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Chapter Text

The low hum of the radiology machines usually faded into white noise after a while, soft and constant, like a distant lullaby.

The lights in the hallway outside were dimmed to that soft twilight glow hospitals used at night, but in here, Seungmin’s office was nearly pitch-black. Felix had curled himself onto the little loveseat in the corner hours ago, cocooned under his hoodie and the thin throw blanket Seungmin always left here. His legs were folded up against his chest, cheek pressed to the armrest.

It wasn’t the first time he’d stolen this couch to catch a few hours of sleep between shifts, and honestly, Seungmin had bought it for exactly this reason. But it still startled him awake when the door clicked open and light spilled across the floor.

Felix blinked up blearily at Seungmin, whose eyebrows shot up in surprise before instantly pulling into a scowl.

“You’re kidding me.” Seungmin groaned, tossing his bag onto the counter and yanking off his coat. "You’re here? On my couch? Do you know where I just spent the night?”

Felix blinked slowly, still half-asleep. “…One of the on-call rooms?”

“Exactly,” Seungmin snapped, buttoning up his shirt with jerky movements. “Those uncomfortable ass slabs they call beds. If I’d known you were camped out here, I would’ve gone home.”

He grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair and threw it at Felix, smacking him in the face.

“Minnie,” Felix groaned softly, rubbing at his cheek as he sat up and stretched his stiff neck. “You do realize you can’t avoid our apartment forever, right?”

Seungmin shot him a withering look, already tying his scrub bottom drawstring. “Not until Changbin gives me my key back.”

Felix sighed, dragging a hand down his face. He’d had this conversation with Seungmin three times this week alone. “You know he was our cosigner, right? He’s entitled to a key. It’s not like he broke in and stole it.”

“He stole it from my drawer,” Seungmin hissed, dropping onto the couch beside Felix with a dramatic thud.

Felix bit back a laugh.

“Changbin’s literally your boyfriend,” Felix reminded him, voice still soft and groggy, “and we both know you’re not changing the locks.”

Seungmin scowled harder but said nothing, throwing an arm over Felix’s shoulders and tugging him into his side. It was ritual at this point, come in, complain about Changbin, sulk, repeat.

Felix hummed faintly, head naturally dropping against Seungmin’s shoulder as the radiologist launched into his usual rant about how “boundaries exist for a reason” and “just because we live together doesn’t mean Changbin gets free rein of my drawer space.”

He didn’t bother listening this time. He knew how this would go. Seungmin would vent, Felix would nod, and in a week or two, Changbin would be back at their apartment, snoring into Seungmin’s neck like nothing had happened.

Felix let his eyes fall shut again, letting the steady cadence of Seungmin’s voice lull him back toward sleep.

The next time he woke, Seungmin was shaking his shoulder.

“C’mon,” Seungmin murmured, tugging him upright. “If you don’t get food, you’re gonna pass out while giving out stickers.”

Felix groaned as he stretched, his back popping in protest. He scrubbed at his eyes, yawning so wide it made his jaw ache, and followed Seungmin down the empty hallway toward the cafeteria.

The smell of burnt coffee marked their arrival.

Felix wrinkled his nose, but Seungmin ignored it, scanning the room like he was already judging which table had the least number of surgical residents. They spotted Jeongin hunched over his laptop in a corner, papers and textbooks spread chaotically across the table.

The intern looked up as they approached, beaming when he saw them.

“Felix-hyung!” Jeongin shoved out a chair for him before going back to highlighting something in his notes.

“Hey, Innie,” Felix said as he dropped into the seat beside him, leaning over to glance at the mess of diagrams. “What’re you working on?”

Jeongin’s eyes lit up instantly. “Hyunjin’s letting me observe a facial construction today! He said it’s gonna be insane, like, microvascular grafting and everything.”

Felix hummed softly, eyes tracing over the complicated diagram of arteries and muscle flaps. Just looking at it made his temples throb faintly. He really should’ve been studying last night instead of napping in radiology.

But, balancing part-time med school with full-time nursing shifts wasn’t easy, and he could only squeeze in classes where he could. It was exhausting, sure, but Felix knew every sleepless night would be worth it when he finally had “MD” behind his name.

“You’ll do great,” Felix murmured, patting Jeongin’s arm.

Before Jeongin could answer, Seungmin reappeared, balancing three trays piled with eggs, fruit cups, and enough coffee to fuel an entire floor.

“Eat,” he commanded, dropping a cup in front of Felix and Jeongin each.

Felix gratefully sipped the bitter brew, letting the warm steam fog his glasses a little. Jeongin was still gushing about the procedure when they fell into casual conversation, trading bits of hospital gossip. Who was secretly dating who, who accidentally mixed up charts, which attending got caught yelling at a vending machine at three a.m.

Felix was mid-laugh when a sharp voice cut in.

“What do you three think you’re doing?”

They all froze, turning slowly to find Minho standing over them, arms crossed, and wearing his usual intimidating trauma surgeon glare.

“Uh,” Jeongin stammered. “We—uh—breakfast?”

Minho’s gaze stayed steady for a long moment, before it broke, softening into an easy smile.

“The cafeteria coffee’s garbage,” he said simply. “Come on. Coffee cart outside’s better.”

Felix giggled as relief flooded through him, grabbing his tray and hopping up immediately. He hooked an arm through Minho’s, ignoring the curious looks from nearby tables.

Most of the hospital was terrified of Minho—his reputation as the unshakable, blunt trauma surgeon preceded him—but Felix knew better. Underneath the perfectly pressed scrubs and sharp tongue, Minho was a softy.

(Especially when it came to Felix).

By the time they reached the coffee cart, Felix was already halfway fantasizing about the mountain of sugar he was about to dump in his cup. But Minho, of course, had other plans.

“Alright, Bok-ah,” Minho said, pausing before the line and crossing his arms. “Pop quiz.”

Felix blinked, confused. “What?”

“You want your coffee?” Minho raised an eyebrow. “Answer three chemistry questions first.”

Felix groaned dramatically, leaning against Seungmin like his legs had given out. “Minho, please. My brain’s still asleep.”

“Better wake it up then,” Minho’s mouth twitched like he was holding back a smirk. “First question, what’s the difference between ionic and covalent bonds?”

Felix whines under his breath but managed to mutter, “ionic bonds transfer electrons, covalent bonds share them.”

Minho hummed in approval. “Second, Henderson-Hasselbalch equation.”

Felix groaned louder, but rattled it off anyway, his fingers fidgeting with the drawstring of his hoodie: “pH equals pKa plug log of base over acid. Obviously.”

“Last one.” Minho tilted his head. “Name the four main buffer systems in the human body.”

Felix blinked, rubbing at his temples. “Uh… bicarbonate, phosphate, protein, and hemoglobin.”

Minho studied him for a beat longer before finally reaching out and ruffling his hair, making Felix scowl and duck away.

“Good boy,” Minho teased, passing him his coffee. “Go rot your teeth.”

Felix grabbed it with a triumphant grin, dumping in an obscene amount of creamer and sugar until Seungmin muttered something about “diabetes in a cup.”

When Minho finished paying for everyone’s drinks, Jeongin and Seungmin both murmured quick thanks, and the four of them lingered by the cart for a few minutes, sipping quietly in the cool morning air.

That’s when Minho suddenly went stiff beside Felix.

Felix frowned, turning slightly just in time to catch the faint flicker of sadness on Minho’s face. He followed Minho’s line of sight and spotted Jisung approaching the cart from the other side, his head ducked, and deliberately avoiding looking their way.

Felix sighed softly and nudged Minho’s arm. “What happened?”

Minho exhaled slowly, eyes still locked on Jisung. “We had a fight.”

Felix stayed quiet, waiting.

“Jisung’s been worried about… rumors,” Minho’s voice was low and rough at the edges. “You know how this place is, nurses gossiping at the desk, residents whispering in lounges. He doesn’t want people talking about us.”

Felix frowned deeper. “That’s ridiculous.”

“I told him the same thing,” Minho said with a humorless laugh. “I told him to stop worrying about what other people think. That the only thing that matters is how we feel. Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say.”

Felix winced.

“One thing led to another, and…” Minho sighed, dragging a hand through his hair, “…we’re on a break.”

Seungmin, sipping his coffee, raised an eyebrow. “How long’s this ‘break’ supposed to last?”

Minho shrugged, his gaze flickering back to where Jisung stood in line. “I don’t know. I’m leaving that up to him. If he’s not ready to come out, that’s fine. That’s his choice. But I’m not hiding who I am because a few nurses can’t mind their business.”

Felix nodded softly, squeezing Minho’s forearm before breaking away to cross the short distance to Jisung.

The surgery resident noticed him only when Felix stopped beside him. “Hey,” Felix murmured gently. “How’re you doing?”

Jisung’s shoulders slumped slightly, his jaw tight. “I’ll be fine,” he said shortly. “I’ll get over it.” He grabbed his coffee from the cart as soon as it was ready and muttered, “I’ve got surgery,” before brushing past Felix without meeting his eyes.

Felix turned, watching him keep his head down as he walked right by Minho, Seungmin, and Jeongin without so much as a glance. His chest tightened. He hated seeing his friends fight, especially Minho and Jisung, who were usually so nauseatingly in love it made everyone else stupid by proximity.

He sighed and started back toward the group, but a sudden wail of sirens cut through the quiet.

His head whipped around just as an ambulance careened into the bay, its tires squealing against the pavement. The flashing red lights washed over the asphalt, harsh and dizzying, and before the vehicle had even fully stopped, Changbin was already sprinting toward the rear doors, white coat flaring behind him.

“Minho! Felix!” Changbin’s voice cracked through the morning air like a whip. “I need you both—now!”

Felix’s breath caught, and without thinking, he shoved his coffee into Seungmin’s hands, barely hearing the muttered protest, and bolted after Minho. His sneakers slapped hard against the pavement as adrenaline shoved the last remnants of sleep from his veins.

The back doors of the ambulance swung open with a clang, revealing chaos inside. Two paramedics were already unloading the stretcher, their hands steady but urgent. Strapped down in the center was a boy—maybe fourteen, maybe younger—pale as chalk, lips trembling, and a bruise already forming on his stomach.

“Fourteen-year-old male,” a paramedic rattled off as they began rolling the patient inside. “Front-seat passenger, restrained, high-speed MVC. Pelvic instability from the lap belt, possible internal bleeding. Vitals dropping, GCS fifteen, lungs clear, FAST inconclusive.”

Felix’s chest squeezed painfully as his eyes swept over the boy. The kid was shaking like a leaf, wide brown eyes darting frantically between their faces, breath coming in shallow gasps that bordered on hyperventilation. Blood-streaked fingers fisted tightly in the scratchy hospital blanket covering his lower half.

Felix slipped into step beside the stretcher, gloving up as they pushed through the ER doors. He leaned close, voice instinctively soft, pitched to be low and soothing.

“Hey sweetheart,” he murmured, reaching for the boy’s trembling hand. “You’re safe now, okay? We’ve got you.”

The boy’s glassy gaze locked onto his face. “M-my… my mom—”

Felix squeezed his hand gently, grounding him. “I’ll call her,” he promised, tone steady despite the chaos erupting around them. “First thing, I swear. Right now, we just need to take care of you. See that doctor right there?” He tilted his chin toward Minho, who was jogging alongside the stretcher, barking orders as his hands palpated the boy’s pelvis. “That’s Dr. Lee. He’s the best trauma surgeon in the hospital. You’re in the safest hands you could be.”

The boy hiccupped shakily, tears pooling in his lashes, but a faint nod jerked from his chin.

Inside the trauma bay, the air was thick with noise and motion, monitors shrieking, gloved hands moving with frantic precision, and clipped voices bouncing rapid-fire between tasks. Minho took command seamlessly, his voice sharp, but never panicked.

“Airway?”

“Patent but swelling,” the resident called back from the head of the bed, already preparing suction.

“Two large-bore IVs, twenty mL/kg bolus, now.”

Felix moved without thinking, his hands steady even as his heart thudded in his throat. He found the vein in one quick, practiced motion, sliding the catheter home while Changbin secured the other arm.

“BP’s dropping! 78 over 42!”

“Get me O-neg, two units, and type and cross him and send that up to the OR!” Minho snapped, eyes scanning the monitor while his other hand secured the pelvic binder tighter. “Someone page anesthesia, and prep the OR—we’re not wasting time down here!”

The boy whimpered softly, his body jerking at every poke and tug. Felix smoothed a hand over his damp hair, keeping his voice gentle even as alarms screamed around them.

“You’re doing amazing,” Felix murmured against his ear. “I know it hurts, I know it’s scary, but we’re almost there. I’m right here with you, okay?”

His breathing hitched, but Felix’s quiet reassurance seemed to steady him enough that they could finish attaching monitors and get fluids running.

Within minutes, his vitals stabilized just enough to make the transfer safe.

“OR’s prepped,” a nurse announced breathlessly from the doorway.

“Let’s move!” Minho barked.

They wheeled the stretcher down the hallway, Changbin at the head, Minho at the foot, and Felix jogging beside them. He kept the boy’s hand wrapped tightly in his own, feeling the faint squeeze back.

“Almost there, buddy,” Felix said. “They’re gonna fix you right up.”

The elevator ride up was short but unbearably tense, every beep of the monitor digging into Felix’s chest. When the doors slid open on the surgical floor, scrub nurses swarmed immediately, seamlessly taking over control of the stretcher.

Minho looked back at him just before disappearing behind the OR doors, sweat already dampening his hairline, and his gloves streaked faintly red.

“We’ll talk later,” Minho said quietly.

Felix nodded, this throat tight. “Yeah.”

Felix stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty space they’d left behind. The echo of rushing footsteps faded, leaving only the hum of fluorescent lights and the soft beep of an elevator down the hall.

Finally, he sighed, shoulders sagging as the adrenaline ebbed away, leaving him shaky and wrung out. He turned, reached out, and pressed the button to call the elevator back.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and Felix stepped inside, pressing the button for the ground floor.

The doors closed, and the sudden hush felt almost heavy after the chaos upstairs. He leaned back against the cool steel wall, letting his head tip back and his eyes flutter shut. The tension in his shoulders finally began to sink into something closer to fatigue. He wished, desperately, that he’d gotten more than a couple of hours on Seungmin’s couch last night.

Just a few seconds. Just enough time to breathe.

The elevator slowed, and the soft ding pulled his eyes open, but it wasn’t the sound that startled him fully awake.

“Good morning, baby.”

Felix’s gaze snapped to the doorway, and there he was.

Chan stood in the entrance of the elevator, leaning against the frame with one hand in the pocket of his scrubs, the other clutching his battered coffee thermos. His black scrub top clung just enough to the faint definition of his chest and shoulders, sleeves pushed up around his elbows. There was a tiredness around his eyes, but the soft, crooked smile tugging at his lips lit up his whole face, making his dimples peek out faintly. His short dark hair was a little mussed, like he’d run his hands through it one too many times on rounds.

The tension in Felix’s chest eased instantly. He couldn’t help the small, sleepy smile that curled onto his lips.

“Morning,” Felix murmured.

Chan stepped into the elevator, letting the doors slide shut behind him. Without hesitation, he set his coffee on the railing and pulled Felix into his arms, pressing a soft kiss to the younger’s lips before tucking him close into a warm hug.

Felix melted against him immediately, arms winding around Chan’s waist as he buried his face into the crook of his neck. The familiar mix of faint soap, coffee, and hospital air clung to Chan’s skin, grounding and comforting all at once.

“Did you stay the night again?” Chan asked softly, his breath warm against Felix’s temple.

Felix hummed an affirmative sound, still refusing to let go.

Chan clicked his tongue, shifting one hand to smooth along the back of Felix’s head. “And why, exactly, did you do that?”

Felix sighed, the words muffled into Chan’s neck. “Covered for one of the ER nurses. Her kid was sick. Figured she needed the night more than I did.”

Chan groaned softly, resting his chin on Felix’s messy hair as his fingers combed lazily through the strands. “You’re too nice, you know that?”

Felix chuckled quietly, finally leaning back just enough to meet Chan’s eyes. “Mmh. Maybe.”

Chan brushed a stray piece of hair away from Felix’s forehead with his knuckles, and Felix smiled softly up at him before leaning in to kiss him again, slow and sweet.

When they parted, Chan’s eyes crinkled at the corners, dimples deepening as he smiled back. “Do you remember,” he murmured, voice low, “that the first time we met was in this elevator?”

Felix laughed under his breath, nodding without hesitation. “How could I forget? You were so grumpy back then.”

The tips of Chan’s ears went scarlet almost instantly. “I wasn’t grumpy,” he whined, pouting faintly. “I was just… going through a hard time.”

Felix giggled softly, tilting his head. “Mhm. Sure. That’s what you tell yourself.”

-

“Alright, princess,” he said softly to the small girl in the seat, his favorite oncology patient—eight years old, with her knitted pink hat and matching unicorn socks—“next stop, floor three. Just a quick chemo session, and then I promise I’ll get you a pudding cup.”

She grinned up at him, swinging her legs lazily as he pressed the button and turned the chair to face the door.

Just before the doors closed, a tall man stepped inside with dark scrubs, a stethoscope looped loosely around his neck, jaw set tight, and his brow furrowed in an expression that practically radiated ‘don’t talk to me.’

Felix straightened automatically, recognizing him from the whispered conversations at the nurse’s station. Dr. Bang Chan, the new pediatric attending everyone said was brilliant but… perpetually scowling.

It was the first time Felix had seen him in person.

He gave the man a tentative smile. “Morning, doctor.”

Chan only gave a curt nod before retreating to the back of the elevator, pulling out his tablet as if to make himself smaller in the corner.

Felix turned his attention back to the girl, who was watching Chan with exaggerated curiosity. After a beat, she whispered loudly, “Mr. Felix… why’s he so grumpy?”

Felix bit his lip, trying not to laugh, but he couldn’t stop the quiet giggle that escaped. “I dunno, sweet pea. Maybe he skipped breakfast.”

Her small giggle bubbled up, filling the elevator. But then—just as suddenly—the laughter stopped.

“Hey,” Felix murmured softly, leaning down to look at her. “You okay?”

Her little pink-knitted hat tilted as her head lolled slightly to the side. The color drained from her cheeks, lips parting soundlessly as she slurred, “M’tired…”

Felix’s stomach dropped.

“Hey—hey, stay with me, okay?” He immediately came around to the front of her chair, gently tapping her cheeks, trying to get her to focus. “Sweetheart, open your eyes for me. C’mon.”

She went limp.

Before Felix could panic further, Dr. Bang Chan was at his side, crouching down without a word.

“She’s breathing,” Dr. Bang Chan said quickly, fingers at her throat to check her pulse. “Strong heartbeat. I think she dropped her blood sugar too fast—does she have insulin on board?”

Felix nodded quickly, fumbling for the chart clipped to the back of her chair with trembling hands. “Yeah, she just dosed before we came down.”

Dr. Bang Chan hummed, glancing up. “This isn’t uncommon, then. Don’t worry, she’s okay.”

Felix let out a shaky breath, relief flooding him so fast his knees felt weak.

“You alright?” Dr. Bang Chan asked suddenly, noticing the way Felix’s hands still trembled where they gripped the chair.

Felix nodded quickly, ducking his head. “Sorry, I just— she’s one of my favorites. I’ve been working with her since diagnosis and…” He trailed off, embarrassed by the tightness in his throat.

Dr. Bang Chan’s expression softened, the faintest smile tugging at his lips for the first time since stepping into the elevator. “You care about her,” he said simply. “That’s not something you should apologize for. That’s what makes you a good nurse.”

Felix blinked at him, startled by the warmth in his tone, before offering a small smile of his own. “I’m Felix, by the way.”

“Chan,” he said with a small nod.

The elevator dinged softly, and the doors opened onto the chemo floor. They stepped out together, but split off down opposite hallways without another word.

Felix glanced back once, watching Chan disappear around the corner.

-

The doctors’ lounge was quiet this early in the morning, lit only by the soft hum of fluorescent bulbs that flickered faintly overhead. The faint smell of stale coffee clung stubbornly to the air, mixing with the sharp bite of antiseptic wipes and laundry starch from freshly laundered white coats.

Felix sank into the narrow bench pressed against the wall, folding one leg beneath him as he watched Chan move around the room with an ease born of habit.

Chan had claimed the locker farthest from the door, his own quiet corner of organized perfection in comparison to the chaos of the rest of the room. Felix rested his chin on his palm, gaze lingering as he watched the older man shrug off his jacket and drape it neatly inside before pulling on his white coat.

God, Felix loved watching him like this. There was something grounding about it, Chan’s steady, deliberate motions, the way his stethoscope caught faint slivers of light as he looped it around his neck, and the soft rasp of his sleeve against fabric as he buttoned his coat. It was routine, mundane, but comforting in a way Felix could never quite explain.

“Anything interesting happen last night?” Chan asked casually, his voice warm and quiet as he glanced at Felix through the mirror mounted on the locker door.

Felix yawned into his sleeve before replying, ticking cases off on his fingers with lazy precision. “Mmm… not really. Just the usual ER chaos. Couple gallstones. That guy with the lightbulb up his ass came back.”

Chan chuckled under his breath as he straightened his ID badge.

“And a ‘ruptured appendix’ that turned out to be gas,” Felix finished, shaking his head with a faint grin.

“Sounds like a classic night shift,” Chan said, voice faintly amused.

Felix hesitated, teeth tugging softly at his lower lip. There was one more thing he could mention, but… he debated it for a beat too long, because Chan noticed instantly.

He stopped what he was doing, one eyebrow arching as he turned slightly toward Felix. “Alright, Lix,” he said slowly, folding his arms. “Spit it out.”

Felix chuckled, shifting back against the bench, his grin tilting crooked. “It’s nothing bad,” he promised.

“Uh-huh.” Chan’s expression softened, but the suspicion didn’t leave his eyes.

Felix sighed, giving in. “That same cop was on again last night,” he said, tone deliberately casual. “You know, the one from a few weeks ago?”

Chan’s brows knit faintly. “The one who—”

“Yep,” Felix cut in with a little giggle. “Still trying to get into my pants. Gave me his number this time, too.”

For a second, Chan didn’t move. Then his entire body went rigid, his shoulders tight, and his jaw clenched. The faint humor that had softened his expression evaporated in an instant.

Felix had to bite back a laugh. God, he loved pushing his buttons sometimes.

He slid off the bench and padded across the room, soft-soled sneakers whispering against the linoleum floor, until he was close enough to drape himself over Chan’s back from behind. His arms slipped around Chan’s neck easily, hugging him tight as he leaned up to whisper against his ear.

“Relax,” Felix murmured, lips brushing lightly against the curve of Chan’s ear before pressing a soft kiss there. “I threw it out. Didn’t even look at it.”

Chan stayed stubbornly quiet, muscles still tense under Felix’s hold. Felix just grinned against his skin and shifted closer, planting a trail of light, teasing kisses along the side of his jaw and down to the warm skin of his neck. He giggled when he felt Chan shiver beneath him.

“Don’t tell me Dr. Bang Chan, attending pediatric legend, is jealous,” Felix teased softly, his voice sing-song and warm.

Chan made a low, frustrated sound in his chest, spinning suddenly so Felix stumbled into his chest. His arm slid firmly around Felix’s waist, holding him flush against him.

“I’ll always be jealous,” Chan murmured, his voice pitched low and rough, heat simmering beneath each word. His gaze locked on Felix’s, dark and intent, pulling the air right out of his lungs. “Of anyone who even gets to looks at you.”

Felix’s breath caught, his cheeks going hot as his heartbeat thudded against Chan’s chest. “Channie…” he whispered, his voice small and embarrassed.

Chan’s thumb brushed slowly across the sliver of skin exposed where Felix’s scrub top had ridden up at his hip, grounding and possessive all at once.

“You’re beautiful,” Chan said simply, voice steady now, quiet but certain. “And you’re mine.”

Felix’s ears went hot. He ducked his head, trying to hide the smile tugging at his lips as he pressed his palms lightly to Chan’s chest. “Stop saying stuff like that,” he mumbled, cheeks still burning.

Chan didn’t listen. Instead, he leaned down, pressing slow, deliberate kisses to Felix’s flushed cheeks, one, then the other, before brushing a soft one at the corner of his lips just to hear the little laugh Felix tried to swallow.

Finally, Felix tipped his head back, letting himself rest against Chan’s shoulder for a lingering moment before sighing softly.

“I’ve gotta go,” he murmured reluctantly, glancing at the clock above the lockers. “Shift’s starting.”

Chan nodded but didn’t let go immediately, dipping down for one more unhurried kiss before finally loosening his hold.

Felix reached the door and paused, fingers curling lightly on the frame before he peeked his head back inside, a playful glimmer in his eyes.

“Oh, and don’t,” he said sweetly, “tell Changbin to page you when that cop shows up again.”

Chan rolled his eyes, snatching up his thermos. “No promises,” he muttered, voice still faintly grumbly.

Felix’s laugh was light and warm as it followed him out into the hallway, curling faintly in Chan’s chest long after the door closed.

By the time Felix stepped into the pediatric wing, sunlight had spilled through the tall windows lining the hallway, soft gold pooling across the pale linoleum floors. The familiar hum of the hospital surrounded him, distant monitors beeping in a steady rhythm, muffled voices from the nurses’ station, and the soft squeak of sneakers against waxed tile.

Even after years here, something about this wing always tugged at him. Maybe it was the pastel murals painted along the walls, faded clouds and smiling cartoon animals stretching across ceiling tiles to distract little eyes from IV bags and blood draws. Maybe it was the tiny beds, lined up neatly like fragile secrets, each one holding a story bigger than it should.

He signed off on the med cart at the station, stacking the patient list on top before rolling it gently down the hall. Morning meds came first, he had three long-term patients, three familiar rooms.

The first stop was Jiyoon, seven years old and endlessly curious, already cross-legged on her bed when Felix walked in, her nose buried in a picture book. Rainbow bracelets—one for each round of treatment—stacked up her small wrist almost to the IV tape.

“Morning, sunshine,” Felix said softly, his voice warm and bright as he set her little meds cup on the bedside table.

Her head popped up instantly, dark hair tumbling over her cheeks as her eyes lit up. “Lixie!” she chirped, as if she hadn’t seen him just last night.

“That’s me,” he teased, crouching to meet her gaze. “Alright, you know the deal. Pills first, stickers after.”

She wrinkled her nose at the two small tablets but obediently downed them, chasing them with a gulp of apple juice. Felix rewarded her with a fresh glitter sticker sheet, grinning when she peeled one off and slapped it right onto the center of his scrub top.

“You’re collecting them on me now?” he asked, feigning a scandalized gasp.

“You’re my sticker board,” she said simply, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Felix laughed softly, reaching out to ruffle her hair before slipping quietly from the room.

Next was Seojun, barely four, with soft round cheeks and a mop of black hair that perpetually stuck out at odd angles. He sat perched at the edge of his bed in dinosaur pajamas, tiny legs swinging as he clutched his stuffed stegosaurus like a lifeline.

Felix knelt in front of him, offering a small smile. “Morning, Seojunnie.”

The boy peeked up shyly, half-hidden behind the dinosaur’s head. “Don’t wanna bathroom,” he mumbled, lip wobbling as he pulled the stuffed animal tighter against his chest.

Felix tapped his little nose lightly. “How about this, we’ll make a deal. We conquer the scary bathroom together, and when we’re done, I’ll help you braid your dinosaur’s tail. Sound fair?”

For a second, Seojun hesitated, then a tiny giggle bubbled up, shy but real. He nodded and slipped his small hand into Felix’s, letting him guide him carefully toward the bathroom. Felix crouched beside him the whole time, steadying the IV line so it wouldn’t snag and murmuring gentle encouragements until they returned victorious, Seojun’s sleepy smile triumphant.

The last stop was Ahri, five years old, a little thing with pigtails and wide doe eyes. Felix found her curled up beneath the blanket, clutching the corner in one small fist, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.

Felix’s heart squeezed painfully. He set the meds cart aside and eased himself onto the edge of her bed, smoothing a hand gently through her messy hair.

