Chapter Text
- - -
"Oh, my love, you're here!"
When Nicha raised her glass toward the door with a pleasant smile, the ice cubes clinking in the sparkling crystal briefly broke the silence, drawing a few nearby glances in that direction. They were met with the momentarily startled expression of the alpha entering through the door of his own home. While familiar faces smiled at him, the alpha didn’t seem quite as pleased.
Instead of tossing his keys into the box where he always left them, he tucked them back into his pocket and smiled quietly. He wasn’t someone who smiled often. When he entered a room, the air typically grew heavy, and the subtle gloom he carried with him seemed to affect those around him.
Most of the guests here were used to seeing him in his always-sterile-scented coat. Even in the unbuttoned shirt and the jacket he’d thrown on last minute after leaving the hospital, he still managed to look good—but the jacket still bore the fold mark on his left shoulder. It wasn’t exactly an admirable image. His hair was a little messy, uncharacteristically so. After a long surgery, it always ended up that way.
A strand falling occasionally across his forehead made his expression look even more tired.
“Nicha,” he said, bowing his head slightly in greeting. He accepted the hand his wife extended to him and left a reluctant kiss on her cheek. He didn’t need to lean in to smell her—he knew from a kilometer away that she had had more to drink than she should have. The sharp scent of alcohol, poorly masked under her perfume, rushed into his lungs. “You didn’t tell me we were hosting a gathering today.”
“Oh,” the woman giggled, feigning surprise. Her voice carried the amused tone of an actress who knew exactly which scene was being played. The soft hum of conversations around them, the low jazz tune in the background, and the clinking of glasses echoed in his ears. The omega finally turned around as if looking for someone, skipping the courtesy of introducing her nearby friends to Yoongi, and began scanning the room.
“Nicha—”
“There.” Without caring what he was about to say, she grabbed his wrist with enthusiasm and tugged at him. Her fingertips tightened around his slender wrist, the motion careless—like she was dragging something she never truly owned. “Some of your colleagues are here. See?”
Yoongi paused. As they moved toward the open entrance of the living room, his eyes landed on a distinct face. A single silhouette rising above the crowd silenced everything for a moment. The bond mark ached faintly as their eyes met. The alpha hadn’t known. They had seen each other just a few hours ago, and no one had mentioned such an event—or the possibility of crossing paths at one.
“Park Jimin-ssi was my special guest, and he informed me there was an important surgery today. That’s why I didn’t want to worry you unnecessarily.”
As if he wasn’t standing right there, as if they weren’t talking about him, she avoided focusing on Jimin too much and instead wrapped her arm around Yoongi’s waist, resting her head on his shoulder. The weight of that head felt heavier than anything else he carried.
“I was really trying to be a good wife, darling, you have to forgive me. Isn’t that right, Jimin-ssi?”
Yoongi looked at Jimin’s neutral face and cold eyes. As always, he stood there with that noble and upright posture, in perfectly tailored clothes and meticulously styled hair. Darkness loomed behind the wide windows of the living room. The glass was speckled with rain; the storm outside hadn’t ceased. The lightning that briefly lit the dim room created a beautiful play of shadow across his face.
After a quick glance at Nicha, the omega curled his lips into an insincere smile. Without shifting his stance, he slid one hand into the pocket of his trousers and nodded. As he took a sip from his champagne, his next target was Yoongi.
“You have a very thoughtful wife, Yoongi-ssi. She stopped by my hospital herself to invite me to this special evening. And when she learned you had a surgery scheduled, she asked me specifically not to tell you about it.”
The alpha looked at him as if no one else existed. The crowd faded into background noise—the whole world collapsed into that face. Hours ago, in a hospital room, he had been staring at that same face. He’d known there was something different about him today. It had been obvious even before the surgery began this morning.
As Yoongi slowly removed his hand from his wife’s waist and tried to put some space between them, he nodded with effort—trying to remain understanding, to remember the crowd surrounding them. His fingers still held the warmth of her delicate fabric, and that warmth felt like a poison that chilled him from the inside.
“Thank you for your understanding. Still, I would’ve liked to be informed about a party being held in my own home.” He turned to his wife. “What is all this for?”
