Work Text
“I’ve written new orders for the patient in Room 6,” a voice says with quiet authority. Yunho glances up from where he’d been dazedly staring at his computer, fighting the desperate battle to stay awake at four in the morning. “Just a CBC. If it comes back normal, we should be able to send her home in the morning.” Yunho blinks. “Room 6?” He shakes himself awake. “Oh—yes.” He musters up a sleepy grin. “Thank you, I was going to call you about her but you beat me to it.” The resident stares at him for just a little too long, long enough that even Yunho grows uncomfortable and ends up looking away first. He stands up and clears his throat. “Well! I’ll just go draw that CBC, shall I?” When the resident—Changmin Shim, MD, his badge proclaims—still says nothing, Yunho gives him an awkward little wave and heads off to the supply room to gather what he needs. When he returns, the resident is gone.
*
“Do you know that new resident?” Yunho asks Heechul a few shifts later, chin in his hands as he watches Heechul stock their medicine cabinet with a furrowed brow. “Which new resident,” Heechul drawls, moving onto the medicine fridge. He grabs a handful of syringes and begins the methodical process of depositing each one in the appropriate bin. “It’s July, Yurobbong, the place is crawling with them.” “Oh, you know,” Yunho says vaguely. Changmin Shim, he thinks to himself, remembering the name on his badge. “The… tall one.” “The tall one,” Heechul mocks, finally finishing with the last of his meds. He shuts the fridge and stands up, hands on his hips. “Why? Is the new baby resident harassing you? Is he one of those asshole residents that thinks they know everything and thinks the nurses are beneath them?” “Nah,” Yunho says; he’s met his fair share of those residents and he usually puts them in their place pretty quickly. “He’s just real quiet, I guess.” He frowns. “I don’t think he likes me very much.” Heechul raises his eyebrows. “What makes you say that?” Yunho lowers his voice, motioning for Heechul to come closer. And Heechul does, the peach scent of his hand cream filling Yunho’s nostrils. There’s no sense of personal space between the two of them, friends since childhood despite the three-year age gap. “He just stares at me all the time,” he whispers furiously, “like—like he wants to rip my head off or something. I don’t even know what I did, I haven’t said more than like two sentences to him! But—” A loud crash causes the two of them to jump, Yunho nearly falling off his chair. Heechul catches him by the forearm at the last minute, turning to glare at the tall figure standing in front of them, currently tapping a furious, incessant rhythm on the stack of patient charts he’d slammed on the counter. “The hell—” Heechul begins, but Yunho shifts so that he’s gripping Heechul’s knee tightly in warning. Heechul is still holding onto his arm. Changmin bites out, “I put in orders for a stat chest x-ray for the kid in Room 13 nearly an hour ago and they still haven’t done it. Can you get that done or not?” Yunho opens his mouth, but Heechul beats him to it. “You have a functioning phone, don’t you?” he says, sickly sweet. “Call x-ray if you want it done so badly.” It takes all of Yunho’s willpower not to flinch at the sheer fury in Changmin’s eyes, but Heechul simply smiles, innocent and beatific. Crazy bastard, Yunho thinks fondly, and squeezes his knee harder, until his knuckles turn white. Without warning, Heechul knocks Yunho’s hand off and clasps it loosely in his. Yunho lets out a huff of surprise, too startled to pull back. Changmin makes a muffled, nearly inhuman noise. When Yunho turns to look at him, he’s equal parts terrified and fascinated by the tick in his jaw, the venom in his eyes, the angry flush on his cheeks. A few moments pass. Then: “I will call x-ray myself. Please let me know when they are at the bedside,” Changmin says, stiffly polite. Yunho snaps his mouth shut. “I—yeah,” he says, swallowing hard. “Got it.” Changmin looks like he wants to say more, but visibly reins himself in. “Thank you,” he says, and storms down the hallway, his long, long legs taking him out of Yunho’s sight far too quickly. Yunho turns to Heechul. “What the fuck,” he says. Heechul bursts out laughing. “Oh my god,” he cackles, “please give me your work schedule for the rest of the month. I’m gonna get Jungsoo to change mine so I can follow yours.” He finally lets go of Yunho’s hand, shoulders still shaking with mirth. “This is the best shit I’ve seen in years.”
*
At two a.m., Yunho stumbles into the break room, nearly dead on his feet. Working on sheer autopilot, he grabs his food from the fridge, sticks it in the microwave, and starts stretching out the stiffness in his back as he waits for the two-minute countdown. There is a sudden, choking noise behind him, and Yunho whirls around rapidly, tugging down his scrub top. He hadn’t even known anybody was in here with him. “Are you okay?” he asks, concerned. “Chang—uh. Doctor Shim?” Changmin’s face is bright red. It is, frankly, adorable. Gulping down some water, he nods, waving Yunho away. “I’m fine. And. You can call me Changmin. It’s fine. I’m fine. It’s—fine.” Still dubious, Yunho nods anyway. Behind him, the microwave beeps insistently, and he retrieves his leftover Chinese take-out awkwardly. Because it is. So awkward. He inhales, exhales, and makes up his mind. “S’okay if I join you?” he asks, pasting on a smile he reserves for his most stubborn patients. Changmin blinks up at him, startled. He looks like a deer, Yunho thinks. A deer caught in headlights. “Yes,” he says, finally, and Yunho sits down across from him. They eat in silence, the hunger Yunho had been keeping at bay for the first half of his shift suddenly making its presence known with a roaring vengeance. Even his two-day-old beef with broccoli tastes delicious on his tongue, and he finishes his meager leftovers in a matter of minutes. Across the table, Changmin slowly savors his meal. His Pyrex container is partially obstructed by his black-and-purple lunch box, and Yunho cranes his neck to steal a glance at what he’s eating. “Kimchi-jjigae?” he bursts out, surprised. Changmin is equally taken aback, taking another spoonful of rice and kimchi before swallowing. “Yes?” he says, uncertain. Yunho shakes himself. “No—I—sorry, just, it looks really good, and I haven’t had it in a while. I’m kind of a terrible cook.” Changmin tilts his head, bemused. “Koreatown is just down the highway, though.” “I know, but I’m trying to cut back on take-out.” Changmin shoots the remnants of his Chinese food a look of sharp disbelief, and Yunho’s laugh cuts through the empty break room. “Okay. Trying.” He smiles at the doctor in front of him, who looks otherwise like a kid from his neighborhood eating his mom’s home-cooked food, if not for the navy blue scrubs he’s wearing. “Is that where you got that from? Koreatown?” “This?” Changmin shakes his head. “No, I made it.” “No way, really?” Yunho’s grin widens at the revelation. “You are literally perfect husband material.” Changmin sputters, and Yunho frowns. “You seem to be choking an awful lot,” he says. “Maybe you should eat more slowly.” “Yeah,” Changmin mutters. “That’s the problem.”
