do.” “Whatever kid, let’s eat, I’m hungry.” He can feel Jimin beaming, because this is probably the first time he’s admitted to being hungry at work in a long time, and it’s definitely his first time initiating a lunch break - that was Jimin’s job. “So, is it seeing Dr. Jung that’s been helping?” Jimin asks after a few bites of his panini. “Some, some of it’s from Taehyung, some of it’s you, but mostly him, yeah.” Yoongi hums, taking a bite of his salad; he doesn’t think about how many ingredients are mixed together because it doesn’t matter . “You still wash your hands a lot, or sanitize them, just not a lot all at once.” Jimin points out, and Yoongi ignores the urge to snap at him because Jimin doesn’t have OCD, so he doesn’t know how it works. “Jimin, I still have OCD. I always will - it’s just more manageable now, yeah? I don’t have to count to myself or arrange things all the time to feel better.” “Oh - okay, you are a lot better.” Jimin nods and takes another bite of his sandwich. “But won’t drinking that coffee make you nervous?” He gestures to Yoongi’s styrofoam cup of black coffee, already half empty. “It shouldn’t, I haven’t been anxious today, but it very well could.” He hums and stabs at the lettuce with his plastic spork, taking a bite. “But I’ll be fine.” He mumbles around a mouthful of chewed up vegetables. And he is, they finish their lunch, get back to work, and somewhere several hours later, Yoongi decides that two shifts is enough - he’s no help to anyone here if he’s exhausted. So he bids Jimin good morning (because he worked all day and night), and heads home. Jimin decides to stay and look over reports, claiming that he won’t have any other down time to do so, and he’s probably right, considering the way things work around here. Taehyung is awake when he gets home, he’s standing in the bathroom, taking selfies in the mirror; that’s normal, though. What isn’t normal is that Jeongguk is sitting on the couch when Yoongi enters the apartment. He only pauses for a moment, raising an eyebrow before setting his bag on the table and lining his shoes up by the door. At his place on the table sits a plate with a single muffin - his breakfast, as prepared by Taehyung. “I guess I shouldn’t move your shoes, huh?” Jeongguk asks from the couch, snickering - but he knows Jeongguk won’t. Still, he fakes like he’s considering throwing his muffin. “Yoongi, is that you?” Taehyung calls from the bathroom, and Jeongguk responds for him. “Yeah, he’s home.” Taehyung comes out, dressed impeccably like the model he is, and smiles at Yoongi. “Good to see you - you took it easy.” He comments, because this might be the earliest Yoongi has ever come home, it’s only nine. “We have a shoot today, and then we’ll probably go eat later, if you want to come along. Not to the shoot, I know you’re tired, but to eat.” He offers. “Sure, if I sleep enough.” Yoongi nods, peeling the paper off his muffin; it’s chocolate chip, which has always been his favorite, even with his aversion to mixed foods. “Great, we’ll be off then.” Taehyung pats his head and Yoongi waves at Jeongguk before they’re out the door and he’s left with his muffin. He eats quickly, because he’s tired and he wants to take an actual shower before passing out for a few hours. He finishes and washes the plate, then goes to the bathroom and turns on the water - while the shower is heating up, he retrieves a pair of sweats and a tee from his drawers. He’s about to get in when there’s a familiar tingle in the back of his mind, a reminder that it’s been more than a full day since he last showered, he knew that, it wasn’t a big deal. But something keeps telling him it is, so takes his phone from where he left it on the bathroom counter and looks up the same article he’s read more than a hundred times before (probably), just to make sure that it’s fine for someone to go even two or three days without bathing - he’s fine, it’s only been one day. He takes a few deep breaths to calm himself, sets his phone back down, and gets in the shower. As he washes up, he can hear Hoseok’s voice in his mind, telling him that he shouldn’t have looked up the article, because he already knew what it said, and he was giving more control to his subconscious urges, and he knows that. But he justifies that it was either read the article or spend an eternity in the shower, and there is no one home to pull him out of the loop if he gets stuck. He washes quickly, because he doesn’t want to be in here longer than he has to and risk a compulsion gripping his mind - he has to remind himself that it’s okay, that this is just a minor lapse. When he steps out dried and clothed, there’s still the itch to do it again, just to make sure he’s actually clean, but there’s no real need because he’s already clean, he knows he is, so he takes a piece of Hoseok’s advice and distracts himself with one of Taehyung’s animes. He picks a cute one, with several little animals dotting the cover, and settles in with a blanket. He makes it through half an episode before he falls asleep, exhaustion finally taking over him. Yoongi, standing on the doorstep of his parents’ home, trying to steady his breathing. This was Taehyung’s idea - or Seokjin’s, he’s not sure, but Taehyung brought it up. “You should talk to your parents.” It’s not that he was cast out after high school - though it may have felt like it at the time. No, Yoongi and his parents just… went their separate ways, acknowledging each other with cards sent during the holidays; he’s not even sure when the last time he saw them was, but it was a while ago. He asked Taehyung to come with him, just in case he froze up like he is now, but he’s refused, saying this was something Yoongi needed to do on his own. Okay, fine. So he boarded a train to his parents only an hour and a half away with a bouquet of flowers, a set of earbuds, and his wallet. Unfortunately, he didn’t bring his laptop, which might’ve been a good idea, because maybe he could’ve gotten some work done in his anxiety. How is he supposed to do