“Ahri-bug,” he whispered softly, leaning close so his voice barely disturbed the air between them. “Hey, what’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“I… I want my mom,” she hiccuped, pressing her wet face into the blanket.

Felix closed his eyes briefly, exhaling through his nose. He knew Ahri’s mom, and knew the exhaustion carved into the woman’s features every time she came through those doors. If she wasn’t here, she was working, probably pulling a double just to afford her daughter’s care.

“Oh, baby,” Felix murmured, shifting closer as he opened his arms. “I know you miss her.”

Ahri didn’t hesitate, immediately crawling into his chest like she belonged there, her small fingers curling tight into the fabric of his scrub top. Felix held her carefully, one arm tucked beneath her knees as he lifted her into his lap and carried her toward the rocking chair by the window.

He settled into the chair with her, curling around her tiny frame as he began to rock slowly, back and forth, back and forth, the rhythm steady and comforting. Almost without thinking, he started to hum, his voice soft and low, letting the melody slip gently into words:

“You are my sunshine,
my only sunshine…
you make me happy
when skies are gray…”

Ahri’s sobs gradually quieted, her breathing evening out against his chest as her head nestled beneath his chin. Felix kept singing softly, feeling the warmth of her small body melt into his, and as his voice filled the room, another memory stirred unbidden.

-

It had been a night shift like any other, except he’d overheard whispers at the nurses’ station about a premature baby born earlier that day, a tiny girl delivered with her abdominal organs outside her body. Curiosity tugged at him, soft but insistent, until he found himself wandering up to the NICU.

The air there was warmer, quieter, sterile and delicate all at once. Over the gentle beeps of monitors and ventilators, another sound reached him, faint, and unexpected.

Singing?

He followed it on instinct, slipping quietly around a partition, and froze when he saw who it belonged to.

Dr. Bang Chan.

They hadn’t interacted much since that first chaotic elevator encounter weeks ago, but Felix had watched him from afar. He’d seen the sharpness in him, the way he could snap at residents or bark at med students when patient care was at risk. People called him stern, demanding, even cold sometimes. But Felix had already learned the truth: Chan only raised his voice when it mattered. When protecting his patients.

Now, he sat by a softly glowing isolette, hunched slightly forward, lips brushing the words of a lullaby that barely carried past the hum of machines. Inside laid the tiniest baby Felix had ever seen, her organs safely encased in a protective sac, and her impossibly small chest rising and falling with fragile determination.

Felix smiled faintly as he stepped closer, his sneakers silent on the tile until he came to stand across from Chan. He kept his voice soft when he finally spoke.

“What’s her name?”

Chan startled slightly, clearing his throat as his gaze flickered away, the tips of his ears going pink. “She… doesn’t have one yet,” he murmured after a moment. “Her dad wants to wait until she’s out of the woods.”

Felix’s chest ached at that. “She should have a name,” he whispered gently, fingertips brushing the edge of the incubator. When Chan finally met his gaze, something passed between them, brief but unspoken.

“I’ve been calling her Hanna,” Chan admitted quietly, eyes darting away almost shyly.

Felix hummed, smiling softly. “She looks like a Hanna,” he said simply, and when Chan glanced back up, their eyes met and held for a moment longer, warm and steady, until Chan’s lips curved into the faintest, shyest smile Felix had ever seen on him.

-

Felix blinked himself back to the present as Ahri shifted faintly in his arms, finally gone still and quiet. Her tiny breaths puffed against his chest, soft and even now.

He kept rocking her for another moment before carefully rising, adjusting his hold as he carried her back to bed. Felix lowered her gently onto the mattress, pulling the blanket snug around her small shoulders before smoothing back the wisps of hair stuck damply to her forehead.

His chest felt warm and tight at once, heart still caught somewhere between the present and that memory.

And then, without warning, the overhead lights slammed on, flooding the room with harsh, blinding white.

Felix flinched, instinctively shielding Ahri’s sleeping form from the sudden glare, his heart leaping painfully against his ribs.

Felix squinted against the sudden harsh glare of the overhead lights, his heart still racing as his eyes adjusted. He blinked rapidly, glancing over his shoulder toward the doorway, and frowned.

A tall, lanky man in rumpled scrubs stood just inside the room, tablet in one hand, looking far too awake for this hour.

“Sorry,” the man said, though his tone didn’t sound sorry at all. “Here for pre-rounds.”

Felix immediately brought a finger to his lips, nodding toward the sleeping girl nestled in bed. “Shhh,” he whispered, his voice low but firm. “Turn the lights back off, I just got her back down.”

The resident glanced at Ahri, then back at Felix, arching one unimpressed eyebrow. “I’ve got work to do,” he said flatly. “Pre-rounds come first.”

Felix straightened, his shoulders tightening instinctively. “I said, she’s sleeping. It can wait fifteen minutes until she’s awake, she had a rough night.”

“Look,” the man sighed, stepping farther into the room, “you’re a nurse. I get it, you want to coddle them. But I need vitals and updates for the attending. That’s my job.”

Felix bit back the sharp retort on the tip of his tongue, jaw flexing as he forced himself to stay calm. He hated this, hated when residents, especially first-years, came in puffed up like they ruled the floor. Most of them would burn out of their arrogance by Christmas, but until then, it was like babysitting a kid with a stethoscope.

Ahri shifted faintly in her sleep, and Felix’s chest clenched. He glanced down at her before glaring back up at the resident, lowering his voice further as if the softness might reach him where reason wouldn’t. “Please. Just… keep it quiet, alright?”

The man ignored him entirely, flipping through her chart at the foot of the bed like he owned it.

“Order standard labs,” he said briskly, scribbling notes into his tablet before shoving the clipboard into Felix’s chest hard enough that it rocked him back a step. “I want them drawn and sent before rounds start.”

Felix’s fingers tightened reflexively around the chart, and he had to physically stop himself from shoving it back at him. He scowled, watching the resident stroll out like he hadn’t just steamrolled the entire room.

At least he hadn’t woken her up.

Felix glanced down at Ahri, softening immediately when he saw her still curled beneath the blanket, her tiny hand fisted loosely around the edge. Her breathing stayed steady and deep. She was always a deep sleeper.

He sighed quietly, shaking his head before carefully gathering what he needed from the supply cart. He worked gently, drawing her blood with practiced ease and slipping the labeled vials into a tray, moving as silently as possible so she wouldn’t stir. When he finished taping the gauze in place, he brushed a thumb soothingly over her hand before slipping out of the room.

Back at the nurses’ station, he set the labs aside for pickup and dropped into one of the rolling chairs, pulling up each patient’s file on the terminal. He typed in updates, double-checking meds and charts, letting the rhythm of routine steady his heartbeat after the encounter.

The hospital was waking up around him now, murmured voices down the hallway, the distant clang of carts, the occasional monitor alarm going off somewhere in the background. Morning chaos brewing, same as always.

Felix blew out a quiet breath, clicking open Ahri’s chart. His chest still ached faintly from the way she’d clung to him earlier, the echo of her small sobs pressed into his scrub top still fresh in his ears.

She’d be okay. He’d make sure of it.

-

By the time the wall clock edged toward noon, Felix felt like his entire body was made of lead. He sat slumped at the nurses’ station, elbows on the desk, head resting on his folded arms as the steady murmur of the pediatric wing buzzed around him. His stomach had been growling for the past half hour, but he hadn’t had the energy to get up and grab food yet.

This was exactly why he didn’t pull doubles.

He let his eyes slip shut, thinking maybe he could squeeze in a few minutes of rest before the next round of labs came back. But then fingers threaded gently through his hair, slow and absentminded, and he startled with a soft sound, lifting his head to find Chan standing over him.

The older man looked unfairly good despite the long morning, his white coat perfectly straight, sleeves rolled to his forearms, and stethoscope looped casually around his neck. There was a faint sheen of fatigue around his eyes, but the fond smile pulling at his lips made his dimples peek out.

“You okay, baby?” Chan asked softly, tilting his head slightly as his thumb brushed once along Felix’s hairline.

Felix blinked up at him, yawning wide as he stretched his arms above his head. “Mhm,” he mumbled, voice thick with exhaustion. “Just dragging a little. It’s almost lunchtime, though.”

Chan hummed, fingers briefly squeezing the back of Felix’s neck before pulling away. “Come with me,” he said. “I was about to head down anyway.”

Felix nodded and rose from the chair, falling into step beside him as they made their way toward the elevators.

“You know,” Felix started as they walked, tugging lightly at the hem of his scrub top, “I was wondering what you thought about the new resident.”

Chan glanced sideways at him and rolled his eyes with a soft snort. “I don’t like him.”

Felix bit back a smile. “That obvious, huh?”

“He’s only here because pediatrics is a notoriously difficult specialty,” Chan muttered, tapping the elevator button with more force than necessary. “First time in peds since med school. He wants the prestige, not the patients.”

Felix hummed lowly in agreement, his lips quirking faintly. “Yeah… I got that vibe, too.”

The elevator dinged, and a few minutes later, they were stepping into the cafeteria. The warm, savory smells of simmering soups and grilled sandwiches hit them immediately, and Felix’s stomach growled audibly this time.

Chan glanced at him with a small grin. “Go find us a table. I’ll get food.”

Felix nodded, weaving his way between crowded tables before finding one tucked near the window. He sank into the chair with a soft sigh, letting his chin rest in his palm as his gaze drifted aimlessly across the cafeteria.

The low hum of chatter, the clatter of trays, and the distant whir of the soft-serve machine pulled him into a memory without warning.

-

He’d been sitting at nearly the exact same spot, eating his lunch alone, a paperback open beside his tray. The cafeteria had been busy that day, but Felix was used to tuning it out.

What he wasn’t used to was the giggling.

Two ER nurses had walked past, not even bothering to lower their voices, exchanging conspiratorial looks before dissolving into laughter. He had no idea what rumor had been making the rounds that week—maybe something about who he was dating, maybe about how “flirty” he supposedly was with residents—but he didn’t care enough to ask. Still, the constant whispers, the pointed looks, the stupid little giggles every time he walked into a room, it was getting old fast.

He’d rolled his eyes and turned a page in his book, pretending not to hear them. Pretending it didn’t bother him. But deep down, it was hard not to feel like he stuck out sometimes, like he was on display.

He’d been halfway through another paragraph when a tray clattered softly onto the table across from him. Startled, he glanced up, and froze.

Dr. Bang Chan stood there, expression unreadable, eyes warm but steady as he gestured to the empty chair. “This seat taken?”

Felix blinked, his brain short-circuiting for an embarrassing second before he stammered, “N-no, go ahead,” shoving his book aside to clear space.

It was only when Chan sat down, pulling his tray closer, that Felix realized the cafeteria had gone strangely quiet. Heads were turning. Eyes were staring. And why wouldn’t they? Back then, Chan still terrified half the hospital. His reputation preceded him, brilliant but strict, and protective to the point of intensity, never one for small talk.

Felix must’ve glanced around because Chan sighed softly, setting his fork down for a moment. “Ignore them,” he said, his voice gentler than Felix expected. “Just talk to me.”

Felix had felt his cheeks heat immediately, ducking his head before glancing up through his lashes with a shy smile. “Is this our first date, then?” he’d teased, half-expecting Chan to roll his eyes and walk away.

But without missing a beat, Chan had replied, “If you want it to be.”

-

Felix blinked back into the present, warmth blooming faintly in his chest as he caught himself smiling without realizing it.

Chan returned a moment later, setting down two trays and sliding into the seat across from him. “They’ve got your favorite soup today,” he said softly, pushing one bowl toward him.

Felix’s lips curved into a smile, picking up his spoon as he leaned into the comforting steam. “You’re the best,” he murmured, taking his first sip.

The warmth of the broth spread through his chest, and for a fleeting moment, it felt like the rest of the day might be manageable after all.

Felix had just dipped his spoon back into the warm broth when someone slid noisily into the seat beside him, nearly knocking into his tray.

“Ugh, you will not believe the morning I’ve had,” Hyunjin groaned dramatically, slumping forward until his forehead thunked against the table.

A second later, Changbin sat down across from him, completely ignoring the theatrics as he casually plucked a few fries off Hyunjin’s tray while the plastics fellow was distracted.

Felix bit back a laugh, trying to hide his grin behind his spoon. “What happened now?” he asked, already bracing himself.

Hyunjin let out a long, exaggerated whine before turning his entire body to drape himself across Chan’s lap like a fainting actor in a tragedy. “The OR nurses ruined my setup again,” he lamented loudly. “Do you know how many times I’ve told them how I like it? How many?”

Chan smirked faintly, shoving at Hyunjin’s shoulder until he slid back into his seat. “You’re embarrassing yourself,” he said dryly.

“They never listen to me,” Hyunjin went on, undeterred, throwing his hands up for emphasis. “Every single time, my instruments are out of order, and the sutures aren’t labeled correctly, and the OR temperature—”

Felix made eye contact with Chan across the table, and they both couldn’t help it, they broke into identical, knowing smiles. Chan started silently mouthing Hyunjin’s rant along with him, timing every word perfectly.

“—and the OR temperature is never set to twenty-two degrees like I asked.”

Felix giggled into his hand, shoulders shaking.

“Stop making fun of me!” Hyunjin said, reaching over to swat at Felix’s arm with zero heat behind it. “Some of us are fighting for our lives out here.”

Changbin finally looked up from his stolen fries, smirking faintly. “Speaking of trouble…” he started casually, glancing between Chan and Felix, “…you know that cop who’s apparently in love with you?”

Felix groaned, dropping his spoon into his soup with a soft clatter. “Really, Binnie?”

Hyunjin immediately perked up like a fox catching the scent of gossip. “Wait. Back up. What cop? What happened? Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“Oh, you’re gonna love this,” Changbin said, leaning back in his chair like he was about to deliver the punchline to a good joke. “We had this drunk patient last night, completely plastered and getting handsy with our sweet Lixie here. Before anyone could even react, Officer Love-Sick shows up, all gallant and broody, gets the guy off him…”

Felix was mid-eye-roll when he felt Chan’s gaze on him, sharp and focused.

“You didn’t tell me that,” Chan said quietly, brows knitting slightly.

Felix shrugged innocently, resting his chin in his palm. “Because it’s not a big deal. The guy’s like seventy and drunk every time he comes in. It’s not like he’s a threat to you.”

But he didn’t miss it, that subtle tick of Chan’s jaw, the slight flare of his nostrils as he sipped his water like it might stop him from saying something snappy.

Changbin, of course, noticed immediately and burst out laughing. “You’re jealous,” he teased, pointing his fork at Chan. “God, you’re actually jealous of Officer Love-Sick.”

Chan shot him a flat look, but the faint pink dusting the tops of his ears gave him away.

Hyunjin, still perched halfway over the table, turned wide, gleeful eyes on Felix. “Okay, but start from the top. What actually happened?”

Felix sighed, stirring his soup lazily. “His name’s Officer Jae-won,” he said finally, giving in to the inevitable questioning. “He pulled the guy away, made sure I was okay, and then, yes, he gave me his number.”

Hyunjin gasped like he’d just been handed a priceless secret. “And you threw it away?”

“Of course I did,” Felix said, finally looking up to meet Chan’s gaze across the table. His voice softened slightly, just for him. “I’m perfectly happy where I am.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Felix caught it, the almost imperceptible way Chan puffed his chest out just a little, like a quiet, unspoken claim.

Hyunjin groaned, throwing his head back. “Ugh, boring. You should’ve kept it so we could mess with him. Imagine the chaos.”

Felix snorted, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

Before Hyunjin could argue further, Changbin’s pager went off, shrill and insistent. He glanced down at it, brows furrowing immediately.

“ER,” he said, already grabbing his tray to push it aside. “Peds case.”

Felix was on his feet before he even realized it, Chan right behind him.

“Let’s go,” Changbin called over his shoulder as they jogged toward the doors. “Hyunjin, clean up for us!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hyunjin waved them off lazily, already reaching for another one of Felix’s untouched fries.

The three of them disappeared into the hallway, pace quickening with every step toward the elevators, the easy laughter of lunch dissolving into the sharp focus of emergency mode.

The ER was buzzing the moment they stepped through the double doors, the steady rise and fall of urgent voices layered over the beeping of monitors and the low hum of wheels on tile. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and sweat, sharp beneath the constant undertone of stale coffee from the nurses’ station. Felix’s heart rate kicked up as Changbin led them deeper into the chaos, weaving around curtained bays until they stopped at one of the smaller trauma rooms.

Inside sat a boy—no older than seventeen—hunched forward on the edge of the bed. His knees were drawn up, elbows digging into them as both hands clutched desperately at his head like he was holding it together by force alone. Dark hair stuck damply to his temples, and every few seconds his shoulders hitched as he heaved into a lined basin balanced between his knees.

Felix’s chest tightened instantly. He’d seen enough headaches in pediatrics to know when one was “bad” and when one was dangerous.

“What do we have?” Chan asked briskly as he slipped inside, pulling on a fresh pair of gloves.

Before anyone could answer, a woman burst into the doorway, breathless and flushed, her purse sliding down one arm as she grabbed at the frame for balance. Her voice shook as she stumbled toward the bed.

“I—I don’t know what’s happening,” she stammered, her words tumbling over each other. “He’s been… different. Depressed, withdrawn, snapping at everyone—that’s not like him. And today…” She swallowed hard, wringing her hands so tightly the knuckles went white. “Today he’s losing coordination. He’s confused. Delusional. I—he was fine last month.”

Chan stepped closer, his voice soft but steady, grounding her instantly. “Alright. You did the right thing bringing him in. We’re going to figure this out, I promise.”

Felix grabbed an IV kit, moving to the boy’s side. He crouched low so he wouldn’t loom, letting his voice go quiet and gentle, the way he always did with anxious kids. “Hey, buddy,” he murmured, resting a hand lightly on the edge of the bed so the boy could see him first. “I’m Felix. I’m just gonna give you some fluids to help you feel better, okay?”

He reached carefully for the boy’s arm and froze when the teenager flinched violently away, nearly knocking the basin out of his lap. His head shot up, glassy eyes darting around the room like there were things lurking in every corner.

“They’re watching,” he whispered harshly, his breath coming fast and shallow. “Don’t touch me— don’t let them put anything inside me. I can hear them talking. Don’t—don’t let them—”

Felix pulled his hands back instantly, palms up, making his voice even softer. “Hey, hey… I’m not gonna hurt you, promise. You’re safe here.”

The boy rocked faintly on the bed, mumbling disjointed fragments under his breath, paranoia spilling out in broken phrases about “them” and “being poisoned” and “the walls listening.” His chest ached as he waited, giving the boy space to find his breath again.

“Tell you what,” Felix tried softly after a moment, leaning just close enough for the boy to hear. “I won’t touch you unless you tell me it’s okay. Cross my heart.”

The boy’s gaze flickered to him, wide and trembling. After a long beat, he gave the smallest nod.

“Thank you,” Felix whispered, offering a faint smile as he gently took the boy’s arm and slid the IV in with practiced ease. The saline drip started, cool and steady. He glanced back at Chan. “Want me to push something for the nausea?”

“Compazine,” Chan said without missing a beat, scanning the chart. “Ten milligrams IV.”

Felix drew it up smoothly, working quickly but carefully, all the while murmuring small reassurances as he flushed the line. He kept his voice low and warm, letting the sound ground the boy in the chaos.

Chan, meanwhile, pulled the mother gently aside, leading her a few steps from the bed. “Any recent travel?” he asked softly. “Family history of neurological conditions? Tumors, metabolic disorders?”

The woman shook her head rapidly. “No, nothing like that.” She hesitated, biting her lip before adding, “We… we went to my brother’s farm last week. He made burgers. Homemade. They were awful,” she said, trying to laugh, though her voice cracked halfway through. “I don’t think that matters, though—”

Chan paused mid-note, his head tilting slightly. “Homemade how?”

“My brother raises his own cows,” she explained. “Processes the meat himself. Says it’s healthier.”

Felix glanced up from the IV setup, catching the flicker in Chan’s expression, that razor focus Felix had learned to recognize.

“And the cows?” Chan asked carefully, his tone soft but deliberate.

The woman frowned, confusion creasing her face. “Honestly? I was worried about them. They looked… sick. The farm was dirty, rundown. My son didn’t even want to eat, but…” She trailed off, her voice breaking.

Chan exhaled slowly, his hand braced on the counter as his mind worked ahead. “Alright,” he murmured, already shifting into action. “Let’s get a full infectious workup: CBC, CMP, ESR, CRP, blood cultures, and tox. Prep an LP tray upstairs.”

The mother froze. “A spinal tap?”

Chan crouched slightly, meeting her panicked gaze head-on. His voice softened, even as his words remained precise. “I know it sounds scary, but it’ll help us figure out what’s wrong. We’ll numb him first, so he won’t feel anything. And I’ll be right there the whole time.”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard, but after a beat, she nodded.

Felix offered her a reassuring smile as he gathered the labeled blood samples, brushing her hand briefly as he passed. “We’ll take good care of him,” he murmured gently.

Out in the hallway, they headed toward the elevators, Felix updating the chart as they walked. “What are you thinking?” he asked quietly, though there was a tension in his chest he couldn’t name.

Chan’s jaw flexed as his hands slipped into his coat pockets. “Variant Creutzfeldt-Jakob,” he said finally.

Felix blinked, startled. “Mad cow disease? Chan, that’s… that’s rare.”

“I know,” Chan said, his voice low and steady. “But the story fits, new-onset psych symptoms, loss of coordination, rapid progression. I hope I’m wrong, but I’d rather rule it out now than miss it.”

Felix nodded slowly, processing. His lips parted to respond when someone called his name from down the hall.

“Felix!”

He turned instinctively, and froze when he saw who it was.

Officer Jae-won strode toward them, his uniform pressed perfectly, confidence practically radiating off him. Felix felt his shoulders drop slightly, wishing he could melt into the nearest wall.

“Hey,” Jae-won greeted, flashing a quick smile. “How’s your shift been?” His gaze flicked briefly down Felix’s figure before settling back on his face. “You look really good today.”

Felix forced a polite, neutral smile, fiddling with the chart in his hands. “It’s been fine, thanks—”

Before he could finish, an arm slid firmly around his waist, tugging him back against a solid, familiar chest. Felix didn’t have to look up; he knew Chan’s touch instantly, warm, grounding, and possessive.

Chan’s voice came low and even, but there was steel beneath the smoothness. “Thanks for checking in, officer,” he said coolly, his thumb brushing deliberately along the curve of Felix’s hip. “But he’s with me.”

Jae-won’s smile faltered, a flash of irritation breaking through before he masked it with a stiff nod. “Right,” he said tightly.

Chan didn’t spare him another glance. Instead, he tightened his hold on Felix and guided him away, his palm resting securely on his waist as they stepped into the elevator lobby.

Felix tilted his head just enough to catch the faint curve of Chan’s smirk, fighting to hide his own small laugh as the doors closed behind them, shutting Jae-won out completely.

-

Felix’s hands moved automatically as he prepped the LP tray, but his mind felt heavy. He lined each piece carefully along the sterile drape, every motion careful and deliberate, antiseptic swabs, collection tubes, gauze pads, and finally the sleek, silver spinal needle still sealed in its sterile pack.

The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the air vent overhead and the rhythmic hiss of the oxygen line against the far wall. The boy was curled on his side on the bed, knees tucked loosely to his chest, his breathing slow and shallow. They’d placed an epidural earlier to numb him from the waist down. It wasn’t supposed to make him drowsy, but after the morning he’d had—the vomiting, the headache, the panic spiraling out of control—exhaustion must have pulled him under.

Felix’s chest tightened faintly as his gaze lingered on him. He looked so young like this, lashes resting against flushed cheeks, his dark hair damp and sticking to his forehead. Too young to be here. Too young for any of this.

The soft creak of the door pulled him back. Chan stepped inside, mask hanging loose around his neck, surgical cap in place. He looked calm, collected as always, but Felix caught the faint lines of strain around his eyes.

“You get the mother’s consent?” Felix asked, straightening up.

Chan nodded, pulling on a fresh pair of gloves. “Yeah. Offered to let her watch. She’ll be by the observation window.”

Felix hummed softly, finishing the tray setup before handing Chan the chart. “Labs are back too.”

Chan flipped through them quickly, scanning each value with practiced focus. Felix watched his brow furrow faintly, the subtle signs of Chan already spinning through a dozen possibilities in his head.

“What do you think?” Chan asked finally, holding the chart open toward him.

Felix shook his head slowly, chewing at the inside of his cheek. “I… don’t know. Nothing obvious. Nothing that explains all of this.”

Chan nodded once, lips pressing into a thin line. He closed the chart and set it aside. “Then this,” he said quietly, tapping the LP tray, “should give us the answers we need.”

Felix nodded, though unease twisted faintly in his chest. He slipped on his gloves, snapping them tight at the wrist, and helped Chan set up the sterile field. Together, they ran through their mental checklist, landmarks, positioning, and sample tubes. Felix handed Chan the sealed spinal needle, watching the older doctor peel the packaging back with deliberate precision.

Felix moved to the opposite side of the bed, crouching slightly. “Should I wake him up first?” he asked softly, glancing at the boy’s still face.

“No,” Chan murmured, adjusting his mask and positioning himself behind the boy’s curled frame. “He shouldn’t feel anything with the epidural. Just hold him steady, okay? If he stirs, keep him curled and still.”

Felix nodded, shifting carefully into position. He rested one hand gently on the boy’s shoulder, the other against his hip, leaning in just enough to stabilize him without feeling invasive. “It’s okay, buddy,” he whispered softly, mostly for himself. “Just a quick test, and then we’ll let you rest.”

Chan located the landmarks, lined up the needle, and began to guide it forward with slow, practiced care.

And then—

The boy jerked violently awake, his body twisting hard against Felix’s hold as a raw, guttural cry tore out of his throat.

“Stop!” he screamed, thrashing wildly. “Don’t stab me, stop, STOP, it hurts!”

Felix’s heart lurched painfully as he tightened his grip, trying to keep the boy steady without hurting him. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he soothed, voice low and urgent. “You’re safe, I promise, you’re safe. We’re helping you, buddy, I swear—”

But the boy didn’t hear him. He was sobbing now, words tumbling out in fractured, panicked bursts, spiraling incoherently.

“They’re watching me, they’re listening—don’t let them put anything inside me, please don’t let them—”

“Felix, hold him steady,” Chan said sharply, his tone clipped but calm as his focus stayed locked on his hands.

“I’m trying,” Felix gritted out, bracing his body against the boy’s trembling frame. “He’s stronger than he looks.”

The boy bucked suddenly, nearly knocking the needle, and Felix cursed under his breath as he fought to keep him curled forward. “I’ve got you,” he whispered frantically, keeping his voice soft despite the panic rising in his throat. “You’re okay, I promise—”

The door slammed open behind them, and the boy’s mother rushed in, tears streaking her face, one hand clutching at her chest.

“Stop!” she sobbed, stumbling toward the bed. “Please, stop! I changed my mind—you’re hurting him!”

Felix felt his chest clench painfully, but Chan’s voice cut through, calm and steady despite the chaos.

“I’m already in,” he said firmly without looking up. “You gave consent. It’s almost over.”

The boy wailed, thrashing harder, and Felix wanted to crumble beneath the sound, his heart aching with every broken cry. He murmured desperately against the boy’s hair, soft and constant, trying to ground him through the panic. “I know, I know, buddy—just a few more seconds, you’re doing so well, I promise—”

Chan’s voice came quiet but certain after what felt like forever. “Done.”

Felix’s arms loosened immediately, his own breathing ragged as Chan carefully withdrew the needle and capped the tubes of spinal fluid.

Felix stepped back, chest heaving, tugging his gloves off with shaky hands before tossing them into the sharps bin. Sweat dampened the curls at his temples, and his muscles ached from holding the boy steady.

But the boy wasn’t calming and his breaths came in shallow, rapid bursts, his gaze darting wildly as he curled into himself, still mumbling sharp, panicked fragments about “poison” and “watching.”

“Give him five milligrams of Ativan,” Chan said quietly, already stripping off his gown and gloves.

