Chapter Text
The first thing Jungkook noticed was that the emergency room smelled aggressively clean.
Not clean in the comforting way of fresh laundry or rain against hot pavement but clean in the sharp, sterile sense that sat at the back of his throat and made him want to wrinkle his nose. Antiseptic. Plastic curtains. Coffee that had been reheated too many times. The faint, lingering metallic edge of blood that no amount of disinfectant ever truly managed to erase.
The second thing he noticed was that his left eyebrow would not stop bleeding.
“Hold this against it,” the nurse had told him ten minutes ago, pressing gauze into his hand with the long-suffering expression of someone who had already decided he was going to be difficult.
Which, to be fair, he had not meant to be.
He had simply asked whether the blood made the cut look worse than it actually was.
She had replied, “That is generally how bleeding works.”
Jungkook liked her.
He sat on the edge of the exam bed behind a half-drawn curtain, one boot tapping lightly against the metal frame beneath him. His leather jacket had been taken off and draped beside him, one sleeve scraped from where he had hit the pavement. His black T-shirt was intact, mostly. There was dust across one shoulder, a thin streak of dried blood near the collar, and a tenderness spreading through his right side every time he breathed too deeply.
Nothing broken. Probably.
He had done a quick personal assessment on the ride over in the back of Jimin’s car, despite Jimin loudly insisting that personal assessments were not medically valid when performed by an idiot who had just slid across asphalt.
Jungkook could move his fingers. His knees hurt but they always hurt after a spill. His ribs complained but not dramatically enough to be interesting. The cut near his eyebrow stung like hell, though, and the warmth trickling down the side of his face had finally become annoying enough that even he had agreed to get it checked.
He tilted his head back slightly and pressed the gauze harder.
Bad idea.
A sting shot across his brow, bright and immediate.
“Shit.”
“Language.”
The voice came from just beyond the curtain.
Jungkook lowered the gauze and turned his head.
The man who stepped inside wore blue scrubs beneath a white coat, a hospital ID clipped to his chest and a pen tucked neatly into the breast pocket. He had dark hair swept back from his forehead, though a few strands had fallen loose, suggesting either the end of a long shift or a hand pushed through it one too many times. His face was composed in that specific way medical professionals perfected—calm, observant, impossible to read at first glance.
At second glance, Jungkook realized the man was very, very good-looking.
That seemed medically irrelevant but his brain made a note of it anyway.
“Jeon Jungkook?” the doctor asked, glancing at the tablet in his hand.
“That depends,” Jungkook said. “Am I in trouble?”
The doctor looked up.
His eyes were dark, steady and entirely unimpressed.
“Are you Jeon Jungkook?”
Jungkook smiled a little despite the dried blood stiffening at his temple. “Yes.”
“Then yes,” the doctor said. “You are in trouble.”
There was a beat of silence.
Jungkook’s smile widened.
The doctor did not smile back but something faint shifted at the corner of his mouth before disappearing. He stepped closer and set the tablet down on the counter.
“I’m Dr. Kim. I’ll be taking care of you.”
“Taking care of me sounds nice.”
“Do not make it strange.”
“You said it first.”
Dr. Kim exhaled through his nose, not quite a sigh but near enough. “Motorcycle accident?”
“Minor disagreement with the road.”
“The road won?”
“Temporarily.”
Dr. Kim pulled on a pair of gloves with practiced movements, the latex snapping lightly at his wrists. “Helmet?”
“On.”
“Any loss of consciousness?”
“No.”
“Dizziness? Nausea? Blurred vision?”
“No, no and no.”
“Headache?”
“Only where my face tried to kiss the pavement.”
Dr. Kim reached for the gauze Jungkook was holding. “Let me see.”
Jungkook lowered his hand. The doctor leaned in, close enough that Jungkook caught the faint scent of soap beneath the antiseptic. His expression changed subtly as he examined the wound — not softer, exactly, but more focused. The kind of concentration that made the rest of the room seem to fall away for a moment.