this, anyway? “Hi, you were horrible parents, but let's make amends.” He has a feeling his parents, his father specifically, wouldn’t like that. Maybe he’ll just say hi, talk about work a bit, then leave - maybe mention his salary, just to prove he’s made something of himself. Yes, that’s a good plan. He raises his hand and knocks three times, pathologically concentrating on his breathing because if he freaks out now, he’s not giving this another chance, because honestly he was fine with their limited contact arrangement. He doesn’t mean to, but he starts counting, the numbers being recited slowly and quietly in the back of his mind. “Yoongi?” A gruff voice asks, it’s his father, he’s stuck only his head through the door, as if Yoongi were a stranger, which is odd because he is most certainly not a stranger, he’s this man’s son, so shouldn’t be invited inside? “Dad?” “Why did you come home?” He sounds angry, almost, as if Yoongi actually showing his face at his parents home for the first time in years was an inconvenience. “I wanted to see you guys…” He says quietly, almost whispering, because his father’s tone made the endeavour seem foolish now; had his parents really cut him off? “You shouldn’t have come - your mother will have a fit, her problem child-” He doesn’t finish, or at least Yoongi doesn’t hear the rest, because he cuts the man off, his voice cold. “What did you just call me?” “Nothing, Yoongi, listen-” “No, you listen,” Oh god, he’s going to do it, he can’t ignore all the anger he’s kept pent up all these years - if Taehyung we’re here, he’d be trying to mediate, but he’s not, and Yoongi is angry. “I damn near killed myself trying to please you - I did try to kill myself while you guys we’re away - I went to school, I graduated, I’m a surgeon, and you still have the nerve to call me a problem child? Do you think I made it all up?” He drops the bouquet of flowers he’d brought for his mother - white lilies - and glares. “You know what, never mind, I’m done here-” “You will not speak to me that way.” His father tries, raising his voice above Yoongi’s and that would’ve scared him in the past - and hell it still does - but Yoongi now is different than Yoongi from the past, and he’s not going to take it. “No son of mine-” “I’m not your son.” The words are calm, cool, much more collected than Yoongi had expected them to be when he finally said them, and it shuts his father up. “I haven’t disowned you-” He tries, and Yoongi thinks that the only reason is because who would disown their surgeon son? Word would get around so fast. “You don’t have to, I disown myself.” That’s it, and he walks away. He shows his ticket and he’s back on the train - the ride home seems almost instant, because he’s fuming. When he gets home, Taehyung looks up expectantly from the couch, where he’s tangled in a blanket and Jeongguk - normally Yoongi would’ve been irritated to come home to a guest without warning, but now, he’s too pissed. “How did it- what happened?” Taehyung asks, taking in the tension rolling off Yoongi’s body in waves. “My dad called me a problem child and I disowned myself - a great family reunion.” He mumbles, arranging his shoes by the door. “I’m going to bed.” He calls over his shoulder, leaving a very confused Jeongguk and a very concerned Taehyung on the couch, faces illuminated by the glowing light of the television. Yoongi strips, puts something on that’s a little more appropriate for sleeping - he’d worn slacks to meet his parents, what a lot of good it did - and falls into bed. He expects to be angry for the next few days, but he can already feel it fading away - he’s never been an outwardly angry person. Instead of what should be a seething hatred, there’s a heavy sense of relief. His parents were some of his biggest adversaries in his life, after his mental illness, it was their lack of support that made it much worse than it had to be, but it’s over now, and something about that calms Yoongi. He doesn’t have to see them anymore, doesn’t have to pretend that everything is fine between them - he doesn’t have to pretend that there’s anything between them - it’s over. “Do you really feel this much better?” Hoseok asks - his office was Yoongi’s first destination after he arrived at the hospital. “I do.” He means it, he’s removed some of the most toxic people from his life. “Then, if you aren’t regretting it at all, this was a good thing for you. Still, though, it may have been nice to get some closure.” “I don’t need any closure - they didn’t want me ruining their reputation, they still don’t want me ruining their reputation, that’s all there is to it.” He explains to the psychologist; through the entire session he’s been calm as he explained his official separation from his parents. “Yoongi, if you’re satisfied, then I don’t see why you need my help with this particular issue - you’ve done what you think is best for you.” He explains, hands folded on his lap. Yoongi thinks it over for a moment, tries to reach out for the remorse that should be there, but he doesn’t find any. “I’m satisfied.” He nods, and Hoseok smiles. “That’s wonderful - I do have patients soon, so I really must get to work.” He dismisses, and Yoongi leaves to change and find Jimin. He’s still angry, of course he is, but it’s more of a gentle hum under his skin, more of an “I’ll show you.” than just a “Fuck you.” and really, this is one of his favorite things, because when he gets in this particular mood is when he gets shit done. He checks his phone before sliding it into his desk drawer, he has a text from Taehyung.
[We should go on a trip]