Felix nodded quickly, pulling up the med and pushing it gently into the IV line. Within moments, the boy’s trembling slowed, his breathing evening out until he finally slumped against the bed, exhausted.

Chan glanced at Felix, then at the mother—pale and stricken, standing frozen by the door with her hand clamped over her mouth—before stepping out of the room without a word. The door clicked softly shut behind him.

Felix stayed, his chest tight as he gathered the scattered supplies into the sharps bin and wiped down the tray. The room smelled faintly of antiseptic and sweat, heavy with the quiet sound of the mother’s muffled sobs.

When he finally turned to her, he paused, unsettled by the hollow look in her tear-reddened eyes. “…Do you want me to get you anything?” he asked softly.

Her voice cracked when she answered. “I told you to stop,” she whispered, shaking her head like she couldn’t quite believe it herself. “I told you to stop.”

Felix hesitated, setting the tray aside carefully. “You… signed the consent forms,” he said gently, almost apologetically. “And we were already in the middle of the procedure. Stopping suddenly could’ve hurt him more.”

But she just shook her head again, shoulders trembling as she sank into the chair beside the bed. Her shaking fingers brushed her son’s damp hair back from his forehead, her lips pressing to his temple in silence.

Felix stood there for another moment, throat tight, wanting to say something but finding nothing that would soothe either of them.

“…Someone will be in later to check on him,” he murmured finally, voice barely above a whisper.

He gathered the last of the supplies, slipped quietly out of the room, and let the door click softly shut behind him.

-

The locker room was quiet in that strange, liminal way hospitals get after a long shift, the faint hum of the ventilation, the distant ringing of some monitor several halls away, the occasional metallic clang of a locker door closing somewhere down the row.

Felix sat heavily on the narrow bench, hoodie bunched in his hands, staring blankly at the tile beneath his sneakers. The air smelled faintly of bleach and cheap detergent, the kind of sterile, empty-clean scent that clung to hospital clothes no matter how many times you washed them.

He rubbed a hand over his face, sighing softly. He felt wrung out.

The guilt sat like a weight on his chest, heavier than his exhaustion but tangled up with it so tightly that he couldn’t separate the two. He kept replaying the boy’s cries, the way his voice had cracked, the wild panic in his glassy eyes. He could still hear the mother’s sharp, broken “Stop,” still feel the tremor in her voice when she’d whispered that she changed her mind.

And Felix knew—knew—they’d done the right thing. He knew the procedure had been necessary, that stopping suddenly could have been worse, that she’d signed the consent. He knew they’d followed every protocol.

But knowing didn’t make the echoes go away.

His fingers fumbled clumsily with the zipper of his hoodie as he finally tugged it on over his T-shirt, his movements sluggish and uncoordinated. His back ached fiercely from hours of standing and bending over beds, so he braced his hands against his lower spine and leaned backward until his vertebrae popped one by one, the tension cracking loose in tiny increments.

“God,” he muttered under his breath, tilting his head back with a low groan.

He bent forward next, trying to stretch out the tight pull of his hamstrings, fingertips brushing the tops of his shoes.

That’s when a sharp smack landed square on his ass.

Felix startled violently, nearly toppling over, spinning on his heel so fast his balance wobbled. He already had his fist half-raised, ready to swing if he had to—

Only to find Chan leaning casually against the locker beside his, coat folded neatly over one arm, a slow, satisfied smirk curling the corner of his mouth.

“Relax, baby,” Chan murmured, his voice low and warm. “It’s just me.”

Felix pressed a hand over his chest, willing his racing heart to calm, and scowled faintly. “Jesus, Channie,” he muttered breathlessly. “I thought you were that damn cop. I almost broke your nose.”

At that, Chan’s expression shifted instantly, the smirk fading into something sharper, and darker. The weight of his gaze was heavy, unblinking.

“If he ever smacks your ass,” Chan said, his voice low and threaded with quiet steel, “I won’t think twice about going back to jail.”

Felix blinked at him, taken aback by the sudden seriousness. “…You’ve never been to jail.”

Chan only shrugged, leaning one shoulder lazily against the lockers. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

Felix rolled his eyes and shoved at his shoulder lightly, though the faint heat in his cheeks betrayed him. “Yeah, okay. Real mysterious, Dr. Bang.”

Chan’s grin returned, softer this time, and he reached past Felix to pluck his coat from the hook. “Come over tonight,” he murmured, holding it out for him. “I’ll make you dinner.”

Felix hesitated as he slid his arms into the sleeves, gnawing faintly at his lower lip. “I should probably go home,” he said quietly. “I need to study.”

Chan tugged the zipper up for him before smoothing the collar into place, his touch careful, grounding. “Baby,” he said, dipping his head so his voice brushed warm against Felix’s ear, “you’re barely awake on your feet right now. You can’t study like this.”

Felix groaned softly, leaning forward until his forehead pressed lightly against Chan’s shoulder. “You’re horrible, you know that? Making me take care of myself.”

“I know,” Chan teased gently, cupping the back of Felix’s neck for just a second. “I’m the worst.”

Outside, the sun was setting low on the horizon, painting the hospital parking lot in streaks of fading orange and pale pink. Chan walked Felix to his car, unlocking the passenger side and opening the door for him with a little flourish.

“Such a gentleman,” Felix muttered sleepily, curling into the seat.

Chan leaned in to press a soft kiss against his temple before shutting the door.

By the time they got to Chan’s apartment, the exhaustion in Felix’s body had settled deep into his bones, slowing everything down until even his thoughts felt fuzzy. Berry bounded up to meet them as soon as the door opened, tail wagging so hard her whole body wiggled.

“Hi, baby,” Felix murmured, crouching to scratch behind her ears. He smiled faintly when Berry pressed her snout against his chest, whining softly like she could smell the hospital on him.

“Go hop in the shower,” Chan said gently, tugging Felix’s hoodie over his head before he even realized it. “I’ll take Berry out.”

Felix nodded wordlessly, padding toward the bathroom, his bare feet silent against the hardwood.

The hot spray of the shower hit his skin, steam curling up around him as the water washed away the cling of antiseptic and sweat. He closed his eyes and leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the cool tile. The echoes of the day—the boy’s panicked cries, the mother’s shaking voice, the pressure of holding him down—blurred faintly under the roar of the water until there was nothing but heat and sound.

The door clicked open softly.

Felix blinked, turning his head just enough to see Chan step inside, steam curling around him.

“Relax,” Chan murmured as he joined him under the spray, his voice quiet but sure. “Let me take care of you.”

Felix hummed softly, leaning back into Chan’s solid chest. He closed his eyes as Chan’s fingers threaded gently through his damp hair, massaging shampoo into his scalp with slow, deliberate care. Felix melted under the touch, humming faintly as the tension bled out of his shoulders.

Chan rinsed his hair carefully, then smoothed conditioner through the strands, his fingertips working small, soothing circles against Felix’s temples. He washed Felix’s body next, his hands patient and unhurried, following every familiar line of him like he had memorized them long ago. When his fingers brushed teasingly low, Felix startled faintly, swatting halfheartedly at his hip.

“Behave,” Felix mumbled without opening his eyes.

Chan’s soft chuckle rumbled low against his back. “No promises.”

When they finished, Chan wrapped Felix in a plush towel, rubbing slow, lazy circles over his shoulders to dry him off. He guided him gently to sit on the bathroom counter, legs dangling, and started working through his skincare routine for him.

Felix watched sleepily as Chan dabbed toner over his cheeks, massaged moisturizer into his skin with careful thumbs, and patted serum into place like he was handling something delicate and precious.

By the time Chan carried him to bed, Felix was half-asleep, his limbs heavy and pliant. He curled beneath the duvet, sighing softly when Chan slid in behind him, his chest warm and solid against Felix’s back.

Chan pressed slow, lingering kisses along the slope of his neck, one hand splayed gently over Felix’s ribs.

Felix mumbled into his pillow, his voice low and sleepy. “If you’re hoping to get lucky tonight, you can use your hand.”

Chan’s quiet laugh vibrated against his skin, and his arms tightened around Felix’s waist.

“I wasn’t,” Chan whispered against his jaw. “Just wanted to remind you how much I love you.”

Felix’s lips curved faintly, eyes already drifting shut. “Mm. Love you too.”

And then he was gone, sinking into the warmth of Chan’s arms, the steady rhythm of his breathing lulling Felix into the kind of deep, dreamless sleep only sheer exhaustion can bring.

Chapter Text

The first thing Felix noticed was warmth.

It wrapped around him like a blanket, heavy and solid, the steady rise and fall of Chan’s chest beneath his cheek syncing with the rhythm of his slow, even breaths. The faint scent of Chan’s cologne—warm cedarwood, subtle but grounding—clung to his hoodie, and Felix burrowed closer, curling his fingers lightly into the fabric over Chan’s ribs.

He could’ve stayed there forever, drifting in and out of soft, dreamless sleep, if it weren’t for the sharp vibration of a phone buzzing angrily against the nightstand.

Felix groaned softly, pressing his face further into Chan’s chest like that might block out the sound.

The older groaned too, deep and rough from sleep, the sound reverberating through Felix’s cheek where it rested against him. Chan’s arm tightened instinctively around his waist for a moment before loosening again as he shifted, fumbling blindly for the phone.

“Shh,” Chan mumbled into Felix’s hair, his voice low and husky, soothing without even trying.

Felix hummed faintly, melting further into him, letting the rumble of Chan’s chest lull him toward sleep again.

“Seungmin?” Chan rasped after a beat, his voice thick with confusion. “Why are you calling me?”

Felix smiled faintly, not bothering to open his eyes. He let the deep vibration of Chan’s voice roll through him, grounding and familiar.

“Mhm,” Chan murmured, running his palm idly along Felix’s spine as he added, “Yeah, Lix is still asleep.”

Felix sighed happily against his chest, barely listening, already sliding back toward the edge of unconsciousness—

Until Chan suddenly sat upright beneath him, his body going tense.

“What?!”

The sharp edge in Chan’s vocie sliced straight through Felix’s haze, and his eyes blinked open sluggishly as he pushed himself up on one elbow.

Before he could ask, Chan was already swinging his legs over the side of the bed, the sheets falling into a messy pool at his waist. “Yeah, we’ll be there soon,” he said quickly into the phone before hanging up.

Felix blinked groggily. “…Channie? What’s going on?”

“Pipe burst,” Chan said shortly, tugging on a hoodie without looking back at him. “At your place. Get up, baby, come on.”

That woke Felix up instantly. “What?!” he gasped, scrambling upright so fast a sharp, stabbing pain shot straight through his lower back.

“A-ah—!” Felix hissed, grabbing at teh sore muscle as he doubled over with a soft whine.

Chan turned immediately, his brows furrowed in concern, frustration bleeding into his tone as he crossed the room in two quick strides. “Baby,” he said softly, rubbing a warm, steadying hand over the small of his back. “What did I tell you about jumping out of bed like that?”

Felix pouted faintly, cheeks flushed, his voice small. “I forgot.”

Chan sighed, his thumb brushing slow and soothing circles against the tense muscle. “Of course you did,” he muttered, though his tone was gentle. “Easy, baby. Breathe.”

Felix nodded, letting Chan’s tough ground him before pulling himself together.

They dressed quickly, pulling on the first vaguely decent clothes they could grab. Felix ended up in one of Chan’s hoodies, the sleeves too long and the hem falling nearly to his thighs, but he didn’t care; his mind was already spinning with worst-case scenarios.

By the time they pulled up to his apartment complex, the early morning light had shifted into soft gray clouds, the air damp and cool. Outside, Seungmin stood by the curb, arms crossed tightly, dark brows furrowed as he gestured sharply at a shirtless, dripping-wet Changbin.

Felix blinked, taking in the mess before his gaze inevitably snagged on Changbin himself. He wasn’t subtle about it either; Changbin’s abs were definitely more defined than the last time Felix had seen him shirtless.

Seungmin caught the lingering look instantly.

“Stop ogling my boyfriend,” Seungmin deadpanned, his flat tone somehow making it worse.

Felix startled, heat blooming immediately in his cheeks. “I wasn’t—”

“Oh, now I’m your boyfriend?” Changbin muttered, shaking wet hair out of his face as he crossed his arms, muscles flexing distractingly with the motion.

Felix bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing, but the soft rumble from beside him drew his attention; Chan was glaring faintly at Changbin, jaw tight, his hand sliding instinctively to rest low on Felix’s back.

Felix elbowed him gently without looking up, hiding his smile as Chan cleared his throat and refocused. “What happened?”

Changbin ran a towel over his damp hair, sighing. “Pipe burst in your bathroom. There’s water everywhere. Maintenance says it’s gonna take at least a week to fix.”

Felix’s stomach sank as he glanced up at the building, lips parting into a soft pout. “Did anything get damaged?”

Seungmin shook his head, still visibly irritated. “No. Thank god it was contained to the bathroom. I grabbed what I could, scrubs, your study stuff, laptop, the essentials.”

Relief flooded Felix’s chest as he stepped forward to pull Seungmin into a quick hug. “Thanks, Minnie.”

Seungmin patted his back once before pulling away with a scowl.

“Where are you guys gonna stay?” Felix asked, glancing between him and Changbin.

“My place,” Chan said automatically.

Seungmin wrinkled his nose instantly, like he had suggested sleeping on a public sidewalk. “Absolutely not. I am not listening to you two go at it all night.”

Felix flushed scarlet, Chan choked on his breath, and Changbin coughed loudly to hide his laugh.

“We’re staying with Hyunjin,” Seungmin decided flatly, already pulling out his phone to text him.

Almost on cue, a sleek black car rolled up, and Hyunjin climbed out in an oversized hoodie and massive sunglasses despite the cloudy sky.

“You’re interrupting my beauty sleep,” Hyunjin announced as a greeting, rubbing at his face. “Get in the car.”

Changbin groaned but obeyed, tugging Seungmin along.

Felix giggled softly, waving as they drove off, before turning back to Chan with a little sigh. “I’ll see you at work later.”

They slid back into Chan’s car, the tension finally starting to ease, until Felix’s phone buzzed violently in his pocket.

He groaned, already pulling it out. “If this is Seungmin again, I swear—”

But the name flashing across the screen made his stomach drop.

ER Charge Nurse.

Felix answered immediately. “This is Felix.”

“Mass casualty incident,” the woman said without preamble, her tone clipped and urgent. “Multiple patients inbound. We need you here as soon as possible.”

Felix closed his eyes briefly, exhaling softly as the familiar adrenaline began to replace the sluggish weight of exhaustion. “I’ll be right there.”

When he hung up, Chan was already watching him, brows furrowed and jaw tense.

“Just drop me off,” Felix murmured, rubbing absently at his lower back.

Chan’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. “Lix, you didn’t sleep enough. You haven’t even had breakfast yet.”

Felix gave him a small, tired smile. “It’s a mass casualty, Chris. I can’t say no.”

For a moment, Chan’s lips pressed into a thin, unhappy line, but then he sighed and nodded, turning toward the hospital.

When Chan pulled into the drop-off zone, Felix was already unbuckling, but Chan reached across the console and caught his wrist.

Felix rolled his eyes fondly, leaning in automatically when Chan tugged him close. Chan cupped his cheek, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his lips before pulling back just enough to murmur, “Please, baby. Take something for your back, alright?”

Felix’s chest warmed, and he nodded softly. “I will. “

Chan gave him one last look—equal parts love and worry—before Felix slid out of the car, hoodie sleeves falling over his hands as he jogged toward the sliding doors.

“Wait up!” A voice called from behind him. Felix turned to see Changbin, now in a shirt, running up behind him.

Felix chuckled, watching Hyunjin’s car speed away, before turning back to Changbin, “I could’ve sworn I just saw you somewhere?”

Changbin rolled his eyes, “Get moving, aegi.”

-

An hour or two (or twenty, Felix couldn’t ever be sure), he was running on adrenaline, his body dragging from room to room while his brain tried to keep pace. Everywhere he turned, there were stretchers being wheeled in, monitors shrieking, and voices raised in a dozen different languages. The crash had been a nightmare—a full tour bus colliding with smaller cars on the highway—and the wave of injured bodies seemed endless.

Most of the patients were tourists. That meant panicked English, little to no Korean, and too few translators spread thin across too many patients. Felix found himself crouched at bedsides, miming questions, using his own understanding of English, or frantically calling for whoever on staff could piece together enough to bridge the gap. His throat burned from talking over the chaos, his hands ached from charting, and his scrubs clung sticky against his skin.

He finally managed a stolen minute at the nurses’ station, head bowed as he scrawled furiously to update a cluster of charts. His handwriting was quick, almost messy, and his pen trembled faintly from overuse. He exhaled through his nose, pressing the ballpoint harder into the page to steady the line.

“Felix-hyung!”

The shout made him look up sharply. Jeongin was sprinting toward him, his cheeks flushed and hair sticking up like he’d been pulling at it. His eyes were wide and frantic.

“I need your help!” the intern gasped, grabbing at his arm. “It’s a kid—his mom only speaks English!”

Felix’s stomach lurched. “Does he have a doctor yet?”

Jeongin shook his head, already pivoting toward the back doors.

“Christ,” Felix muttered under his breath, tossing his pen down and raising his voice. “Somebody get Changbin!”

He bolted after Jeongin, the two of them bursting through the ambulance bay doors into the cool air. Red and blue lights spun across the wet pavement as another rig backed in.

The back doors flew open, and a paramedic’s voice rang out, urgent and clipped.

“Not from the crash! Seven-year-old male, HIV-positive, unresponsive on arrival, actively seizing!”

Felix’s heart slammed into his throat. “Move, move move!”

They rushed the child inside, the stretcher wheels rattling against the tile as they careened into an open trauma bay. The boy was so small against the white sheets, his tiny frame jerking violently, frothy saliva pooling at the corners of his mouth. His skin was damp with sweat, his limbs twitching in short, and ragged bursts.

The mother stumbled in behind them, her face pale and tear-streaked, her hands shaking as she clutched her purse to her chest. Her voice cracked with desperation. “Please, please help him!”

Felix stepped close, his voice pitched low but steady as he looked her in the eyes. “I need to know what medications he’s on.”

She rattled them off in a rush. “AZT, 3TC, Bactrim, Dilantin, Phenytoin—”

Felix froze mid-motion, his stomach dropping like a stone. His head snapped up, eyes locking on hers. “Wait. What did you say?”

“Dilantin and… and Phenytoin,” she repeated, panicked and confused.

Felix’s chest seized. “Those are the same drugs.” His voice was sharper than he meant, but his hands were already reaching. “Show me the bottles.”

The woman fumbled in her purse with shaking fingers, pulling out two orange vials. Felix snatched them, his eyes scanning the labels, and his blood ran cold.

“Shit.” The curse slipped out. He turned sharply to Jeongin. “He’s overdosing. Dilantin is phenytoin.”

Jeongin blinked wide, but he nodded fast, his training clicking into place. “We need charcoal. Set up to pump his stomach.”

The door banged open again, and Changbin came in, already pulling gloves on as his eyes darted to the convulsing boy. “Talk to me.”

Felix’s words tumbled out of him. “He’s seizing from an overdose. Prescribed the same med and got a double dose.”

Changbin’s expression hardened, but he nodded once. “Good catch, “ he said—To Jeongin.

Felix’s brows arched, irritation flashing hot, but he bit it down. Jeongin sputtered, his mouth opening and closing like he wanted to correct the mistake but didn’t dare.

“Tube’s ready,” Changbin said, already maneuvering the boy’s head back, slipping the NG tube carefully into his mouth. The child gagged, his body twitching weakly against the restraints.

Felix exhaled sharply and poured the black slurry of charcoal into the funnel, the acrid smell stinging his nose. The dark liquid slid down the tube, coating the boy’s stomach. Felix’s chest clenched at the sight of his small frame trying to fight the tube.

“Felix,” Changbin said after a beat, his voice lower and gentler. “Take the mother to the waiting room. We’ll handle him.”

Felix opened his mouth to argue—he wanted to stay, to make sure the boy was okay—but Changin’s tone left no room to argue.

He sighed, tugged off his gloves, and turned toward the woman hovering at the edge of the room. Her eyes were wild, her libs trembling as she cluthced her purse like it could anchor her to the earth.

“Come with me,” Felix said softly, guiding her out with a steady hand at her elbow.

Once in the waiting room, she turned to him, her voice shaking. “What happened?”

Felix crouched slightly so he could meet her gaze. He kept his voice low and steady. “Your son overdosed because he took multiple of the same medication. He’s overdosing, but we caught it. He’s getting treated now.”

Her hand flew to her mouth, her whole body trembling. “But— I followed the instructions. I gave him exactly what it said.”

Felix’s throat tightened. “I believe you,” he said quickly. “This wasn’t your fault. Can I ask, are you tourists?”

She shook her head, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “No. My husband’s here for work. My Korean isn’t good, but I can read it. I followed it exactly.” Her voice broke as she dug into her purse, thrusting the vials at him. “This one, a few weeks ago. This one… just a few days ago.”

Felix studied the labels, his heart sinking deeper with every line he read. She was right. The directions were clear. She hadn’t misread anything.

The clinic had prescribed both.

His stomach turned, hot anger coiling low in his chest. A pediatric HIV clinic should’ve known better.

He looked back up at her, his voice rough but sincere. “You did everything right. This isn’t on you. This is on the clinic.” He swallowed, guilt tightening his chest as he added, “I’m sorry this happened.”

Her shoulders sagged, tears sliding freely down her cheeks as she sank into one of the stiff waiting room chairs.

Felix crouched again, softer now. “I’ll talk to the clinic myself. And I’ll make sure you’re connected with one of our pediatricians here. He deserves better care than this.”

The woman nodded shakily, clutching the vials in her hands. “Thank you.”

“Do you need anything?” Felix asked gently. “Water? Food? A blanket?”

She shook her head. “No. Just… please help him.”

Felix nodded, his throat tight. “We will.”

He straightened slowly, exhaustion tugging at his spine as he rubbed absently at his aching lower back. He turned back toward the ER, the chaos already pressing in again, and forced his legs to carry him back to the desk. The storm hadn’t slowed, and there was still so much left to do.

He had barely gotten to the desk before there was a sharp call of, “Felix!”

He turned to see a resident he didn’t recognize yet. The young woman’s eyes were wide, her scrubs wrinkled, and a chart clutched tightly in her hands.

“Need you,” the resident blurted. “It’s—it’s a little girl, barely four. She came in without a parent. Social work is trying to track someone down. She looks okay, just dehydrated with some bumps, nothing serious. I don’t think she should be down here right now.”

Felix nodded, already halfway in the room. “Alright. I’ll let the cops know I’m taking her upstairs to pediatrics. I’ll have them send a picture out, too.”

The resident looked relieved, pressing the chart into Felix’s hands. “Thank you. Here, can you rub these labs while you’re at it?”

Felix sighed but nodded, tucking the chart under his arm as he came to the girls’ stretcher. Her dark hair was tangled, and her cheeks were blotchy from crying. Her tiny fists rubbed at her eyes, her lips wobbling as soft, hiccupped sobs escaped her. Felix’s chest clenched as he scooped her up gently, tucking her against his chest.

Felix pressed his lips briefly to the crown of her head, sighing softly as he rocked her with the same instinct he used for his patients upstairs.

“You’re okay,” he murmured, his voice low and warm. “I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

She only whimpered, tucking her face deeper into his chest. Felix adjusted his grip, balancing her easily as he jogged toward the elevators. One glance at the crowd around them—nurses with clipboards, residents clutching charts—and he knew there was no chance of catching one any time soon.

“Of course,” he muttered, already pivoting toward the stairwell.

The stairwell smelled faintly of metal and sweat, echoing with every hurried step. Felix braced her carefully against him, jogging up the steps two at a time. She stirred uneasily at the jostling, whimpering louder now.

“I know, baby,” Felix soothed between breaths, bouncing her lightly against his hip. “Almost there. We’ll get you some water and cartoons, yeah? Just a little longer.”

Her sobs quieted again, her tiny body relaxing just enough for him to keep moving.

He ducked into the lab on the second floor, balancing her in one arm as he set the vials of blood on the counter. The tech barely looked up before swearing.

“Jesus, what the hell happened? We’re getting slammed here.”

Felix rocked the girl gently, shifting his weight as she burrowed closer. “Tour bus crash,” he said quietly, his voice hoarse from overuse. “Highway. Full load of tourists.”

The tech ran a hand through his hair, muttering something foul under his breath. “We’re already understaffed, man. This is gonna take hours. Good luck.” He grabbed the samples and disappeared into the back, leaving Felix standing in the fluorescent hum with a crying child against his chest.

Felix exhaled, kissed the top of her head once more, and kept climbing.

By the time he reached pediatrics, his arms were burning faintly from carrying her so long, but he didn’t put her down. At the desk, Jin glanced up immediately, his calm expression flickering into something softer.

“Where can I put her?” Felix asked, adjusting the girl’s weight as she shifted uneasily.

“Room six,” Jin said, already scribbling a note. Then his mouth twisted, voice dropping. “Heads up. That new stuck-up resident? He’s been stomping around looking for you.”

Felix rolled his eyes with a groan. “Of course he has.”

He carried the girl down the hall, pushing open the door to room six. She looked so small against the bed, her legs sticking straight out, and her sneakers nearly dangling off the bed. When Felix tried to set her down, she whimpered, clinging tighter to his scrubs.

“Hey,” he whispered, crouching beside her and smoothing her hair back. “I’m right here. Look—” He reached for the remote, flicking on the TV. The bright sounds of a cartoon filled the room, color and laughter spilling into the quiet. Her sobs hicupped once more, slowing.

“And here.” He handed her a stuffed bear from teh cabinet. She gripped it tight, her tiny knuckles white around its arm.

Felix smiled faintly. “Someone will be by soon to check on you, okay? You’re safe now, sweetheart.”

She blinked up at him, eyes wide, but her breathing evened just enough that he knew she’d be alright.

He lingered a moment longer, smoothing her blanket over her, before forcing himself to leave.

Back at the desk, the weight of exhaustion hit him all over again. He dropped the chart onto the counter and slumped forward, resting his head on folded arms with a low groan.

“How’s it look down there?” Jin asked, his voice casual but his eyes sharp.

Felix groaned louder, muffled against his sleeves.

“Thought so.”

“Nurse Felix!”

The sharp, angry bark of his name made him jolt upright, his heart lurching.

The resident from yesterday stormed down the hall, his scowl cutting sharp across his face. He looked furious, his jaw tight, and his steps heavy against the tile.

“Your LP patient from yesterday,” he snapped, pointing the chart clutched in his hands like an accusation. “Is now my patient. There was no indication to do an LP. What the hell were you thinking?” His voice rose, harsh and unrelenting, drawing heads from nearby nurses and families in the waiting area. “The mother is furious. She’s going to the hospital board. And I will not take the fall for this. I’ve already told the Chief of pediatrics about the idiot stunt you and Dr. Bang pulled.”

The chart hit Felix’s chest with a hard thump before the resident turned sharply and stormed away, his footsteps echoing down the hall.

Felix just stood there, staring at the floor as the chart fell to the ground. Heat prickled suddenly behind his eyes, sharp and humiliating. He blinked rapidly, trying to will it away, but his vision blurred anyway. He dragged the back of his wrist roughly across his face, bending down to grab the chart.

You’re just tired, he told himself fiercely. That’s all. You’re just tired.

Jin muttered something sharp under his breath, his expression dark as he glared after the resident. “I’m gonna talk to him. He doesn’t get to talk to my nurses like that. Not here.”

Felix only nodded faintly, his throat tight. His hands shook as he flipped the chart open. The LP results were there in black and white: no mad cow, no abnormalities, nothing at all.

His chest sank as he scanned the notes. Nothing that explained the boy’s spiraling symptoms. Nothing that justified the struggle, the cries, or the mother’s tears.

Just a fresh order at the bottom: Psych consult.

Felix exhaled slowly, the sound ragged as it left him. He shut the chart with a quiet thump, staring at the cover for a long moment.

He slid it back with the other charts, and said softly, “I’ve gotta go talk to the people at the AIDS clinic.”

His voice was low, almost to himself, but Jin heard it, nodding at him.

