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Taehyung was a worrier. He worried about money and food and the future and the people he cared out. His concern for the health of his parents after years and years of long work hours had led to him dropping out to pick up a job himself and lighten the load. Worrying was just what he did best. Anyone who knew him knew that, too. Everyone around him had assumed he’d either worry himself to an early grave, or find some sort of balance to settle his nerves.
What none of them had anticipated, of course, was Taehyung meeting and falling in love with a bright-eyed dog hybrid who just so happened to be heading towards the police force.
It had been mostly fine for a long while, when Jungkook was still in the early days of his career after managing to pass his recruitment exam. His boyfriend had come home with only a few bruises and scratches, but never any serious injuries. That is, until Jungkook had taken a switchblade to the ear during a late-night patrol his rookie year, barely missing him across the forehead if he hadn’t ducked.
That had sent Taehyung into a mess of concern, the comfortable contentment of their domestic relationship wearing off at the harsh reminder. Jungkook wasn’t just his sweet boyfriend who cooked for him and set up movie nights. He was also out on the streets every day, keeping watch for and responding to incidents, and he was in harm’s way all the time. Especially considering the culture surrounding police in South Korea… Low violent crime rates or not, he was still at risk of not coming home at the end of the day.
It was a terrifying thought.
A thought that was too real on this night.
“I’m sending Jimin-ah to come pick you up,” Yoongi told him over the phone, his tone purposely gentle and his words slow. “He’ll be okay, Taehyung-ah.”
Taehyung nodded to the air around him, having too little trust in his own voice to reply.
When the call dropped, he sat on the bed and shook like a leaf.
❇︎
Yoongi greeted them tiredly outside the hospital room door, still dressed in his uniform, though he was missing his utility belt and vest.
Jimin went to speak, but, “Is he okay?” escaped Taehyung against his will, despite it being a ridiculous question that had already been answered over the phone. But Yoongi smiled sympathetically regardless, squeezing his arm.
“He got out of surgery maybe forty minutes ago, and the doctor said it went fine. No fragments left. He’ll probably need some physical therapy for a little while to rebuild the muscle. Other than that, though, he’s pretty much good. A little loopy and obviously exhausted. His mom is in the room with him.”
Taehyung nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. “O-okay. Um, can I—?”
“Go on ahead,” Jimin told him gently. “We’ll join you in just a little bit. Yoongi-hyung, I brought clothes like you asked.”
The two stepped away from the wall, heading down the white hallway towards what Taehyung assumed would be bathrooms. He hesitated, almost wanting to chase after them to avoid being alone in the maze of sterile rooms and faint beeping and alarms, the hair of his arms already standing on end with his nerves, but he managed to bring a shaky hand up to the door to give a quiet knock before opening it.
The inside wasn’t as bad as he was expecting. It still stunk of disinfectant, but the walls and floors were more creamy-toned than pure white, easing both his eyes and some of the anxiety that was buzzing in his hands. He politely skirted around the beds of the other guests in the room, heading to the end of the row where he could recognize Jungkook’s duffel bag laying on the floor.
The lump in his felt throat felt heavier when he passed the privacy curtain. Jungkook looked. Well. Fine, really. If he ignored the IV and the the bandages sticking out from beneath the collar of Jungkook’s shirt, he really did look okay.
Daeun caught his gaze. Her eyes were a little wet but she otherwise looking mostly at ease, her hand holding her son’s, playing with his fingers as he slept. “Hey, cub.”
“Hi, Eomma,” he whispered, tentatively coming to sit in the empty chair beside her. “Yoongi-hyung said he was a-awake.”
“He was for a little bit,” she soothed him, reaching her other hand out to take his. “He said he was going to close his eyes for a minute and then he was out. You know how that goes.”
“Yeah,” he mumbled back. He huddled into her for comfort, relieved at the way she didn’t at all push him away, not even disturbed by his tail wrapping itself around her ankle.
“Oh!” Daeun reached to side table, picking something up to hand to him. “Jungkook made it very clear that you needed these when you got here.”
He took the earbuds dangling from her fingers with a rushed ‘thank you,’ silently sending his endless appreciation to his boyfriend for guessing he’d forget his own in his hurry to get here. He plugged them into his phone and ears and navigated himself to Jungkook’s Spotify account. The dog hybrid had a bit of an obsession with meticulously organizing the majority of his playlists by their energy and vibes or by girl groups and boy groups. He’d always found it unnecessary, but he was thankful for it now as he easily found one full of bright girl group songs to distract him from the talking of the other families in the room and the beeping of the ECG machine.