Yoongi doesn’t reply, he’s too focused on Jimin, out of breath and standing in front of his desk, hands on his knees as he tries to simultaneously suck in a breath and speak. His words are frantic and jumbled, and it’s a good two minutes before he’s able to communicate a cohesive thought. “Well kid? Out with it.” Yoongi demands, crossing his arms. “I was in the hall, the old chief surgeon is retiring.” He explains, and yes, he is, and everyone who's been here for more than five years has their eye on his position. “Okay? That’s old news, Jimin, nothing to get worked up about.” He shakes his head and begins running down his list of things to do today, hands in his coat pockets as he begins moving out of his office. “No, Yoongi .” Jimin pleads for his attention, and Yoongi knows nothing is going to get done until he listens, so he concedes, stopping to face the kid who for some reason has the biggest smile on his face. “What is it?” He sighs. “We have a lot to do today.” “They want to make you Chief Surgeon.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The words bounce off the barren walls of his office - barren, because if he’s not distracted by useless things he can work more efficiently - they clatter around in Yoongi’s skull and he wonders if they’ll shatter - he’s frozen, shocked, unprepared for news of this magnitude. He’s quiet for a full minute, then two, staring at nothing as Jimin tries to catch his breath, still winded from his mad dash to Yoongi’s office.“Are you sure about this?” Yoongi asks, voice strangely calm, conflicting with the sudden swell of anxiety in his mind. “Are you absolutely sure?”“Well, that’s what they we’re talking about, and I heard your name-”“You we’re eavesdropping on your superiors-” “That’s beside the point, Yoongi,” Jimin crosses his arms, and the way he says his name is almost disrespectful, “They were talking about you.”“Quite possibly about how they would never choose me - OCD, you know?” The thing is, Yoongi never fosters hope, because he’s somewhat afraid of having his faith turned becoming shreds of regret. At least in this situation his OCD is a plausible reason for his superiors to prevent his advancement, “Also, Yoongi ?”“Sir, sorry, but don’t be such a pessimist.” Jimin pouts, rolling his eyes.“I find that if I keep my expectations low, I’m rarely disappointed.” Even so, there’s a tiny glimmer of something, a sense of relief, expectation. He should be considered, he’s worked his ass off for years, he’s been waiting for this. “Anyway, we don’t have much time to dwell and pick apart the conversation, we have things to do today.” “But-” He can’t think about this now, because thinking leads to worrying and worrying leads to panic and cracked hands and swallowed pride.“Not now, Jimin.”Yoongi takes his time with his patients today, really dragging things out to keep himself busy between surgeries, but the anxious butterflies remain in his stomach, unquelled, undisturbed, patient. It’s been two months since his last full-scale panic episode, and he’s doing all he can to keep the streak going, so he turns back to his pneumonia patient - he hasn’t had one in a while - and listens as the old woman describes symptoms that point in the general direction of decline than progress - she’s old, old people get sick, but not like this. He listens as she struggles to breathe between sentences, and to how ragged her breaths are when she manages to take them, and decides that’s indication enough that she needs a tube to drain the fluid - he writes her in for a procedure. It’ll be done by someone else, he’s only taking care of this particular patient while her assigned doctor is off for the day. He repeats this process with several other patients, checking in on them, listening to how they’re feeling - or claiming to feel in the case of an addict looking for a quick fix - and decides what to do with them. Consistent improvement in a man with a knife wound? He’ll probably be good for discharge in a few days, and he’ll return at a later undetermined date for his stitches to be removed. Temporarily paralyzed patient able to get up and walk around the hospital? Give them more rigorous physical therapy.A doctor was never his first career choice, until it seemed like the only choice. But it’s days like this when everything goes smoothly that he thinks he made a good decision, or at least an okay one, because no one dies and there’s no serious mishaps. He didn’t want to come down this path, didn’t want to put in the effort, the hours, the studying, but he did, and he wonders why he’s so good at this. Maybe because he’s logical, rational, or maybe because he has a good grasp on the general concept of cause and effect: cause is to obsessions as the effect is to compulsions, add a little death and disorder in there and you get a hospital.Somehow this thought leads him to remember a concept he was taught in one of his life sciences - which he couldn’t remember, he’d taken several - that life was simply controlled chaos. Entropy, the constant loss and gain in nature, how everything balanced out in the end - but sometimes it didn’t work that way, sometimes a patient dies and there’s no understandable cause. He shake the thought from his mind as he scrubs up to his elbows, ignoring that his hands already feel a bit dry, and ties on mask, letting latex gloves get tugged on as those participating in the surgery file in, and he looks up to see Jimin settling in a seat in the small elevated observation room, sending a thumbs up through the window. Today is simple, a carotid endarterectomy, he’s got this.The surgery proceeds without a hitch, he looks up to see Jimin smiling from his seat, the patient is moved out of the OR, the floor will be hosed down, any fluids will swirl down the drain, the tools will be taken and sanitised and new ones set out, the table will be stripped and sanitized and redressed, in a few moments, no one will be able to tell there was a prior patient.Somewhere along the line, he gets called in to assist with a bypass surgery, and his twelve hour shift becomes fourteen hours as he sits at his desk, typing out reports and quizzing Jimin - who’s still got almost another full day before he can go home - about what they saw today, which really wasn’t much. Then he’s kicking Jimin out and heading home, opening the door to find Taehyung and Jeongguk tangled in each other on the couch, asleep, with the television playing quietly in front of them - at least they aren’t naked.“There’s dinner in the fridge.” Taehyung half whispers, opening one eye slowly. “I’ll kick him out in a little while.”“Don’t worry about it.” Yoongi lines his shoes up by the door - even though his compulsions are becoming easier to ignore, this seems more like a habit, something it feels wrong to ignore. He eats - it’s chicken, and he finds himself cutting in several spots to make sure it’s thoroughly cooked because he imagines getting some kind of food poisoning, salmonella, he imagines getting sick and not making it to the bathroom in time, he imagines this over and over, so he checks the chicken. Cause: fear of illness, effect: checking.