*
“We’ve got transfer orders to PICU,” Yunho barks on the phone as he motions for his staff to start pushing the hospital bed down the hallway. “She’s stable, just now intubated, and we’re heading up there now. Be there soon.” He hangs up with a click and darts around the desk to catch up with the rest of them. “Are you guys good? Do you need me?” “We’re fine,” Donghae says, eyes darting from the unconscious nine-year-old in bed to the portable monitor next to her. Beside him, Hyukjae pushes the ventilator, matching his pace. “You can stay, we’re good.” Yunho claps him briefly on the back before turning to Changmin, who’s following behind them, silently listening to whatever Boa, the on-call fellow, has to say. “We’ll speak with the team when we get up there,” Boa is saying, “just to reiterate things, since we’ve already talked to them over the phone. But I like to talk to them in person, and see the patient settled in the room. We’ll also have to call her parents and let them know she’s been transferred, tell them exactly what’s happened, since they weren’t at the bedside when she started crashing.” Changmin nods, but doesn’t say a word. Yunho tries to make eye contact and offer him a smile, but Changmin never looks his way. Disappointed, Yunho returns to his work, rounds on his staff, and allows his routine duties to wash over him as the night progresses. A little bit after midnight, he nudges Tiffany. “Going on break. Need anything before I go?” Tiffany shakes her head. “No, take your time.” Yunho goes. Instead of heading to the break room, he takes a sharp right at the end of the hallway, and quietly enters the stairwell. It’s July, so the stairwell is hot and muggy, but it’s a quiet respite away from the incessant alarms on the unit. He ascends one flight of stairs and comes to a halt. In front of him, Changmin sits on the top step, shoulders hunched, head in his hands, fingers pulling roughly at his own hair. Biting his lip, Yunho turns to leave, but the toe of his sneakers catches on the floor, squeaking loudly in the otherwise silent space. Yunho glares at his shoes before slowly turning to meet Changmin’s gaze. He looks exhausted, and Yunho aches for him. “Hey,” he murmurs. “Hey,” Changmin murmurs back. “You don’t—don’t have to go. You can stay.” Yunho hears the request loud and clear, and makes his way over to him. Gingerly, he takes a seat beside him, close enough that their knees touch. “Was that your first code?” Yunho asks, quiet. Changmin snorts. “Was it obvious?” “You did great,” Yunho says honestly. “You didn’t freeze up, you jumped right into action. We saved her. She’s resting in PICU now. She’s in good hands. She’s where she needs to be.” “I know, I know.” Changmin pulls at his hair again. “I just—did I miss something? What if I could have prevented her from coding in the first place? She’d been stable all day, no signs of anything, and I just—” “Hey, stop that.” Yunho reaches over and untangles Changmin’s hands from his hair. As tall as he is, his hands are surprisingly small. It’s kind of cute. “You did everything you possibly could, okay? Sometimes kids just—crash. But kids are resilient. She’ll recover.” He squeezes his hands in a gesture of comfort and switches to Korean. “You did well, Changmin-ah.” Changmin ducks his head, eyes fixed on their joined hands. “Changmin-ah?” he echoes. Yunho blanches, and pulls his hands away. “Aish,” he laughs, cheeks warming. He inclines his head in apology. “Sorry, I overstepped.” “No,” Changmin says, and Yunho realizes his ears have turned pink. “It’s fine. I don’t mind.” He pauses, fidgeting in his seat. “Hyung.” “Hyung!” Yunho beams. “Yes, you can absolutely call me hyung.” Changmin smiles back at him, and Yunho realizes it’s the first time he’s ever done so. His eyes go adorably mismatched, and Yunho’s heart skips a beat. Weird, that. Changmin’s pager goes off, shrill and incessant. With a groan, Changmin gets to his feet. “Back to work,” he says. “Are you coming with?” “Oh—no,” Yunho says, throat catching. “I think I’ll stay here for a little while.” With a nod, Changmin turns to leave. Yunho listens to his footsteps echo down the stairs, to the creaking of the door as it slams shut, and wills his heart to stop beating so goddamn fast. *
“Hi,” an unfamiliar doctor chirps at the desk, tearing Yunho’s attention away from his charting. Another resident, Yunho deduces. “Is Chwang around?” “Chwang?” Yunho tilts his head, puzzled. “I don’t—” “Changmin, I mean,” the resident corrects himself. “We were going to get something to eat together. I’m Kyuhyun, by the way, I’m on neurology this month but I think I’ll be down here next month or maybe the month after. And you are?” “Yunho,” Yunho says automatically, and Kyuhyun lights up like Christmas has come early. “Yunho!” Kyuhyun says with unholy glee, and leans over the counter to invade Yunho’s personal space. Yunho deals with sick children for a living, has been exposed to nearly every bodily fluid imaginable, but even the morbid curiosity and fascination etched on Kyuhyun’s face give him pause. Yunho opens his mouth to say something, but Kyuhyun is abruptly yanked away. Blinking, Yunho can only watch as Changmin grips Kyuhyun by the back of his lab coat, scowling. “The hell are you doing here,” Changmin says. “Collecting you for our lunch date,” Kyuhyun replies, batting his eyelashes. The words tug at the pit of Yunho’s stomach, sour and unpleasant. “Fine,” Changmin says shortly. “Let’s go.” “But Chwang,” Kyuhyun says, dripping with faux innocence, “it’s Yunho. I want to talk to him some more.” Changmin’s eye begins to twitch. Yunho frowns, concerned. “Changmin-ah, your eye is twitching. You should get that checked out.” “Changmin-ah?” Kyuhyun crows, and the twitching increases in intensity. “Let’s go, Kyuhyun,” Changmin grits out, and literally drags Kyuhyun away from Yunho and down the hall. “Whatever you say, Changmin-ah,” Kyuhyun drawls, and Yunho can only watch bemusedly as Changmin thwacks him upside the head and storms into the break room. Later, Changmin approaches him as Yunho’s trying to figure out staffing