Jungkook found himself looking at the gentle furrow between his brows.
“Try not to move,” Dr. Kim murmured.
“You say that like I’m difficult.”
“You came in bleeding and making jokes about it. I’m preparing for a pattern.”
“That feels judgmental.”
“That is because it is.”
Jungkook huffed a quiet laugh, then regretted it when it tugged at his side. The wince escaped before he could stop it.
Dr. Kim noticed immediately. His gaze dropped.
“Ribs?”
“Fine.”
“That was not the sound of fine.”
“It was the sound of a man with dignity.”
“It was the sound of a man lying badly.”
Jungkook narrowed his eyes. “Do doctors take a class in being this rude, or is it a natural gift?”
“Years of training,” Dr. Kim said smoothly. “Please breathe in.”
Jungkook eyed him. “I already know how.”
“I’m reassured. Do it anyway.”
Jungkook drew in a slow breath, trying not to show the discomfort tightening across his right side. He almost succeeded.
Dr. Kim’s fingers pressed carefully along his ribs, firm but not careless, testing the tenderness. Jungkook’s jaw clenched when he reached one particularly sore spot.
“There,” Dr. Kim said.
“There what?”
“There is where it hurts.”
“Brilliant diagnosis.”
Dr. Kim looked up at him, still crouched slightly at his side. “Would you like to do this yourself?”
“I considered it.”
“And yet here you are.”
Jungkook let out another breath, slower this time. “My friend insisted.”
“Your friend sounds sensible.”
“He’s dramatic.”
“He brought you to the emergency room after a motorcycle accident. That is called responding appropriately.”
“Are you two coordinating?”
“Should we be?”
Jungkook watched him straighten and move to the counter, making a note on the tablet. His hands were elegant. That was a stupid thing to notice. Jungkook noticed it anyway. Long fingers. Precise movements. No wasted energy.
“How bad?” Jungkook asked.
“The laceration above your eyebrow will need stitches. Your ribs are likely bruised but I want imaging to rule out a fracture. Any pain in your wrist or shoulder?”
“My pride took the worst damage.”
Dr. Kim’s eyes flicked over to him. “I’m afraid that is outside my specialty.”
“Tragic.”
“I’ll survive.”
“You say that now.”
The doctor turned fully toward him. “Mr. Jeon…”
“Jungkook.”
“Mr. Jeon,” Dr. Kim repeated, clearly choosing violence, “I need you to answer the questions I ask without turning every response into a performance.”
Jungkook tilted his head. “What if that is simply my personality?”
“Then it must be exhausting.”
“People usually find me charming.”
“People are generous.”
That made Jungkook laugh properly and this time he could not hide the flinch that followed.
Dr. Kim’s expression shifted again, that mild amusement erased at once by professional attention. “Do not laugh if it hurts.”
“That feels unreasonable.”
“Your ribs disagree.”
“You are very invested in my ribs.”
“I am currently more invested in them than you seem to be.”
The words landed with a sharper edge than the rest and for a second Jungkook did not answer. There was something beneath Dr. Kim’s dry tone now. Not annoyance exactly. Something more practical, more serious.
Jungkook looked down at the smear of blood on his fingers.
“It wasn’t that bad,” he said, a little quieter.
“Most accidents are not ‘that bad’ right up until they are.”
The room hummed around them. A distant monitor beeped steadily behind another curtain. Somewhere near the nurses’ station, someone laughed softly, then dropped back into the clipped rhythm of medical conversation. Jungkook shifted on the bed, suddenly aware that Dr. Kim was watching him with eyes too attentive to be shrugged off easily.
He cleared his throat. “You say that to all your patients?”
“The ones who treat impact with asphalt like an inconvenience, yes.”
“It was an inconvenience.”
Dr. Kim reached for a tray of supplies. “You are lucky.”
“I know.”