We should go on a trip.
Yoongi on an empty beach off an abandoned highway, sitting in front of a bonfire with Taehyung, Namjoon, Jeongguk, and Seokjin. The fire crackles as it burns, the flames a dance of different colors from the driftwood as they curl lazily into the sky. The waves lap at the shore behind him, and the sea breeze carries the heavy scent of salt; it’s halfway to two a.m. and everything is as it should be. He’s never up this late, but for some reason he’s completely fine with it, even if it goes against his usual sleep schedule.They’ve come to this small beach-side town in the middle of nowhere for a week. Of course, Taehyung and Jeongguk had wanted to actually camp out on the beach, but Yoongi and Seokjin refused. They had different reasonings, Yoongi in particular refused to sleep sand because he absolutely loathed it - but that didn’t matter much because they got hotel rooms. Still, he knew he’d be finding sand for weeks after the trip. Namjoon and Seokjin shared, Jeongguk and Taehyung shared, which left Yoongi on his own - not that he minded it, really, he was a person who needed quite a bit of headspace, that, and the fact that he brought his laptop meant he’d be able to get some work done though albeit not much considering he refused to allow it out of his hotel room because (can you guess?) sand. Disgusting.When Taehyung had mentioned this trip to Yoongi the first time via text the day Jimin had burst into his office, he hadn’t expected it to happen because they were both busy and, with news of a possible promotion floating through the hospital, Yoongi was a bit more stressed than usual.“ That’s all the more reason to take a vacation. ” Taehyung hummed across their dining table, a bite of noodles halfway to his mouth. It’s takeout tonight, which became something of an irregular occurrence when he first moved in because of Taehyung’s dedication to a healthy lifestyle, but has now become a welcomed meal - a few times a month. Taehyung still cooked, takeout and fast food were only reserved for when he really didn’t have the time.“ It’s really crucial for me to be keeping up appearances right now, though. ” Yoongi tried to argue, but it didn’t sound the least bit convincing - the current Chief of Surgery wouldn’t even be retiring until the end of the year, apparently. Taehyung picks up his phone, taps a few times, and sets it face down in front of him before answering - it’s probably Jeongguk.“ We both know it’s not, and I know you’ve never taken a vacation, so this shouldn’t affect your reputation at all. ” He had a point, and with that realization came the end of the argument, and maybe did want to go on a trip somewhere, just a little bit.“ Okay .” He resigned after a mouthful of orange chicken washed down with a gulp of scalding chamomile tea, prescribed by Taehyung to help Yoongi sleep better.“ So it’s settled, get a week off and we’ll go somewhere nice where you won’t be able to work. ” Yoongi gulped - if he doesn’t work, what the hell else is he supposed to do?He digs his toes in the damp sand, replaying the conversation again in his mind for no other reason than to avoid thinking about what’s really on his mind: promotion. Not just any, it’s the promotion, the one that would put him at the top, there’s really not any higher he would be able to go afterwards, he would have succeeded.Yoongi and Jimin had something of an argument that day, when he’d barreled into Yoongi’s office, panting and choking on his own words - or as much of an argument as they could whilst being on duty in a hospital, and they weren’t even really arguing, just discussing and making points to each other - but an argument nonetheless.Jimin thought Yoongi should go ahead and accept the position, that he would make a great chief surgeon and how there was nobody better for the job. Flattering. But Yoongi thought otherwise. Not only that, it wasn’t even for sure that the old chief of surgery was retiring.“ You’re already the best doctor here. ” Jimin had argued, posing with gauze in his hand to staunch a blood flow if needed.“ Debatable, really. ” Yoongi had mumbled, watching the monitor in front of him as he probed an inflamed appendix, it was a particularly gross one, maybe one of the worst he’s seen - intriguing.“ But you’ve definitely got the most hours. ” Jimin tried again while closing up a patient after Yoongi spent an hour removing a bullet and fragments from his abdomen.“ Less, now, since Taehyung wants me home so much. ” He said, peeling off his gloves and mask.“ Yoongi, you should really take this chance .” Jimin persisted while Yoongi changes into his casual clothes before heading home.“ Fine, I’ll think about it, okay? ” He promised as he stepped into his jeans and zipped up, ignoring the smug grin on his interns face as he stepped out. Thought about it he has, and he’s had something of a realization.He wants the position, hell, anyone would, but is he a good fit? That’s not the question, there isn’t a question, it’s more of a ‘but’ and ends with OCD, and it goes, ‘I would like the position, but I have OCD’; but for some reason that’s only a slight deterrent. Jimin said he heard Yoongi’s name being thrown around in the discussion, which meant there was a chance he was being considered nonetheless, that his superiors were willing to overlook his issues - after all, he was one hell of a doctor. But still, there’s that same underlying insecurity he hasn’t been able to shake for years, remaining an unwavering factor in all his decisions.He’d talked to Hoseok about this at some point the next day, about the Taehyung’s supposed trip and the talks of promotion, because he honestly wasn’t sure what to think.