assignments for the day shift. “Listen,” he says, awkwardly, “I’m sorry about. About Kyuhyun.” “Oh, that’s okay,” Yunho says, typing distractedly at his keyboard. “He seems nice. You guys are cute together.” There is an ominous crack, and when Yunho looks up from his computer, it’s to see that Changmin’s broken a black pen in half. “Um,” Yunho says. “What,” Changmin says. “Kyuhyun is… your boyfriend?” Yunho tries. “Abso-fucking-lutely not,” Changmin snarls, and an unexpected wave of relief crashes over Yunho’s shoulders. “He said you were going on a lunch date?” Yunho tries again. “Not like that!” Changmin shrieks, and Yunho hadn’t realized Changmin’s voice could go up quite that high. It’s rather impressive, really. “We’re just. Just friends! And that’s just because I pity him! We’re not. We’re not! Well—once. Once. But we were really, really drunk, and—” “Chwang, I am devastated and heartbroken,” Kyuhyun drawls, clutching a hand to his chest, appearing from out of nowhere. “I thought what we had meant something, but you were just using me all this time?” “You don’t even work here,” Changmin growls, and Kyuhyun dashes away, cackling madly all the while. Changmin turns back to Yunho briefly, and shoots him a hurt look before stalking away. Yunho sags against his chair, staffing sheets entirely forgotten. “What the hell,” he says to himself.
*
The hospital likes to throw them little parties throughout the year to boost employee engagement and morale. Whether it actually works is up in the air, but Yunho appreciates the sentiment behind it. At any rate, the free food is almost always a plus. Heechul settles into the chair across from him and promptly begins digging in. “Not bad this year,” he muses in between bites of mashed potatoes. “Guess we must’ve met budget.” Yunho laughs. “You didn’t like the expired fajitas they tried to serve us last year?” Heechul blanches. “Fuck, don’t remind me.” He takes a hearty swig of his Coke and leans in. “So. Your resident.” Yunho rolls his eyes. “He’s not my resident.” “Does he know that,” Heechul says. “Does Yundol know what,” Boa says, sliding into one of the vacant chairs at their table. “Not Yurobbong,” Heechul says, impatient. “His resident.” “Ah,” Boa says, and fluidly switches to Korean. “You mean Changminnie. I like him. He’s a good kid. Terrible taste, but.” “Terrible taste in what?” Yunho asks, but is largely ignored. “Although I myself made some questionable choices in my youth,” Boa says, nostalgic. “You were awfully charming back then.” “Some might say you still make them now,” Heechul says pleasantly. “You’re right,” says Boa easily. “Let me demonstrate.” She raises a hand and beckons at somebody standing by the door. “Changmin! Over here.” Yunho thinks that it shouldn’t be possible for somebody to make hospital-issued scrubs look like designer clothing, but Changmin seems to defy the odds in that respect. Looking a little wary, Changmin takes the empty seat next to Yunho. “Glad you could join us,” Boa says. “How’s your night been so far?” “Good,” Changmin says. “I did want to ask you about the child we just admitted for possible RSV, though—” “Oh, let’s not,” Heechul drawls, making a big show of yawning. Changmin clenches his jaw. “We are currently on break, yes? Let’s not talk about work.” Boa laughs. “He’s right. I’ll be happy to talk with you about that case later, but why don’t we relax for now?” Yunho’s learned to tread slowly when that twinkle appears in her eyes. A pause. “Of course,” Changmin says, stiff and formal. “In fact,” Boa goes on, smiling widely, “we were just reminiscing about our younger days. We all grew up together, you know.” “And,” Heechul cuts in with a sharp smirk, “we are even sitting with royalty.” Changmin blinks, and Yunho groans. “Prom King and Queen,” Heechul explains with some sort of grand gesture that Yunho can’t even begin to describe. Boa laughs, delighted, but Changmin looks between the two of them with a sour expression, before violently biting into a crispy, perfectly fried drumstick. “We all thought you’d get married,” Heechul says, slanting his eyes in Changmin’s direction, who continues to devour his plate of fried chicken with frightening speed. “High school sweethearts, etcetera. Some people even said Boa skipped a grade just to be with Yurobbong here.” He pauses, while Boa snorts at the very thought of it. “I lost a lot of money on that. The two of you getting married by twenty-five, I mean.” “Sorry you lost money while meddling and betting on our lives,” Yunho says dryly, and Heechul flashes him a thumbs up. “So,” Changmin says, with a fiercely impressive scowl, “why’d you break up?” “Because she refused to call Yunho ‘oppa,’” Heechul says with a smirk, and Yunho swipes at him. “I would have killed him if we went on any longer,” Boa says, eyes crinkling as she smiles. “One year was more than enough, thank you.” “It was a long year,” Yunho sighs, shaking his head. He reaches over to pat Changmin lightly on the wrist. “Zero out of ten, do not recommend,” he says, and Boa kicks him underneath the table. Hard. The pain doesn’t really register, not when Changmin is still staring at where Yunho’s fingers are still on his wrist. His jaw is clenched, and Yunho thinks he can even hear the grinding of his teeth. Yunho clears his throat and pulls away slowly. “I’ll, uh, get some more food,” he says, and escapes to the main table. He refills his cup with fruit punch, staring blankly at the ice cubes floating in his drink. His pulse is racing. Keep it the fuck together, he tells himself viciously. When he returns, Heechul is smiling his wide, Cheshire grin in Changmin’s direction. “You are five years younger than me, so you may call me Heechul-hyungnim.” “I’m sorry, I don’t speak Korean,” Changmin says, in Korean, and abruptly stands up. “If you’ll excuse me.” He inclines his head politely in Boa and Yunho’s direction before making his way through the crowded room and out the door. Heechul whistles admiringly. “He’s kind of an asshole, isn’t he.” “Careful,” Boa says. “That’s Yundol’s asshole, you know.” “I hate you both,” Yunho groans.
