Chapter Text
Jisung jumped so hard he felt at least three years shave off his life when he heard the crash nearby, echoing unnecessarily through the empty parking garage. He froze, clutching his keys and badge to his chest, and waited for any sort of follow-up sound that could lend a little explanation. Parking garages were creepy enough at night, and now Jisung was envisioning every worst case scenario he could think of. Suddenly his backpack was filled with stones, rooting him where he stood. He couldn't hear anything else, but he couldn't be sure if it was really quiet again or if his heart was just raging too loudly in his ears. He should look, right? He should try to figure out what the noise was? This was a hospital, after all, and he was here to help people.
Apprehension shook through him as he took wobbly steps forward, heading where he thought he heard the noise come from. He inched closer to the elevators, fear radiating through every vein, when the source of the noise came tumbling towards him from around a dim corner. Jisung stumbled back and screamed, landing flat on his ass as he tried to understand what he was seeing.
There, doubled over with blood seeping through the front of his scrubs, was his fellow resident; Lee Minho. Jisung could recognize that soft brown hair anywhere, definitely not because he’d spent more time than he'd ever admit wishing he was running his fingers through it. Minho was on his hands and knees, clutching one bloodied palm over what looked to be an open wound to his abdomen. He groaned in pain, clutching the hand holding him up into a tight fist.
“What the fuck…” Jisung whispered.
“Take me… Home…” Minho ordered through clenched teeth. Jisung gaped at the request but didn’t move an inch. “Han Jisung!”
“Are you fucking crazy we're at a fucking hospital why would I take you home you're literally bleeding out in the best place you could be to bleed out-”
“Please,” Minho almost whimpered, cutting into Jisung’s panicked ramble before it could turn into hyperventilation. “If you take me back inside he’ll kill me.”
Maybe it was the sincerity in his words, the way each syllable was crystal clear. Or maybe it was the glimmer of tears that Minho was holding back. Jisung sprang into action, tossing his lanyard over his neck and re-clipping his badge to his front so he had two hands to lift Minho with. He was heavier than he looked, no doubt packing more muscle than you could see through his day to day wardrobe scrubs and more scrubs. Jisung would have made note of this had it not been making it twice as hard for him to get Minho to his car. He was all but dumping the larger into his passenger seat moments later, heeding how heavy Minho’s eyelids had become.
“Where am I going,” Jisung asked, starting the car and dropping it in reverse in one fluid motion.
“Home,” Minho drawled, head tilting to one side and resting on the window. He was losing consciousness, and he was losing it fast.
“I don’t know where you live! Don't fucking die in my car, there's no way I'm gonna be able to explain this!” He tore onto the main road, almost side swiping someone as he pulled away from the hospital. Jisung glanced over to see Minho unresponsive, but his chest was still rising and falling with shallow breaths. Being a first year resident, he hadn't experienced many traumatic injuries yet, but he knew Minho was on borrowed time. “Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck… Hey, Siri, call Chan!”
Jisung took a corner on two wheels as he changed course, choosing his apartment over attempting to get any more information from Minho. Jisung’s roommate would be gone, Seungmin always worked nights, and it always worked in Jisung's favor.
“Yo,” a deep, heavily accented voice rang through the car’s speakers, “what's up, Ji?”
“I need you to do me a favor and please don't ask questions.”
“This sounds sketch as fuck already, but please, continue.”
“I need a suture kit and an adult amount of lidocaine, and I need it now. Like, immediately.” Clearly there was no way Jisung could go through his hospital to get what he needed, Minho was sure he would die there and Jisung would be asked more questions than he could lie through, so the next best option was Jisung's Veterinary Surgeon bestie. The silence on the other end was deafening and expected, but the distant sounds of barking let Jisung know Chan hadn't hung up.
“Are you hurt,” Chan asked sternly.
“No,” Jisung clarified. He felt no relief as he finally pulled into his apartment's parking garage. He was thankful to live so close to his job, but his night was only just beginning.
“I’ll be there in 20.” The line disconnected as Chan hung up, and Jisung made quick work of parking as close to the elevator as he could to start getting Minho inside.
-
“What do you mean I can't come in,” Chan shouted through the door. He had made it over in just under 15 minutes, and scared just a little more life out of Jisung when he frantically pounded on his door ahead of schedule.
“Please,” Jisung begged, “please just put it on the ground and go.”
“You said you needed this now,” Chan reminded him, “so I know you don't have time to play games with me over this. Open the fucking door.”
Jisung hesitated, knowing he looked a mess but knowing Minho was still actively bleeding where Jisung had laid him on his en-suite bathroom floor. Jisung had never been more thankful he chose to pay extra for the master bedroom. He took a deep breath and threw the door open.
Jisung watched what little color Chan had drain from his face.
“Give. Me. The. Supplies.” Jisung tried to sound firm so Chan could stop wasting time, but each word had a slight quiver. His nerves would always give him away.