“ Yoongi, even with your OCD - which you’ve be managing - it appears you’re a prime candidate for the job. ” He reasoned, legs crossed, sitting in the same seat as always. Whether or not he chose the same spot each time specifically for Yoongi, or this was his designated seat for all his appointments, he would never know, primarily because he would never ask.“ I’ve been better - but can’t it go the opposite way? ” He presses, because he desperately wants someone to give an answer - and look, there’s that pesky ‘but’ again. However, Hoseok is a psychologist, and straight answers are not a part of his job.“ What do you mean? ”“ Can’t I like, get worse again? ” He asks, and there’s really nothing that would make him ask this, that would hint that he’s slipping, so it’s just sheer anxiety.“ Well what do you think? ” It’s a psychologist question.“ I hate when you do that - throw my words back at me. ”“ It’s the only way you’ll really analyze them, you know. ” Hoseok points out, clicking his pen. “ So what do you think? ”“ I think I want to know what you think. ” Yoongi deflects his tactic, and feels slightly guilty because he sounds like an ass.“ Yoongi, you’ll have ups and downs - mental illness is a roller coaster that’s really hard to get off of, you’ll always go up and come back down, but there’s only ever one really steep drop, right ?” He explains, using an analogy because these somehow help Yoongi understand exactly what he means.“ I wouldn’t know, I hate roller coasters. ”“ Well that’s how they are, and you’ve already hit your lowest point, right? ”“ I guess so. ” Yoongi thought back to his teens, trying to kill himself, his absent parents, and yeah, he hasn’t been that low since.“ Yoongi, ” Hoseok started as he uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, “ What I want you to understand is that there is a very real possibility you will have some lapse in your behaviours - and that’s normal for anyone recovering from anything. But how you deal with them is the important part, whether or not you indulge your compulsions and whatnot, right? Of course, there is always the possibility that you could recover completely, pack up your OCD in a box and set it aside and forget about it - that’s like getting off the rollercoaster, and it’s unlikely, seeing how long you’ve dealt with this, but it’s still possible. More than likely this will be your lifelong affliction, a battle that you’re always fighting, and sometimes you’re going to lose, it’s simply a part of this. “I want to know exactly what it is holding you back - your OCD is a part of you, and you’ve managed just fine until now, so I want you to think about it: what is it that’s scaring you. Now, I have a patient soon, but please think about this before you come see me again. ” Yoongi nods and stands, exiting the room quietly because Hoseok has never lectured him like that - it wasn’t even a lecture, more of an explanation, but Yoongi is still shocked.He thought about the question for precisely two hours, forty-seven minutes and sixteen seconds, then he was back in the psychologist’s office with an answer.“ My problem is, I think, that even if I’m selected for the position, what if it’s taken away? But above that, what if I don’t find what it is I’m looking for?” He explained as soon as Hoseok at sat down.“ What is it you’re looking for? ”“ I didn’t become a doctor because I wanted to - I didn’t want to do anything. Now here I am, almost thirty and still looking for my purpose, for the reason why I’m not dead. ” He’s never said this out loud, not to Seokjin, not to Taehyung, not even to himself. But it’s the truth, floating in the empty air between them, the only noise coming from a desk fan and the continuous clatter outside. “ So I think I’m afraid of getting there and not finding anything, that all of this would have been for nothing.” “ I see. ” Is all Hoseok says for a moment, eyes focused on Yoongi as he taps his pen on his knee. “ This is the question you’ve been trying to answer, and you’ll only get an answer if you go down the path - that’s all I can say.” “Speaking of animals, Yoongi, my cat has been acting weird.” Seokjin’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts - it’s a little louder after half a bottle of wine conveniently packed into the bottom of his bag since glass isn’t allowed on the beach.“I’m a surgeon, not a vet,” Yoongi says, bored, “even then, all the extra sciences I took were about fish.”“Why the hell did you take fish sciences - fish are different than people.” Jeongguk asks, making the correct observation that, yes, fish are different than people, but only marginally so.“The classes were smaller, and it’s kind of interesting really.” Yoongi shrugs. The fact that the classes were generally smaller was the deciding factor - not only did that mean there were less people he’d have to interact with, smaller classes had better averages, because it was easy to mold teaching styles to a smaller group.“How do we know you’re telling the truth?” This time it’s Namjoon speaking - of the group, he’s somewhere in the middle on the sociable scale - he speaks, but it’s not pointless chatter.