The AIDS clinic hummed with a different kind of noise than the ER or pediatrics, quieter, but tense in its own way. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, casting a pale wash over the small waiting room. A handful of patients sat slumped in the hard chairs, clutching clipboards or white pharmacy bags, their eyes tired, and their bodies drawn thin by sickness or stress. A low TV played in the corner, the sound grainy and distant.

Felix strode to the front desk, his jaw aching from how hard he was clenching it. The nurse behind the counter looked up with a polite, worn smile.

“Can I help you?”

“I need to speak with Dr. Han Jiwon,” Felix said, his voice firmer than he felt.

The nurse blinked. “Do you have an appointment?”

Felix shook his head, forcing his tone even. “No. But it’s urgent. One of his patients came into the ER today. I need to speak to him now.”

Something in his eyes must have convinced her, because she disappeared down the hall. Felix’s foot tapped restlessly against the linoleum as he waited, the boy’s pale, twitching face flashing behind his eyes every few seocnds. The mother’s hands trembling around the pill bottles. Her cracked whisper: I followed the instructions.

When Dr. Han finally appeared, his presence filled the doorway like a storm cloud. He was tall, immaculately pressed white coat buttoned tight, but his expression was already carved into a frown of irritation.

“What is it?” he asked, his voice clipped. “I’m very busy.”

Felix held the boy’s chart tight against his chest. “You have a patient. Seven years old with HIV, just moved here. He came into the ER today unresponsive and seizing.”

Dr. Han blinked, then shook his head with a brisk, dismissive motion. “You have to be more specific. I see more patients in a day than you could dream of.”

Felix’s jaw tightened. Heat crawled up the back of his neck. “You prescribed him two medications, dilantin and phenytoin. That’s the same drug. He overdosed, and in the ER right now getting his stomach pumped because of it.”

Dr. Han crossed his arms, his mouth curling faintly. “No. I would never make that mistake. The parents must have doubled the medication themselves.”

Felix’s stomach twisted, his exhaustion and anger flaring together. “No,” he snapped, his voice rising without his permission. “I saw the bottles. I read the labels. You prescribed both. He’s seven years old, and you just put him back in the hospital. He’s already sick, and now he’s fighting for his life because of you.”

Dr. Han’s nostrils flared. His voice dropped into something cold and meant to cut. “You’re wrong. And what would you know about it? You’re just a nurse.”

The words slammed into Felix like a physical blow. For a heartbeat, he stood frozen, his heart hammering in his chest. But then the fire surged hotter.

“I know enough to care,” Felix said, his voice cracking with restrained fury. He took a step forward, eyes burning. “Do you even care? Do you even care that your mistake put a little boy in a trauma room today? A child—”

“Enough!” Dr. Han’s shout cracked through the small clinic, making several patients stop and stare. His face was twisted with anger now, red blotches staining his cheeks. “This isn’t my problem. I will not stand here and be berated by some whore nurse who only has his job because he’s fucking an attending.”

The air punched out of Felix’s lungs. His whole body went rigid.

His face burned, a flush rising so hot it made his eyes sting. A stunned silence fell across the room. Every head turned toward them, patients staring openly, and staff averting their eyes like they didn’t want to be caught watching. A woman coughed into her fist, the sound sharp in the heavy quiet.

Felix’s hands clenched into his fists at his sides. His jaw locked so tight it ached. Humiliation and fury warred in his chest, choking him. He opened his mouth, shaking with the words ready to spill—

A throat cleared.

Both men turned.

The Chief of Pediatrics stood in the doorway, his presence cutting through the tension like a blade. His posture was composed, his hands folded neatly behind his back, but his eyes were sharp and unreadable.

“Both of you,” he said coolly, his voice echoing in the silence. “With me. Now.”

Felix swallowed hard, his pulse pounding in his ears as he followed, every eye in the clinic burning into his back like brands.

The hallway to the Chief’s office felt longer than usual. Every step Felix took seemed to echo too loudly against the tile, his pulse a frantic beat in his ears. Dr. Han walked at his side, chin high, his white coat swishing with each brisk step, while Felix kept his gaze fixed on the ground. He could still feel it, the sting of the insult hurled at him, the hot, crawling shame of every eye in the clinic turned his way. His skin prickled with it, his cheeks still burning, and his chest aching like he’d swallowed glass.

The Chief of Pediatrics, Dr. Im Jaewon, led them ahead, his shoulders squared and his stride steady and unhurried. There was something in the set of his back that made Felix’s stomach churn harder. He always respected Dr. Im, the man wasn’t loud or flashy, but when he spoke, people listened. And right now, Felix had no idea whether he was about to be shredded or spared.

Dr. Im pushed open the door and gestured them inside. Felix sat stiffly in one of the chairs, while Dr. Han folded himself neatly into another, his irritation practically radiating off him.

“Sit,” Dr. Im said, even though they had already sat, and then he shut the door with a final soft click. The sound Made Felix’s stomach churn.

“I don’t care what the argument was about,” Dr. Im began, his voice level and cutting through the silence like a scalpel. “Arguing in front of patients is unacceptable. Insulting your coworkers in front of patients is also unacceptable.”

Felix shifted, his gaze dropping to his hands, knuckles pale in his lap.

Dr. Han leaned forward, his voice sharp and confident. “I said nothing that wasn’t true. The nurse was out of line to question my medical judgment.”

Felix’s head snapped up, indignation surging despite the knot in his throat. “I didn’t question anything,” he said, his voice trembling at the edges. “I stated facts. You prescribed two versions of the same medication—”

“Enough.”

Dr. Im’s hand lifted, palm open, and the room went still. Felix’s heart gave a painful thud in his chest, the words dying in his mouth.

The Chief turned his gaze on Dr. Han. “What did you mean when you said nothing that wasn’t true?”

Dr. Han spoke with the same clinical detachment he used when presenting labs, his tone smooth and matter-of-fact. “Everyone knows he only has his job because of his relationship with Dr. Bang. And whoever else he’s slept wth since he’s been here.”

Felix froze. Heat flared so violetly across his face he thought his skin might split. His throat closed, air trapped, humiliation twisting low and sharp in his gut. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Dr. Han, couldn’t bear to see the smugness he imagined there. All he could feel was the burn of shame, the memory of every glance in the clinic just minutes ago, whispering, judging—

But then, Dr. Im’s expression hardened, his voice cutting sharp and sure.

“Enough.”

This time, the word wasn’t just a reprimand; it was a blade.

“Lee Felix has worked in this hospital longer than Dr. Bang has,” Dr. Im said, his eyes locked on Dr. Han. “Longer than you have, and in more departments than either you or Dr. Bang have. If you don’t start treating him with the respect he’s rightfully earned, your next stop will be in HR.”

The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on. Dr. Han’s jaw dropped slightly, his practiced mask cracking as shock flickered across his face.

Felix blinked, stunned, his chest tightening with something complicated, a mix of relief, disbelief, and the stinging ache of tears he refused to let fall. He hadn’t expected to be defended. Not here. Not like this.

Dr. Im finally turned his attention to Felix, his voice softer but still edged with autority. “Why were you in the clinic, Felix?”

Felix swallowed hard, forcing his voice to steady. “We had a seven-year-old brought into the ER. He is HIV-positive, and came in unresponsive and seizing. His mother listed his medications and I realized he’d been prescribed both dilantin and phenytoin. I confirmed it with the bottles.” He drew in a shaky breath. “He overdosed.”

Dr. Im nodded slowly, his face grave. “Dr. Seo called me in about the case. He wanted me looped in as soon as possible.”

Felix’s gaze flicked sideways, catching the first crack of unease in Dr. Han’s carefully composed mask. For the first time, the man didn’t look untouchable; he looked nervous.

Dr. Im pulled the chart and slid it across the desk, his voice quiet but hard. “You’re lucky his mother got him here in time. If she hadn’t, he might not have made it. How exactly do you explain prescribing both?”

Dr. Han’s eyes darted over the page. His face drained as he read the lines, his fingers tightening on the edge of the paper. “No,” he muttered. “This—this must’ve been altered. I would never—”

Felix scoffed, the bitter sound escaping before he could stop it. But Dr. Im cut him a sharp look, and Felix swallowed the rest of what he wanted to say.

“There will be a review board for this,” Dr. Im said firmly. “I understand the clinic is busy. I understand mistakes can happen. But this wasn’t a typo on a discharge summary. This was a prescription error that easily could have killed a child.” His voice hardened. “Do you understand?”

Dr. Han’s throat bobbed as he nodded stiffly. “Yes, Chief.”

“Good. You’re dismissed.”

Dr. Han stood quickly, the chart still clutched in his hand, and left without another word. The door closed behind him, leaving the quiet of the room ringing in Felix’s ears.

Felix started to rise, desperate to escape, but Dr. Im’s voice stopped him cold.

“Not you, Felix.”

Felix froze mid-step. Slowly, he lowered himself back into the chair. His palms were damp, his pulse still racing, and his chest ached with the weight of everything left unsaid.

Dr. Im sat back in his chair, folding his arms. “I’ll be filing a complaint with HR about Dr. Han,” he said, tone measured but unyielding. “Regardless of what else comes of tonight.” His gaze was sharp and unwavering as it rested on Felix. “You’ve long since established yourself here, Felix. That insult was nothing more than his own security bleeding out, the sting of being bested by a nurse who noticed what he missed.”

Felix blinked at him, stunned. For a moment, he wasn’t sure what to do with the words. Praise wasn’t foreign in his work, but defense like that—especially from someone like Dr. Im—left him disoriented. His throat tightened as he nodded quickly, trying to keep his voice steady. “Yes, Chief-nim.”

The Chief’s gaze softened just slightly, his arms relaxing. “How’s med school going? “

Felix let out a soft, humorless laugh. “Tough. Balancing even part-time classes with shifts here… it’s a lot. And the ER’s been pulling me in more and more lately. It’s hard to turn them down when they need you.” He rubbed at his tired eyes with the heel of his hand. “Some days I feel like I’m barely keeping up.”

Dr. Im hummed, something like approval flickering across his expression. “Take that as a compliment. The ER nurses hate floating staff. The fact that they keep asking for you—specifically you—says a great deal about your skill.”

Heat rose to Felix’s cheeks, not the scalding burn of shame this time, but something gentler. His chest loosened fractionally, and he bowed his head. “Thank you, Chief-nim. That, uhm, that means a lot.”

Dr. Im studied him for a moment, then reached for another folder from the neat stack at his elbow. He slid it across the table, the manila edge catching the light.

“Let’s see what you’ve learned so far,” he said evenly. “What in this patient’s chart indicates a need for an LP?”

Felix’s stomach lurched as he pulled it closer. His heart gave a painful skip when he recognized the handwriting, the notes, and the labs. It was their patient. His fingers tightened around the paper, leg bouncing before he could stop it.

“Well?” Dr. Im prompted.

Felix forced a swallow, scanning the pages even though the case was burned into his memory. His voice was steady enough when it came. “Dr. Bang suspected mad cow disease. The boy’s history lines up: a recent visit to a poorly kept farm and eating homemade beef. It was rare, but possible, enough to raise suspicion.”

Dr. Im inclined his head. “And the LP results?”

Felix exhaled. “Nothing. Completely clean.”

The Chief’s eyes lingered on him. “So what do you think it could be?”

Felix’s stomach twisted. He chewed at his lower lip, memories surfacing unbidden: the boy thrashing beneath his hands, the wild terror in his eyes, the way his words had spilled in broken mutters about being stabbed. Felix remembered how his chest ached as he tried to soothe him, and how his reassurances had fallen on deaf ears. His gaze snagged on the final note in the chart—Psych consult ordered.

He hesitated, then lifted his eyes. “He’s in the right age range for a schizophrenic break. With the paranoia, the withdrawal, and the loss of coordination, it could very well be paranoid schizophrenia.”

Dr. Im’s brows twitched, not in surprise but acknowledgment. He leaned back slightly, fingers tapping once against the table. “Did either of you ask about a history of mental illness?”

Felix’s heart dropped. He hesitated, his throat dry. He didn’t want to throw Chan under the bus, but lying here would do no good either.

He sighed quietly. “Dr. Bang asked about family history, but he didn’t specify mental illness.”

Dr. Im’s hum was low and thoughtful. “The mother is traumatized by the LP. She said she didn’t want it done.”

Felix frowned, his brows furrowing. “She signed the consent form, and by the time she told us to stop, we were nearly finished.”

The Chief’s gaze sharpened. “Was he sedated?”

Felix hesitated, his voice quieter. “He had an epidural, but no additional medication until afterward when he panicked.”

Dr. Im nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. “I’ll need to speak with Dr. Bang. There will likely be consequences for this. Other avenues should have been explored before resorting to an LP.”

The words landed like stones in Felix’s chest. He nodded quickly, trying to keep his face steady. “Yes, Chief-nim.”

For a long moment, the only sound was the hum of the lights. Then Dr. Im leaned forward, his tone softening just slightly. “Go take a break. Get some coffee.”

Felix exhaled, his shoulders sagging as tension drained from him in a slow rush. He rose, bowing despite the sharp twinge in his lower back. “Thank you, Chief-nim.”

“Felix.”

He paused, straightening, his breath caught halfway.

Dr. Im’s eyes met his squarely, steady and sure. “You’re a good nurse. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise.”

The words cracked something inside him. His chest tightened, a sting pricking at his eyes that he refused to let fall. He bowed again, lower this time, his voice rough. “Yes, Chief-nim. Thank you.”

-

The night air was cool against Felix’s overheated skin as he stepped outside toward the coffee cart. He drew in a long breath, the air tasting faintly of rain and asphalt, and tried to shake the weight pressing against his chest.

He dug a few bills from his pocket and slid them across the counter, murmuring a thank you to the vendor. The smell of coffee was rich, and he wrapped his hands around the paper cup like it might anchor him. I need to get to Chan before Dr. Im does, he thought grimly. Or worse, before that cocky resident ran his mouth to anyone who would listen.

“Felix!”

His whole body tensed. His stomach dropped as he braced for another summons, another scolding, another emergency to drag him under.

Instead, Jisung materialized at his side, tilting his head with a faint crease between his brows. “Hey. You alright?”

Felix exhaled, the tension in his shoulders loosening just a little. “Yeah,” he muttered, taking the cup from the vendor and offering a small smile. “Long day.”

Jisung blinked. “I thought you were on nights?”

“ I am,” Felix said, sighing as they started back toward the hospital entrance together. “But there was a mass casualty on the highway. Tour bus. They pulled me in.”

“Ah.” Jisung’s hum was soft and thoughtful. He pressed the elevator button when they got inside, the glow casting their faces in tired yellow light.

Felix leaned against the wall of the car once they stepped in, his coffee warm in his palm. His other hand rubbed absently at his lower back, a dull ache gnawing at him since earlier. He’d meant to take something, like Chan had warned, but there hadn’t been a chance.

“You okay?” Jisung’s voice cut through the quiet. His sharp eyes had caught the motion.

Felix nodded automatically. “Yeah. Just need to take something.”

Without missing a beat, Jisung dug in his bag, pulling out a small pill bottle. He shook a couple into his palm and tossed them across.

Felix caught them, managing a tired smile. “Thanks.” He downed them with a gulp of coffee, sighing softly.

Jisung made easy small talk as they walked down the hallway, his words washing gently over Felix like a balm. He talked about scrubbing in earlier on a cleft palate reconstruction. His eyes lit briefly as he described the moment the surgeons completed the repair, and the way the parents’ faces had changed when they saw their child afterward. Felix hummed along, letting Jisung’s enthusiasm fill the empty spots where his own energy had drained away.

They pushed through the door to the surgical residents’ locker room. Felix felt the air shift immediately. A few heads turned, and he caught the whisper of voices, the way eyes lingered too long. His stomach sank—the news had spread. Of course it had.

He rolled his eyes, not surprised, and started toward the benches. From the corner, one resident—a girl he knew Jisung openly disliked—stared at him boldly, her mouth curled into something mocking. As he sat down on the bench, Jisung caught her eyes.

“Keep your eyes to yourself,” Jisung snapped, his tone edged with steel. The room stilled for a beat before the girl flushed, twisting away, suddenly engrossed in her locker.

Felix huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “What’s her problem?” Jisung muttered, still glaring daggers.

Felix’s smile faded. He almost said nothing. Almost brushed it off. But Jisung was watching him closely, way too closely. Felix rubbed a thumb against the seam of his cup, staring at the swirl of steam. “I… got into an adrugment with a doctor,” he admitted finally. “He said some things. In front of the entire clinic.”

Jisung’s brows knit. His voice dropped, sharper now. “What did he say?”

Felix’s throat tightened. He hesitated, fumbling for words that wouldn’t land as heavily.

“Jisung-ah?”

The interruption made Felix look up. Minho had just rounded the corner, his steps faltering at the sight of them. His eyes flicked from Jisung to Felix, lingering a beat too long before he cleared his throat, color rising faintly in his cheeks. “Hey, Yongbok-ah.”

Felix smiled, grateful for the escape. “Hey, hyung.”

But Jisung wasn’t letting go. He cut through. “No. Don’t change the subject. What did he say?”

Minho frowned, moving closer. His presence was quieter, but the weight of his gaze was heavier. “What happened?”

Felix’s shoulders hunched. Both of them were looking at him now, Jisung fiery and insistent, and Minho cool but sharp-edged, like a blade hidden in a sheath. For a moment, Felix wanted to shrink smaller, let the question go unanswered. But the silence was dangerous. They would only push harder.

He sighed, the words scraping out. “He said that I only have my job because of Chan, because I’m sleeping with him. And… whoever else.”

The two went silent.

Felix’s chest clenched, the echo of the insult hitting harder now that he’d said it out loud. His ears burned, and he kept his gaze fixed on his hands, knuckles white around the paper cup, unable to handle the anger on their faces.

When he finally risked a glance up—Jisung’s jaw was tight, his eyes blazing, his whole posture radiating fury barely held in check. And Minho—Minho’s expression was darker, quieter, the kind of anger that didn’t flare loud but smoldered deep. His eyes locked on Felix’s like he was reading every fracture in his chest, and then the question came, low and dangerous.

“Who was it?”

Felix’s heart skipped. The way Minho asked it—steady and measured—was scarier than if he’d shouted. There was a promise in his tone, one Felix knew too well: Minho would follow through, consequences be damned.

Felix shook his head quickly, forcing his voice steady even though his chest ached. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve already spoken to the Chief of Pediatrics. He’s handling it.”

Neither of them looked convinced. Jisung was practically vibrating, his fists curling at his sides. Minho’s jaw flexed, his eyes still burning into him.

“Please,” Felix added, softer now, almost pleading. “Don’t make this worse. It’s already bad enough.”

The silence stretched, thick as molasses.

Then Jisung’s pager shrieked against his hip. He cursed under his breath, snatched it up, and scowled at the display. “I have to go.” He jabbed a finger at Felix, his voice still sharp. “But we’re not done with this.”

Felix gave him a weary nod, watching as he jogged off.

Minho’s presence was steady beside him, not pressing, not demanding, just there.

“You don’t deserve that,” he murmured, voice almost a growl but softened by concern. “Not from him. Not from anyone.”

Felix’s throat tightened. The simple certainty of it, spoken like fact, made something sting behind his eyes. He ducked his head, pretending to fuss with the rim of his coffee cup. All he could manage was a small nod.

“Come on,” Minho said after a beat, holding out his arm. “You’re wobbling. I’ll walk you up.”

Felix hesitated, but only briefly. His bones felt like lead. He slipped his arm through Minho’s, leaning into the older’s side, letting himself be steadied. The warmth and strength at his shoulder made his knees feel weaker, but in a way that felt almost safe.

They stepped out of the locker room, fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead. Minho adjusted his stride to match Felix’s slower pace, guiding him easily toward the elevators.

“You look dead on your feet,” Minho said finally, glancing down at him.”What happened?”

Felix let his head tip sideways, resting against Minho’s shoulder for just a moment. “Got called in for the mass casualty,” he murmured. “I barely slept, and this morning, the apartment woke me up; our pipe burst.” He sighed, the whine slipping out before he could stop it. “I haven’t even eaten yet.”

Minho clicked his tongue with a sharp suck of his teeth. “Yongbok-ah.” His arm tightened, guidng him closer as they stepped into the elevator. “No food, no sleep. You’re a disaster.” His tone softened, though, the scolding laced with something almost fnod. “You should just stay with me. I’m way better than that smelly boyfriend of yours. At least I’d make sure you were fed.”

Felix giggled, pressing his mouth against the lip of his cup to hide the smile. “You’re terrible.”

“Terribly right,” Minho muttered.

The elevator dinger, and they stepped out, Felix’s steps dragging slightly as Minho kept him steady.

“Chan-ah here yet?” Minho asked.

Felix checked the clock on the wall, lips pursing. “He should be.”

“Good.” Minho’s voice had that dry edge again, the king that made nurses scatter when he was in the OR. “Then I can scold him too. Can’t believe he’s letting you run around hungry.”

Felix groaned, tugging weakly at his arm. “Minho-hyung, no—don’t start.”

But Minho only smirked, unaffected. “Your puppy eyes aren’t saving him this time.”

They pushed through into the doctors’ lounge. The smell of burnt coffee and disinfectant hung in the air, and the hum of the vending machine filled the silence.

Chan was there with his back to them.

Felix froze. He didn’t need to see Chan’s face to know. His whole body was drawn tight, tension radiating off him in thick waves. The sight made Felix’s stomach clench. Something’s wrong.

“Bang Chan!” Minho’s voice rang out, teasing on the surface but edged with challenge. “Why are you letting our Yongbok-ah walk around starving? Haven’t you been feeding him?”

Chan turned.

Felix’s breath caught.

There was no warmth in his eyes. His jaw was locked, and his shoulders were rigid. Anger sharpened every line of his face, and when his gaze landed on Felix, it was heavy and cutting.

“Really, Felix?” Chan’s voice was low, clipped, but the words cracked like a whip. “You think you can stand there and look at me like nothing happened? After you went and sold me out to the Chief over something we did together?”

Felix blinked, his chest squeezing painfully. “What are you talking about?”

“You should’ve told me if you suspected it was psychiatric.” Chan’s voice rose, harsh in a way Felix had never heard aimed at him. “You don’t run to Im and throw me under the bus afterward. We made that call. Together.”

Felix shook his head quickly, panic threading through the exhaustion. “That’s not what happened! He asked to talk to me—he asked what I thought after the results came back negative. I didn’t—”

But Chan wasn’t hearing him. The fury had taken root, his words sharp and hot. “You betrayed me, Felix. Do you have any idea what position you’ve put me in? Do you—”

Felix flinched back. The sound of Chan’s voice raised at him—Chan, who never shouted at him, never even scolded him harshly—it felt like a physical blow. His chest ached, and his eyes burned. The paper cup trembled in his hands.

“Enough.”

Minho’s voice sliced through the moment, firm and dangerous. His body shifted, stepping between them, his broad shoulders blocking Felix from the brunt of Chan’s anger. His eyes narrowed at Chan, steel flashing behind them.

Felix blinked hard, fighting back the sting of tears. He turned his face away, unable to meet Chan’s eyes.

Chan’s chest rose and fell sharply. He grabbed in a breath, trying to steady himself, but his voice still came clipped. “I need time to process this. I have to defend our decision in front of legal. I can’t do that with you standing there making me feel like—” He cut himself off, jaw locking again. “You’ll have to find your own way to the house. I’m staying here to sleep.”

Felix’s voice cracked. “Why? Why are you staying here?”

Chan’s eyes softened only slightly. His voice was quieter, but still taut. “Because, just because I’m pissed at you doesn’t mean I’ll make you sleep on those uncomfortable beds with your back like this. I’m not cruel.”

Minho scoffed, wrapping his arm around Felix’s shoulders firmly. “Don’t worry about it. He’s coming home with me. At least I know how to take care of him when you’ve got your head shoved up your ass.”

He tugged Felix toward the door. Felix let himself be led, legs heavy and chest raw. He didn’t look back until they reached the doorway.

Chan was standing there still, eyes locked on him. And in them, Felix saw anger, yes, but also something else. Regret. Hurt. Fear. Equal parts fury and longing, his face tight with everything he wasn’t saying.

Felix’s heart clenched, tears stinging again. Then Minho guided him out, the door closing between them.

-

Jin’s worried face was the last thing Felix clearly registered before Minho steered him away. The charge nurse’s words blurred together in his ears, something about taking care of himself, about not pushing too hard. But Felix couldn’t hold on to them. His mind was still replaying Chan’s voice raised at him, sharp, furious, and accusing. You betrayed me. Every time it echoed in his head, his chest clenched tighter, like someone was pressing a weight down on it.

By the time they were in Minho’s car, rain was falling hard against the windshield, streaks of water distorting the lights of the city. Felix leaned his head against the cool glass, eyes wide open but unfocused. He didn’t say a word, didn’t even fidget, just let the silence stretch. He could feel Minho’s glances every so often, but the older man didn’t push.

The drive was short, though it felt endless. Minho got him inside with quiet efficiency, guiding him toward the bathroom with a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Shower,” he said softly, the tone leaving no room for argument but not unkind. “There are clothes in the dresser. I’ll make dinner.”

Felix nodded once, wordless, and went.

The water was hot when he stepped under it—almost scalding—but he let it run over him anyway. His body sagged against the tiled wall, forehead resting against the cool surface as steam filled the small room. He thought back to just yesterday morning, Chan slipping in behind him in another shower, warm chest pressing against his back, his gentle fingers working shampoo into Felix’s hair. A smile, a kiss on the curve of his neck. Felix bit his lip hard, forcing back the tears that burned at the corners of his eyes. The contrast was too sharp, too painful.

When the sting of the water became unbearable, he shut it off abruptly. He dressed in the first clothes he pulled from Minho’s dresser, a t-shirt soft with wear, smelling faintly of laundry soap and Minho’s own quiet scent, and sweats that pooled around his ankles. They swallowed him whole, but it was comforting, like being wrapped in something safe.

Minho was waiting in the kitchen. Two plates were set out, steam rising in gentle curls. He slid one in front of Felix with a nod. “Eat.”

Felix sat down. He stared at the foot, but his hands stayed limp in his lap. The colors blurred, his chest tightening with the same dull ache that had followed him since the doctors’ lounge.

“Yongbok-ah,” Minho said quietly. “Look at me.”

He lifted his eyes, and the moment he did, the dam cracked open. His vision went blurry, his throat tightened, and a sob escaped before he could swallow it down.

In an instant, Minho was moving, pulling him into solid arms. Felix collapsed against him, the sound tearing out of his chest raw and desperate. His fingers wisted in Minho’s shirt, clutching like it was the only thing tethering him to the world.

“Shh. I’ve got you,” Minho murmured, rubbing slow, grounding circles up and down his back. “It’s okay, Bok-ah. He was angry, that’s all. It’s not your fault.”

Felix shook his head into Minho’s chest, his words coming out in gasps. “It is. I shouldn’t have said anything—when the Chief asked, I should’ve stood behind him. I should’ve—”

“Stop.” Minho’s tone was firm but not unkind as he tilted Felix’s face up, thumbs brushing away the tears streaking his cheeks. His gaze was steady, unwavering, and so different from Chan’s anger. “It’s not your fault. At the end of the day, Chan’s the doctor. It was his decision. Not yours. You don’t carry that weight, you hear me?”

Felix’s lip trembled. He wanted to believe him, but the guilt was knotted so tightly in his chest it hurt to breathe.

“And,” Minho added dryly, through there was warmth in his eyes, “if he’s not groveling at your feet in the next twenty-four hours, I’ll stick him in the air fryer and serve him with fries.”

A startled laugh broke through Felix’s tears, a tiny, cracked sound, but real. He sniffled, pressing his forehead against Minho’s shoulder. “Thank you, hyung.”

“Don’t thank me,” Minho muttered, guiding him back toward the table. “Eat before you waste away.”

Felix obeyed this time, picking up his fork with trembling hands. Minho filled the silence with easy talk, Changbin’s latest antics in the ER, Hyunjin’s dramatic complaints about OR temperatures, and even a story about Seungmin falling asleep at the radiology monitors. Felix found himself laughing softly once or twice, the heaviness in his chest loosening with every bite.