“It’s nothing. You know my father—”
“Nicha-ssi is quite eager for you to be transferred to her family's hospital. I think all of this is really about you.” Jimin didn’t let her finish. Setting his glass down on one of the small minibar tables placed for guests, he took a step closer to them. “But of course, it’s your decision. We’ve discussed this before.”
"We all know you don’t want to let go of such a brilliant neurosurgeon, Jimin-ssi. My husband is very modest. I’m sure the only reason he’s delayed transferring to the hospital where his wife works is because he couldn’t refuse your requests.” With a sweet smile, Nicha turned to her husband. "Otherwise, it would truly be upsetting for my husband to work anywhere but our family hospital."
Yoongi didn’t react. His face was like a mask—only he knew what was underneath. This wasn’t the first time he’d lived through a performance like this. Jimin wasn’t always present in those scenes, but the taste was familiar. He knew exactly what was happening here, and he knew very well who shared the ultimate goal behind it all.
His eyes moved around the room. Amid colorful clothes, clinking glasses, and casual laughter, he searched for only one person. And he found the name he wanted in the exact spot he expected—in the corner of the living room. His gaze landed on the figure deep in conversation with an associate professor. As if sensing his son’s eyes, the elder’s gaze lifted quietly and met his. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t move. He simply gave his son a brief glance, then returned to his conversation.
"This isn’t the hospital’s decision, nor Jimin-ssi’s. It’s mine, Nicha," he finally said, turning back.
His voice was still calm, but his words were drawn tight like a blade running beneath the skin. Then he reached forward. Taking the glass Jimin had left, he raised it to his lips and emptied the remaining champagne in one go, placing the glass back down. Now, with a more genuine smile on his lips, he looked at Jimin. His eyes contained everything he couldn’t say, condensed into a single glance.
"Thank you for not declining my wife’s invitation, Mr. Park. You really didn’t have to trouble yourself coming all this way."
"It was my pleasure, Mr. Min.” Jimin gave a polite nod with a pleasant smile before turning back to the woman. He met her stiff, intrusive gaze without flinching. Jimin was from within the industry. He attended dozens of meetings every week. He knew these kinds of looks and exactly how to deal with them. And Yoongi knew that he knew.
"Your husband is a priceless associate professor. I’m sure he’ll make an excellent full professor too, Nicha-ssi. I wouldn’t want our hospital to lose someone of his caliber.” When his gaze briefly shifted to Yoongi, the alpha’s bond mark ached once again. And he knew exactly why. "Still, this isn’t a place he’s forced to stay—nor will it ever be. He’s free to leave and join your family’s company whenever he wants."
"You’re trying to sway him, Jimin-ssi. I know it very well."
"Oh, am I?” Jimin raised his brows with interest. There was no defiance in his expression—just a flat, nearly indifferent curiosity. "I wasn’t aware I was doing that. If you tell me what exactly I’m doing, I can stop."
Nicha laughed. When her drunken state made her stumble slightly and her hand found her husband’s shoulder, Yoongi reflexively held her by the waist to steady her.
"You know exactly what you’re doing—"
"Nicha." Yoongi cut her off all at once, his voice sharp. There was no trace of repressed anger—just a near-metallic edge. Aware of the few glances turning their way, he whispered, "That’s enough. You’re drunk."
"I’m perfectly fine."
"I think I should leave now.” Jimin muttered as he inserted himself into the conversation. He stood there, cold as ever, his lips pressed into a flat line. "See you tomorrow, Yoongi-ssi."
Nicha reached toward him, but Yoongi prevented her. Not that it mattered—before the alpha could say anything, Jimin had already picked up his bag and was heading toward the exit, nodding faintly to a few familiar faces as he passed. His walk wasn’t rushed—just measured, composed.
The moment Jimin walked out the door, Yoongi turned to his wife.
As he abruptly pulled his hand away and reached the bar table, he said, "What was that? What are you trying to do?"