“Do you really want me to give you a crash course on sharks right now? Because I’ll do it.” Yoongi asks, and he’s met with hurried, fervent refusals because maybe Yoongi likes to lecture sometimes, only about things he’s actually interested in, though, such as sharks.It’s only their first night on this vacation, the first night of a week, and Yoongi is already absentmindedly worrying about what’s going on at the hospital - he’s spent every waking moment there since he’d graduated so, how could he not? More specifically, he’s a bit concerned about Jimin, who is supposed to be shadowing various other doctors in Yoongi’s absence, like he had when Yoongi was having his issues. He’d convinced Yoongi to take a vacation, supporting his claim with the mention that Yoongi hadn’t had a day off since Jimin started as his intern, and that was almost a year and a half ago. He’s just a little worried about how the other doctors will treat Jimin being as Yoongi hasn’t exactly been the best co-worker, and that he is now in the consideration for a new position that everyone is vying after. It only takes but a few minutes of replaying scenes of other doctors berating Jimin for things that aren’t his fault or giving him purposefully disgusting or impossible tasks and he’s starting to have a bit of a hard time breathing, he puts his hand on his chest and rubs gently, hoping to relieve the discomfort.“Yoongi, I can feel your anxiety, stop.” Taehyung says quietly from next to him. He nods, takes a deep breath, and envisions trying to paint a white wall black - it’s a strategy Hoseok taught him, and it might be his favorite. When he’s breathing relatively normally, he stops with the wall and takes a look around, really paying attention to the details of his environment - Hoseok calls this grounding, and it’s to help keep Yoongi here , instead of off in his head somewhere.Taehyung is sitting on the sand next to him, leaning most of himself into Jeongguk, resting his head on the younger’s shoulder. He’s wearing a t-shirt and torn jeans, clothes that must be from college because Yoongi recognizes them, and he’s got a barely-sipped wine cooler in his hand (in an aluminium can, of course), Taehyung has never been a big drinker. Jeongguk has an arm wrapped around his boyfriend’s waist, he’s wearing a navy jumpsuit and in his other hand is his third beer - again, in an aluminium can. Across from him, on the other side of their small fire sit Namjoon and Seokjin - Namjoon wears a light blue button up and denim shorts, and in his left hand he also holds a beer. He’s got a hand on Seokjin’s leg, but that’s where it ends - unlike Jeongguk and Taehyung, these two don’t cling to each other, but they’re always touching. Seokjin is wearing simple sweats and a tee, red plastic cup of wine clutched in his right hand - classy. Someone yawns, someone else decides they should go ahead and get some sleep, others agree in tired mumbles - they’d gotten here after dark, and originally the plan was to simply walk down to the beach for Jeongguk’s sake, who desperately wanted night-pictures, which turned into drinking and Yoongi worrying and this - funny, how one thing leads to the next.He wakes that morning later than four, which is something that definitely goes against his routine, and as he rolls this thought around in his mind, he discovers that it doesn’t bother him as much as it should, a lot of things don’t bother him as much these days. There’s that, and the fact that he didn’t get to sleep until almost three after they spent half an hour cleaning up their mess and extinguishing their small fire - but there’s been plenty of times in the past where he slept only half an hour, or didn’t sleep at all. It’s just different - not good or bad, just different.He rolls over in bed and picks up his cell phone off the sleek black nightstand where it lays face down, the screen wakes as he lifts it, and it’s just barely seven in the morning - the sunlight beaming through his window must have woken him. No one else is awake yet, and it’s doubtful that will change in the next hour, so he decides to take a shower and, well, he hasn’t gotten that far yet.“ We’re all getting together again. ” Is what Taehyung had said when Jeongguk arrived at their apartment early Monday morning with a duffle bag in his hand and his camera bag slung across his body. All of them, the original trio from college, plus Jeongguk - he may not have been a part of the trio, but he was usually hanging around, nose in a textbook or eye in a viewfinder, and plus Namjoon because he was Seokjin significant other and he was Yoongi’s friend, but not like Seokjin and Taehyung.Thinking about it now, Yoongi couldn’t remember the last time his small circle from college had all been together - it had been a lot of one-on-one meetings since then, catching up over coffee, discussing business ventures over a quick lunch when their schedules overlapped. He swallowed a bitterness - when had they become so adult ? When did they stop catching cheap afternoon movies and studying together over pizza or walking around campus together when Yoongi was especially nervous - it was saddening; a wave of nostalgia breaks over him. Their last full day, Yoongi isn’t even awake, the sky is still dark, and Taehyung is trying to rouse him, unfortunately Yoongi is under oath to not harm anyone. They go back and forth, Taehyung saying something and Yoongi groaning in response for nearly twenty minutes before Yoongi is dressed in jeans he didn’t know he had and Taehyung is walking him down to the beach. As they walk, sand shifting under their feet, Yoongi tries not to think about the meiofauna living between the grains of sand, millions, billions , of tiny creatures sticking to the bottoms of his shoes, to his clothes; fails. He tries not to think about the fact that the sand is made from a combination of fish feces and bones and chips of coral and shattered shells, but most importantly the marine defecation; fails. His skin crawls, he feels dirty, and the only way to make it go away, the only way to feel normal is to take a shower and wash it all away before he gets some kind of parasite - he starts painting the wall black, but he can’t, because the paint is dripping, running down, bleeding - he can’t breathe. Taehyung keeps walking. Yoongi taps his fingers against his thigh to count the seconds between breaths, and even his own touch feels disgusting.Taehyung stops after twenty minutes, and Yoongi follows suit, based more upon the sound of Taehyung’s footsteps against the sand than anything else. He looks up, scans their surroundings, empty beach stretching on either side and the ocean endless in front of him - it’s the place, why are they here? This is where Yoongi announced he was moving out, that he was leaving, the memory makes him anxious, opposing the calm waves rolling gently against the shore only a few feet in front of them.