When the plates were empty, Minho stretched, yawning. “We should get some sleep. I’m on call.”

Felix nodded automatically, standing. He turned toward the couch, ready to curl up alone, when Minho’s voice stopped him.

“You’re joking, right?”

Felix blinked. “What?”

Without warning, Minho bent down, scooping him up into his arms like he weighed nothing.

Felix yelped, startled laughter spilling out as he clutched at Minho’s shirt. “Hyung!”

“You think I’m letting you sleep on the couch after today?” Minho muttered, already striding down the hall. “Not happening.”

Felix was still laughing breathlessly when Minho deposited him on the bed, pulling the blankets up over him. “I’ll allow you to cuddle me,” Minho said with a mock-serious tone, “until you fall asleep.”

Felix squeaked in excitement, wriggling closer, curling himself into Minho’s side. His head settled over Minho’s chest, the steady thump of his heartbeat grounding him in a way nothing else could.

Warm fingers brushed through his hair before a soft kiss pressed against the crown of his head.

“Goodnight, Yongbok-ah,” Minho murmured.

Felix hummed, eyelids heavy, and a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Goodnight, hyung.”

-

Felix was sunk deep in the warmth of Minho’s chest when the shrill vibration of a pager cut through the quiet. He groaned, yanking the pillow over his head as if it could block out the sound. Minho cursed softly under his breath, fumbling to silence the device.

Just as Felix thought he could slip back into sleep, his own phone lit up on the nightstand, buzzing insistently. Minho sat up halfway, hair sticking up in all directions, glaring daggers at the phoe as though he could scare it into silence.

Felix sighed heavily, dragging a hand over his face before reaching for it. “Hello?” His voice was thick with sleep.

“Felix? I’m so sorry.” Jin’s voice crackled through the line, sounding rushed and frazzled. “Two of our night nurses just went home with some stomach virus. We’re short-staffed, and…” He trailed off with another rushed apology.

Felix’s shoulders sagged. He pinched the bridge of his nose but said quietly, “It’s fine. I’ll be there soon.”

When he hung up, Minho was watching him closely, frown deepening. “You think that’s a good idea?”

Felix just shrugged, rubbing at his tired eyes. His head felt heavy, but the guilt at leaving Jin stranded tugged harder.

Minho shook his head, already getting up. “Fine. But I’m stopping for energy drinks. No arguments.”

Felix whined as he pushed himself up, stretching his stiff back until a sharp ache made him hiss. The painkillers Jisung had given him earlier had long since worn off. Minho’s eyes softened, the scolding already on his lips.

“Are you sure you can go in like this?” Minho asked, his voice quieter now.

Felix nodded, even if it wasn’t convincing. “Just need more meds.”

Minho didn’t argue further, just pressed a few pills into his palm and handed him a bottle of water. “Take these, and put this on.” He tossed one of his hoodies at Felix, who tugged it over his head.

The city was fast asleep as they drove, the streets empty, streetlights flickering against the rain-slicked pavement. Felix let his eyes drift closed, lulled by the hum of the engine, until Minho’s gentle shake roused him again.

“Come on, Bok-ah. We’re here.”

Felix blinked himself awake, taking the cold can Minho pressed into his hand. “Thanks, hyung,” he murmured, sipping the bitter fizz of the energy drink as they walked inside.

They waited together in the elevator, the fluorescent lights casting shadows over their tired faces. When the doors slid open on Minho’s floor, he squeezed Felix’s shoulder firmly. “If Chan-ah pulls any shit tonight, you come find me. Got it?”

Felix gave him a small, weary smile. “Got it.”

The doors slid shut, and Felix leaned back against the wall, tilting his head up with a sigh. The elevator jolted to a stop again, and before he could react, someone wrapped long arms around him, pulling him flush against a familiar chest.

Felix hummed softly, instantly recognizing Hyunjin’s warmth, and let himself melt into the hug.

“I love you,” Hyunjin whispered into his hair. “And don’t worry—Chan doesn’t scare me.”

Felix giggled tiredly, muffled against his shirt. “It’s fine. We’ll figure it out.”

Hyunjin pulled back just enough to see his face, one brow arched. “Maybe tell Seungmin that. Your personal guard dog is ready to tear Chan’s throat out with his teeth.”

Felix winced. “How did you all find out?”

Hyunjin rolled his eyes dramatically. “People heard him yelling. You know how gossip spreads faster than infection control in this place. “

Felix groaned, covering his face with one hand. “Perfect.”

Hyunjin chuckled, brushing it off. “Go work. I’ll check on you later.”

The unit was buzzing when Felix stepped off the elevator, the low hum of monitors and distant cries filling the hall like a constant background song. At the desk, Jin looked frazzled, hair escaping his bun, dark circles heavy under his eyes. He nearly sagged with relief when he saw Felix, guilt written all over his face.

“I’m sorry,” Jin said immediately. “I wouldn’t have called you in if we weren’t drowning. Two went home vomiting in the span of an hour. I…” He shook his head, handing over a stack of charts.

Felix gave him a tired smile and a shake of his head. “Don’t apologize. Just tell me where I’m needed.”

He gathered the charts and set off down the hall, shoulders rolling with the familiar rhythm of rounds.

The first room held a boy who had been in for weeks now, seven years old, wiry, recovering from pneumonia complicated by asthma. He looked small in the bed, his oxygen tubing coiled gently around his ears. Felix crouched down beside him, smoothing the blanket. “Hey buddy, sorry to wake you up.”

The boy made a face. “I don’t wanna do the breathing thing again.”

Felix chuckled softly. “I know it’s not fun, but it helps those lungs get strong. How about this? You do it for me, and I’ll sneak you an extra Jell-O later.” He winked, and the boy cracked a reluctant smile. Felix coaxed him through his inhaler, patted his hair when he was done, and slipped his morning meds into applesauce. The boy wrinkled his nose but swallowed without complaint.

The next room was a toddler—maybe three—who had been admitted after a stomach bug left her dangerously dehydrated. She was tiny, pale, her curls sticking to her damp forehead. She whimpered softly when Felix adjusted her IV line. He scooped her up gently, balancing her against his chest as he carried her into the bathroom. She clung to him with surprising strength, her little arms locked around his neck.

“Easy, sweetheart,” Felix murmured, crouching carefully as he helped her. She looked up at him with glassy eyes, and Felix smiled reassuringly, brushing a stray curl off her cheek. “I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

By the time he tucked her back in bed and checked her fluids, she was already drifting off, thumb tucked into her mouth.

He lingered a moment longer, watching her chest rise and fall. His heart felt heavy and raw, but steady too—this was what he was meant to do.

Felix stepped back into the hall, balancing the stack of charts in his arms. His head was pounding, his back aching, but he still managed to smile faintly at a parent passing by, to wave at another nurse hustling down the corridor.

When he reached the desk, Jin was leaning over paperwork, but another figure stood waiting.

Felix froze.

Chan.

His boyfriend’s shoulders were rigid, his face pale, and his eyes shadowed with exhaustion. He looked wrecked, like the fight had been eating him alive just as much as it had Felix.

Felix’s breath caught in his throat. His legs felt heavy, but he forced them to move, to carry him forward. His heart was in his mouth, every nerve buzzing with tension.

He set the charts down on the counter, right across from Chan, and the world seemed to narrow to just the space between them.

Chan’s gaze lingered on Felix, his mouth opening, then closing again, as if words burned the back of his throat, but couldn’t make it out. His shoulders sagged with the weight of it before he sighed, reaching instead for a chart and holding it out.

“Our patients still up here,” he said, voice quiet and low with fatigue. “We need to check on him.”

Felix took it, his heart thudding harder than it should’ve for such a simple interaction. “Did the psych referral come down yet?” he asked softly.

Chan shook his head once. “Not yet. Still waiting.”

The silence between them stretched as they walked down the dim hall, shadows from the lights falling long and uneven across the floor. Felix kept his eyes on the chart, afraid to risk another glance, but Chan’s voice cut through the quiet halfway there.

“I thought you went to Minho’s.”

Felix’s throat tightened. “I did. But Minho got paged. Then Jin called me.”

Chan nodded, lips pressing tight. After a moment, he asked, “Did you eat?”

Felix nodded too. “Yeah.”

Another nod. That was it. No warmth, no softness. Just the bare minimum. It hurt more than Felix wanted to admit.

When they stepped into the room, the bed was empty, the sheets rumpled, but no boy.

Chan’s frown deepened instantly. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know.” Felix’s stomach churned.

Chan’s voice snapped into command mode. “Check the bathroom. I’ll check the hallway.”

Felix forced himself to move, though every step toward the closed bathroom door made his chest feel tighter. The door was shut, shadows pooling under the seam, and—something. A sound. Low muttering, indistint but frantic.

He knocked softly. “Hanuel-ah? It’s Nurse Felix. Are you in there?”

The answer came not in words, but in action, the door yanked open so fast Felix barely had time to gasp before a hand shot out, clamping around his arm and dragging him inside.

He hit the tiled wall hard enough to make his teeth clack, the air leaving his lungs in a sharp yelp. The door slammed shut behind him, and when he looked up, his stomach dropped.

Hanuel stood there, eyes wild, and pupils blown wide with terror. His hands shook, causing the knife he clutched to gleam under the fluorescent light.

“Stabbed me,” the boy muttered, words tumbling like broken glass. “They’re after me. You— you did this. You’re one of them.”

Felix froze, his hands raised slightly, palms open. “Hanuel—”

Before he could finish, the boy lunged closer, pressing a hand over Felix’s mouth.

“Shut the fuck up.”

The words were a hiss, hot with fear and rage, the knife hovering too close. Felix’s chest heaved, but he forced himself to nod, eyes wide. He could feel every tremor in the boy’s hand, could even hear the uneven breath whistling through his nose.

“Where is he?” Hanuel rasped suddenly, eyes darting. “The doctor that stabbed me. Where is he?”

Felix’s lips parted, torn between answers, when Chan’s voice carried from the other side of the door.

“Felix?”

The sound of his name nearly undid him. His eyes widened, panic surging, and he shook his head frantically, silently pleading that Chan wouldn’t come closer.

But Hanuel’s attention snapped like a whip toward the sound. His grip on Felix tightened, yanking him back until Felix’s spine was pressed into his chest, the sharp point of the blade grazing dangerously close to his neck.

Felix’s breath stuttered, his heart pounding so loud it roared in his ears. He barely had time to register before the boy shoved him forward, maneuvering until Felix’s body was a human shield in front of him. The arm around his waist was iron, the knife now hovering at Felix’s throat as the bathroom door creaked open again.

“Chan—” Felix’s voice cracked, trembling, barely more than a whisper.

Chan’s head lifted from where he’d been checking the chart at the bed. His face went ashen the moment he saw them, Felix trapped in the boy’s grip, knife pressed close enough to break skin. The chart slipped from his hands, clattering to the floor.

For one heartbeat, the world went silent. Just Felix’s shallow, uneven breathing and the frantic muttering against his ear.

“Close the door,” Hanuel ordered, his voice jagged and desperate. “Lock it. Now.”

Chan stood frozen, his chest rising and falling sharply, horror plain in his eyes.

“I said now!” The boy’s voice cracked, higher and more frantic. The knife jabbed forward just enough that Felix gasped.

Chan’s gaze flicked between Felix’s terrified face and the blade at his throat. His jaw clenched. His hand twitched like he wanted to reach for him, but he didn’t dare.

He obeyed, and the door clicked shut, the sound echoing louder than it should have.

And then the lock slid home.

Felix’s breath hitched, his pulse screaming in his ears. Chan’s eyes were locked on his, wide and stricken, as the air grew thick with fear.

Pinned against the boy’s chest, Felix’s only thought was how badly he wanted to reach for Chan, and how impossible it suddenly was.

Chapter Text

The sound of his name froze him mid-step. Something in Felix’s tone—thin, wavering, and frayed with terror—cut through Chan’s chest like glass. For a split second, he thought he’d imagined it, that exhaustion had finally tipped him over. But then he turned.

And his entire world stopped.

Felix was pinned against their patient’s chest, Haneul’s arm locked tight around him, the gleam of a knife pressed against the fragile skin of his throat. The boy’s eyes were wide and manic, darting wildly as he muttered to himself. Felix’s own hands gripped desperately at Haneul’s arm, not to break free, but to steady, to keep it from jerking closer to his jugular.

Chan swore he blacked out. His knees nearly buckled, and his heart hammered so violently in his chest he thought it might crack his ribs. He couldn’t hear the monitors, couldn’t hear the air conditioner hum, just Felix’s soft, shaky breathing, and the ringing in his ears.

And then Felix’s eyes found his.

Wide. Wet. Terrified. But not panicked, not even hopeless. No, they were looking straight at Chan with a kind of faith that shook him to his core. That even after their fight, even after the cruel things he’d spat in his own anxiety, Felix still trusted him—trusted him completely—to fix this.

It nearly shattered him.

“Close the door,” Hanuel snapped, voice cracked and jagged. “Lock it. Now.”

Chan’s throat clicked as he swallowed. He didn’t move for a second. He couldn’t move.

“I said now!” Hanuel spat, voice cracking.

Chan forced himself to move then, forcing his trembling fingers to twist the lock with a sharp click. He couldn’t risk a sudden move lest it startled the boy. Not when the boy was holding Chan’s entire life against his chest with a blade.

When he turned back, Felix was trembling, pressed so tightly into Haneul’s body he looked like he might disappear. His lips were shaking, as though it was taking every ounce of his willpower not to cry.

Chan lifted his hands slowly, palms open. His voice came out low, coaxing, and as steady as he could force it. “Hey. It’s okay. Just—just calm down.”

The sound made Hanuel jolt, dragging Felix back a step. The knife cut just enough to nick the skin of Felix’s neck, and a thin bead of blood welled up before slipping down across his collarbone.

Felix whimered, a small and helpless sound. And then his voice—broken and trembling—fell into the room. “Channie..”

Chan’s world tilted. He froze in place, lungs locked, and stomach plunging. Hearing Felix say his name like that—like a plea, like a goodbye—it split him open.

For one fractured heartbeat, he wasn’t here. He wasn’t standing helplessly in this room.

-

He was back at the hospital blood drive. New to the city, and lost in the shift of a life he hadn’t quite figured out. He’d donated blood without thinking much of it until he saw him. Felix. The nurse with a smile too warm for the sterile space, moving easily between patients, and coaxing laughter out of strangers. And someone, impossibly, it was Felix’s hands on his arm, and Felix’s voice in his ears.

Chan let Felix believe their first time meeting had been in that elevator, but Chan remembered the truth, that this was how he had met Felix, here, at this blood drive.

Chan had just come off his first shift at the hospital; he’d worn a mask, half-hoping it would keep him from small talk. It hadn’t mattered. Felix had smiled at him anyway, bright and soft, and asked him all the necessary questions.

“Good veins,” Felix had said lightly, and Chan had flushed red to the tips of his ears, staring at him like the words were a confession instead of routine nurse chatter. He’d asked Felix why he worked both peds and ER, and Felix had shrugged, explaining that he’d started in pediatrics, but a friend in the ER thought he’d be good there, especially if he wanted to go to med school. When Chan asked if he ever would, Felix had admitted it was his first semester part-time, trudging through basics he hadn’t touched in college. His voice had been soft, certain, and Chan had found himself thinking he’d never heard someone sound so young and so determined all at once.

When Chan asked which department he preferred, Felix had actually thought about it, eyes lifting in quiet consideration before saying pediatrics. “It’s rare,” he’d murmured, “but when you can heal a kid completely, when you can send them home better, there’s nothing like it.” He’d said it with a conviction that made Chans’s chest ache. A conviction that made Chan think fiercely, that maybe he’d made the right choice after all, coming here. Maybe pediatrics wasn’t just medicine; maybe it was him. And when Felix had patted his arm, stuck a little sticker to his sleeve, and told him to have a good day, Chan had smirked under his mask.

He’d thought: he’d definitely be seeing this nurse again.

-

The memory cracked and shattered.

Chan dragged himself back into the now, his chest burning. Felix was here—bleeding, trembling, eyes still locked on him—and it was up to him to keep him alive.

Hanuel’s mutters spilled fast and frantic into the air. “That stabbed me—they’re coming—he’s one of them, he’s one of them—” His grip on Felix tightened until Felix winced, but he stayed still, brave even in the tremble of his limbs.

Chan’s mind ran wild, desperate, dragging up half-forgotten scraps of his psych rotation. Schizophrenia. This was a break. Delusions. Paranoia. First episode. He hated psych in med school, hated how unstructured it felt, but now it was all he had. He had to anchor this boy; he had to ground him somehow. He couldn’t push; he couldn’t spook him. Not with Felix bleeding in his arms.

Chan inhaled slowly, carefully, forcing his pulse into something steady. He made his voice soft, almost a whisper. “Haneul-ah,” he said, eyes never leaving Felix’s. “I’m listening. Tell me what happened. Help me understand.”

His hands stayed up, palms open. Every word was a lifeline. Every syllable a desperate attempt to pull Felix back from the edge of the blade.

And Chan prayed—God, please—that it would be enough.

“Okay,” Chan said softly. His voice cracked on the edges, but he steadied it, forcing calm he didn’t feel. “It’s just us. No one’s coming in.”

Haneul’s eyes darted back and forth, scanning the room like shadows were crawling out of the walls. He muttered under his breath, disjointed fragments of fear—“they’re coming,” “don’t trust him,” “he stabbed me”—nonsense stitched together with paranoia.

Felix’s mouth quivered, his chest rising too fast. His eyes locked on Chan’s, and Chan felt his knees nearly give out at the look of complete trust in them. Even here, even with a knife at his throat, Felix believed Chan would fix this. The pressure in Chan’s chest was unbearable, both a gift and a curse.

He forced his voice softer. “Haneul-ah,” he said gently. “You’re looking at me. Not him. Me.”

The boy’s eyes snapped to his, wild and unfocused. “You hurt me,” he spat. “You put that needle in me. You’re with them.”

Chan shook his head slowly, as if trying not to spook a wild animal. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I was trying to help. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.” He held his hands higher. “If you’re angry, if you’re scared—let it be at me. Not him. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

Haneul’s grip around Felix tightened violently, jerking him further back. Felix whimpered softly, the sound breaking out of him without permission, and Chan nearly moved without thinking—his body screaming to grab him, shield him—but he locked his knees. Any sudden move would mean disaster.

“Don’t lie!” Haneul shouted. “You’re all the same. You want me locked away, gone, erased!”

“No,” Chan said quickly and firmly, shaking his head. “No, I don’t. I want to understand you. That’s all. I’m not against you, Hanuel. I promise you, I see you.”

The boy’s muttering slowed just slightly, enough for Chan to risk one step closer. He kept his hands up, shoulders hunched to make himself smaller.

“Talk to me,” Chan urged, his voice a threadbare whisper. “Not him. He doesn’t deserve this. Talk to me.”

“You’re safe here,” Chan murmured carefully. “You’re not alone. I won’t hurt you.”

Haneul’s muttering picked up again, but quieter now, his words tumbling in frantic, broken phrases. Chan recognized them for what they were: the sound of a mind unraveling. He swallowed, his own hands trembling, and made a choice.

“You want the truth?” he asked softly. “I’m scared too.”

That startled the boy. His eyes snapped up, suspicious and sharp. “Scared?”

“Yeah.” Chan nodded, letting his posture slump a little, letting himself look less like a doctor, less like authority. “All the time. I… I don’t always know if I’m good enough. If I’m doing the right thing. Some days, I think everyone’s going to find out I’m just pretending.”

The admission burned as it left his lips, raw and ugly.

Felix made a sound then. Just a tiny, involuntary hitch of breath. But Chan’s head snapped toward him anyway, as though he’d been shot.

His Felix was trembling, exhausted tears rolling silently down his cheeks. His lips pressed tight, and his mouth was shaking with the effort of keeping quiet. He looked so breakable, so fragile in that moment, it tore Chan apart from the inside.

“You feel alone,” Chan said softly, stepping just a little closer, his hands still raised. “Like no one sees you. Like everyone’s against you.”

The boy’s eyes snapped up, furious and untrusting. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“No,” Chan admitted, voice low. “But I know what it’s like to feel that way.”

And suddenly, Chan was back there, another time, another moment where Felix had been the one to save him.

-

It had been a night Chan would never forget. He’d been sitting alone in the doctor’s lounge after a brutal case, a child they couldn’t save no matter what they tried. He had been staring blankly at the wall, his chest hollowed out, when the door creaked open. He’d thought it was another resident, ready to ask him for something, but instead it was Felix, still in his scrubs, holding two mugs of coffee.

Felix hadn’t said a word at first. He’d just walked over, put the cup down in front of him, and then sat across from him with his own, sipping quietly. It had taken ten whole minutes before Chan even blinked. And then Felix had said, so gently, “You can’t save them all, you know. But the ones you do? They’ll never forget you.”

Chan had broken then, tears falling hot and unbidden, and Felix had reached across the table, his hand in his smaller one. “You don’t have to carry it alone,” Felix had whispered, thumb brushing over his knuckles. “Not anymore.”

And in that moment, Chan had realized Felix wasn’t just light, but that Felix was the only light strong enough to reach him in the dark.

-

Chan blinked, throat raw, back in the hospital room with his world held hostage in front of him. He exhaled shakily, grounding himself in Felix’s gaze.

“You feel like nobody understands you,” Chan murmured to Haneul, voice heavy with truth. “Like the world is against you. But you’re not invisible. I see you. Right here, right now, I see you.”

The boy froze, his frantic muttering slowing.

Chan took another half step closer, careful and deliberate. “Tell me something. What do you want to be when you grow up?”

Like a gift torn from the chaos, Haneul’s mutters faltered. His gaze went distant, then snapped back, and for the first time, he answered Chan’s questions with words instead of paranoia.

“A singer,” Haneul whispered, voice rough with unshed tears. “I wanted to be a singer. My mom… she said my voice was nice.”

The words nearly undid Chan. His chest seized, because in that small confession, he heard the boy buried beneath the delusions, the scared teenager begging to be seen. Chan clung to it like a rope tossed to him in the middle of a storm.

“A singer,” he repeated, keeping his voice gentle, coaxing, like he was talking to one of his younger patients. He inched his tone warmer and fuller, as if he could weave safety into the air with just his words. “That’s incredible, Haneul. Music can do so much. What kind of songs do you like to sing?”

The boy’s grip tightened fiercely around Felix at the question, dragging him back until Felix’s thin frame was once again flush against his chest. The blade shifted with the movement, pressing into the soft fabric of Felix’s scrub top, grazing the skin beneath.

Felix’s body jerked at the pressure, a whimper catching in his throat before spilling into the air. Chan’s stomach dropped like a stone. That sound would replay in his head for the rest of his life, raw, helpless, and torn out of Felix without permission.

Then Felix did something Chan both cursed and worshipped him for: he spoke. His voice trembled, thin and cracking, but it cut into the silence like a prayer.

“I… I like them too,” Felix whispered, his eyes glassy with tears as they flicked toward Haneul’s face. “They always make me smile.”

Chan’s heart clenched so hard it hurt. Even now, even shaking and pale, Felix was giving himself over to someone else’s pain, offering pieces of comfort through his fear.

Haneul’s whole body jolted at that, his eyes widening. “You do?” His voice cracked on the second word, breaking open like a child’s.

Felix nodded against his arm, his voice wobbling but steady enough to hold. “Yeah. My favorite one is that ballad… the one about the stars.” His lips trembled into the barest smile, even through the tears streaking his face. “Do you know it?”

For the first time since this nightmare began, Haneul’s mutters stopped completely. His chest heaved like he’d been running, but his eyes fixed on Felix’s as if he was clinging to them like oxygen. “That’s my favorite too,” he whispered, almost reverent.

Chan seized the movement, pushing his voice low, warm, and steady. “See? That’s connection. That’s what music does: it makes us feel less alone. And you’re not alone, Haneul-ah. Not right now. Felix is here. I’m here. We’re listening.”

Felix’s tear-damp lashes lifted, his gaze meeting Chan’s, and Chan nearly drowned in it, the trust still there, even in terror. Felix gave the smallest nod, his mouth trembling before he whispered again.

“You should sing it for us,” Felix said softly, his voice broken but brave. “I’d like that. I really would.”

Haneul’s arms trembled around him. The knife sagged a fraction lower, pressing less against Felix’s belly and more against the fabric. It was a sliver of space. A fragile crack in the wall.

Then Felix’s lashes fluttered shut, a tear slipping free, and Chan’s chest wrenched. His mind spun him backward to another day, another crowd of frightened children, and another moment when Felix had turned chaos into laughter.

-

The bus crash had been hell. Dozens of kids poured into the ER, crying, bleeding, clutching each other. Chan had been running nonstop for hours, sutures, fluids, splints, and stabilizing one after another until the food slowed. Parents had started arriving, frantic, calling names down hallways, desperate for their children. Miraculously, the fatalities were few. Still, the air was heavy with fear.

Chan had sagged against the nurse’s station, sweat cooling uncomfortably on his skin. His ears rang with phantom crying, his hands still shaking with the adrenaline of it all. And then, drifting down the hall, he heard music.

Frowning, he followed the sound, curiosity tugging at his tired limbs, until he stopped in front of one of the exam rooms. Through the small window in the door, his chest caught at the sight.

Felix. His scrubs rumpled, hair pulled back and damp with sweat, with his phone propped up on the counter playing some pop songs. Three children in gowns surrounded him, their IV poles rattling as he spun them in circles, his movements over dramatic, hips swaying, and face exaggeratedly serious before cracking into a wide grin that made the kids erupt into giggles. They clapped off-beat, stumbling through little dance steps, their fear evaporating in Felix’s orbit.

Chan leaned into the doorframe, something inside his ribcage softening painfully. He couldn’t stop watching. Felix’s smile had shone brighter than the overhead fluorescents. His laugh seemed to smooth every sharp edge left in Chan’s chest. It was effortless, the way he lit up the room, the way he lit up Chan.

Changbin appeared beside him, arms crossed, chuckling as he watched. “He does this with every big trauma with kids. Says the kids need to remember they’re safe before anything else.”

Chan hummed low, his throat tight. “He’s… good,” he muttered, barely audible. “Really good.”

Changbin shot him a sidelong glance, smirking knowingly. “If you’re gonna ask him out, you better do it before Minho hears.”

Chan’s head snapped around, eyes wide. “What? Why?”

Changbin laughed, clapping his shoulder. “Hyung’s a bit… protective of Felix-ah. Our last attending who moonlighted for us cheated on Felix with some drug rep. Minho nearly ripped his head off. He doesn’t let anyone near his Yongbok-ah.”

Chan sputtered, heat rushing up his neck. “I—I would never. He’s—Felix is—he’s good with kids, he makes me laugh, he—he reminds me why I even went into medicine in the first place. He’s—he’s special.”

Changbin’s grin widened, satisfied. “Good. I trust you. But still, do it before Minho finds out.”

When Chan turned back, Felix was spinning a little girl under his arm, bowing dramatically as she shrieked with laughter. And that was it. Chan knew, like a punch to the chest, that he was already gone for him.

-

Chan came back to the present with a shudder, Felix’s quiet sobs pulling him back like a hook. His boyfriend was still shaking, still clutched too tightly against Haneul’s chest, but somehow still brave enough to whisper to him, to coax a paranoid, frightened boy toward a moment of peace.

Chan steadied his voice, forcing himself to sound calm, steady, and unshakable even though his insides were tearing apart.

“You want to be a singer,” he murmured. “That dream’s still inside you, Haneul. It doesn’t go away just because you’re scared. And look at Felix, he’s already your first fan. Look at him.”

Felix’s voice wavered again, raw and soft. “I’d clap the loudest for you.”

Haneul’s hands shook, his eyes darting between them, uncertain. For the first time, his muttering stopped completely. His chest rose and fell in ragged bursts, like holding onto Felix was the only thing keeping him from devolving.

Chan thought, desperately, We’re so close. Just a little longer. Just hold on, Lix-ah. I’ll get you out of this.

Then, in the smallest, shakiest voice, Felix whispered: “Do you… Do you want me to sing it with you?”