Leaning in toward his wife, his brows furrowed, voice hushed, the intimacy of their tension amidst the crowd caused a few conversations to pause and momentarily drew eyes to them. For some, it was a rich source of gossip. Still, Nicha didn’t seem to care. Grabbing a drink from a passing waiter, she laughed mockingly and shrugged. As she placed the olive on the cocktail pick between her lips, her gaze was utterly vacant; the indifference in her demeanor was less drunkenness and more resignation. She looked like she wouldn’t care if the world burned down around her.
"I'm tired." When she finally turned back to Yoongi, she shrugged again and said, "Tired of your father and mine seeing only me, always meddling in my life. They want you at the hospital and they won’t stop. So you’ll endure it.”
"I entered this fucking marriage because I didn’t want them interfering with my career.”
"And you're a fool. You knew they wouldn’t keep their promises."
Yoongi stared at her through sharp, deliberate breaths. He knew very well this wasn’t the place or the moment to do this. No one could see the war raging between his mind and his heart. He knew this was about more than a deal—so much more. His father’s words rang in his ears. The contracts he’d signed blinked red like an alarm in the corner of his mind.
His fingers gripped the edge of the table. He held it so tightly that his knuckles turned white—his wife could see it clearly.
When he finally straightened up and made his way to the stairs without saying a word, no one tried to stop him. Yoongi walked past the guests who were invited into his own home and headed toward his room. The crowd behind him seemed like something from another world—muffled and distant.
The upper floor was quiet, but his mind was in complete chaos. Thoughts clashed, each one trying to drown the other out.
For a moment, he stopped in the hallway. He looked into the darkened space, lit only by the floor lights. When he had first moved into this house—when he’d first been willing to try this marriage—that room at the end of the hall with its door wide open had been his. That room now looked back at him like a shadow from the past.
He used to go there, climb into the bed he shared with his wife, and want to feel something. Just once, he wished to think with his heart instead of his mind.
He had given up on those wishes years ago.
That marriage—one that had never truly begun—had ended years ago.
Yoongi closed his eyes. He felt the restless stirring of his wolf deep inside him. He had always been a man of logic. He liked to think with his mind, not his heart. Emotions, to him, were dangerous sparks to be controlled.
But just once, he tried to imagine what could have happened if he had followed his heart. Years ago, when he was still a young assistant—if he had refused this marriage, if he hadn’t bowed to what was imposed on him, if he hadn’t signed all those papers—
Maybe then, he would’ve woken up beside a different face in the mornings.
Maybe “home” would’ve been a place he could actually fit into.
The sudden image of Jimin flashing in his mind made him flinch. When he opened his eyes to the dark hallway again, he knew it was meaningless to dwell on these things. At his age, none of it mattered anymore. Taking a different path wouldn’t change anything now.
He took a deep breath before disappearing into his room.
That breath felt like a final tribute to the past.
Or maybe, it was the scream of the young assistant still alive somewhere deep inside him.
- - -
“The surgery you're performing today is expected to take at least eight hours, sir. So we’ve had to postpone all your consultations to tomorrow. There were no objections from patients, but Kim Taehyung said he’s not available tomorrow. Pushing it to Thursday doesn’t negatively affect his condition, but we still need your approval—”
Jungkook, as always, was speaking breathlessly while keeping pace with Yoongi’s steady steps. The soft rustling of the pages in the file he held echoed alongside Yoongi’s stride.
Yoongi never ran, but he walked with such steady precision that people often assumed he was rushing somewhere. He always moved in evenly spaced steps, eyes locked straight ahead, never glancing around.
“Also, Mr. Park requested to speak with you before the operation. He said the timing doesn’t matter—he’ll make himself available whenever you are—”
When Yoongi suddenly stopped in the hallway, Jungkook, who’d been looking at his file, accidentally bumped into his shoulder. Both of them startled for a moment, and then Jungkook shifted nervously, muttering, “I’m sorry, sir.”
“Why does Jimin want to see me?”
This wasn’t new to the assistant. Though Yoongi usually paid attention to formalities, he didn’t really care about them in the presence of his assistants. Especially not with the experienced ones—those who already knew him.
“He said it was personal. He didn’t give me any details.”
“Alright.” Yoongi slipped his hands into the pockets of his coat and stood still. That was a sign he was thinking about something, so no one disturbed him.