*
Yunho’s favorite person in the world is his niece. “Eunchae-yah!” he coos at his phone, heart melting as Eunchae giggles in response. Behind her, his sister rolls her eyes. “Oppa, you literally saw her two days ago.” “Two days too long!” Yunho says, making a face into the phone. Eunchae claps and begins a lengthy stream of baby babble. “Uh-huh, sweetheart, and then what?” “You need your own kids,” Jihye tells him. “Mom wants to know when you’ll finally get married, by the way.” Yunho groans. “I’m not even dating anyone right now.” “No one at the hospital catch your eye?” Jihye asks distractedly, an eye on Eunchae as she grows bored and crawls away. “Who am I going to meet at the hospital?” Yunho sighs, drumming his hand on the table. The staff lounge, for once, is blessedly empty as he nurses a cup of coffee. “No hotshot residents?” Jihye teases, and Yunho’s mind automatically goes to a place it really shouldn’t ever go to. Yunho pauses for just a second too long, but it’s enough. On the screen, Jihye’s eyes widen. “Oppa. No way. Who is it? Can I tell Mom?” “Absolutely not,” he barks at her. “And there’s—no one. There’s no one!” “There so is,” Jihye says. “Eunchae-yah, did you hear? Samchon’s met someone!” “I have not—” Yunho protests, just as the door to the break room opens and he forcibly cuts himself off. “Um. Hi, Changmin-ah.” “Yunho-hyung.” Changmin eyes his phone a little warily. “Was I interrupting?” “No,” Yunho says, as Eunchae decides to announce her presence in the form of loud baby shrieking. He winces, and Changmin hesitantly steps closer. “Is that your, uh—” “Niece,” Yunho says. “She’s. Having a moment.” Jihye wrestles Eunchae back into her lap and squints at the screen. “Oh,” she says, sounding entirely too satisfied. “I see.” Changmin coughs. “Hello,” he says, leaning over Yunho’s shoulder to get a better view of the screen. Yunho freezes and desperately hopes he remembered to put on deodorant. “Hello,” Jihye says, waving. “Oppa, I’ve got to get going. I suddenly have some very important things to tell our mother.” “Goodbye, Jihye,” Yunho says with gritted teeth as he ends the call. He turns back to Changmin, who hasn’t quite moved away. He clears his throat, and subtly nudges his chair back, putting some distance in between the two of them. “Hey. Sorry about that.” But Changmin only shakes his head. “Your niece is cute,” he offers, and Yunho seizes it like the lifeline it is. “Isn’t she!” Yunho exclaims, and launches into a rant regarding exactly why Eunchae is The Best. He’s five minutes into waxing poetic about her perfect nose when he realizes that Changmin hasn’t said a single word. “Oh—uh. Sorry.” He feels himself flush, and he grins sheepishly at the man in front of him. “I get carried away, sometimes.” But Changmin only smiles at him, warm and fond. “Your accent comes out when you get excited,” he says. “Jeolla-do?” “Gwangju,” Yunho says, though his accent is already melting away into something more standard. “I was born there—well, Jihye, that’s my sister, was too. We lived in Seoul for a bit, and then came here when I was ten, I think? Something like that." He laughs. "Donghae's from the area, too, we sometimes get really into it when we're too sleepy to talk in either English or standard Korean.” “I was born and raised here,” Changmin says. “I’ve only been to Korea once.” “No way, really?” Yunho rests his chin in his hand. “We should go.” Changmin stills. “We?” Yunho backtracks. “Well—I mean, we’ve always sort of talked about it? Heechul-hyung and Donghae and Hyukjae and Boa. Making a trip out of it.” Changmin pauses, and when he meets Yunho’s eyes, there’s something like steel within them. “I don’t think I’d like to go with all of them,” he says, slowly. Yunho tries not to feel disappointed. “Yeah, I get that,” he says. “You don’t really know most of us anyway.” “I know you,” Changmin says. Yunho blinks. “Huh?” Changmin says nothing else, only stares at him with those wide, doe-like eyes. Yunho feels like he’s missing something terribly important. But then Yunho’s work phone suddenly goes off, the shrill ringing abruptly shattering the silence between them. He pulls it out of his pocket, glances at Changmin, and says, helplessly, “I have to get this.” “Yeah.” Changmin runs a hand through messy brown locks, looking tired. “Yeah, I’ve got to go too.” As Yunho answers the phone, Changmin stands and walks away. Yunho can do nothing but watch. He’s been doing a lot of that, lately. His phone is still ringing. “Pedi, this is Yunho,” he says monotonously into the phone, and pushes the conversation from his mind. * On a much-needed day off, Yunho wakes up at two in the afternoon, stumbles into his tiny kitchen, and realizes that he has no food. He brushes his teeth, gets dressed, and drives to the nearest grocery store. It’s nearly empty on a Wednesday afternoon, and he’s able to get all of his groceries fairly quickly. As he’s loading his items into the back of his car, the smell of coffee drifts past, and his stomach lets out a loud grumble. Well. Starbucks it is, then. Ten minutes later, he’s made himself comfortable at one of the small tables by the window, idly sipping at his strawberry frappuccino as he watches people walk by. It’s mostly mothers picking up their kids from school, and he smiles at the sight of twin red-headed boys clutching their mother’s hands tightly, chattering excitedly as they clamor for her attention. The door to the café opens, and the barista behind the counter calls out a halfhearted greeting. Yunho turns, and promptly stops breathing. If Changmin looked good in rumpled navy scrubs, he looks absolutely breathtaking in ripped skinny jeans and a fuzzy burgundy sweater. Yunho takes another sip of his drink, and raises a hand to call him over. Someone else beats him to it. “Changmin, wait up.” A girl catches up to him, looping an arm through his and standing entirely too close to be just his friend. “Remember, you owe me a frap!” Changmin turns to face her, and he looks at her so softly Yunho kind of wants to hide under the table. “I know, Vic, what do you want? The usual?” “You know me so well,” is her reply, and Changmin snorts as he goes to place their order. Yunho watches the girl—Vic?