Chan froze. His blood ran cold and hot at once. “Lix-ah,” he wanted to whisper, no, don’t risk it, but he couldn’t speak. Haneul’s head snapped down toward Felix, his eyes wild and startled.

“You’d… sing with me?” Haneul’s tone wavered, uncertain.

Felix nodded, though his chin trembled. “Y-yeah. Just a little. I like that song too.”

And then Felix did it, his voice soft, cracked, but achingly sweet. He began humming the first few bars of the ballad, then shaping them into lyrics, his words shaking with every breath. Chan’s throat constricted. His Felix, trembling and terrified, was singing anyway. Offering comfort even as a blade hovered against his body.

Haneul’s muttering stopped. He went still, eyes locked on Felix as though no one else existed. His breathing slowed, just slightly.

Chan felt a desperate spark of hope. He pressed into it. “See, Haneul?” he said softly, reverently. “Felix is here with you. He’s not lying. He’s singing because he means it.”

Felix’s voice faltered, but he whispered anyway, “You’re not alone. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

That was when Haneul’s voice cracked. “Do you like me? Or are you lying too?” His grip on Felix tightened hard enough that Felix winced. “Everyone lies.”

Felix swallowed, his wide eyes darting briefly toward Chan before flicking back to the boy. His voice came out uneven, fragile, but steady enough to hold. “I do like you. I like you because… because you’re strong. Because you love music. And because you remind me of the kids I take care of, the ones who just want someone to listen.” His lips trembled. “That’s not a lie. I swear.”

Chan’s chest heaved as he watched Haeul falter, tears flooding the boy’s eyes. He clutched Felix tighter, his whole body shaking with something raw and childlike. Felix murmured softly to him, a constant low stream of reassurance, even as Chan could see the pain in the way Felix’s body sagged against the hold, his energy draining fast.

“Let’s get more comfortable, huh?” Chan tried gently. “You’re both tired. Let Felix sit beside you, Haneul. He’ll still be here. He won’t leave.”

Haneul hesitated, his eyes darting between them, then nodded once, jerky. He let Felix shuffle sideways onto the edge of the bed, still clinging to him but no longer pinning him in his arms. The knife dipped again, only grazing fabric as Hanuel sat beside him.

Chan almost exhaled in relief. His fingers trembled at his sides, but he schooled his face to be calm. A small win. They were making progress.

But Haneul’s paranoia slammed back like a tidal wave. His eyes darted to the door, then to Chan, suspicion blazing. “He’s going to run,” he hissed, his voice breaking. “He’ll leave me. Everyone leaves.”

Before Chan could answer, Haneul snapped his arm out, yanking Felix back hard against his side, the knife flashing up again. Felix gasped, his hands flying to grip Haneul’s wrist as the blade pressed back against his stomach. Tears spilled down his cheeks as his eyes found Chan’s again, wide, terrified, but still full of that same desperate trust.

Chan’s knees nearly gave out at the sight. They had been so close. And now Felix was trapped again, trembling in the arms of a boy too far gone to see he was hurting one of the only people still willing to soothe him.

Haneul’s grip was slipping into volatility again. The knife trembled in his fist, wavering dangerously as he pressed Felix back into his chest like a shield. His muttering rose in pitch, a stream of fractured thoughts tumbling out in fragments that didn’t quite make sense.

“They cut me open. They laugh when I scream. You’re one of them—you hurt me—you’re all watching me—” His words tangled into themselves, sharp and uneven, like broken glass. His eyes darted wildly across the room, to corners that were empty, to shadows that didn’t exist.

Felix stiffened in his hold, heart hammering so hard Chan swore he could see the pulse fluttering at his throat. The knife’s tip grazed his scrub top, pressing just enough that Chan’s lungs seized with every jerky movement the boy made. But then—through the panic, through the tears trembling on his lashes—Felix found his voice again.

“No one’s laughing, Haneul. I swear, I would never laugh at you.” Felix’s voice cracked, but he leaned into it, forcing the words out even though his lips trembled. “Can I tell you something? Something real about me?”

Haneul's gaze snapped to him, sharp and suspicious. “Why? So you can trick me? So you can… stick me again.” His hand tightened on Felix’s arm, making the nurse flinch.

Felix shook his head quickly, swallowing down his fear. “No tricks. I just want you to know who I am. That I’m not here to hurt you.” His breath hitched. “I want to tell you about the first time my boyfriend took me on a date.”

Chan’s chest went tight, his heart lurching. He hadn’t expected Felix to go there, not now—not with a knife pressed to his skin—but the words spilled out of Felix like he needed them, like he was clinging to them as much as he wanted Haneul to.

“It was simple. Just dinner at his place. He cooked for me.” Felix gave a wet, shaky laugh, tears starting to slip down his cheeks. “He was so nervous. He kept fussing over everything, worried it wasn’t good enough. But it was perfect. He made me feel like I was the only person in the world.”

Haneul’s muttering faltered, his gaze softening with a flicker of something that might have been curiosity. His grip was still tight, but he wasn’t jerking the knife anymore.

Chan felt himself slipping too, right into the memory Felix painted for them both.

-

It hadn’t been anything grand. Just his house, candles flickering weakly, and the table set too carefully. Chan had triple-checked everything, dishes polished, apron tied too high, and recipes rehearsed until he could cook them blindfolded. He’d even practiced lines in the mirror, the right balance of casual and charming.

But when Felix walked through his door, all of it shattered.

Because Felix didn’t even look at him.

The younger’s entire face lit up as Berry bounded over, tail wagging. “Oh my god, she’s so cute,” Felix gasped, dropping to his knees and burying his hands in her fur. He cooed at her like they’d been best friends for years, giggling when she licked his cheek.

Chan had stood there in the kitchen doorway, utterly forgotten, holding a plate in his hands like an idiot. His chest squeezed, both in jealousy and in something else he didn’t have words for.

“Guess I’m not the only one who thinks you’re cute,” he muttered without meaning to.

Felix had whipped around, eyes wide, cheeks blazing red. “I—I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to ignore you—!”

Chan had laughed, soft and embarrassed, waving it off. But then Felix giggled too, a sound so raw, so unpracticed and real, that Chan’s breath had caught in his chest. Not the polite little laugh Felix gave to patients to calm them down. This one was unguarded, warm, and bubbling straight from his chest. Chan wanted to keep it, lock it away, and never let anyone else hear it.

Dinner passed in a blur of touches, knees bumping under the table, Felix’s hand lingering on the rim of his glass. Chan couldn’t stop watching the way Felix’s lips curved when he smiled. Later, when they kissed—when Chan laid him down, pressing reverent kisses across his neck and chest, whispering against his skin if he could go further—he’d been desperate, aching to show Felix how much he wanted him.

And then… silence.

Because Felix had fallen asleep.

The blond was completely out, mouth parted against Chan’s pillow, and his hair fanned messily around his head. Chan had stared for a moment, half exasperated, and half overwhelmed with affection. Then, he chuckled softly, brushed the hair out of Felix’s face, and changed him gently into a spare set of pajamas. Tucking him in had felt strangely intimate, more than anything else. Chan had laid beside him after, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, realizing he’d never felt so certain about someone in his entire life.

-

Chan blinked back to the present, throat tight, and eyes burning. His world was here, trembling in Haneul’s arms.

Felix was still speaking, his voice shaky but determined. “I thought he’d be mad when I woke up. That he’d throw me out for being, well, dumb enough to fall asleep like that. But he didn’t. He just made me breakfast, smiled, and told me it was fine.”

A soft, shaky chuckle escaped Chan before he could stop it. God, Felix always knew how to strip him bare.

Felix’s watery smile tilted upward, trembling but real. “That’s what you do when you love someone. You make space for them. You hold them, even when it’s messy. Even when it’s not perfect.”

His voice dropped to a whisper, and he angled his tear-streaked face toward Haneul. “And that’s what we’re doing for you. Right now. We’re holding space for you.”

Haneul blinked, his grip faltering slightly as confusion broke through the storm in his expression. His voice came out small and fractured. “Why? Why wouldn’t he just leave you? Why wouldn’t anyone just… leave?”

Felix’s lips shook, but his answer was immediate, raw, and dripping with truth. “Because when you love someone, you don’t leave. You don’t throw them away when they’re hurting.”

Felix leaned in the smallest fraction, his tears falling freely now. “And we’re not throwing you away either, Haneul. Not now. Not ever.”

For one fleeting second, Chan saw it—the knife lowered an inch, Haneul’s eyes clearing, the weight of his delusion cracking at the edges—but then, a loud bang echoed in the hallway outside.

He flinched violently, tightening his arms around Felix with a jolt, the knife digging into Felix’s side again. Felix gasped sharply, and Chan’s heart lurched into his throat as Haneul’s eyes went wild all over again.

The fragile thread they’d been weaving was slipping through their fingers with every single reminder of the outside world.

“Do you ever get scared?” Hanuel whispered, eyes darting between them, suspicion battling desperation.

Felix swallowed, his throat bobbing against the boy’s forearm. His voice came out tremulous but steady enough. “All the time,” he admitted. “I’m scared every day in this hospital. Sometimes it feels like I’ll mess up, or that someone I care about won’t make it through the night. Being scared doesn’t mean you’re weak. It means you care too much.”

The boy’s grip faltered just slightly, confusion slipping across his face. Chan saw it—saw the small, delicate crack in the wall of paranoia they were desperately trying to hold onto—and forced his pulse to steady, even as his body screamed to lunge forward and rip Felix out of his arms. Not yet.

“What’s your favorite color?” Haneul demanded suddenly, sharp and suspicious, as though testing if Felix would betray himself.

Felix blinked, then, to Chan’s shock, his lips curved upward just a fraction. It was wobbly and faint, but real. “Sky blue,” he said softly. “The kind you see when you lie on the grass and it feels like the whole world is endless.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“That’s stupid,” Hanuel muttered, but his voice lacked bite.

“Yeah,” Felix whispered, smiling faintly through the tears threatening to spill, “but it’s mine.”

And something shifted. Hanuel’s grip loosened. Not much, but enough that Felix’s fingers twitched, and with slow, deliberate courage, he stretched one trembling hand outward. His fingers brushed against Chan’s. The touch was so fleeting, so fragile, that it nearly broke Chan’s heart. He clamped down instantly, weaving his rougher fingers through Felix’s, grounding him.

The knife was still there. The boy was still trembling with delusion. But for one heartbeat, Chan felt like the thread they had been trying to weave might hold this time.

“Haneul,” Chan murmured, forcing his voice to stay low, even, and unthreatening. “Can I tell you something honest?”

The boy narrowed his eyes. “Honest?”

“Yes.” Chan lifted his free hand slowly, palm open to show he held nothing, just air. His throat worked as he swallowed. “I’m scared too. Not of you,” he added quickly. His voice cracked, but he pushed through it. “I’m scared of losing him.”

Felix’s eyes snapped up at that, a soft whimper catching in his throat. Tears rolled down his face hot and heavy, and Chan nearly lost his composure at the sight. He forced himself to keep looking at Haneul, to pour everything into that moment.

“He’s the most important person in my life,” Chan said, voice rough and raw with truth. “And right now, you’re holding my world in your arms. I don’t want to fight with you. I don’t want to hurt you. I just… want to keep him safe. That’s all.”

Haneul’s lip trembled. His eyes flicked between them wildly, suspicion colliding with something younger, more desperate, more lonely. The knife wavered, his grip no longer choking Felix but clinging to him.

Felix, always the bridge, seized on it. “Haneul-ah… you don’t have to hold me so tight. I’m not going anywhere. You’re safe with me.”

Slowly, painfully, Haneul shifted backward, his grip on Felix loosening, arms starting to drop slightly. The knife dropped lower, hovering by Haneul’s own thigh instead of Felix’s stomach.

Chan dared to breathe. He dared to let the tiniest sliver of hope spark back in his chest.

Felix’s hand clutched tighter at his, and their eyes met across the few feet of space, Felix’s wide and wet, and Chan’s burning with everything he couldn’t say. I’ve got you. I won’t let go.

Chan’s throat burned, but he forced the words out anyway, words that came from the deepest place inside him.

“I love him,” he whispered, voice unsteady, every syllable carrying the weight of his soul. “He’s my heart. My home. He’s the reason I can get through nights like this. He’s the reason I still believe I’m doing something good in this world. Without him—” His voice cracked and broke apart, his breath stuttering as if the very idea was too much to bear. “Without him, I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

Felix’s fingers squeezed his, trembling and damp, and when Chan looked at him, his boyfriend’s eyes were wide and glistening, his lips parted like he couldn’t believe Chan was saying this out loud. Tears streamed silently down Felix’s cheeks, his mouth quivering as though he wanted to speak but couldn’t get the words out.

And Haneul—God, for one fragile, blessed moment—Haneul let go. His hand dropped away from Felix’s waist, the knife dipping further down his own thigh. His mouth hung open, his eyes wide and unfocused, as though Chan’s confession had stunned him into stillness.

Felix gasped at the release, shaky, but didn’t bolt. He leaned forward into Chan’s grip, and Chan tugged at him with infinite care, coaxing him to stand. Felix’s knees trembled beneath him, his legs barely holding, but he rose. Their hands stayed linked, lifelines threading them together.

“That’s it,” Chan murmured, every nerve in his body burning with urgency, but his voice controlled and coaxing. “You’re safe. He’s safe. Just let him go.”

Felix shuffled forward, and for a heartbeat Chan thought—prayed—they had made it this time. He drew Felix closer, step by painstaking step, until he could nearly reach him, until he could nearly fold him into his arms where he belonged.

And then the overhead system crackled alive, splitting the fragile calm.

“Code Blue, Room 334. Code Blue.”

The announcement blared through the ceiling speakers, harsh and mechanical. All three of them jolted. Felix gasped and flinched toward Chan, his palm sweaty in Chan’s. Chan’s heart stuttered—don’t reach, don’t startle him, don’t—

But it was too late.

Hanuel’s eyes went wild. His entire body snapped taut like a bowstring, panic exploding across his face. “You lied,” he sobbed, voice cracking high. His chest heaved, tears streaking down his cheeks. “You lied, you’re tricking me, you’re one of them—you’re hurting me!”

“Wait—no—Haneul, please!” Chan lunged forward, voice desperate, but the boy had already wrenched Felix from his grasp, tearing his hand away with shocking strength.

Felix’s terrified cry split the room.

Chan’s world stopped.

The knife plunged into Felix’s back with a sickening, muffled sound. Felix arched violently, his breath catching in a strangled scream. His hand, the one that had been holding Chan’s so tight, flew out toward him, fingers clawing at the air as though reaching for rescue.

“NO!” The roar ripped out of Chan’s chest, torn and raw. His knees nearly gave beneath him, every part of him screaming to move, to protect, to fix this, but all he could do was watch in frozen horror.

Felix’s face twisted in pain, his lips trembling around a whimper that shattered Chan. “Ch-Chris—” he gasped, voice so faint it almost broke entirely. His legs buckled, body jerking against Haneul’s hold.

Chan’s mind raced, medical instincts screaming at him—leave it in, don’t let him pull it out, keep the knife in—but he couldn’t get the words out fast enough, couldn’t force his mouth to move while his heart was breaking open in his chest.

Haneul cried out, his face a mask of terror, and before Chan could stop him, the boy yanked the blade free.

Felix collapsed with it.

He crumpled to the floor like a puppet with cut strings, landing hard, his scrubs already darkening with a spreading bloom of blood. His breath hitched sharply, and his body curled around the wound in a trembling spasm.

“Felix!” Chan’s scream cracked in half. He staggered toward him, desperate to gather him in, to press his hands over the wound, to meet his eyes, to keep him alive—

But Hanuel turned, knife still dripping, his eyes blazing wild with terror. He shrieked, charging, blade raised.

Chan barely had time to see Felix’s shaking hand reaching for him from the floor, his lips forming his name through blood and tears, before the boy’s body slammed into his own.

Pain detonated, bright and blinding. The world whited out.

-

It had been one of those brutal weeks where the hospital seemed to chew them up and spit them out every day. Felix was stretched thin from being floated back and forth between peds and the ER, never in one place long enough to catch his breath. Chan had been on call nearly nonstop, shouldering consults and administrative nonsense until his head pounded. Neither of them had slept properly. Neither had eaten enough. And it showed.

The fight started small. A muttered comment from Chan about Felix skipping meals again, a sharp retort from Felix about Chan hovering like he was his keeper instead of his boyfriend. Normally, they’d laugh it off. But exhaustion wore their edges raw, and soon their words were sharper, quicker, and louder. Chan’s voice rose without meaning to. Felix’s eyes flashed, and then suddenly they were both standing too close, throwing barbed words neither really meant.

“You don’t have to control everything I do, Chris!” Felix snapped, voice trembling with fatigue more than anger.

“And you don’t have to kill yourself just to prove you can handle it!” Chan fired back, chest heaving. His throat felt tight, the words tumbling out harsher than he intended.

But then—mid-argument—Felix’s voice cracked. His chin wobbled, and before he could stop himself, tears welled and spilled down his cheeks. He looked startled by them, as if crying was the last thing he wanted to do, and he turned away quickly, shoulders curling in shame.

Chan’s anger vanished in an instant. It was gone like it had never been, replaced by a hollow ache in his chest that nearly knocked the air out of him. His heart lurched painfully at the sight of Felix trembling with tears streaking down his face as he tried to cover it with his hands.

“Baby,” Chan whispered, his own voice breaking now. He reached out, gently but firmly catching Felix’s wrist before he could hide himself. “No. Don’t turn away from me.”

Felix shook his head, still crying, his breath coming out in uneven, shuddering gasps. Chan guided his hand upward and pressed Felix’s palm flat against his own chest, right over the steady thrum of his heart. His large hand came over Felix’s, pinning it there with quiet insistence.

“Here,” Chan murmured, forehead lowering until it almost brushed Felix’s. His voice was low and steady, the kind of anchor Felix had always trusted. “Breathe with me. Match me. Just us, okay? Don’t think about anything else.”

Felix’s breaths were ragged, fast and shallow, his chest rising and falling harshly. But Chan eggaerated his own breaths, slow, deep, and deliberate. He inhaled long and heavy, then exhaled in a measured rush, his chest rising and falling beneath Felix’s hand. Again, and again, until slowly Felix’s shaky lungs began to follow, syncing to the rhythm.

“That’s it,” Chan whispered. “That’s my boy. Just follow me.”

Felix’s damp lashes lifted, eyes glassy and uncertain, meeting Chan’s with a kind of naked vulnerability that broke him wide open. Chan’s thumb stroked over Felix’s knuckles, grounding him further.

“Now,” Chan said softly, voice trembling but determined, “repeat after me. I love you.”

Felix’s lips trembled, his voice catching, but he whispered, “I love you.”

“We’re strong.”

Felix sniffled, blinked hard, but said it back. “We’re strong.”

“We’re solid.”

“We’re solid.”

“I love you.”

Felix swallowed thickly, his tears spilling fresh, but the words came stronger this time: “I love you.”

Each repetition seemed to pull him back, breath by breath, until his chest moved in perfect rhythm with Chan’s. His trembling eased. His crying softened to quiet hiccups. And then, finally, he let himself fully lean into Chan’s chest, his body curling into the warmth and steadiness waiting for him there.

Chan wrapped his arms around him and pressed his lips to the crown of Felix’s head, whispering hoarsely, “I’ve got you. Always.”

As Felix’s damp cheek pressed against his chest, Chan tilted his head down, gazing into his boyfriend’s wide, tear-filled eyes. Their breaths synced completely, hearts beating against each other through their shirts.

Chan held that gaze, deep and unwavering, until the world beyond it faded away.

-

The slam of the door echoed like a gunshot.

For a few seconds, he couldn’t hear anything but the thunder of his own pulse. The world came back to him in fragments: the taste of blood thick in his mouth, the acrid sting of antiseptic from the room around him, the sticky wetness spreading fast across his stomach where his hand now pressed desperately down. He groaned, teeth clenched against the agony. And then—

“…Chris…”

It was so soft, so fragile, that for a moment Chan thought he imagined it. But he turned, heart clawing at his ribs, and found him.

Felix.

The sight stole the air from his lungs more than his own wound ever could. Felix was collapsed on the floor a few feet away, curled slightly, one arm wrapped weakly around his own torso. Blood soaked through his pale blue scrubs, pooling beneath him in a sickeningly fast spread. His blond hair clung damp to his forehead, and his lips were trembling, pale against the crimson staining them. His eyes—those bright, warm eyes Chan loved—were wide and wet, glassy with tears and pain, locked desperately on him.

Chan’s body screamed as he shifted, dragging himself forward with one shaking arm, his other hand still clutching at the wound in his abdomen. His fingers stretched out, desperate and frantic.

Felix mirrored him, his thin arm trembling violently as he reached out too. His hand shook so badly Chan thought it’d collapse midair, but he reached, fingers stretching, clawing toward him.

The distance between them was only a few feet, but it may as well have been miles. Their fingertips hovered in the air, just shy of touching, separated by cruel inches of nothing.

Felix let out a sound then, a broken, high-pitched sob that ripped Chan’s heart out. He let his hand drop for a second, shaking from the effort, before forcing it back up. His tears streaked down his pale cheeks, his chest rising and falling too fast, too shallow.

“Felix…” Chan rasped, voice raw, strangled with pain and love all at once. He tried to smile, tried to give him something solid to hold onto, but it wavered, his own tears spilling hot down his face.

Felix’s lips parted, trying for a smile, but it cracked instantly, collapsing into another sob. His body shuddered, his breath hitching as his eyes begged for Chan to fix it, to make it stop, to just hold him.

Chan’s heart shattered into pieces. He thought of their fight, the sharp words, the way he’d yelled about Im, about Felix “betraying” him. He thought of Felix’s face when he’d finched, when Chan’s anger had cut deeper than any blade. He wanted to claw the memory out of existence, to tear the words from the air and swallow them back down.

He didn’t have time for apologies, not the way he wanted. So he gave Felix what he could, the one anchor he knew worked. The one thing that had always calmed him when he was breaking apart.

“Baby…” Chan whispered, choking on the word, dragging his body a few inches closer. “Repeat me, Lix. Just us. Just like before.”

Felix’s lashes fluttered, blood pooling around him, but he nodded faintly, lips parting, his hand still reaching.

Chan swallowed hard, forcing his own trembling voice to steady. “I love you.”

Felix whimpered, his voice catching, but he echoed, “I… love you…” Tears spilled down his temple as he blinked heavily, fighting the pull of unconsciousness.

Chan’s chest shook, a sob caught in his throat. “We’re strong.”

Felix’s hand shook harder, but his lips moved. “We’re… strong…”

“We’re solid,” Chan forced out, his voice breaking on the word.

“We’re solid…” Felix repeated, breath hitching. His chest rose too sharply, then sagged, too shadow.

Chan’s tears blurred everything, but he kept his eyes locked on Felix’s, desperate, pouring everything into that look. “I love you,” he said again, more broken this time, a plea, a confession, an apology.

Felix let out a shuddering sob, his lips trembling as he forced it out one last time. “I… love you.”

Their voices broke together, trembling, choked with pain and grief, but the rhythm tethered them across the impossible distance. It was all they had left.

Chan’s arm shook violently, blood soaking through his scrubs, his body ready to give out. His vision darkened at the edges, but he refused to look away. He refused to blink.

Felix’s eyes were slipping, his lashes lowering, breaths shorter and shorter. He gave a tiny, broken smile that crumbled instantly into tears. His lips trembled as if to form Chan’s name again, but no sound came.

“Stay with me,” Chan begged hoarsely, though his voice barely carried. “Just—just look at me, baby. Just me.”

Felix’s damp eyes locked onto his, shining with love and fear and pain, before they fluttered closed, his body sagging against the floor.

“Felix!” Chan’s scream tore out of him, raw and desperate, but the sound echoed against walls that no longer answered.

His world blurred, his strength finally slipping, his own eyes falling shut. And the last thing he saw before the dark swallowed him whole was Felix’s tear-streaked face, still just out of reach.

Chapter Text

The hum of the fluorescent lights above was starting to crawl beneath Seungmin’s skin. He hated waiting around, especially for that resident, the one who thought his degree made him God’s gift to medicine.

“Just give me a minute,” the guy had said before vanishing into the doctor’s lounge, leaving Seungmin standing in the hallway with the portable X-ray. A “minute” was quickly turning into fifteen.

He leaned against the nurses’ station with an exasperated sigh, arms crossed over his chest. Jeognin sat nearby, legs swinging off the counter while chatting with Jin.

“What are we gossiping about?” Seungmin asked, tone dry but curious.

Jin gave a small smile. “Most about how much I regret calling in Felix-ah today. I didn’t want him scheduled with Chan, but I had no other option.”

Jeongin’s eyebrows shot up. “Yeah, what’s up with that? Everyone’s talking about it. Did they really fight?”

Jin nodded slowly, guilt creasing his face. “Badly, I think. I saw them earlier; they weren’t yelling or anything, but Chan looked wrecked. And Felix…” he exhaled heavily, “he couldn’t even look at him.”

Seungmin scoffed under his breath. “Chan’s got to pull his head out of his ass. He’s the attending. If something went wrong, that’s on him, not Felix.”

Jeongin frowned, swinging his legs to a stop. “They don’t fight much, do they?”

“Barely ever,” Seungmin replied softly, voice losing its edge. “Usually, they cry before they even finish arguing. They apologize and crawl back to each other in record time.”

He looked down the hall, a pang of worry creeping into his chest. “Still. That was before blood got involved.”

“Where are they now?” Jeongin asked.

Jin shrugged. “Last I heard, they were with that psych consult kid. The one who had the LP yesterday.”

“I’m covering for the psych intern today,” Jeongin said, hopping off the counter. “Let’s go check on them. You coming?”

Seungmin sighed, grabbed the handle of the portable X-ray, and pushed himself away from the counter. “Fine. Jin-hyung, page me when the prodigy decides he’s ready.”

“Will do,” Jin said with a wave.

The two walked in silence, the soft hum of the hospital filling the air, the distant rhythm of monitors, the occasional shuffle of nurses’ shoes against tile. Everything was normal. Routine.

When they reached the patient’s room, Jeongin knocked lightly before pushing open the door.

They were met with an empty bed, crumpled sheets, and an IV line dangling off the side like an afterthought.

Jeongin frowned. “Weird. Maybe they took him for testing?”

Seungmin’s stomach tightened. “I didn’t see transport go by.” He stepped further into the room. “Check with Jin, maybe he knows where they are.”

Jeongin nodded, already turning toward the door, fingers reaching for his pager.

That’s when Seungmin froze.

Something in the air shifted, and a faint metallic tang hit the back of his throat. Sharp, cold, and unnatural.

Blood.

His nose wrinkled, instinctively covering it with the back of his hand. “God… why does it smell like that?”

The silence was thick and heavy now.

Then, a soft sound broke it, a squelch, faint and wet, like a shoe dragging through something it shouldn’t.

His pulse spiked.

“Hello?” he called cautiously, taking another step forward.

He turned the corner, and his world stopped.

For a moment, his brain refused to make sense of what his eyes were seeing.

There was blood everywhere.

Splattered across the floor. Pooling beneath the bed. Streaked across the pale tile in dark, shining rivers.And in the middle of it, two bodies.

Felix and Chan were lying only feet apart, hands outstretched toward each other but not quite touching. The pale blue of Felix’s scrubs were soaked dark, and Chan was slumped half-against the wall, his shirt clinging crimson to his stomach.

Seungmin’s breath caught. His vision tunneled. The clipboard he carried with him clattered from his grip and hit the floor with a crash that echoed too loud.

“…no…” His voice cracked, barely a whisper. Then louder— “No—no, no—”

His body moved before his mind could catch up. He stumbled forward, feet slipping in the blood, dropping to his knees beside Felix.

“Felix—hey—Lix, can you hear me?”

Nothing.

Felix’s skin was cold under his fingertips. His chest barely moved.

“Oh my god,” Seungmin whispered, pressing shaking fingers against Felix’s throat. A pulse. Weak and faint. But there.

He turned him gently onto his back, and the sight nearly made him gag.