“Check in with the patient’s relatives before surgery and make sure all the final details are correct. I don’t want anything missing. I want everything I expect to see in that file to be there. I’ll meet you in the operating room.” He looked at Jungkook before turning away and added, “And you can reschedule Tae’s consultation for Thursday. I approve it.”
Finally, as he turned toward the elevator, his assistants continued exactly as expected—moving efficiently and starting a serious discussion over the files in their hands.
Yoongi kept pressing the elevator button repeatedly. As if holding it down would make it come faster, he ignored the glances of those around him. His finger insisted like he was in a hurry—but his face revealed absolutely nothing.
When the doors finally opened and he was met by another colleague, Yoongi gave a nod and said, “Namjoon. Are you going down?”
“No, hyung. I’m heading up.”
With that answer, Yoongi stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the top floor. A brief silence settled between them until the other alpha finally broke it.
“Are you going to see Jimin?”
It was a well-timed move to stir tension. Yoongi had never wanted to talk to him about this subject—and he doubted there would ever come a time when he did. Still, instead of disregarding professional decorum, he nodded as politely as he could. “Yes. He said it was something important.”
“Ah. We came in together this morning. He seemed tense.”
Yoongi looked at him. For a moment, the tension between them became almost palpable before he offered a faint smile. “You were together?”
“Yes, he stopped by in the evening. I didn’t want him returning alone since it was late.”
“That’s nice. You’re a thoughtful, good friend, Namjoon.”
“Thanks, hyung. I try—” As the elevator doors slid open, the alpha gestured and stepped out. “This is my stop. See you soon.”
“Yeah, see you.” Yoongi barely whispered before the doors closed again. His voice carried the weight of a thought stuck in his throat. He moved to the back of the elevator and leaned his shoulder against the mirror, closing his eyes for a brief moment. The reflection looking back at him felt like someone he didn’t recognize. He longed for a reason to shed the weight on his shoulders, to expel this sick feeling inside him. Some kind of invention that could rip these thoughts out of his head.
This was his field. The brain—this complex organ—was his life’s work. He had given it everything.
But when it came to a certain name, it wasn’t so easy to detach.
When the elevator reached the top floor of the skyscraper with a soft ding, Yoongi stepped out unhurried. A few janitors bowed respectfully, and he returned the gesture in kind. Finally, he turned right into the hallway, moving between the modern, sharp-edged paintings Jimin had chosen with care.
He paused for just a second before knocking. With two measured taps, he waited to hear the sound from inside. “Come in.”
Yoongi lingered for a moment longer. He wasn’t the kind of person to avoid things or run from anything. Still, he didn’t feel ready for this conversation. He didn’t want to push things back into a deadlock or undo what little progress had been made.
He lowered the handle with a slow movement. After confirming the room was empty except for Jimin, he closed the door behind him. This office, perfectly placed on the top floor of the building, belonged to Jimin. He had inherited it from his father a few years ago. Even though every voice around him claimed that an omega couldn’t run an institution of this scale, he hadn’t listened to any of them.
In the last three years, the hospital had reached record-breaking success, ranking number one in the country.
Now, people looked at him with nothing but respect.
“Jungkook said you wanted to see me.”
Yoongi took a few steps toward him. Beyond the glass, the Han River created a stunning view from above. The soft morning light touched Jimin’s profile, tilted slightly to the side, like the makings of a beautiful painting. A few open files lay before him, but they had clearly lost his interest.
“Yoongi-ssi. Yes, your assistant informed you correctly—I was expecting you.”
Yoongi moved forward with a humorless smile. Sitting in the comfortable leather armchair placed in front of the desk, he murmured, “You’re angry. Even though I did nothing wrong.”
Jimin raised a single brow but didn’t lift his eyes from the paper in front of him. His pen hovered over the page for a brief second before his gaze finally met Yoongi’s. After letting his eyes settle on him with a cold, unwavering stare, he murmured, “Depends on who you ask about whether you’re innocent.” Then, he handed him the paper. “Your father got in touch with our hospital.”
Yoongi took the paper from his hand when faced with the very last update he’d expected. The name written at the top of the medical report belonged to his own father.