—out of the corner of his eye. It’s not creepy, he tells himself, he’s just. Well. Wanting to see what a co-worker’s girlfriend looks like. That’s all. Casual interest. Professional interest. She’s—lovely. Of course she is, with her long black hair and her flowy light blue dress. And Changmin is lovely, too, standing next to her, the two of them murmuring quietly amid the hustle and bustle of the coffee shop. Yunho bets he could snap a candid shot of them and it would look like it came straight out of a photoshoot from Vogue. He glances down at himself, at his faded gray jogger pants and an old UCLA hoodie, and feels terribly, awfully inadequate. He needs to leave. Trying to be as unobtrusive as possible, Yunho grabs his coffee and scoots his chair back. The door is literally right there. But in some cruel twist of fate, Changmin glances over right as he stands up, and they make terrible, fateful eye contact. “Yunho-hyung,” he says, breaking into a wide smile. But Yunho only has eyes for the girl next to him, who’s regarding him with a curious gaze. Yunho thinks fast. He grabs his phone from his pocket. “I have to go,” he says, and Changmin’s face falls. He holds up his phone. It’s completely silent. “Um. I have to take this?” “Oh. Okay.” Changmin gives him an odd look. Yunho can’t bring himself to move. Seconds pass. The girl clears her throat. “Your, uh, phone call?” she gently reminds him, and Yunho clutches his phone more tightly in his grasp. “Right,” he says, and practically runs out of the café.
*
“Oh, what’s wrong?” Yunho asks, pushing back sweaty hair from his seven-year-old patient’s forehead. “I gave you the good stuff, don’t you know?” “Tummy hurts,” the little girl whines. “Can I have my appendix back?” Yunho smiles down at her. “That’s not quite how it works.” She pauses, staring down at her blankets. “I want my mom,” she says. “She’ll be back soon,” Yunho tells her. “She just went to grab some dinner. She told me she’d spend the night with you. And you might be able to go home tomorrow, too, and then you’ll have a story to tell all your friends at school.” She brightens up at the prospect. “Am I gonna have a cool scar?” Yunho stifles a laugh. “You’ll have a couple of tiny scars, but they’ll be hard to see.” She frowns. “That’s not as cool as a big scar.” “Maybe,” Yunho hums. “But at least people won’t stare at you all the time. Do you wanna see my scar?” Her eyes widen. “Yeah!” Yunho leans in close, pointing at his left cheek. “See this? Pretty nasty, huh?” “Whoa.” She reaches out with a small hand, pushing at it gently. “Does it hurt?” Yunho lets her poke and prod as she wants. “Nah,” he says. “Was a long time ago. Over thirty years ago, actually.” “Whoa,” she says again. “You’re kind of old.” “Ouch!” Yunho says, laughing as he clutches at his heart. “You wound me!” “It’s okay,” she says, and beckons for him to come closer. Yunho does, leaning down until she can whisper into his ear. “Even if you’re old, I think you’re really handsome.” Yunho’s heart utterly melts, and when he moves away, she has a slight flush on her cheeks. Yunho ruffles her hair. “Thank you, milady,” he says with a curtsy, and she giggles at him. “So? Feeling better?” “I guess,” she grudgingly admits. “Thanks.” “Absolutely,” Yunho says. “Hit your call button if you need me, okay? Your mom’ll be back soon.” “Okay,” she says, as Yunho fluffs her pillows and tucks her in. “See ya.” When he exits the room, Changmin is lingering outside, an amused grin sitting crookedly on his lips. “Do you always get your patients to fall in love with you?” Yunho laughs, flustered at the sight of him. “Only my favorites,” he quips, and is rewarded with Changmin’s eyes going mismatched as his amusement deepens. He shoves the encounter at Starbucks from a couple of days ago to the back of his mind. “I’ve always loved kids.” Changmin follows him to his desk, watching him as he finds his water bottle and downs half of it in one go. “In another life,” Yunho continues, “I think I would have been a kindergarten teacher.” Changmin digests that. “You would have been a good one,” he says, honestly. “You’re really good with children.” Yunho smiles at him. “Thanks.” Changmin suddenly looks away, slightly pink. “Yeah. Sure.” He casts around for something else to say. “Do you—want kids?” “Oh, yes,” Yunho says easily. “Twenty-five.” Changmin sputters. “Twenty—” Yunho bursts into laughter, swatting him on the back. “Kidding. Obviously. But I do want kids, later on down the line. What about you?” Changmin recovers valiantly, though not without sending Yunho a baleful glare. “Yes. I suppose. If I meet the right person.” He stares intensely at Yunho as he says it, and what happened at Starbucks comes crashing through the front of Yunho’s brain, all the way down to his mouth: “Like that girl you were with the other day?” Changmin blinks at him. “What?” Yunho wishes he could take the words back, but it’s too late. “It’s just—she was really pretty? I mean. Really pretty. And you’re pretty too, and the two of you would make really pretty babies.” Why the fuck can’t he stop talking. “I mean—I’m not trying to pry. Your personal life is your personal life, and I just—forget it. I’m being way too rude, aren’t I? I’m sorry, Changmin-ah.” He forces a grin. “I’m way out of line.” Changmin is openly gaping at him now, and Yunho wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole. It would be a kinder fate. “How,” Changmin says, slowly, “how can you be so utterly wrong literally all of the time?” Yunho wrings his hands. “I’m sorry,” he says, a little desperately. Changmin opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. Closes it again. Yunho waits. “I have to go,” Changmin says. Yunho watches him leave, heart in his throat. He’s really fucked it up now.