The wound was deep. Through-and-through. His stomach was torn open, and his scrubs were soaked black. Blood pooled beneath him, seeping into the seams of the tile.

“Jesus—Jesus Christ,” Seungmin choked, tears already clouding his vision as he pressed his hands over the wound, desperate to stop teh bleeding. Warmth soaked instantly through his fingers.

“Jeongin!” he screamed, voice shattering. “Jeongin! Get in here!”

Footsteps thundered behind him, and Jeogin reappeared in the doorway, only to freeze, the color draining out of his face.

“Holy—what—what happened—?”

“Get to Chan!” Seungmin shouted, voice shaking so hard the words broke apart. “He’s still breathing, go!”

Jeongin scrambled forward, almost slipping as he dropped to his knees beside Chan. His hands went straight to the wound in Chan’s abdomen, pressing down.

“Looks like a knife wound,” he gasped, panic thick in his voice. “It’s not all the way through—”

Seungmin looked up at him, eyes wide, lips trembling. “Felix’s is.”

Jeongin’s breath hitched. “What?”

“It’s all the way through,” Seungmin choked, voice breaking on a sob. “It went through—he’s losing too much—oh God—”

“Stay with me, Lix-ah,” he whispered, pressing harder, blood slicking between his fingers and slipping down his wrists. “Come on, sunshine, please—wake up—”

Felix’s lips parted, a faint whimper leaving them before his head lolled to the side again, eyes barely slitted.

Jeongin’s shaking hand slammed the code button. The overhead alarm erupted in a burst of harsh noise—”Code blue, Pediatrics, room 417.”

The announcement was deafening, echoing down the hallway.

Seungmin kept his hands pressed to Felix’s stomach, tears falling freely onto his chest. “Don’t you do this, don’t you dare,” he whispered fiercely. “You always tell everyone else it’ll be okay, remember? You don’t get to stop now.”

Chan groaned faintly across the room, a low, wet sound that made Seungmin’s heart twist. He wanted to go to him, but he couldn’t let go. He couldn’t risk losing the faint rise and fall of Felix’s chest beneath his palms.

Jeongin’s voice was shaking as he screamed into the hallway, “Get Minho! Page the trauma team now!”

The hallway exploded with noise—pounding footsteps, crash carts squealing, nurses shouting orders—but in Seungmin’s head, there was nothing. Just Felix’s name, over and over again, like a prayer he couldn’t stop whispering.

He looked down at Felix’s face, pale and still except for the faint flutter of his lashes, and his voice cracked as he whispered, “You’re gonna be okay, Lixie. You have to be okay.”

-

Minho’s headache had started behind his eyes hours ago and refused to leave.

It pulsed now, steady as a second heartbeat, as he stared at the cursor blinking at the end of his chart note. The SICU was quiet except for the rhythmic chorus of monitors, beeps, soft hisses of oxygen, and the occasional rattle of a vent tube. The kind of white noise that could drive a man mad when he’d been awake for just a few hours too many straight.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath as he finished the note. Another trauma case, stabilized and moved to SICU. A win, technically, but Minho didn’t feel it.

His back ached from hours in the OR. His stomach was empty. His head was a mess.

And the mess had a name: Felix Lee.

The kid had been running himself ragged again, doubling shifts, floating between ER and pediatrics, and still somehow smiling through it all. Minho could already hear his soft voice saying I’m fine, hyung, even when the dark circles under his eyes said otherwise. And now, on top of the exhaustion, he had to deal with Chan’s shit.

Minho clicked his pen against the desk. “Pabo,” he muttered. He wasn’t even sure if he meant Chan or himself. Probably both.

Chan had always been emotional, heart on his sleeve, and guilt running through his veins thicker than blood. But yelling at Felix?

Felix, who’d bleed himself dry to keep everyone else upright?

It wasn’t just anger that Minho felt thinking about it. It was a kind of helpless, protective ache. Like watching someone kick a kitten and not being able to reach in time.

He leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand down his face. “Maybe I’ll beach it again,” he mumbled to himself, tugging a strand of dark hair forward. The old bottle had been sitting under his bathroom sink for months. Felix would grin the second he saw it, his sunshine smile, the one that made even a twelve-hour trauma shift worth it. Maybe even Jisung would stop being so damn stubborn and—

He cut the thought off. That wound still stung too much.

He finished his chart, logged off, and stood, rolling the tension from his shoulders. He’d go to pediatrics, steal Felix for a snack, maybe tease him until he smiled again.

Then the overhead alarm blared.

“Code Grey. Last seen in Pediatrics.”

The words made the back of his neck prickle. Code Grey. Runaway dangerous patient. In pediatrics.

Felix is in pediatrics.

Before he could even process it, his pager began to vibrate violently against his lip. He looked down, a 911 page from pediatrics. Room 417.

He didn’t even realize he was moving until he was halfway to the elevators, gloves already half on, his coat flaring behind him. The fluorescent lights streaked overhead, and his reflection in the windows looked ghostly and pale with fear.

The elevator doors opened just as someone else sprinted in, Changbin. His expression was tight, eyes wide, and chest heaving.

“You got paged too?” Minho managed between breaths.

Changbin nodded. “Yeah—911. Pediatrics. That’s all I know.”

The elevator hummed as it descended, too slow. The two men stood shoulder to shoulder, silent but vibrating with the same tension, the gut-deep, instinctive dread that came with those numbers.

When the doors opened, both bolted. The hallway was chaos, alarms screaming, pagers echoing, and nurses running in every direction.

Then a voice cut through the noise, sharp and panicked: “MINHO!”

Jeongin.

The sound of it sent ice down Minho’s spine. He turned and sprinted toward it, Changbin close behind. They rounded the corner and froze.

Everything stopped.

The room ahead was open, lights glaring too bright against white tile, white now soaked with red. So much red.

Blood soaked into the floor, glimmering wet beneath the fluorescent lights. It splattered the wall, dripped down the side of the exam bed, and painted the air with that thick metallic scent that hit in the back of the throat.

And in the center of it—

Felix.

He laid on his back, eyes closed, and his skin was ghostly pale beneath the mess of blood. His scrubs clung dark and wet to his stomach. A pool of red spread slowly beneath him, curling around his arm like a living thing.

Just feet away, Chan was unconscious as well, shirt torn open where his own blood soaked through. His hand was limp, slick, reaching toward Felix’s, and they were just inches apart.

Almost touching.

Minho’s knees locked. His breath caught in his throat, sharp and dry. For a heartbeat, he couldn’t even process what he was looking at. It didn’t make sense.

His brain kept trying to rewrite it, to make it something else, a simulation, a nightmare, anything but what it was.

Then the smell hit him fully. Iron. Blood. Fear. His chest squeezed painfully tight, and the world tilted.

Felix wasn’t moving. His chest barely lifted. His lips were parted and stained dark. His bangs—those soft, ridiculous bangs Felix always complained about—were matted to his forehead with blood.

Something broke inside Minho.

He stumbled forward a step, his voice catching on a sound he didn’t recognize, a strangled gasp that was halfway to a sob. “Yongbok—”

Seungmin was on the floor beside him, pressing both hands hard to the wound in Felix’s stomach, his face streaked with tears. His scrubs were soaked. Jeongin was by Chan’s side, shouting something, orders, pleas, Minho couldn’t tell. It was all muffled, like he was underwater.

Felix’s hand was limp, his fingertips brushed in blood.

Chan’s were the same, reaching toward him, frozen midair.

Minhos pulse was roaring in his ears. The room seemed to pulse with it—thud, thud, thud—until his vision blurred.

He wanted to move. To drop beside Felix. To do something. But his legs wouldn’t obey. His entire body had gone cold.

His mouth opened, but no sound came. His lungs burned, his breath came too fast, too shallow. He was hyperventilating, panic crawling up his spine like fire.

The lights were too bright. The noise was too loud.

“Minho!” Changbin’s voice this time, sharp and scared. “Minho, we need you—!”

He couldn’t. He couldn’t move.

His back hit the wall, sliding down until he was sitting, palms flat on the tile, streaking red. His gloves were sticky with it now. His breath was ragged, shallow, and his chest was shaking as his eyes locked back on Felix.

The boy’s lashes fluttered, barely perceptible, and a broken sound clawed out of Minho’s throat.

He wanted to crawl to him. To press his hands to the wound, to tell him to stay, to call him sunshine like he used to. But all he could do was watch.

Seungmin’s hands pressed down harder. Jeongin screamed for a crash cart. Changbin appeared beside them, already on his knees, voice rising with panic as he took over.

The room blurred, and the edges of Minho’s vision started to fade, tunneling in on that one sight of Felix, unmoving on the floor.

He pressed a shaking hand to his mouth, his breath hitching in broken sobs.

“Please,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Please, Yongbokkie, don’t—don’t do this, aegi—”

He didn’t know if he was speaking or thinking anymore. Didn’t know if anyone heard him. The pounding in his ears was too loud, the world spinning too fast.

All he could see was Felix’s small, still form, the blood still spreading, slow and unstoppable.

His chest seized. His vision went white. And as he slid fully down the wall, knees pulled to his chest, all Minho could do was whisper again and again, voice barely a sound:

“Please stay. Please stay, sunshine. Please.”

The lights blurred above him. The alarms screamed, and the only thing that didn’t fade was Felix’s outstretched hand, so close, but still not touching.

-

The elevator was too slow.

Every ding of the floor counter above the door hit Jisung’s chest like a punch, the metallic sound echoing in his skull. He bounced on his heels, hands wringing together as the numbers climbed— eleven… twelve… thrtreen… His heart was pounding so fast it hurt.

He’d been paged 911 to pediatrics. No details. Just that sharp code that made the air around him change. Then the overhead announcement came, crisp and robotic, but terrifying in its simplicity:

“Code Grey. Last seen in pediatrics.”

The blood drained from his face.

He didn’t know what he was running into, just that it had to be bad. It was always bad when it was pediatrics.

The elevator stopped halfway up, and he startled as the doors slid open and Hyunjin barreled inside, breathless, his scrub top half untucked and his hair a mess, the panic in his eyes unmistakable.

“Hyunjin?” Jisung asked, voice tight, startled by how unsteady it came out.

“Jisung, you got paged too?”

“Yeah,” he said, shaking his head quickly. “911. Pediatrics. You?”

“Same,” Hyunjin was breathing fast, hands shaking slightly as he smoothed back his hair. “Room 417.”

Jisung blinked. “That’s my room.”

They shared a brief, bewildered look—two durgoens from different departments, both paged to the same room—and Hyunjin tried weakly to joke: “What’s a kid in pediatrics need from both plastics and surgery? A Lego reconstruction?”

Jisung’s lips twitched, but the laugh didn’t come. The joke fell flat in the sterile air of the elevator. Neither of them said anything else.

The lights above them glowed fluorescent and cold, and Jisung’s heart pounded louder with every floor that passed.

Then the elevator doors opened, and the world exploded.

The pediatrics floor was in chaos.

The normally bright, cheerful hallway—walls painted with zoo animals, pastel-colored doors, stickers that said “Super Patient!”—was filled with shouting and movement. Nurses sprinted in every direction, crash carts screeched down the halls, and voices overlapped. The air reeked of adrenaline and fear.

Jisung and Hyunjin froze for half a second, the chaos swallowing them whole.

“Oh my god,” Hyunjin whispered.

Jisung’s stomach turned to ice. “417,” he breathed, already running.

They raced down the corridor, dodging stretchers and staff. The noise was deafening: the alarm’s shrill wail, the heavy footsteps, and the harsh orders shouted from every direction.

When they turned the corner, Jisung’s heart nearly stopped.

The door to 417 was wide open, the lights inside blindingly bright. And sitting against the wall just inside, crumpled and pale and shaking—

Minho.

“Minho!” Jisung shouted, rushing forward.

The trauma surgeon didn’t even react. His head hung forward slightly, his chest rising and falling too fast, each breath ragged and shallow. His gloved hands were streaked with blood. His eyes—wide, hollow, and glassy—were locked on something inside the room.

Jisung dropped to his knees beside him. “Hey—hey, Jagi,” he said softly, trying to steady his own breathing. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”

Nothing.

Minho didn’t blink. Didn’t look at him; he was just staring forward, his whole body shaking like a tree in the wind. His lips parted, but no sound came, just a choke noise that made Jisung’s stomach twist.

“Minho,” Jisung tried again, louder now, cupping his face with both hands. “Look at me, okay? What’s wrong? What happened?”

But Minho’s eyes didn’t move.

His pupils were blown wide, with tears brimming in teh corners. His throat bobbed once, but he couldn’t get the words out.

“Jisung—”

Hyunjin’s voice cracked like a whip. It wasn’t the usual lazy drawl or teasing tone, it was sharp and trembling.

Jisung turned to him, his heart in his throat.

Hyunjin was standing in the doorway, frozen. One hand covered his mouth. His eyes were wide and wet.

“Jisung…” he whispered, voice breaking. “Oh my god.”

Jisung turned, and the world fell apart.

Chan was by the far wall.

Felix was on the floor.

There was blood everywhere—too much blood. It glistened under the fluorescent lights, pooling beneath the bed, painting teh tile in smears of red footprints and handprints.

Felix laid motionless on his back. His scrub top was soaked through, the pale blue now a deep, dark crimson. His golden hair—that soft halo Jisung had seen a thousand times—was matted, sticky, and plastered to his face. His lips were parted, his skin the color of porcelain.

Chan wasn’t far, bleeding from his abdomen, but moving. Barely. His hand stretched toward Felix’s, fingers curled in a desperate reach that didn’t quite make contact.

For a long, hollow moment, Jisung couldn’t move.

The sound drained out of the room—the alarms, the shouting—everything muted.

He could taste metal in the air. Feel the sting of antiseptic in his nose. The world had gone cold, and he couldn’t seem to make his body obey.

He barely noticed Seungmin until the younger man’s voice broke through, hoarse and cracking. He was kneeling in the blood, pressing down on Felix’s wound, his hands shaking violently. “Come on, Lix, stay with me—come on—”

Jeongin was shouting for help, voice breaking, hands covered in blood as he leaned over Chan. Changbin was in the middle of crouching beside Felix, ordering Seungmin over to Jeongin to see what he could do.

Jisung felt the nausea rise hard in his throat. His eyes darted to Minho, and suddenly everything made sense: why he wasn’t moving, why he looked so destroyed.

He wasn’t in shock over the blood.

He was staring at Felix.

“Jagi—” Jisung choked, turning back to Minho. The man’s eyes were red now, tears spilling silently as his chest heaved in fast, panicked bursts. “Minho-hyung, look at me, please!”

No response.

Jisung grabbed his face, shaking him lightly. “Minho—Felix needs you. He needs you right now.” Still nothing. Just a shuddering inhale, eyes glassy.

“Come on, dammit—wake up!”

And before he could stop himself, Jisung slapped him.

The crack of it cut through the chaos loud and sharp.

Minho’s head jerked slightly, eyes blinking and confused. For the first time, focus flickered there.

Jisung’s voice broke. “You need to be here. Do you hear me? Felix needs you. Chan needs you. If you don’t move, they’re both going to die!”

Minho blinked once, twice, and something in him snapped back into place. The surgeon returned. His breath evened slightly, eyes sharpening, jaw setting.

He nodded once, curt and heavy, before rasping out. “Go to Chan.”

Jisung didn’t hesitate; he turned, slipping in the blood as he dropped to Chan’s side.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Minho push himself up, his movements shaky but purposeful. He stumbled once, then dropped to his knees beside Felix, immediately taking over holding pressure on the wound, voice trembling but steady as he barked out orders to no one in particular.

Jisung pressed down on Chan’s wound with everything he had, feeling the warmth of blood seeping through his gloves. Chan groaned faintly, a sound that was equal parts agony and relief.

And through the chaos—through the shouting and the pounding of feet as stretchers were wheeled through the doors—Jisung could hear Minho.

Not the surgeon, not the stoic man he knew from the OR.

Just Minho.

His voice cracked as he pleaded, “Stay with me, Bbokie-ah. Please, sunshine, stay with me. You’re okay, you’re okay, I promise. I’m here.”

Jisung felt something in his chest splinter. He pressed down harder on Chan’s wound, his own vision blurring as he looked over to where Felix laid motionless, Minho’s hands trembling over him.

And for the first time in his life, Jisung prayed.

Not to anyone in particular, just to anything that might be listening.

Please don’t take him. Please don’t take either of them.

-

The hallway outside Room 417 was a blur of motion and noise, orders shouted, the squeal of gurney wheels, the harsh crackle of overhead radios calling for backup.

And in the middle of it all, Minho moved like a machine wound too tight.

The trauma surgeon had shoved the panic down somewhere deep, locking it behind a wall of clinical focus. His hands were slick with blood, his voice low but sharp as he worked in tandem with the others—Jeongin, Seungmin, Jisung, Hyunjin, Changbin—all of them moving around him like a single frantic unit.

Felix and Chan laid side by side on the floor, two patches of red against the white tile. Felix’s blood had spread farthest, pooling beneath his body in a way that made Minho’s throat close. The smell of iron and antiseptic was thick enough to sting his eyes.

“Get two stretchers in here—now!” Minho barked, voice cracking at the end.

Jeongin and Changbin didn’t hesitate, rushing out to grab them while Seungmin kept pressure on Felix’s abdomen, his small frame trembling with the effort.

“Keep pressing, keep pressing,” Minho urged, hands moving over Felix’s wound as the younger nurse’s breathing came out in sharp, panicked bursts. He could feel the sluggish pulse beneath his gloves. Too slow. Too shallow.

“Come on, sunshine,” Minho whispered under his breath, more prayer than command. “Don’t you dare go quiet on me.”

Jisung and Hyunjin reappeared at the doorway, both pale, both sweating. They moved without needing to be told, Hyunjin helping Changbin lift Chan carefully onto the first stretcher, Jisung steadying Felix’s limp body as Minho guided the line of movement with trembling precision.

“Easy—easy,” Minho warned, his voice breaking when Felix’s head lolled against Jisung’s shoulder.

Felix didn’t stir.

The team worked fast, adrenaline sharpening their coordination. The metallic wheels of the stretchers squealed as they were rushed down the hallway, a trail of blood smearing the tiles behind them.

They reached the elevator bay, and Minho pressed the button over and over like it would make the doors open faster. His breathing was erratic now, not from running, but from the fear that no amount of medical knowledge could suppress.

“Keep pressure!” he barked at Jeongin, who was at Felix’s side, one trembling hand pressing down on gauze soaked through and bleeding out faster than they could replace it.

Jisung was still trying to stabilize Chan on the next stretcher over, his voice breaking as he called vitals. Hyunjin ran beside Minho, pushing the IV stand, his eyes wild. The monitors beeped unevenly—too fast, then slowing—and Minho’s heart tried to match the erratic rhythm.

The elevator doors opened, and the team flooded inside, silent except for the soft hissing of oxygen and the groan of the gurney wheels. Minho pressed one hand over Felix’s wound, another to his neck, feeling for a pulse that was weak, thready, slipping.

“Come on, sunshine,” he whispered, the nickname breaking in his throat. “Hold on for me, yeah? Just—stay.”

No response.

Felix’s head lolled to the side, lips parted, skin waxy under the harsh lights.

“Don’t you dare,” Minho said softly, his jaw tightening. “Don’t you dare leave me.”

The elevator jolted to a stop, the doors sliding open to reveal the organized chaos of the emergency department. It was loud—pagers beeping, wheels squealing, nurses shouting orders—but for a split second, all sound seemed to vanish.

Two doctors were already waiting at the trauma bay doors, Dr. San and Dr. Wooyoung, both scrubbed in, both looking ready for war.

“Two coming in!” Minho shouted, his voice hoarse. “One abdominal stab, one superficial, both critical but priority’s the abdominal!”

San’s eyes flicked to Felix and widened. “Get them in trauma rooms three and four!” he ordered, snapping his gloves on.

They pushed through the double doors, splitting at the junction, Chan to the left, Felix to the right.

Felix’s stretcher hit the center of Trauma Room Three, and the team exploded into motion. Lines, suction, vitals, monitors, everyone moved at once, voices rising and overlapping.

Minho planted himself at Felix’s side, shouting instructions through the noise.

“Through the abdominal aorta,” he said tightly, pointing at the wound. “Massive internal bleed, he’s already lost too much. He’s crashing.”

Felix’s monitor screamed a long, flat beep before flickering back to life, the numbers dancing. His heart was fighting, but barely.

“Get me type and cross!” Minho barked.

A nurse’s voice called back, “We’re on it, but there’s no match yet!”

San looked up sharply. “We need O-negative!”

Minho froze. “We’re short on O-neg,” he said roughly. “We’re out until morning!”

“Then use the cell saver,” Minho ordered immediately, snapping back into motion. “Hook it up and recycle every drop we can.”

Nurses scrambled to connect tubing, the hiss and click of equipment filling the air.

Felix was unrecognizable under the harsh fluorescent lights, his hair damp and clinging to his forehead, his face too pale. Blood still pooled beneath him, spreading from the edges of the trauma table.

“Come on, kitten,” Minho whispered under his breath, voice breaking as he leaned close. “Don’t you quit on us. You hear me? You fight, Yongbok-ah. You fight.”

He pressed harder on the wound. The warmth of Felix’s blood soaked through his gloves, sticky and hot.

“Does anyone know his blood type?!” Minho shouted, scanning the faces around the table.

No one answered.

The silence cut through the noise like a knife.

Minho swore hard. “We don’t have time to wait! Prep him for OR—now!”

Felix’s vitals were dropping again, the monitor’s frantic beeping turning erratic. The nurses unclipped lines, wheeled monitors closer, swapped IV bags, all under the bright urgency of a team that refused to lose him.

“Get ready to move!” Minho shouted.

San’s voice rose from behind the crowd: “All right, everyone, family steps out! You know the rule! Family can’t work on family!”

There was a beat of stunned silence.

And then Hyunjin snapped, voice sharp and trembling with fury: “The hell we’re not! We’re all their family!”

His voice cracked in the middle, echoing across the trauma bay. Even over the machines, the words hit like a slap.

Jeongin choked on a sob. Seungmin’s hands shook harder over the gauze. Jisung turned from Chan’s room, face streaked with sweat and tears.

Minho didn’t say anything; he couldn’t. His throat was too tight, his vision blurring. But he nodded once, rough and fierce, never looking away from Felix.

“Damn right,” he rasped. “We stay.”

San didn’t argue. He knew better than to try.

The trauma bay became a storm again, but this time, they moved as one. Family, not just colleagues.

They rolled Felix’s bed toward the hallway, monitors trailing behind. His pulse was fading—the line on the monitor threatening to flatten again—and Minho leaned close, whispering, “Hang on, sunshine. We’ve got you. Just stay awake for me.”

The moment the gurney crossed the threshold toward surgery, Jisung caught Minho’s eye as he left, nodding at him before turning back to Chan.

Chan was barely conscious, his skin pale but his eyes cracked open, unfocused, glassy. His gaze darted toward the door, toward the blur of movement beyond it.

“Felix,” he croaked, voice rough and broken.

Jisung swallowed hard, forcing calm into his voice. “He’s being taken up to the OR right now. We got him in time, Chan. He’s going to be okay.”

Chan’s chest rose and fell shallowly. “What… happened?”

“We don’t know,” Minho said quietly. “We’ll figure it out later. You need to rest now.”

Chan’s hand twitched, reaching toward the space where Felix had been. “Felix—he’s… okay?”

Changbin forced a small, tight smile. “We’ve got him, hyung. He’s in good hands.”

The nurse at Chan’s bedside adjusted the IV. “We’re going to sedate you now, Dr. Bang. You need to let us—”

“No.” Chan’s voice was slurred but stubborn. He tried to lift his head, but Jisung pressed him gently back against the pillow.

“I have to—see him,” Chan whispered. His eyelids fluttered. “Tell him—”

He trailed off, eyes rolling slightly before snapping back open for one last second. His lips trembled, the words almost lost in his exhale.

“His blood type… O-negative.”

And then he was out.

The monitor beeped steadily, a reassurance and a warning all at once.

Jisung froze, his brain processing the words a second too late. Then his head jerked up sharply, eyes locking on Jeongin in the doorway.

“There’s a blood shortage,” he said quickly, his voice cracking. “Go. Go tell Minho!”

Jeongin’s mouth opened, hesitant, eyes flicking toward Chan. “But—”

“Jeongin!” Jisung barked, voice cracking with authority. “Go!”

Jeongin stumbled into motion, his shoes squeaking against the tile as he bolted down the hall after Minho and the trauma team, the sound of wheels and shouting echoing ahead of him.

Behind him, the automatic doors to the trauma bay slammed closed.

-

Jeongin’s lungs burned.

He didn’t remember deciding to run; he was just moving, legs pounding against the tile, his shoes slipping slightly on the blood that streaked the floor near the trauma bay. The double doors ahead were closing around the stretchers carrying Felix and Chan, the words “OR STAT” echoing down the hall.

“Wait!” he shouted, voice breaking as he stumbled forward, but the doors slammed shut before he could reach them.

The elevator chimed. He lunged for it, only to watch the metal doors slide closed inches from his fingertips.

No.

He smacked the door in frustration, chest heaving. There wasn’t time to wait for another.

So he turned and ran for the stairwell, slamming the door open with his shoulder. The impact echoed through the concrete shaft, the sound like a gunshot. His breath came in jagged bursts as he took the steps two, then three at a time. The air was colder here, metallic with the tang of disinfectant, echoing with the sharp clatter of his shoes.

He passed a transporter, a nurse, and an intern, nearly barreling into all three as he gasped out a breathless, “Sorry—sorry, emergency—move!”

People turned, startled, but one look at his wide, tear-glossed eyes and the blood staining his scrubs, and they moved. He didn’t stop running until his legs screamed.

By the fifth floor, his chest was on fire. By the seventh, his throat tasted of copper.

He burst through the stairwell door, stumbling into the bright, too-clean world of the surgical wing.

Everything hit him at once: the cold, sterile air; the blinding white lights; the flurry of motion inside the OR prep area. A team of nurses and scrub techs surrounded Felix’s body, the rhythmic hum of monitors underscoring every movement.

For a moment, Jeongin couldn’t move.

Felix laid there on the table—small, still, and bloodless—as if every bit of light and color had been drained from him. The scrub nurses moved with efficient urgency, cutting his scrubs away, wiping blood from his stomach, attaching sensors, and checking his vitals. They lifted his limp arms with practiced hands, placing IV lines, the monitors blinking in frantic reds and greens.

They handled him gently, but it didn’t matter. It felt wrong.

Felix was never still. Felix laughed, fidgeted, chattered, and tapped rhythms against his thighs when he was bored. Seeing him unmoving, his hair stuck to his forehead, and his lips pale, it hollowed something inside Jeongin’s chest.

He turned his head, jaw tight, because it felt like a violation to watch them move Felix like a doll.

He shoved through the scrub room door instead, chest still heaving.

The water was already running, a harsh hiss filling the tiled room.

Minho stood at the sink, bent slightly forward, scrubbing at his hands so furiously that his skin had turned pink beneath the soap. The water was tinted faintly red where Felix’s blood mixed with the foam. His surgical cap was pulled low, his jaw locked so tight Jeongin could see it twitch.

Beside him stood the Chief of Surgery—Dr. Choi Siwon—a man whose calm carried the weight of command. He was older, composed, his every movement deliberate. The kind of man who could steady a room with one glance.

Minho looked up the instant Jeongin entered.

The whites of his eyes were stark against the bloodshot rims. “Is he—” His voice cracked mid-word. He swallowed and tried again. “Is Chan okay?”

Jeongin was gasping, one hand gripping the counter to keep upright. “Yeah—” he managed between breaths. “Mostly superficial. He was awake. Talking, before I left.”

Minho froze, his gloved hands stilling under the stream of water. His shoulders dropped an inch, just enough for Jeongin to see the relief that flickered across his face.

Jeongin let out a shaky laugh that melted into a half-sob. “He—he was asking about Felix,” he said. “Trying to get up to see him.”

