FLATLINE| JK

eighteen

TAEHYUNG'S POV

I'm the type of person to laugh at funerals. I can't take serious things seriously, and the grave things are somehow funny, in the oddest way. One of my worst nightmares is laughing by accident when delivering bad news to a patient's family, but luckily, I haven't done that yet. So far, in my shortlived time as a surgical intern, the Code Black is the gravest situation I've been in, and it's honestly just a matter of time until I instinctually do something terribly inappropriate.

"Holy shit." I breathe out, entering the on call room, hoping to be alone so that I can get all my sociopathic giggling out. We just finished evacuating the surgical wing of the hospital, as it's the only wing at risk, and Dr. Jeon just went to tell the surgical team operating on the man with the bomb in him that there is, in fact, a bomb in him. Thank God it's not me, I'd definitely let a chuckle slip.

"You can say that again." A voice says from the other side of the room, and I jump. As soon as I register who the source of the voice is, I wrinkle my nose in distaste. Min Yoongi. My archnemesis. Or...is he? Lately, the line between hatred and just plain unresolved sexual tension has been extremely blurred. He's clearly repressed, anyone who once was repressed would know. Internalized homophobia is a tough one to get through, but if Yoongi's attitude towards me is any testimate to his progress, maybe he's winning his inner battles.

"Oh, it's you." I deadpan, trying to sound bitter. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't a little fun to bicker with him. "No wonder you were in here while we were evacuating people. Hiding from your responsibilities." He scoffs from where he lays on the uncomfortable mattress, his hands behind his head. He still has the hint of a smile on his face, anyway. "You've got to learn to be a doer, Yoongi."

As soon as the words roll off my lips, I realize something. Maybe I should take my own advice. Here I've been, letting feelings for Min Yoongi, of all people, accumulate inside my chest. Letting him go on about his life in his repression. I know I'm right about this, and I don't want to pressure him, but I needed a little push when I was in his shoes. I needed someone to tell me they'd be there for me when I came out...maybe Yoongi needs that person, too.

"Dude, I'll be a doer later. It's like the apocalypse out there." Yoongi's deep voice snaps me out of my reverie. He's handsome, I note, in the dim light of the on call room. His bone structure casts shadows into the hollows of his cheeks, his jawline. His pretty dark eyes are full of humor despite my teasing.

"Yoongi." I exhale breathlessly, yearning for him all of a sudden. This may or may not be my inability to properly react to scary situations showing, but I don't care. As much as I hate to admit it, I like Yoongi.

"It's true. I mean, look around. Half the people who are supposed to be saving lives have ditched their patients to save themselves." Yoongi continues, not even glancing at me.

"Yoongi." I repeat his name once more, to no avail.

"We get the blessing of being on someone other than Dr. Jeon's service, only for all surgeries to get cancelled because some dipshit and his friend were playing with glorified Nerf Guns at the ripe age of forty. I thought we were getting a perfect, uninterrupted day without Dr. Jeon, but, no." 

"Yoongi."

"Not to mention that Jimin and Bong Bong are the ones who got the cool surgery--I mean, he might explode in their faces, but still. If I have to be here, I'd rather be doing something more interesting than popping some punk ass kid's knee back into his socket--"

"Yoongi, I--"

"Listen, Tae, I'm just saying it's a morgue waiting to happen in here. People should get while the getting's good, because there might not be a tomorrow--"