The playlist had just shifted from a string of girl group releases from the year before to an older Girls’ Generation title track when Daeun gently shook his leg. He lifted his head, a little surprised to see he hadn’t noticed Jimin and Yoongi come in and sit down on the other side of the bed, the elder of the two now in a graphic tee and jeans, before turning his head towards the bed.
Jungkook met his eyes with a slow, weary blink.
Heart in his throat, Taehyung expected some variation of ‘Hi,’ or ‘Why do you all look worried?’ or even just a complaint about being in pain.
Instead Jungkook’s lips formed straight into a pout. “Rice,” he sulked, “wan’ some.”
More than one person jumped when Taehyung busted into relieved tears.
❇︎
To say Taehyung was at wits’ end was an understatement.
Getting Jungkook home from the hospital had been a relatively easy affair. Daeun had helped immensely, keeping him steady and writing down things that Taehyung didn’t have the mind to, like the crash course instructions for the coming days that a nurse had rattled to them prior to discharge. Jungkook had still been riding pain blockers from his surgery on the way home and had managed to eat at least half of his plate of fried chicken (and rice) that Taehyung’s parents had rushed to bring over before he’d knocked back out, snoring.
Taehyung had been given a round of cuddles, snuggles, and kisses from them and Daeun, words of comfort flowing and reminders for him to text if he needed anything easy on their tongues. His call to his principal had been similarly reassuring, Mrs. Lee’s immediate assurances that she’d help handle things in his classroom while he took leave lifting a little bit of weight off his shoulders.
Still.
It was nearing the twenty-four hour mark since he’d gotten the worst call of his life, and Taehyung couldn’t sit still. He’d given up on his usual go-to puzzles, unable to focus on hunting the pieces he needed when his hands felt like they were vibrating with his unease. Watching TV was futile, too, sitting still leaving him prey to a wandering mind that let in anxiety, clawing its way up his rib cage to curl around his heart and squeeze it tight. The silence in the apartment in its absence made him uncomfortable, but he didn’t have to heart to sing and hum along to music like he usually did.
His ears flickering this way and that way, tail twitching sporadically with nervous energy, he gave up on anything stationary and took to wandering the apartment. His brain latched on to any little thing it could around him to avoid spiraling out of his reach, which then led to simple busy work. Jungkook had admittedly always been more of the homemaker: he was the better cook between the two of them, and he genuinely enjoyed the repetition of folding laundry and doing dishes. But Taehyung was a good cleaner and organizer, at least, and he put himself to work.
He put away the clean dishes from the drying rack as quietly as he could and washed what little was sitting in the sink. The tables got wiped down and the kitchen counters scrubbed. His mother had brought up the mail for him before they had left out, so he went through the envelopes and threw out the junk and advertisements, then picked up what other bits of trash he found lying around to throw out with the shredded paper. They hadn’t gone shopping that week, so he dug through the cabinets and refrigerator, checking expiration dates and writing up a list of missing ingredients, and then tackled rearranging the contents of the shelves under their dinky TV stand so the doors would finally latch when closed.
Another restless circuit brought his eyes to where they’d dumped Jungkook’s things by the door. He hung up Jungkook’s jacket and plucked his work boots from the mess, spending some time roughly scratching dirt and gravel from the outsoles. They got returned to the shoe rack, and he took the duffel bag in their place. He unzipped it and pulled out the utility belt that sat at the top inside. On bated breath, he slipped into the bedroom to return it to its usual place in their cupboard-turned-closet, giving the sleeping dog hybrid a quick glance over to make sure he was fine before he scuttled out.
The rest of the bag’s contents were upended across the kitchen table. Snack wrappers and empty water bottles that had been stashed were removed from the mess and set aside to be disposed of. The bundle of shirts and pants and jackets were difficult to smell for cleanliness with his nose stuffed up from crying, so he decided that washing them all was the safest choice. He was rifling through them, searching for anything valuable like won that needed to avoid a tumble in the washer, when the brush of stiff fabric against his fingers made him pause.
He slowly pulled the article out with shaking hands and stretched it in his hold, nearly gagging at the amount of dried russet smeared into the fabric, staining the blue a deep burgundy.
The uniform shirt Jungkook had been wearing. Yoongi must have taken it and put it away when they arrived at the hospital before Taehyung.
He shuddered so hard his tail spasmed with it. Ears dropping flat to his skull, he turned on his heel and stomped to the trash bin, shoving it down deep inside. Jungkook would have to request a new one. There was no cleaning it. It’d been ripped in the chaos of rendering aid to him, anyways. Of course, there was the chance the staff might ask where the old one was so they could confirm the need for a replacement, like they had the last time Jungkook had accidentally ripped one of his uniforms past what he could mend without it being visible. It would be stupid if they did, considering they knew what had happened. If they did ask, Taehyung would storm up there and throw a fit. Or at least very strongly consider doing so. Could they really expect anyone to keep a shirt so soaked through it was stiff to the touch when dried?