“Remember?” Taehyung asks; he doesn’t want to.“Yeah.” Even now, after all these years, Yoongi is wracked with guilt. “I’m sorry-”“Yoongi, you did what you had to - which sucked and I was upset for a while - but I understood.” That’s the thing, he always understands, Yoongi doesn’t even have to say anything and he’ll still understand.“So why are we here?” He asks, forcing his voice to remain calm, unwavering. He thinks he knows why, though - this is where he and Taehyung separated, now it’s going to happen again. He becomes suffocated by the feeling of sand under his feet, disgust squeezing the breath out of him; the sand isn’t the problem. He’s scared, worried that Taehyung is going to leave him after barrelling through and changing Yoongi’s life again - but taking a shower, washing away all the sand and the creatures would make everything better, it would give him control, that’s all he needed.“Yoongi, how things were back then, we didn’t separate on great terms, I know, but things are okay now, different. What happened in the past doesn’t matter anymore.” He waits for more, waits for Taehyung to say he’s moving in with Jeongguk, or that Yoongi’s become too much to handle, that he doesn’t want to deal with it anymore - but he’s been doing better, hasn’t he? But it doesn’t matter, because Taehyung is going to do the same thing Yoongi had in the past, and he’s going to do it in the same spot - Taehyung turns around, and though Yoongi is doing his best to hold it all in, he notices.“Hey, hey what happened?” He moves to place a hand on Yoongi’s shoulder, to touch him, and he flinches away.“The sand - there’s so many, too many, just microorganisms, all in between the sand grains, they’re, they’re all over. So, so gross, I need a shower -” He explains, trying his best to ignore the welling panic, failing.“I know that’s not it, Yoongi, there’s always something in the background.” Taehyung waits patiently for an answer, and it’s a good few minutes before Yoongi’s gathered himself enough to speak.“You’re going to leave, that’s why you brought me here, to tell me that you’re moving out just like I did-” His pitch raises, words become shakier and run together.“Wha- Yoongi, listen to me,” He demands, “No one is leaving, I didn’t bring you here to upset you, I wanted to clear the air, tie up loose ends.” Yoongi hears, but he doesn’t understand, doesn’t process.“I’ll be alone again and I’ll get that promotion but I won’t be able to handle it-” Hands on his shoulders.“ Yoongi , you need to calm down .” Taehyung’s voice is stern as he makes eye contact, forcing Yoongi to look at him. “Come back, stop thinking so far ahead, stay here.” Yoongi nods, gaze lowering, focusing on the sand beneath them. “Come on, five things you can see.”“The water, sand, the buildings up there,” It’s a grounding technique, something to focus Yoongi on his surroundings, “Uh, you, the sun rising.” It’s indeed rising, the sky becoming a canvas of pinks and oranges chasing away the night’s grey, they’ve been out here a while.“Four things you can feel.”“My anxiety-” He tries to joke, but Taehyung isn’t having it.“Yoongi.” He warns.“Okay - I feel the sea breeze, the sand beneath my feet, the water if I go touch it, I can feel your hands on my shoulder.” As he lists things, he feels himself calming, as his energy moves from his panicking to focusing on his surroundings.“Three things you can hear.” The thing is, as it goes down, it gets harder to pick out things, he has to think harder.“Your voice, the waves, the wind.”“Two things you can smell.” This one is particularly difficult, because the scent of the ocean masks everything. As he inhales, the headache fades.“The sea...I’m not sure what else.” Taehyung doesn’t say anything, but he’s implying Yoongi needs to think, when he’s about to give up, a delivery truck roars by. “Gasoline.”“One thing you can taste.” Easy, he can breathe.“Salt.” It permeates the air around them, even further inland one can taste it in the air.“How do you feel?” Tired, he’s always tired after an episode, meaning he’ll probably end up having a nap or going to bed early.“I’m okay.” It worked, he’s calmed down, or at least relaxed enough. “I’m sorry.”“You haven’t gotten worked up like that in a while,” He hasn’t, and in a way he’s sad that he’s broken the no-panicking streak, “It’s been, almost three months?”“Yeah.”“Yoongi, we talked about this already, I’m not leaving.” He knows that, he knows Taehyung promised he and Jeongguk wouldn’t be taking that step anytime soon, but well, he worries. “Now let’s get back - we’re all going out tonight.” Yoongi cringes internally, imagining a crowded, suffocating club.“Do I have to go?” He’s whining, but in all honestly he’s really not up to go anywhere, he’s exhausted.“Yes - don’t worry, it’s a nicer place, Seokjin found it.” That doesn’t really mean much, just that the place will be a bit higher end.High-end indeed, but Yoongi is too preoccupied to enjoy it (he does indulge on a few glasses of wine), the day’s events have brought back a particular instance he hadn’t thought about in years, a fight, probably the only actual fight he and Taehyung had during their college years.He’d met with Namjoon for lunch at a cheap cafe - a step up from noodles and soda, even though it was only a sandwich.“ I mean - not to be rude or anything - but you’re really moody. ” Namjoon had said around a mouthful of mashed up sandwich meat and bread . “ I don’t really understand how he deals with that, being how he is. ”“ He didn’t have to move in with me. ” Yoongi hums, picking onions out of his sandwich, he specifically asked for no onions and at that point he probably wasn’t eating.