“I do not think you do.”
That should have irritated him.
It did, a little.
Mostly because the doctor said it like he had seen enough people who had thought they were lucky until luck had stopped showing up for them.
Jungkook’s gaze slipped away.
Dr. Kim seemed to accept the silence for what it was. He began preparing the area around the cut, cleaning dried blood from Jungkook’s temple with gentle, efficient motions. The antiseptic stung. Jungkook barely reacted, more focused on the way Dr. Kim’s lashes lowered as he concentrated.
“You’re very serious,” Jungkook said after a moment.
“I am about to stitch your face.”
“That explains some of it.”
“You would prefer I be whimsical?”
“Maybe a little. Lighten the mood.”
“I believe you have been doing enough of that for both of us.”
Jungkook smiled. “So you admit I contribute.”
“I admit you are present.”
“Cruel.”
“Hold still.”
“I am holding still.”
“You moved.”
“I breathed.”
“Suspiciously.”
Jungkook let out a small laugh through his nose, keeping his face as motionless as possible. Dr. Kim administered the local anaesthetic with a warning that it would pinch. It did. Jungkook hissed softly.
“Still charming?” Dr. Kim asked.
“Devastatingly.”
“Mm.”
“Was that doubt?”
“That was neutrality.”
“That was doubt wearing a lab coat.”
Dr. Kim’s mouth shifted.
It was barely anything, just the faintest pull at one corner, gone almost before it had fully appeared.
But Jungkook caught it.
A near-smile.
A crack in all that polished composure.
And, embarrassingly, it made something bright and smug unfurl in his chest.
“Do you always flirt with the doctors who stitch you up?” Dr. Kim asked, reaching for the needle driver now that the anaesthetic had begun to settle in.
Jungkook blinked at him. “Do you always assume your patients are flirting with you?”
“Only when they make it painfully obvious.”
“You have a very flattering view of yourself.”
“No,” Dr. Kim said calmly. “Just a very accurate view of this conversation.”
Jungkook stared at him for a moment, then laughed again despite himself. He had not expected that. Not from someone who had walked in looking like he alphabetized his patience and filed it away before every shift.
Dr. Kim looked faintly satisfied.
“Now,” he said, leaning closer again, “do not move.”
Jungkook did his best.
The stitching itself did not hurt. He felt pressure, a tugging sensation near his brow, the soft pull of skin being brought back together. He fixed his gaze on the ceiling at first, because watching a doctor work that close to his face seemed like a poor decision for several reasons. But the ceiling was boring, and Dr. Kim was not.
So his eyes drifted.
The doctor’s focus was absolute. His lips pressed together faintly, not tense but thoughtful. His brow smooth now. His movements exact. There was something compelling about watching someone who knew precisely what they were doing. Jungkook spent most of his days around engines, metal, oil, noise. He understood skill. He understood the confidence that came not from arrogance but from repetition, care, and knowing where to place your hands so something broken could work again.
Dr. Kim tied off one stitch, then began another.
“You’re staring,” he said, without looking up.
Jungkook looked back at the ceiling. “I was observing.”
“My technique?
“Naturally.”
“It’s excellent.”
“That sounded smug.”
“It was meant to.”
Jungkook smiled. “Maybe I’m deciding whether I trust you.”
“You’re a little late for that.”
“I like to be thorough.”
“Then start with better protective gear.”
Jungkook sighed. “And there goes the atmosphere.”
“There is no atmosphere.”
“Sure, doctor.”
Dr. Kim finished the last stitch and stepped back. “Five sutures. I expect you to keep the area clean, avoid soaking it and have them removed in about five days. I’ll give you instructions.”
“Will you remove them?”
“No.”
“That sounded quick.”
“I am not scheduling your follow-up based on your emotional attachment to the person who repaired your eyebrow.”
“Emotional attachment is a strong phrase.”
“Then stop looking disappointed.”
Jungkook opened his mouth, then closed it again.