He supposed he could take a photo and send it to Jungkook to show as proof. That was good enough, right? But the thought of an image of that damn shirt residing on his phone for even a single moment, splattered with his puppy’s —
He leaned back heavily against the kitchen counter, choking back an overwhelmed whimper.
“Hyung?”
He jerked his head up, tail smacking painfully against the counter when he turned. “Jungkook!”
The younger leaned heavily against the bedroom doorframe, tired eyes blinking at him and tail hanging limply behind him, a far cry from its usual perkiness. They’d made the mutual decision that going shirtless would make things easier for both of them for the time being, so his wrapped shoulder was on prominent display, arm hanging heavily in a sling.
Taehyung straightened up, glaring at him sternly. “You are supposed to be laying down!”
“You’re fretting,” Jungkook sighed.
“I’m getting things done, thank you.”
“Only to get your mind off of things. And from the look of it,” he murmured, eyeing the way Taehyung’s hands shook and he kept shifting his weight, “it’s not working too well. Come lay down with me.”
Huffing, the tiger hybrid stalked forward and guided him back into the bedroom. “You will lay down and sleep,” he scoffed, pressing him to sit down on the bed. “I’m going to do the chores I’ve been ignoring.”
“It’s 2 AM, Tae. And what chores?” Jungkook snorted, a stark lack of any amusement in his voice. Taehyung knew he wasn’t trying to be mean, only truthful, but the tone still hurt. “Neither of us are going anywhere for a while, so there’s no rush to wash clothes. You swept just the other day. And there’s probably not many dishes, because you can lie to me all you want, but I know you barely ate.”
Taehyung set his jaw. “The bathroom chest still needs to be reorganized. We’ve been putting it off—”
“Taehyung,” Jungkook cut him off, his eyes softening and tone gentle. He always saw right through him. How did he do that? He wasn’t that obvious, right? “Lay down. You need to sleep.”
Taehyung shook his head. “No,” he growled, and fuck, his voice was getting thick. “I’m fine, Jungkook. You need to be resting, so stop arguing with me. I probably need to change your dressing, too...”
Groaning at him, Jungkook grabbed him by the wrist, squeezing. “We can do that later.”
“But—”
“Taehyung, you can’t even look me in the eyes right now. You hate blood. You’d take one look and faint, with how high strung and exhausted you are.”
He deflated. Tears started welling up against his will. “I’m supposed to be taking care of you, and making sure you can rest without worrying about any of this,” he whispered.
“I’m not worried about any of it, baby,” Jungkook told him honestly. “I’m down for the count and you’re freaked out. I’m not expecting the place to be spotless, so why would you expect that of yourself?”
He didn’t really have an answer. “I’m supposed to be taking care of you,” Taehyung repeated weakly, his voice shaking. “You a-and all of this.”
“And I appreciate you trying,” Jungkook soothed, gently tugging Taehyung down onto the bed with his good arm. “But the last thing I want is for you to push yourself until you’re sick. That’s not healthy, baby.” His nose pressed against Taehyung’s temple and nuzzled affectionately. “You don’t have to have a gunshot wound, too, to be hurting. If you get to take care of me, let me take care of you.”
Taehyung blinked, eyelashes clumping together wetly, blurring the edges of his vision. Jungkook kissed his cheek and then the crook of his neck, a low rumbling noise starting in his chest, and Taehyung melted.
Stupid cop boyfriend with his stupid sappy words and stupid comforting cuddles.
He sniffled, giving the tiniest of nods.
He could hear the swishing of Jungkook’s tail against the sheets. “Okay?”
“Okay,” the tiger hybrid whispered, the first tear finally tumbling.
Jungkook cooed at him. He knelt up on the mattress, his hiss of discomfort caused by his own uncoordinated fumbling leading to Taehyung immediately throwing a fit, whining curses at the dog hybrid to slow down as he helped him recline back against the pile of pillows they’d set up. Jungkook sighed adoringly at him like he hadn’t just risked pulling his stitches.
Taehyung got him comfortable, and let himself gingerly curl up half on his chest, avidly avoiding his left shoulder and snuggling as tightly against him as he could. He snuffled against his throat, seeking out his comforting scent. Jungkook hummed a little in response.
A minute of peaceful silence passed before Jungkook’s mischievous fingers slid a little too close to Taehyung’s ribs for his liking, and he smacked his chest to deter him, though keeping it light enough to not even sting.
“Sleep.”
Jungkook’s quiet, endeared laugh made Taehyung smile against his throat.
“Yes, dear.”