“Colorectal cancer. Early diagnosis. Can be prevented by removing the polyps during colonoscopy.” Jimin shrugged. “Of course, I’m in no position to speak medically. The only reason I am is because I went over the results with Hoseok hyung. According to him, it’s a simple process. Since it’s in the early stage, he has a pretty good chance of beating it quickly.”
“No.” Without even acknowledging his shock, Yoongi handed the paper back to him. “He’s not getting treated here.”
“He said he’d be coming in today to complete the admission process—”
“Jimin, no.” Yoongi stood up like he couldn’t hold it in anymore. “You know him. You know he’s doing this on purpose.”
“No one gets cancer on purpose, Yoongi.”
“You know what I mean!”
Jimin didn’t lose his composure. Instead, he leaned back and smiled at his soulmate with the calmest expression he could muster. “We’re going to treat him,” he said. “The best general surgeon in the country works under my roof.”
“Jimin, you know him.”
“I do. And I won’t lose in this game.” He straightened up, placing his elbows on the desk, locking eyes with Yoongi. It felt like the entire room shrank under that gaze, the rest of the world left behind the door. “If he wants to stain my hospital’s name, he can try. He won’t succeed.”
Yoongi stayed silent. He saw the fire burning in those eyes. And he knew Jimin well enough to understand that fire hadn’t been lit by this alone. Something had happened. Maybe Nicha had said something when she visited, maybe his father had talked about more than just his illness, maybe—
“If necessary, I’ll leave the hospital.”
“You’re not going anywhere.”
“You didn’t say that yesterday.”
Jimin raised a single brow with a heavy implication. “The fact that you’re bold enough to talk to me like this instead of thanking me for not provoking your wife when she challenged me…”
He pushed back his chair in one swift motion and stood up. The movement was quick but measured, like someone who knew his body well and was always in control of it. As always, he wore loose-fitting slacks, a neatly pressed shirt, and a sporty blazer to complete the look. He was formal—but never at the cost of being himself. He had no makeup on, but his lips were slightly tinted.
Yoongi already knew that tint tasted like cherries.
Jimin stood directly in front of him. Yoongi was used to being respected—so much so that most eyes meeting his were laced with a touch of hesitation. The only person who ever met his gaze like a challenge was standing right there. Those unwavering eyes screamed certainty. And Yoongi respected that.
Jimin reached out. He knew exactly where the bond mark was—found it in a single try, without hesitation, and placed his palm over it. He didn’t care about the layer of fabric in between. That touch, meaningless if it came from anyone else, made Yoongi shiver subtly.
The omega leaned in. His breath touched Yoongi’s cheek as he bent toward his ear. When Yoongi instinctively wrapped an arm around his waist, the first sound that hit his ear was a wicked chuckle escaping Jimin’s lips.
“What a gentleman. You touched your wife the same way yesterday.”
Yoongi wanted to object. His lips parted—but there was no chance. When Jimin pulled back just enough to look directly into his eyes, Yoongi already knew he had to stay silent. Because those eyes delivered judgment long before any words could.
“I know there’s nothing going on between you two, hyung. I understand it, and I respect it.” He spoke in a quiet voice, as if muttering to himself. “This paper marriage of yours is built on the sweetest kind of foundation. The kind my father would have approved of.”
“I don’t like where this is going.”
“I’m getting older. You know I need to get married too.”
“Thirty-five isn’t that old.” Yoongi tightened his grip around his waist as he whispered.
His voice was soft, but beneath it lay a faint vulnerability. Like he wasn’t just holding onto Jimin—but also trying to hold back time.
“Mm, mm.” Jimin nodded with the same mocking tone as he stepped back a little more. His eyes had always been bright. Whether they held hope or burned with fury, they were always luminous—those large, dark pupils. To Yoongi, they looked like galaxies. “Still, keep asking yourself why you haven’t ended that precious marriage of yours despite everything, alright? Just like you, there are things I can’t escape from. Especially after pushing my luck this far.”
It was clear enough. What he meant, what it implied, what it led to—all of it. Jimin had been under pressure for years to marry a particular alpha. His father was strict. And now, at thirty-five years old, running a hospital yet still without an heir, that pressure only grew heavier by the day.
And Yoongi knew—he was getting closer and closer to the day he’d have to watch Jimin get married.