*
“We need to talk,” Changmin says, a week later. Yunho flinches at the venom in his tone. “Um,” he says, inching away on his rolling chair. “Can it—wait?” “Yunho-hyung,” Changmin says, steely, “I have been waiting for a fucking month.” And Yunho does not squeak, or flinch, or do anything of the like, because he is a Strong Man and he is absolutely not intimidated by six-foot-two of lean muscle and cheekbones that could probably cut glass. But maybe, maybe, he does allow Changmin to pull him gently into their med room, away from prying eyes and ears so that they can have their conversation, long-overdue as it is. “So!” Yunho says brightly. “Um. What did you want to talk about, Changmin-ah?” “I am going to say this slowly so that you can understand me,” Changmin says, and Yunho would feel insulted by his condescension but Changmin is coming closer and closer and Yunho can’t quite think clearly anymore. “Yunho-hyung. I like you. You. Not Kyuhyun. Not Victoria. And even though you are constantly surrounded by ungodly attractive people, I want to know if you would be willing to give me a chance.” Yunho blinks rapidly at him. “I—wait—what?” “Hyung,” Changmin growls, fluently switching to Korean. “Will you go out with me.” Yunho’s mouth falls open. “I—what?” Changmin continues to stare at him, with his gorgeous, gorgeous eyes, and Yunho—Yunho can’t think. As the seconds drag on, Changmin visibly deflates, and lets out a heavy sigh. “Forget it,” he mutters, turning away. “Just—forget this ever happened, and—” And faced with the sight of Changmin’s back once more, Yunho panics. “No—” he says, and reaches out, grabbing Changmin by the elbow. Changmin stills, and the words tumble out of Yunho’s mouth. “I—I do, Changmin-ah. I like you too.” He feels his face grow warm as he says it. “I would totally have twenty-five babies with you.” “Oh my god,” Changmin says, staring at him in utter disbelief. Yunho bites his lip. “Too much?” Changmin lets out a burst of sharp, sweet laughter. “No,” he says, shifting in Yunho’s grasp so that their hands touch. “Just enough.” He tangles their fingers together and draws closer and closer still. He’s smiling, and Yunho’s smiling too, and finds himself quite unable to stop. Changmin moves closer, close enough that his breath tickles Yunho’s lips. “I’m going to kiss you now.” “Yes, please,” Yunho says fervently, and then there’s only the sensation of Changmin’s lips, and tongue, and teeth, and—okay, he thinks dazedly, okay, he can definitely work with this. He backs Changmin up against the medication fridge, intent on tasting the divot of his collarbone. Judging from the sounds in Changmin’s throat, he doesn’t seem to mind. Yunho swipes a tongue against his skin, and Changmin sneaks a hand up his scrub top, his hand large and warm against his back, and—
“I am dismayed and appalled!” Heechul declares from the doorway, and Yunho and Changmin instantly spring apart, though Changmin doesn’t let him stray too far. “For shame, Yurobbong! Making out in front of the controlled substances!” He lets out a loud, theatrical gasp, fanning himself with a perfectly manicured hand. “How positively Grey’s Anatomy of you.” Yunho would gladly tell him to fuck off, but Changmin’s hand is still up the back of his scrub top. His bright red, Snoopy scrub top. He’s started stroking small circles into his skin now. Yunho groans and buries his face into the curve of Changmin’s neck. Changmin’s hand curls around his hip, casually possessive. “Heechul,” he says, deliberately leaving out the honorific. “Kindly get the fuck out.” Yunho doesn’t have to look back to know that the glare Heechul is sending Changmin’s way could probably melt ice. He’s been on the receiving end of it several times. “Unlike you miscreants,” Heechul sniffs, “I actually have a job to do.” He gestures to the cart of medications by his hip. “I need to refill the meds. Unless you’d like to run out of pain medication, this being primarily a post-op floor and all?” “He’s right,” Yunho murmurs into Changmin’s neck. He doesn’t miss the slight shiver that goes up Changmin’s spine, and resolves to use that information for later. “We can’t really do this here.” Changmin slowly releases him. “Are you working tomorrow?” he asks, quietly. “No,” Yunho says, heart pounding. “Me either,” Changmin says, rewarding him with a grin that’s just a little soft around the edges. It’s a private thing, just for him, and Yunho wants to bottle it up and keep it for rainy days. “Do you want to—I don’t know, do something?” “Absolutely,” Yunho says, beaming up at him and valiantly ignoring the retching sounds Heechul is making behind him. “It’s a date.”