That startled a wet, choked laugh out of Minho — one that sounded like it hurt. “Of course he was,” he murmured, voice trembling but fond. “Stupid bastard can’t sit still for five minutes if it’s about him.”

Dr. Choi glanced between them, his tone even. “Jeongin-ah, scrub in.”

Jeongin blinked. “Sir?”

“You’ve been in the case since the start,” the older man said, eyes already returning to the sink. “We’ll need all hands. And you know Felix’s vitals better than anyone.”

Minho’s head snapped up. “Sir, I’m not sure that’s—”

Before he could finish, Jeongin’s voice cut through the room, sharper than anyone had ever heard from him.

“Are you kidding me?”

Both men froze.

Jeongin rarely raised his voice, especially not to a superior. But his hands were shaking, his throat raw from running and fear and everything else boiling over.

“Did you even hear what Hyunjin said down there?” Jeongin snapped, his words trembling with anger and grief. “They’re our family, Minho. All of them. Chan, Felix—everyone. We don’t walk out when our family’s bleeding out on that table.”

Minho stared at him, wide-eyed.

Jeongin stepped forward, chest heaving. “If you want to stop me, you’re going to have to physically drag me out of this room.”

For a heartbeat, no one spoke. The only sound was the faucet, hissing steadily between them.

Then Minho’s lips curved, a fragile, flickering smile that barely held. But it was proud.

“Okay,” he said softly, voice raw. “Then scrub in, makenae-ah.”

Jeongin nodded, blinking hard to clear the sting in his eyes. He turned to the sink, scrubbing with fast, shaky motions, the harsh bristles biting into his fingers. The smell of antiseptic hit his nose sharply, sterile, and grounding.

Dr. Choi’s voice carried above the running water, calm and sure, the voice of decades of survival. “We’ll clamp the aorta above the renal arteries. Minho-ah, you’ll expose and control. I’ll take the proximal suture. We’ll have about twenty seconds before perfusion loss.”

“Understood,” Minho said, his tone clipped but steady.

“Be aware,” Choi continued, “once we open him, it’ll be a blood storm. No margin for error. And with the O-negative shortage…” He trailed off, eyes heavy with the unspoken. “We make every drop count.”

Jeongin’s heart clenched. And then, suddenly, something clicked in his head, a flash of Chan’s broken, desperate voice from the trauma bay.

“Wait,” he blurted. “Chan-hyung—he said Felix’s blood type is O-negative!”

Both heads whipped toward him.

Minho blinked, then laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “Of course he is,” he said softly. “Of course, the kid with a heart too big for his body has the rarest damn blood in the hospital.”

He turned toward one of the scrub nurses — a young woman Jeongin recognized from pediatrics, Huh Yunjin. “Start asking around,” Minho ordered, his voice taking on a steadier edge. “Anyone on staff who’s O-negative, I don’t care if it’s security or housekeeping, test and clear them for directed donation. Go!”

Yunjin nodded sharply and bolted from the room.

Minho turned back, looking between the two men. “I’m O-positive,” he said grimly.

Dr. Choi sighed. “A.”

Jeongin looked down. “A-positive.”

The silence that followed was heavy.

Dr. Choi finally straightened, his voice low but grounded. “Then we rely on what we have. Cell salvage, crystalloids, transfuse as soon as we can. No panic. No mistakes.”

He finished scrubbing and dried his hands, turning toward the doors. “Five minutes to prep. See you inside.”

As soon as he left, the scrub room fell quiet again, only the hiss of the water filling the space.

Jeongin looked over at Minho. The older man was still scrubbing, his hands trembling under the stream, pink and raw. His breathing was uneven, and for the first time, Jeongin realized Minho looked genuinely terrified.

The invincible trauma surgeon. The unshakable man who teased, scolded, and commanded everyone, shaking like he might shatter.

“Hey,” Jeongin said softly, drying his hands. “You’ve handled worse than this, right?”

Minho gave a short, hollow laugh. “I’ve handled a lot,” he murmured. “But never him.”

Jeongin’s chest tightened. “You’re the best trauma surgeon I’ve ever seen,” he said firmly, voice quivering but sure. “You’ve got this, hyung. Felix is gonna wake up and yell at us for crying over him. You’ll see.”

Minho looked up at him—eyes glossy, face tight—and gave the faintest nod. “Thanks, Innie.”

He grabbed his gloves, tugging them on with steadying breaths. “Now come on,” he said, voice breaking but determined. “Let’s go save our sunshine.”

Jeongin smiled weakly, following close behind. The OR doors swung open, a rush of light, noise, and urgency spilling through.

Inside, Felix lay under the surgical lamps, pale as the sheets beneath him. The monitors beeped weakly, machines whirring. The smell of iodine filled the air.

Minho paused at the threshold, just long enough to murmur, almost like a prayer:

Hang on, sunshine. Your family’s right here.

Then he stepped into the light.

-

The trauma bay smelled like metal and salt and fear.

Hyunjin’s gloves were tacky with half-dried blood, and his arms ached from the tension of holding still. The sterile lights overhead buzzed faintly, too bright and too clean for what was happening beneath them.

Chan lay stretched across the trauma gurney, his head turned slightly toward Hyunjin. His skin was pale and clammy; the usual warmth drained from him. There was blood staining his gown, pooling faintly under his flank where the bandages hadn’t been fully sealed yet. The monitors beside them beeped in uneven rhythms, screaming quietly in the sterile air.

Hyunjin couldn’t stop staring at his hyung’s chest, watching the slow rise and fall of it, needing proof with every breath that he was still here.

“Pressure’s holding steady,” Changbin said from the other side, voice steady but low, the kind of calm that came from years of chaos. He adjusted the line of the IV, the beeping quickening slightly before evening back out. “Heart rate’s stable. We’ve got control.”

Jisung nodded beside him, checking Chan’s vitals, his voice quiet and clipped when he spoke. “Bleeding’s minimal now. He’s past the worst of it.”

Hyunjin exhaled shakily, the first real breath he’d taken since he’d seen them rush Chan down here. His knees nearly gave out from the sheer relief of it.

Changbin peeled back a dressing, checking the sutures. “It’s a miracle he didn’t lose more blood,” he muttered. “A few centimeters deeper and—” He stopped himself, jaw clenching. “—and we wouldn’t be standing here talking.”

“Don’t,” Jisung said softly, voice breaking as he brushed a hand through his hair. “Don’t even talk about it.”

Changbin just nodded, silent.

For a moment, the only sounds were the rhythmic whir of machines and the soft squeak of sneakers on linoleum.

Then Seungmin spoke again, his tone uncertain. “He must’ve woken up between the time we found them and when the attack happened. The way he didn’t lose as much blood, he must’ve held pressure on his own for a bit… it lines up.”

Hyunjin blinked, turning sharply. “Wait,” he said, frowning. “You’re the one who found them?”

Seungmin’s whole body went still. His gloved hands froze over the monitor cords. He stared down at the floor, throat bobbing as he swallowed hard, before nodding once, barely perceptible. His chin trembled.

Hyunjin’s heart splintered.

He could see the bloodstains up close now, not on Chan’s sheets, but on Seungmin’s scrubs. The small dark spots where the fabric had soaked through. He must’ve tried to press on Felix’s wound with his own hands.

“Seungmin-ah,” Hyunjin whispered, stepping toward him, but Changbin was already there.

Without a word, Changbin stripped off his gloves, yanked the trauma gown from his shoulders, and pulled Seungmin into a tight, crushing hug.

“Hey,” Changbin said roughly, voice breaking as he spoke into the younger man’s hair. “You did so damn good, okay? You were brave. You got help. You kept them alive.”

Seungmin’s breath hitched, his whole body trembling as his arms came up to clutch at Changbin’s scrubs. “There was so much blood,” he choked out, voice muffled. “I thought— I thought they were both gone.”

“I know,” Changbin said softly. “I know, Minnie. But you didn’t freeze. You called it in. You did everything right.”

The words cracked under the weight of his own tears.

Hyunjin looked away, his throat burning, trying to give them the illusion of privacy. He’d never seen Seungmin lose composure before, not in five years of friendship, not through any number of trauma shifts. But this wasn’t just a patient. This was Felix. This was Chan.

When he turned back, Chan’s monitor had steadied. The lines on the screen were clean again, green and rhythmic. The older man’s color was slowly returning, pale but not grey anymore.

Hyunjin stepped closer, brushing away the damp curls plastered to Chan’s forehead. “You’re okay, hyung,” he whispered, his gloved hand trembling slightly. “You’re okay now.”

He smoothed his thumb over the edge of the bandage at Chan’s shoulder, careful not to touch too hard. Chan didn’t stir, but his pulse was strong beneath the monitor, proof that he was still fighting.

Hyunjin closed his eyes for a moment, breathing through the ache in his chest. He’d seen Chan angry, exhausted, grief-stricken, but never helpless. Never like this.

He swallowed hard, whispering more to himself than to anyone else. “You just scared us, that’s all. You’re gonna be fine. Felix is gonna be fine too.”

Changbin’s voice was hoarse when he spoke next. “Cell saver’s steady. No more active bleeding. He’ll need rest, but he’s out of the woods.”

Hyunjin looked up, nodding numbly. “Good.”

It was only then that a nurse came in, her voice gentle but firm. “He’s stable enough to move upstairs. SICU’s ready for him. We pulled a few strings to get him in there.”

Hyunjin nodded, straightening, forcing his body to move even though every muscle felt like lead. “Okay. We’ll take him.”

He turned to Changbin, who was still holding onto Seungmin. “Stay here,” Hyunjin said softly but firmly. “Make sure he sits down and breathes. We’ll get Chan settled.”

Changbin looked up, eyes glassy, then nodded. “You call me if anything changes.”

“I will.”

Jisung appeared at Hyunjin’s shoulder, pale but composed, and together they worked quickly to secure Chan’s IV lines and monitors. The nurses helped them transfer the older man to a stretcher, locking the equipment in place.

The sound of the wheels against the tile echoed through the corridor as they pushed him out. Every squeak seemed too loud in the quiet that had fallen after the chaos.

By the time they reached the SICU, the air felt heavier. Calmer, but suffocating in its stillness. The nurse led them into one of the larger double rooms, a sterile, windowless space meant for the most critical cases.

Hyunjin froze at the sight of it. Two beds. Two monitors. Two sets of IV poles.

One of them was waiting for Felix.

They transferred Chan gently, Hyunjin cradling the back of his head while Jisung and the nurses guided his body over to the bed. His breathing was even now, soft, the oxygen mask fogging slightly with each exhale.

Jisung adjusted the IV poles, double-checked the lines, while Hyunjin smoothed the sheets and straightened Chan’s gown. Small, mindless actions, the only things keeping him grounded.

The nurse nodded to them. “He’s stable. We’ll keep him monitored closely.”

Hyunjin gave a small, tight smile. “We’ve got that part covered. Thank you.”

When she left, the room went quiet except for the hum of machines and the faint hiss of the oxygen line.

Jisung lingered at the doorway. “I’m gonna go check on Felix,” he said softly, voice thick.

Hyunjin only nodded.

When the door shut behind him, Hyunjin sank into the chair beside Chan’s bed, exhaustion hitting him all at once. His body trembled as the adrenaline ebbed. He could feel the sting of dried blood on his forearms, the ache in his shoulders, the tightness in his chest.

He reached for Chan’s hand—warm, heavy, real—and clasped it gently in both of his own.

“Hey, hyung,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “You’re okay. We’ve got you.”

He brushed his thumb over Chan’s knuckles, slow and steady, grounding himself in that faint pulse.

“You rest now, okay? Lixie-yah is upstairs. Minho’s with him. They’re doing everything they can.” His voice cracked, and he squeezed Chan’s hand tighter. “You just stay here with us.”

The steady beeping of the heart monitor answered him, a fragile rhythm in the quiet.

Hyunjin leaned forward until his forehead rested against the back of Chan’s hand, his voice soft and raw.

“I’m here,” he whispered.

He said it again, and again, the words half a promise, half a plea.

“I’m here.”

“I’m here.”

-

The trauma bay smelled of bleach and iron, the tang of blood still clinging to the air like something that refused to leave. Changbin sat on the edge of an empty gurney, elbows braced on his knees, scrubs stiff with drying blood. The floor beneath him was scuffed from rushing feet, the faint track of a gurney wheel cutting across the tiles. The sounds of alarms and orders and panic had faded, leaving only the low hum of the lights above and the ghost of his own racing pulse.

Across from him, Seungmin sat slumped against the wall. He looked small, knees drawn up, and hands trembling in his lap. His gloves were off, and his bare fingers were streaked faintly red where the blood had seeped through the seams. Felix’s blood.

Changbin’s throat closed.

He pushed himself off the gurney and crouched in front of him, the floor cold against his knees. He reached out, palms hovering before he finally rested them on Seungmin’s legs.

“Hey,” he said softly.

Seungmin blinked up, eyes glassy and far away. His lashes clumped together, the skin around them flushed pink. He looked like he’d forgotten how to breathe.

Changbin swallowed the ache building in his chest. “They’re alive,” he said quietly. “Do you hear me, Minnie? They’re alive.”

Seungmin’s lip trembled. “There was—” His voice cracked, barely audible. “There was so much blood, Binnie.”

“I know.” Changbin’s voice shook, too, but he kept his tone firm. He had to. One of them needed to sound strong, even if his insides were unraveling. “But we got to them in time. You did. You found them. You saved them.”

Seungmin shook his head weakly, eyes darting away. “What if—”

“Hey.” Changbin’s hands slid from his knees to his wrists, grounding him. “No what-ifs.”

He sat down fully in front of him, crossing his legs, their knees almost touching. His voice gentled. “You know those two idiots better than anyone,” he said, forcing a smile. “Chan and Felix aren’t dying like this. Not a chance. They’re way too stupidly romantic for it.”

Seungmin blinked, startled, a soft, broken laugh slipping out despite himself.

“I’m serious!” Changbin said, grin widening even as tears filled his eyes. “They’d go out in some dramatic way, surrounded by flowers and puppies, probably. Or holding hands in matching hospital beds, confessing something cheesy right before they flatline together. Like some tragic K-drama shit.”

Seungmin’s laugh wobbled into a sob, his hand coming up to cover his mouth.

Changbin smiled through his own tears. “See? That’s what I’m saying. They’re not done. The universe wouldn’t take them without a big show first.”

The joke earned another weak laugh, which was all he wanted to hear Seungmin sound like himself again, even if only for a second.

Then Seungmin sniffled, his voice small. “Can you… tell me what happened to them? Please?”

Changbin hesitated, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “You sure?”

Seungmin nodded, clutching at the fabric of Changbin’s scrubs like he needed to hang onto something real.

“Okay,” Changbin murmured. He took a breath. “Chan got lucky. The knife cut into his abdomen but didn’t hit any major vessels. Lost some blood, but nothing that can’t be fixed with rest. His vitals are already stabilizing.”

Seungmin exhaled shakily, nodding. “And Felix?”

The word cracked in the air between them.

Changbin’s throat worked. He dropped his eyes to the floor. “It went through his abdominal aorta,” he said quietly. “It’s… one of the worst spots to be stabbed. Minho’s up there now, they’re clamping above and below, trying to repair the wall. If it’s too damaged, they’ll graft it.”

Seungmin’s breath hitched, tears welling again. “He’s… he’s gonna make it though, right?”

Changbin’s voice came out in a whisper. “If anyone can save him, it’s Minho.”

A long silence stretched between them. The air felt heavy, every breath thick and shallow. Finally, Changbin leaned forward and wiped the tears from Seungmin’s face with his thumbs, his touch gentle.

“He’s gonna be okay,” he said, steady but soft. “You’ll see. They both will.”

Before Seungmin could reply, the door swung open and Wooyoung stepped in. His hair was a mess, his expression tight, but his voice was steady. “SICU just called. Chan’s upstairs and stable. He’s resting.”

Seungmin’s head dropped forward as a sob of relief broke from him, not loud, just raw and human.

Changbin smiled faintly, his own eyes glassy. “You wanna go see him?”

Seungmin nodded instantly.

“Then come on,” Changbin murmured, pulling him up.

He didn’t let go once Seungmin was standing. He just tugged him forward into another hug — tighter, firmer. Seungmin folded into it without hesitation, burying his face into Changbin’s chest.

“You did so good, baby,” Changbin whispered, pressing a kiss to his forehead, his voice rough. “So damn good.”

Seungmin’s breath shook as he nodded against him. “I just… I want to see him.”

“Then let’s go.”

They walked the sterile halls hand in hand, the fluorescent lights flickering faintly overhead. Their shoes squeaked softly against the floor, echoing in the stillness. The smell of antiseptic burned their noses, but Changbin was too tired to care, too focused on the weight of Seungmin’s hand in his.

When they reached Chan’s room, Hyunjin was already there.

He sat hunched in a chair beside the bed, his head resting against the mattress, fingers clenched tightly around Chan’s hand. The fluorescent light caught in his hair, turning the strands to liquid gold. His shoulders rose and fell with every tired breath.

Chan lay still, the monitors beside him humming a quiet, rhythmic reassurance that he was alive. His face was pale, his lips cracked, but his chest rose evenly beneath the thin white blanket.

Hyunjin startled when they came in, blinking blearily. “You guys okay?” he rasped. His voice was frayed, raw from crying.

Seungmin nodded first, small and shaky. Changbin followed, exhaling a breath that came out unevenly.

Hyunjin gave a weak scoff, smiling sadly. “It’s okay to cry, Binnie.”

And just like that, something broke open inside him.

Changbin let out a shaky breath, then another, and suddenly it wasn’t enough. He dropped down beside the bed, grabbing Chan’s other hand, gripping it so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“You stupid bastard,” he choked, pressing his forehead against the edge of the bed. “You scared the shit out of us. Do you even realize that? You and Felix—” His voice cracked on the name, a sob breaking free. “You can’t just— you can’t just do this to us!”

The words came out half-plea, half-curse, his shoulders trembling as he cried.

Seungmin crouched beside him, one hand on his back, rubbing slow circles through his scrubs. Hyunjin reached over from the other side of the bed, brushing his fingers through Changbin’s hair.

“It’s okay,” Hyunjin murmured, voice soft. “He’s okay.”

Changbin nodded into the sheets, gasping through the tears. “He better be,” he muttered, voice muffled. “’Cause if he’s not, I’m following him up there just to kick his ass.”

A soft laugh—weak but real—broke from Seungmin. “He’d probably let you.”

That earned a wet chuckle from Hyunjin, too. For a moment, they all laughed quietly, the sound fragile but alive, floating through the quiet room.

Then silence settled again, heavy but gentle this time, like a held breath.

They might have stayed like that forever if not for the door bursting open.

A nurse rushed in, breathless, her expression wide-eyed and urgent. “Dr. Seo—what’s Dr. Bang’s blood type?”

All three of them froze.

Changbin blinked, his brain struggling to catch up. “Uh—hang on.” He fumbled for the chart at the foot of the bed, flipping pages until he found the line. “O negative.”

The nurse exhaled sharply, relief washing over her face. “Good. We need his blood.”

The words didn’t make sense at first, just a collection of sounds that refused to settle into meaning.

Then they hit all at once.

Hyunjin went completely still.
Seungmin’s breath stuttered, a soft, strangled noise escaping his throat.
And Changbin… froze.

He stared at the nurse, the room spinning slightly. “You—what?” he whispered, but she was already gone, running back out, shoes squeaking against the linoleum, the door swinging shut behind her.

And for one long, unbearable heartbeat, none of them moved.

Only the monitors kept beeping, too calm, and too steady for how their world had just shifted again.

-

The operating room was heavy with the smell of iron and antiseptic, a scent that clung to every breath, sharp and metallic. The bright lights burned overhead, casting hard shadows over faces drawn tight with fatigue. The constant beep-beep-beep of the monitors filled the air, each sound like a countdown.

Felix laid motionless on the table, pale beneath the glare of sterile light. His skin looked almost translucent, the freckles along his cheeks stark against the ghostly pallor. The drape over his abdomen was soaked through, a dark stain spreading wider with every beat of the failing heart that still struggled in his chest.

“Pressure’s dropping again,” the anesthesiologist at the head of the table said, her voice trembling as she adjusted the IV line. “Seventy over fifty… sixty-five…”

“Clamp higher,” Minho ordered, his voice a low growl under the mask. “Jeongin, suction now. Don’t let me lose my field.”

Jeongin’s hands shook, but he obeyed. The suction roared to life, the crimson pool in the cavity thinning enough for Minho to see the shredded edges of the vessel. He worked quickly, mechanically, sweat trickling down his spine under the layers of sterile gowns.

Minho didn’t flinch. “Hold it,” he snapped. Then softer: “He’s crashing.” His voice shook, a tremor barely hidden behind professionalism.

The next line on the monitor flashed from yellow to red. The drain began to run faster. Minho’s jaw clenched until his mask wrinkled over it.

“Hang another unit,” he barked.

The circulating nurse froze. “There isn’t another unit, Dr. Lee.”

Minho’s head snapped up. “What do you mean there isn’t another unit?”

“The blood bank’s tapped,” she said, words tumbling over each other. “They sent most of it to Post-Op. There’s a woman with a clotting disorder—they’re losing her—”

“Fuck!” Minho threw his tool down on the cart. The sound was sharp in the tense air. “We’re in the middle of an open abdomen and Felix—he’s the only one keeping us in the race!”

Jeongin’s breathing hitched, his eyes darting between the monitors, the drapes, the gleam of the instruments. “Dr. Lee, he’s still losing blood, he’s not clotting, his heart rate’s—”

“Jeongin-ah.”

Minho didn’t raise his voice, but it carried enough weight to still the entire room.

Jeongin froze, suction stilling in his hands.

Minho lifted his gaze, meeting the resident’s terrified eyes. “You’re standing over an open aorta. You don’t panic here. Not now.” His tone softened by a fraction. “You panic later. When he’s safe.”

Jeongin’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Minho turned back to the wound, hands steady again as he clamped higher. Blood oozed thick and slow around the edges. “Somebody get me more O-negative now. Call the blood bank, the trauma wing, I don’t care if you have to drain the fucking vending machine—get me something.”

A nurse dashed out, the door slamming behind her.

Moments later, the OR doors burst open again.

“Jesus Christ—what the hell’s happening?” Jisung gasped, already yanking on gloves, eyes wide as they fell on Felix.

“We’re out of blood,” Minho said, his voice clipped, cold, too calm. “He’s bleeding faster than we can replace it.”

Jisung paled. “You’re kidding—”

“Does this look like a joke to you?” Minho snapped, and Jisung flinched but moved closer, scanning the monitors. “Pressure’s tanking. If we don’t transfuse in the next five minutes, we’ll lose him.”

The words sat in the room like smoke, heavy and suffocating.

Before Jisung could respond, the door burst open again, and the first nurse they sent out stumbled back inside, breathless. “Dr. Bang,” she gasped. “SICU says he’s O-negative.”

Minho froze. For half a heartbeat, the world went still. Then he huffed out a laugh, sharp and broken. “Of course he is,” he muttered under his breath. “Of course it’s fucking Chan.”

He looked up at Jisung, eyes burning behind the goggles. “Go. Check when he last donated. Draw as much as you can safely take. Bring it straight back.”

Jisung nodded without a word, already halfway out the door before Minho even finished speaking.

Downstairs, the world felt slower—quieter—but no less tense.

Chan laid pale but peaceful under the dim light of his ICU room. The rhythmic beeping of his heart monitor filled the silence. Hyunjin sat beside him, head bowed against the mattress, his long hair veiling his face. Changbin leaned against the wall, one arm wrapped protectively around Seungmin, who still looked hollow-eyed and fragile.

The door crashed open, and Jisung ran in, breath ragged, clutching a portable testing kit. “He’s the match,” he said in a rush. “Chan’s O-negative. Felix needs blood, now.”

Hyunjin’s eyes flew open. Seungmin jerked his head up.

“What?” Changbin demanded, voice rough with disbelief.

“Blood shortage,” Jisung explained quickly, already working to test Chan’s levels. “We’ve got nothing left in the bank. If he’s strong enough, I’m drawing from him.”

The room held its breath as the monitor beeped steadily. A minute later, the portable readout flashed across the small screen.

“He’s stable enough,” Jisung said, voice trembling slightly. “He can donate.”

He looked up at Hyunjin. “Help me.”

Hyunjin was moving before Jisung finished the words. He held the tubing, keeping it level as the deep red filled the collection bag. Jisung worked fast, labeling, sealing, and ensuring no contamination. Two full units. Enough to buy Felix a chance.

When it was done, Jisung pressed a hand briefly to Chan’s shoulder, whispering a quiet thank you. “You’re saving him again,” he murmured.

Then he was gone, sprinting back toward the elevators.

Back in the OR, Minho’s shoulders burned, his back aching under the weight of the lead apron. Every motion felt slower, heavier, like moving through water.

“Pressure’s dropping again,” Jeongin said quietly. “Fifty over thirty.”

Minho swore under his breath, voice cracking. “Come on, Bok-ah. Stay with me. Stay with me, kitten.”

He barely heard the doors slam open, barely registered Jisung’s voice until the younger surgeon was beside him, gasping, “Got it. Two units. Chan’s blood.”

The nurses rushed to connect the bags to the warmer, threading the tubing through trembling fingers. The sound of the machine priming filled the air, the hiss of pressure, and the soft click of the valve.

“Blood’s running,” a nurse confirmed.

“Good.” Minho’s voice cracked slightly. “Keep it steady. Jisung-ah, scrub in. You’re helping me close.”

“What? I—”

“You heard me,” Minho said sharply, eyes flicking to him. “You know his anatomy better than anyone here. Get in.”

Jisung didn’t argue again. He scrubbed in, joining Jeongin and Minho at the table, his movements practiced and precise despite the shaking of his hands.

The minutes blurred together, clamp, tie, cauterize, suction, transfuse. Felix’s color began to change, faint warmth returning to his cheeks. His blood pressure began to climb.

“Pressure’s stabilizing,” Jeongin breathed, voice breaking with disbelief.

A nurse echoed softly, “Heart rate normalizing.”

Minho let out a deep, shaky exhale that rattled in his chest. “Good,” he murmured. “Good boy.”

Jisung’s shoulders trembled as he handed over another set of sutures, watching as Minho slowly tied off the final vessel.

“Alright,” Minho said, voice raw. “We close.”

Jisung passed the suture needle, but Minho didn’t take it. He looked to Jeongin instead. “You finish it.”

Jeongin’s head jerked up. “What? No—I can’t, I—”

Minho met his eyes. “You’ve been here the whole time. You helped save him. You finish it.”

Jeongin hesitated, hands trembling over the table. “It’s my first closure.”

Minho’s voice softened, though his eyes glistened behind his mask. “Then make it count.”

Jisung’s voice came quietly beside him. “Felix would be honored.”

That broke something open in Jeongin. His hands steadied. He reached for the needle holder and began to close the incision — carefully, reverently, like stitching a prayer. His movements were slow but sure, every pass through the skin whispering stay, stay, stay.

When he tied the last knot and snipped the thread, silence swallowed the room whole.

For a heartbeat, no one moved.

Then Minho exhaled, long, ragged, and disbelieving. His gloved hand came up to his mask, pressing it against his face as his shoulders sagged.

“He’s stable,” he whispered hoarsely. “We did it.”

Jisung laughed, a cracked, wet sound that dissolved into a sob halfway through. “Holy shit,” he said weakly, wiping his eyes. “We actually did it.”

Jeongin backed away from the table, chest heaving, tears spilling freely now.

The monitor beeped steadily behind them, slow, rhythmic, and alive.

Minho looked down at Felix, pale and fragile beneath the sterile lights, and something in his chest twisted so tightly it almost hurt.

“You’re safe now, Lix-ah,” he whispered, voice breaking. “We’ve got you.”

He reached forward, brushing his gloved hand over Felix’s hair, the lightest touch, reverent and trembling. “You hear me, sunshine?” he murmured. “You’re gonna wake up, and we’re all gonna be right here.”

For the first time since that awful scream tore through the hospital, Minho let himself believe it.

They’d saved him.
Chan’s blood in his veins, Felix’s heart still beating, the family they’d built holding him together.

They’d actually saved him.