That was a serious problem.
There had never been love between him and Nicha. Both of them knew it was a deal. There had been sex in the beginning, but when emotion never followed, they’d given up. Sharing a bed became uncomfortable, and after years of quiet suffering, separating their rooms had been inevitable. Besides, Nicha had already been uneasy the moment she saw his bond mark. Knowing her husband shared a soul with someone else, she hadn’t wanted to try for anything more.
Sometimes, when their fathers’ pressure grew unbearable and she gave in to it, she drank too much and acted like she expected more from Yoongi. She’d yell, get angry—but by morning, they’d go on like nothing happened.
For Yoongi, finding his soulmate, kissing him, sharing intimacy—none of it felt like a betrayal. He didn’t feel like he was cheating on anyone. There was no sense of obligation toward a marriage that only existed on paper.
But neither of them knew if things would be the same once Jimin got married.
They had no idea how open Jimin’s future spouse might be—or if they’d expect more than just a marriage on paper.
And when the potential spouse in question was Kim Namjoon, most people knew exactly how seriously he took the concept of love. For Namjoon, love was an ideal. Abstract, but sacred.
Yoongi finally swallowed and said, “I’ll handle it. I— I’ll fix this.”
Jimin gave him a pained smile. He didn’t say he didn’t believe him—but it was written all over his face. As the bond mark tingled faintly, the omega stepped back. He met Yoongi’s eyes one last time before returning to his desk.
“I hope so,” he said. “Because Namjoon hyung asked me out this weekend.” He looked Yoongi right in the eye. “I said yes.”
Yoongi said nothing. Despite having a thousand things he wanted to say, he stood there silently and nodded. “I understand.”
He knew Jimin wouldn’t like that. Jimin liked attention. Sometimes, in the right amount, he even liked being the object of jealousy. When he felt loved, he softened—his sharp aura visibly faded.
Still, Yoongi couldn’t find it in himself to react this time. What he felt went far beyond a healthy dose of jealousy. This time, it was something devastating. The discomfort weighing in his stomach made his head swim in a light haze. He could feel himself spiraling with the awareness that if he was late, they’d reach a point of no return. He was sweating beneath his skin.
At last, he muttered, “I’m heading to surgery. You—” He paused. Whatever he had been about to say, he gave up on it and shook his head. “See you later.”
Jimin smiled. Settling back into his chair, he said, “I hope so, hyung. I’ll be home tonight if you get the chance to stop by.”
And then, as if the conversation hadn’t carried so much weight, he returned to his work. That was Yoongi’s cue to leave. And he did. After looking at the omega one last time, he turned and walked out with the same quiet calm he had entered with. He crossed the hallway in silence, pressing the elevator button only once this time, watching the numbers rise with a deep stillness.
When the doors opened, he stepped in slowly.
When they closed again, and he found himself alone, it was all the invitation he needed to drive a clenched fist into the metal wall.
“Fuck.” He pulled his throbbing hand back from the steel, jaw clenched. “Fuck.” He raised his hand again and slammed it against the same spot with the same force. “Fuck.” His nails dug into his palms as a crooked smile crept onto his lips.
“Fuck it.” It was like watching his own tragedy unfold—and somewhere in that smile, pain lingered.
Seconds later, he chuckled bitterly. “Fuck my whole fucking life.”
Under the dim ceiling light, a portrait of helplessness was cast in soft glow.
Yoongi hated this feeling.
He hated feeling like this.
The elevator doors opened. Yoongi stepped out, chuckling as if he wasn’t the one responsible for the dent in the wall. He kept laughing as he walked toward the operating room, ignoring the strange looks from assistants who had seen him.
“I’m a doctor,” he muttered to himself. He repeated it again, as if trying to stop himself from wishing something awful on his father. “I’m a doctor. I won’t wish death on you, father. I’m a doctor.”
Then, he passed through the sliding door to change for surgery. The sterile zone, lit with white lights, was the only place where he could strip away every dirty emotion. This was where he could scatter his thoughts—where he could reclaim his focus.
An eight-hour surgery awaited him.
Eight hours of silence.
That was the best part.
Yes. That was the best part.