Dr. Kim raised an eyebrow.
Jungkook frowned. “I’m not disappointed.”
“Of course.”
“I’m relieved, actually. You’re very bossy.”
“And yet you kept talking to me.”
“You kept answering.”
“Professional obligation.”
“Sure.”
The doctor removed his gloves and tossed them into the bin. “We still need imaging for your ribs.”
Jungkook groaned. “Is that necessary?”
“Yes.”
“They’re bruised.”
“Possibly.”
“I know my body.”
“You arrived with blood running into your eye and described your accident as a disagreement with the road. Forgive me if I do not treat your self-assessment as conclusive.”
Jungkook leaned back carefully on his hands, then stopped when his side protested. Dr. Kim gave him a look that was far too pointed for someone who had not said anything.
“Fine,” Jungkook muttered.
“Excellent. Personal growth.”
“Do you speak to all your patients like this?”
“Only the ones who ask for it.”
“You make me sound difficult.”
“You are difficult.”
“You’ve known me for fifteen minutes.”
“And I have used them efficiently.”
Before Jungkook could answer, the curtain shifted and Jimin leaned in, his eyes immediately sweeping over Jungkook’s face.
“Oh, good,” he said. “You’re still alive.”
“Try not to sound too relieved.”
Jimin ignored him and turned to Dr. Kim. “Is he okay?”
“He needs a rib X-ray to rule out fracture,” Dr. Kim said. “The cut required stitches. He is very lucky it was not worse.”
Jimin’s expression sharpened in the exact way Jungkook had been trying to avoid. “I told you.”
“Not now.”
“Yes now. You slid halfway across the street.”
“It looked worse than it was.”
“You said that while dripping blood onto my car seat.”
“It will come out.”
“It is white leather.”
“Then maybe do not own white leather.”
Dr. Kim glanced between them and Jungkook could tell — just barely — that he was amused.
Jimin crossed his arms. “Can you tell him he is an idiot?”
“That is not part of my formal medical assessment,” Dr. Kim said.
Jungkook smirked.
“But,” Dr. Kim continued, “he should take this seriously.”
Jimin pointed at him. “See?”
“You asked him to call me an idiot. He declined.”
“He implied it medically.”
“That is not a thing.”
“It is now.”
Dr. Kim picked up the tablet again. “A nurse will come take you to radiology shortly.”
Jungkook watched as he turned to leave, feeling an odd, brief reluctance he had no intention of examining. “Dr. Kim.”
The doctor paused at the curtain and looked back.
“Will it scar?”
His tone had changed without permission. Less playful. Not worried, exactly, but not joking either.
Dr. Kim seemed to notice. His face softened by a fraction.
“It may leave a small mark,” he said. “But I aligned it carefully. If it heals well, it should be faint.”
Jungkook lifted a hand as if to touch the stitched area, then stopped when the doctor’s gaze sharpened.
“Do not,” Dr. Kim said.
Jungkook lowered his hand. “Right.”
“Keep it clean. Do not pick at it. Avoid putting pressure on the area.”
“You say that like I’m five.”
“I say that like I have met you.”
Jungkook’s mouth twitched but the gentler moment lingered anyway.
“Thanks,” he said.
Dr. Kim gave a small nod. “You’re welcome.”
Then he disappeared past the curtain.
For a few seconds, Jungkook stared at the space where he had been.
Jimin dragged the visitor chair closer and sat down. “He was attractive.”
Jungkook turned his head. “What?”
“The doctor.”
“I had not noticed.”
Jimin looked at the stitches, the fixed line of Jungkook’s mouth, the way his gaze still seemed vaguely pointed toward the curtain.
“Right,” he said. “And you hate motorcycles.”
Jungkook reached for the gauze packet beside him and threw it weakly in Jimin’s direction. It missed by a spectacular margin.
Jimin grinned. “Your aim is worse after head trauma.”
“I do not have head trauma.”
