When the line between "need" and "want" gets blurred...
To the outside world, they're just good friends. But the truth is, Taehyung isn't entirely sure what they are to each other.
Kim Taehyung, rising soccer star.
Jung Hoseok, team physician.
...
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Hoseok suppressed a sigh. He could see where this was going. Taehyung was very possessive of his things. He didn't talk much about his early childhood in Soul—he claimed that he didn't remember—but Hoseok could make an educated guess. Korean orphanages couldn't have been nice places to live. As a child, Taehyung hadn't had much, so it was only natural he had grown accustomed to jealously guarding what little he had. It didn't matter that Taehyung was no longer a child and could afford anything he wanted; he had never quite outgrown his possessiveness. Everyone knew that Kim Taehyung was very bad at sharing. It was obvious on the football pitch, too: he was often selfish and ruthless, wanting to be the one to score all the goals. For that reason, he was the favorite target of the media's scathing criticism, universally hated and reluctantly admired.
When Hoseok had been assigned as Taehyung's physio at the rehabilitation center, he'd already heard of the boy's difficult personality. Truth be told, at the time Taehyung hadn't been thrilled about the assignment, he'd already heard of the boy's difficult personality. Truth be told, at the time Hoseok hadn't been thrilled about the assignment. The residency was exhausting as it was, and looking after a difficult, paralyzed teenager wasn't something he was looking forward to. Besides, he hated cases like Taehyung's: when there was little hope for a full recovery and he could do little to truly help.
But the first time he had seen the scrawny boy lying still under the covers, huge green eyes the only color on his face, it became personal. Too personal for his liking. There were lines doctors weren't supposed to cross with their patients, and giving false hope of recovery was one of them, but Hoseok couldn't help himself. He couldn't tell the boy he might never walk again and that he should get used to being disabled. He just couldn't tell him that. There was something about that pale, strange-looking boy that brought out every protective instinct in him. He wanted to see him smile.
He wanted to see him happy. He wanted to see him healthy. It had become a bit of an obsession, and in the following seventeen months, Hoseok found himself spending the little free time he had with Taehyung. The boy did have a difficult personality, but Hoseok didn't mind. Tae was like a wounded animal (a puppy or tiger, Hoseok thought affectionately) that wanted help and comfort but tried to hide it. Through trial and error, Hoseok had learned how to handle him. When Taehyung threw tantrums, Hoseok just gave him an unimpressed stare; when Taehyung refused to do exercises "because there was no point," Hoseok called him a coward and a quitter; when Taehyung was depressed and started to lose faith, Hoseok pulled him close and held him, whispering sweet nothings until Taehyung smiled and regained his stubborn belief that everything would be all right.
Belief alone wasn't enough...in a way, Taehyung's recovery was a medical miracle but the miracle wouldn't have happened if Taehyung had quit trying. The day Taehyung managed to take a few steps without falling, he hugged Hoseok tightly and murmured into his neck, his voice thick with emotion, "I wouldn't have done this without you. Love you." And Hoseok had stood frozen in place, feeling hot and cold all at once.