*
“Yunho-hyung,” Changmin hisses to him, quietly and in Korean, “why are all of the patients and their parents smirking at me?” Yunho blinks up at him. “What are you doing here? You’re not on this floor anymore.” Changmin flushes. “What. Can’t I come see you?” Yunho laughs at him, leaning back in his chair. “Of course you can, baby.” “Don’t call me that,” Changmin says immediately, even as he lets Yunho tangle their fingers together behind the desk. “And don’t change the subject! Everyone keeps looking at me all—all judging. Even the two-year-old that was going on a wagon ride around the unit. It’s like they know every deep, dark secret of my life.” Yunho hums. “Honestly? I have no idea. I’ve been stuck at this desk. But Kyuhyun’s been rounding on them. Maybe he knows?” Changmin stiffens. “Kyuhyun?” “Er,” Yunho says, right as Kyuhyun rounds the corner with a ten-year-old boy, helping him ambulate down the hallway with his crutches before bedtime. “Anyway,” Kyuhyun is saying to him, “if you have to break your leg I think jumping off the swings at the playground because you wanted to get out of gym class is the way to go. Not like my friend Changmin, he’s a resident around here too but this month he’s in the NICU, he broke his arm once because he tripped when he saw a cute girl and like, faceplanted into the ground, it was really hilarious—oh hey Chwang—uh, Dominic, why don’t we turn back around and go to your room now, nice and easy, there—Chwang I am with a patient!” Changmin’s in the middle of lurching forward when Yunho yanks him back. “Let go,” Changmin spits out, looking murderous, “I’m going to fucking kill him.” “Nooo,” Yunho whines pitifully, “if you do then you will go to jail and then who will help me raise our twenty-five children?” Changmin looks askance at him. “You know we’re not actually going to have twenty-five kids, right.” “You keep telling yourself that,” Yunho tells him fondly, patting him on the back. “Although I’m a little insulted that you never faceplanted into the ground when you saw me. Am I not pretty enough for my Changminnie?” Changmin mumbles something under his breath. “What’s that?” Yunho leans in. “I said,” Changmin mutters, angrily, “that the first time I saw you sitting here in your damn Captain America scrubs, I walked into a wall and ran away before you could see me, oh my god, I hate you so much—” Yunho is maybe, possibly, just a little bit in love. Still laughing, he claps a hand over Changmin’s mouth. “You’re my favorite,” he says fondly. “I’d better be,” Changmin retorts, and Yunho would kiss the smirk off his lips if he weren’t so keenly aware of Kyuhyun not-so-secretly taking a video with his iPhone. Changmin moves Yunho’s hand away from his mouth and then doesn’t quite let go. “Listen—I have to go, night rounds are about to start.” “Oh, right.” Yunho glances at the clock. “Do you want to get breakfast in the morning?” “Can I come with?” Kyuhyun pipes up. “No,” Yunho and Changmin say. “Mean,” Kyuhyun pouts. “Not as mean as I’ll be if you don’t put your fucking phone away—” Changmin threatens, and Kyuhyun scurries off. “Breakfast?” Yunho reminds him, and Changmin’s face goes from homicidal to soft in the span of two seconds. It still makes Yunho squirm, knowing that he has that kind of power over him. But then again, Changmin has the same sway over him as well, so maybe it’s fair. “Yeah,” Changmin says, a barely there smile on his lips. “I’ll see you in the morning.” “In the morning,” Yunho echoes, and Changmin reluctantly pulls away. Yunho stands at the desk for a while, watching Changmin walk down the hallway, towards the elevator. Watching him walk away doesn’t hurt as much, these days, when he knows he’ll always be back. “Stop that smiling, this is a hospital and happiness is not allowed,” Boa says, poking him in the cheek as Kyuhyun follows behind her. “No, my friend,” Yunho declares, slinging an arm around her. “The world is grand, and beautiful, and I have a breakfast date—” “Get off me, you ass,” Boa says, shoving him away. “I still have a breakfast date!” Yunho sings, and doesn’t quite manage to dodge the sharp kick Boa aims at his shin. He shoots her a wounded look that’s gotten even the crankiest of four-year-olds to sit up and take their medicine, but it doesn’t quite have the same effect on her. Still, she softens, just a tad. “You’re really happy, aren’t you?” she muses. “Yeah, I really am,” Yunho says, and laughs sheepishly at his own admission. “Chwang is too,” Kyuhyun interjects. “He’s gone all—” he shudders, “—soft.” Yunho tilts his head at him. “Has he? I can’t tell.” “That’s because he’s always been weird around you,” Kyuhyun says wisely. “If you knew half the stories I do—” “Well,” Yunho says, grinning, “we have all night. Bring it on.”
*
Breakfast ends up being the two of them in Yunho’s tiny apartment, sharing stories from their shift over cold cereal and orange juice. And because Yunho can still be a bit of an asshole when the mood strikes him, he waits until Changmin’s taken a hearty swig of his juice before commenting, blithely, “So Kyuhyun told me a lot of interesting stories about when you were younger. Like the time you threw a massive tantrum because a kid in your neighborhood beat you at some video game? To the point that you literally never played the game ever again?” It has the desired effect. Changmin chokes and hacks up a healthy amount of pulp onto Yunho’s table. Yunho rests his chin in his hand, watching him with no small dose of amusement. “Ah,” he says, “so it was true after all.” “Please inform your team that they will soon be short one resident,” Changmin says flatly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Don’t say that, I like Kyuhyun,” Yunho says, finishing up the last of his cereal. Changmin arches an eyebrow. “Oh, do you,” he mocks, displeased. “Stop that.” Yunho kicks him underneath the table. “Boa’s right, you do have a possessive streak a mile wide.” He pauses. “Is it weird that I kind of like it?” Changmin turns bright, bright red. “You need to stop saying things like that,” he mutters, but Yunho only smiles at him. “But it’s true!” he chirps, and Changmin lets his head fall against the table with a loud thunk. Yunho clucks his tongue. “That’ll leave a mark.” “Kiss it better, then,” Changmin mutters into the table. Yunho reaches over and ruffles his hair. “Later,” he promises, and Changmin shoots him a look that makes something curl in Yunho’s belly. “Stay over,” he says instead. “You’re too tired to drive back to yours.” Changmin yawns into the table, soft and sleepy. “Okay.” Yunho