“Maybe your new boyfriend will confirm.”
“He is not my…”
“Your emotionally unavailable emergency room boyfriend?”
“Jimin.”
“Your stern medical soulmate?”
“Leave.”
“I drove you here.”
“Then sit there quietly and be useful.”
Jimin leaned back in the chair, still grinning. “You know what I think?”
“I absolutely do not care.”
“I think you liked that he did not laugh at everything you said.”
Jungkook glanced down at his hands. There was dried blood in the lines of his knuckles, dark and flaking. He rubbed his thumb over it absently.
“He was rude,” he said.
“He was right.”
“He was smug.”
“So are you.”
“He talked too much.”
“That is bold coming from you.”
Jungkook sighed and tipped his head back again, careful this time. The fluorescent light above him buzzed faintly. His ribs hurt. His eyebrow had begun to feel tight and strange where the anaesthetic dulled the edges of everything. He should have been thinking about the bike, about the damage to the left side, about whether the front fork had taken the worst of it or whether he was going to have to replace more than he wanted to admit.
Instead, his mind kept circling back to a pair of steady dark eyes and a voice that made reprimands sound almost elegant.
You are lucky.
He did know that.
He knew it every time he pushed too hard around a bend and corrected at the last second. Every time the city blurred around him at night, neon and headlights stretching long across the road. Every time he came home with wind-burned cheeks and adrenaline still fizzing beneath his skin. He knew luck rode behind him often enough to feel like company.
He just did not like people saying it out loud.
Especially not people who looked at him like they expected him to understand what it would mean if one day it ran out.
The curtain shifted again and a nurse appeared with a wheelchair.
Jungkook frowned. “I can walk.”
“Hospital policy,” she said.
“I walked in.”
“And now you can sit down.”
Jimin immediately stood. “I support this.”
“You support anything that humiliates me.”
“I support evidence-based care.”
“You heard one doctor say that earlier and decided it was your whole personality.”
The nurse smiled faintly. “Radiology is waiting.”
Jungkook slid carefully off the bed. His ribs complained again, enough that the nurse gave him a knowing look, which was irritating because Dr. Kim had already been right once today. There was no need for a trend.
He sat in the wheelchair with as much dignity as possible, which was very little.
As the nurse wheeled him out through the gap in the curtain, Jungkook glanced once toward the nurses’ station. Dr. Kim stood there with another chart in hand, speaking quietly to someone beside him. He seemed to feel the look, because his gaze lifted.
Their eyes met across the busy room.
Dr. Kim’s expression barely changed. But he gave the smallest, most deliberate nod toward the wheelchair, as if to say: Good. You listened.
Jungkook narrowed his eyes at him.
Dr. Kim’s mouth curved, just slightly.
Then he looked back down at the chart.
Jungkook faced forward again, irritation crawling warmly beneath his skin.
Jimin, walking beside him, noticed far too much.
“Oh,” he said. “You are doomed.”
Jungkook scoffed. “He stitched my eyebrow.”
“Mm-hm.”
“That is literally all that happened.”
“Of course.”
“And he was annoying.”
“Devastating news.”
“I do not like him.”
Jimin patted his shoulder carefully. “Whatever helps you heal.”
Jungkook glared at him all the way to radiology.
But even after the X-ray showed no fracture, even after he was discharged with a paper packet of instructions, painkillers and several warnings he pretended not to need, even after Jimin dropped him off at his apartment and refused to leave until he promised not to touch the bike until morning… he still found himself standing in front of the bathroom mirror long after midnight, studying the neat line of stitches above his brow.
Five small knots. Precise. Clean.
He tilted his head slightly, trying to imagine the scar they might leave.
Then, against his better judgment, he remembered Dr. Kim leaning close, calm and sharp-tongued, saying, I aligned it carefully.
Jungkook stared at his reflection.
“Annoying,” he muttered.
His mouth betrayed him by curving anyway.