“ Guess so - but it goes both ways, like, I dunno how you do it ,” He’s still speaking with his mouth full, and no matter how many times Yoongi has complained he still does it, “ He’s really, out there, you know? But whatever, I respect you guys for making it work. ” He’s not sure why, but that sticks with him, and he agrees. Taehyung is a bit strange, but that shouldn’t matter, right?The thought stayed with him, blame it on his obsessive nature, and he found himself picking at the things Taehyung did that would be considered weird: he mixes weird sauces into his ramen for the hell of it, he wears the brightest colors he can, watches cartoons and animes always; he shouldn’t be bothered, and he really wasn’t until Namjoon brought it up.Yoongi had a bad day, he slammed the door and slung his bag across the room, and it hit the wall with a satisfying thud.“ Yoongi ?” Taehyung asked from the couch, concerned and confused. In his lap sat a bowl of ramen, and on the floor next to him was a bottle of ranch.“ What ?” He growls, annoyed and itching to just be left alone so he could shower and hide in bed.“What happened?” “Nothing, Tae, okay? Nothing.” Maybe he was being a bit unfair.“ I can make you some ramen and we can try it with- ”“ God, why are you so weird? ”“ I, what? ” He shouldn’t have said it, but he’d never been great at handling his frustration, so he kept going.“ You eat all these weird foods, you wear all these bright colors and random styles- ” He kept going, listing off his grievances as Taehyung listens with wide eyes.“ Yoongi I- ”“ It’s annoying! ” Taehyung’s eyes filled with tears, Yoongi knew he hit a nerve, knows that this is one of Taehyung’s insecurities - his biggest insecurity - and he’s targeted it, he’s a bad day and Taehyung is his outlet; he sighs and asks again, “J ust, why are you so weird ? ”Taehyung choked on a sob, hand covering to his mouth, and he stood, setting his bowl down and shoving his phone and wallet in his pocket, then he was gone, the door slammed behind him and Yoongi was left alone in the apartment.Taehyung didn’t come home for two weeks, Yoongi lived alone for two weeks, guilty, and his hands bled because of it. He would spend half an hour washing and drying his hands because somehow it made him feel better. Because there was no Taehyung to stop him and dispense the pill that not only calmed him, but put him to sleep, his hands dried and cracked and bled and he vomited anything he ate because he felt so disgusting; he needed Taehyung, and resented that he’d become so dependent on someone.Taehyung didn’t come back until they ran into each other at a cafe, and Yoongi had planned to apologize as he stepped up to him, but then his head was on Taehyung’s shoulder and a few tears leaked out, along with a shaky breath. He mumbled his apology, but for all he knows Taehyung didn’t hear him. Regardless, he came home - he’d been staying with another friend in their dorm on campus, even though that technically wasn’t allowed.The thing is, that first night alone, Yoongi had done a lot worse than simply washing his hands. He was angry, so he drank, and the anger turned to sadness, then resentment and before he’d realized it he’s beaten his legs black and blue beneath his jeans. He admitted this to the younger, even though he originally planned not to, and Taehyung (humiliatingly) had made him strip down to his boxers in order to give him a thorough once-over, to assure that was all he’d done, before giving Yoongi a pair of latex gloves he’d found under the sink to protect his hands from infection and moving to deal with a blood stained towel. Yoongi steps into his office on his first day back, and already there’s a cup of black coffee sitting on his desk, next to where Jimin is leaning against it, facing the entrance to the office. He’s already pretty much figured how this day would go, or at least, his interactions with Jimin. He figured his intern would ask about his trip, as well as throw in a few more comments and points about Yoongi and his prospects of becoming chief surgeon. But he doesn’t get in more than a greeting and a mouthful of coffee before his pager summons him to an office he’s never been in before. In the middle of the room is a long table with a dozen chairs on each side, two of which are occupied, one by the medical director - Dr. Yeong, an old woman with grey hair tied in a neat bun on her head - and the current chief - formally called the Head of Surgery, Dr. Kim.“Come in, have a seat.” Dr. Yeong smiles, gesturing to the seat across from her. Yoongi offers a respectful ‘yes ma’am’ and sits, waiting. Jimin moves to sit, too, because where Yoongi goes, he follows, but he’s dismissed. “We’d like to speak with only Dr. Min, please.”“It’s alright Jimin, make my rounds for me?” He nods and pulls the door closed behind him.“As you know, son,” Dr. Kim speaks, and Yoongi’s only just now noticed how much weight he’s lost, and how generally tired he looks. “I’m getting old, I can’t keep up this doctor stuff for much longer. In fact, I’ll be retiring at the end of this year.”This is it. But he’s terrified. He wants the position, the recognition, the success that comes with it - but he has so much anxiety about it, things would be a lot easier if he passed and stayed where he was.“I’m sorry to hear that, sir.” Yoongi offers, and the old man smiles.“Now let’s get this over with, my retirement means we need someone to fill my position. Despite your particular circumstances, you just might be one of the most hard-working attendings I’ve seen.” Yoongi nods, “To my knowledge, you’ve been seeing our resident psychologist, and according to Dr. Jung you’ve greatly improved in managing yourself. Because of that, I think you would make a prime Head of Surgery. Of course, your intern would be placed primarily under another attending, but you may still have time to train with him every now and again. This is a very demanding position.”“Dr. Min,” The medical director interjects, “We’re also offering this position to you because, well, if we don’t, another hospital will, and I’d hate to lose a skilled doctor such as yourself.” Dr. Kim speaks again.“So, Dr. Min, what do you say?”