dumps the dishes in the sink to wash later, allowing Changmin to take the bathroom first. He turns on the TV, half-listening to Good Morning America as he starts to doze fitfully on the couch. He only wakes up fully when the scent of soap and clean skin hits him, and opens his eyes to Changmin’s palm cradling his jaw. “Hyung, go shower,” he murmurs, and Yunho sleepily stumbles into the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash himself. He emerges to find Changmin sitting up in bed, playing on his phone. He’s wearing faded flannel pajama bottoms and a sky-blue t-shirt. It’s one of several pairs of clothing he’s taken to leaving behind in Yunho’s apartment. Yunho’s started clearing space in his closet for him. He’s started clearing even more space in his bathroom cabinet, what with all the skincare products Changmin likes to use. He slides into bed, settling his head into Changmin’s lap. He’d taken care to towel his hair dry thoroughly, but it’s still damp. Changmin makes a displeased noise as he runs his fingers through the wet strands, but makes no moves to push him away. “Let’s sleep,” Yunho says around a yawn. “Mm,” Changmin says, and sets his phone on the bedside table. Yunho snuggles up to him, because he loves snuggles, and Changmin turns into a koala-human hybrid when he sleeps. “You know,” Changmin says, fingers still tangled in Yunho’s hair, “I normally sleep without a shirt.” Yunho blinks, his hand freezing over where he can feel the defined ridges of Changmin’s six-pack through his threadbare shirt. “Um,” he says, “I don’t know what you want me to do with that information.” “You don’t have to do anything with that information,” Changmin hums, smug bastard that he is. “Just saying.” Yunho’s brain comes back from where it had abandoned him and tells him to poke Changmin sharply in the abdomen. “Kyuhyun’s right,” he says, because he doesn’t really know when to quit. “You’re mean.” “Can we not talk about Kyuhyun in bed,” Changmin says, voice a little sharp, and Yunho laughs into his neck. “Okay,” he agrees, “if we can talk about the time you completely bombed a bowling match at state championships in your senior year of high school and you cried when the local TV news came to interview you about it?” A pause. “I was actually really upset by that,” Changmin says mildly. “My coach was a complete dick about it.” Yunho freezes, then abruptly sits up, leaning over him. “Shit, Changdol, I’m sorry—” Changmin bursts out laughing. Yunho whacks him. “Mean,” he repeats. Changmin sobers, pulling Yunho down until he’s half-splayed across Changmin’s form. Yunho doesn’t really try to fight him. “I mean, I really was upset at the time,” he says. “Our school had never made it that far, and it sucked that we lost because of me.” Yunho shifts, makes to apologize again, but Changmin tightens his arm around him. “But that was over ten years ago. It was a long time ago, hyung.” Yunho mulls this over. “I’ll avenge you,” he says. “You find this coach of yours and I’ll kick his ass at bowling. I’m actually really good at it.” “You’re good at everything except drawing,” Changmin says fondly. “I’m not that bad,” Yunho protests. “I heard you were a better writer,” Changmin says lightly, and Yunho goes cold in his arms, even as Changmin starts to trace circles on the nape of his neck. “I heard you had a really successful career as an anonymous fanfic writer throughout college.” “I am going to kill Boa and leave you for Kyuhyun,” Yunho says pleasantly. “You wouldn’t dare do either of those things,” Changmin says, just as pleasantly. “No,” Yunho sighs, “because Boa is fucking terrifying and for some dumb reason I’m actually incredibly in love with you, even though Kyuhyun is pretty cute and has a really nice singing voice—” “I have a really nice singing voice,” Changmin says indignantly. “Of course you do,” Yunho soothes, “but Kyuhyun really has that extra It factor, you know what I mean? When we went out to noraebang the other day and he serenaded me with ‘What Makes You Beautiful’ by One Direction… I’m not going to lie, it was kind of amazing.” “He serenaded you?” Changmin squawks, and Yunho can see him making a mental note to himself to never miss group noraebang nights ever again. “Well, Heechul-hyung dared him to,” Yunho admits. “Right after he serenaded me with a really inappropriate rendition of ‘Genie’ by SNSD.” Changmin is deathly still. “He’s really good at girl group choreography,” Yunho says. “Like. Really good.” “I could be really good at girl group choreography,” Changmin says instantly, and Yunho lights up. “Nope—nope, nope, nope, goodnight, Yunho-hyung,” Changmin cuts him off firmly, tangling their legs together underneath the blankets. “I love you, Changminnie,” Yunho sings. “Go to sleep,” Changmin mutters, closing his eyes. Yunho laughs and follows suit. Pretends not to realize that Changmin’s tracing his name in Hangeul over the lower curve of his back over and over again. Buries himself against Changmin’s warmth and wonders how he ever got so lucky. “I totally chose the right person to have twenty-five kids with,” he whispers. Beneath him, Changmin twitches. “Goodnight, Yunho-hyung.” “Goodnight, Changdol-ah,” Yunho murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to his jaw. “Sleep well.” Changmin shifts beneath him, resting a hand against Yunho’s hip. Yunho closes his eyes, breathes him in, and falls asleep. * “Noraebang Saturday night,” Changmin says, appearing from out of nowhere and scaring the shit out of Yunho, Kyuhyun, and Heechul, who are all gathered at the nurses’ station during a quiet lull on their shift. “You’re all going.” Heechul and Kyuhyun exchange knowing glances. Yunho only smiles up at Changmin. His hair is tangled and frizzy, and he has dark circles beneath his eyes, but he’s still the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen at three in the morning. “You’re on,” he says.
BONUS:
“THIS IS A NORAEBANG, NOT A FUCKING STRIP CLUB,” Kyuhyun howls at his best friend’s back as Changmin not-so-gently shoves his boyfriend into his car and speeds off into the night, no doubt to return home so they can finish what they’d started in the room. The very, very public room. He scratches furiously at his eyes, and then reaches beside him to tug at Heechul’s arm. “Hyung. Hyung. Please gouge my eyes out.”
“Is it wrong,” Heechul muses, “that I’m mildly turned on?”
“YES,” Kyuhyun shrieks. “It is so, so wrong!”
Heechul cackles. “C’mon,” he says, pulling him back into the building. “We still have fifteen minutes left and I’ve been practicing my Lady Gaga.”
FIN