“Do you know what you're about to do? What kind of injury is this?” Jisung's hands trembled at this line of questioning, because he wasn't sure. “What did you get yourself into?” Chan’s worry always gave him away, and he was always worried about Jisung.
“Get in here.” Jisung tugged Chan into the apartment, racing back to his room as he willed himself past the anxiety of what he was about to try to do. “Sit on the other side of the door and talk me through it. I have an idea of what to do, but I feel better knowing you can help if this goes to shit.” He stopped short in front of the bathroom door, hands taking the supplies from his friend. “I don't know what I got myself into, Chan. But someone needed help, and I was right there. I don't want you anymore involved than what’s reasonably deniable in court.”
Chan didn’t say anything else, but he did catch a glimpse of a body on bathroom tiles as Jisung slipped in as fast as he could. “There's betadine and gloves in the bag; try and be as clean as you can.” The lock clicked after him.
Jisung dropped to his knees, noting how Minho had lost some color and sweat was causing hair to cling to his forehead. He lifted the blood soaked scrubs up Minho’s torso to lay eyes on the source of the bleeding.
“It's a gash, not a puncture, but it's pretty deep,” Jisung called through the door. “It’s a straight and clean cut.” Jisung didn't watch much crime TV, lest he lose even more sleep at night, but with his limited detective skills he would have guessed Minho was cut with something very sharp. Like maybe a scalpel.
“Use the strongest suture you know, if it's deep you don't want it to open up the first time they move.”
Chan was patient with Jisung, but was quickly wearing a path in the floor where he paced nervously and Jisung could hear every step. It was annoying and repetitive, but you don’t turn on a podcast for this type of thing. It was nearly 50 minutes later when the locked clicked open, and Jisung shuffled back into the room. Chan looked like the family members in the waiting rooms when doctors came out after surgery, breathlessly waiting to see if their loved one made it. But Chan didn’t care about whoever was on the floor, he wanted to know how the makeshift surgeon was.
“14 stitches,” Jisung announced, holding up his phone in a very unsteady hand. Chan looked over the image it displayed closely, zooming in and nodding in approval.
“Is this a guy's stomach?”
“No, Chan. As far as you're concerned it's a test dummy I stole for practice.”
“Jisung-”
“No. You need to go. I'm forever in your debt, but I really need you to leave.”
—
The gentle strum of an acoustic guitar wafted into the morning air, pulling Minho from sleep one strum at a time. Jisung hadn’t noticed as he mindlessly plucked the strings, almost forgetting he wasn’t alone when-
“Shit!”
The tranquil atmosphere shattered around him as Minho moved to stretch and white hot pain seared through his core, making him coil in on himself with a string of swears that would put a sailor to shame rolling off his tongue. Jisung dropped the guitar and began fretting over him, trying to get him not to touch his wound.
“I fucking thought you died,” Jisung breathed, somewhat amused but mostly feeling like he could finally breathe again. He’d stayed awake all night obsessively checking Minho’s vitals as best he could. Minho stared up at him for a brief moment, seeming to register that this is who saved him the night before.
“So you sat beside my body playing the guitar? That's not weird at all.”
“How about a little love for the man who saved your life,” Jisung bit back.
“Who else did you tell?”
“No one. I-”
“Do I need to go have this looked at,” Minho grilled, motioning to his mended injury. Jisung was bewildered, how could someone who barely escaped the grip of death be so rude after just waking up? “And I know you didn’t do this alone, you’re a nervous wreck at work. There’s no way you did… whatever you did… well while under that kind of pressure.”
“Look, asshole! You fell into my lap! I carried you to my car! I brought you to my apartment all because it felt like the right thing to do! I should have left you there!”
“Answer me!” Minho could barely shout as more pain seemed to ripple through him when his abs tensed even a little.
“I had a friend walk me through the stitches but he wasn’t in the room. I used a continuous suture, and it’s holding really well. You know what it’s supposed to look like, check for yourself if you don’t believe me.” Jisung left the room, his room, in a huff and slammed the door. How on earth could a man be so mean?
A good half hour passed before Minho hobbled from the room. Correction. From Jisung's room, in Jisung's clothes. Sure it was just a tee and sweats but at least they weren't soaked in blood. Jisung greeted the other with major side eye and nothing else. Minho carefully made his way into the kitchen with unsteady steps, and immediately used the counter to help stay upright. He must have been hungry, and still exhausted. But what should Jisung care?
“The stitches are perfect.” Minho’s voice was much softer suddenly, causing the scowl Jisung tried so hard to hold to falter slightly. He was probably only quieter because shouting hurt, Jisung assumed. “Thank you.” Jisung still said nothing, though his anger was fast to fizzle out. “I don't remember anything after finding you,” Minho tried a little harder, “Did I ruin anything of yours? I can pay for it.”
“I don't want money, Minho. I want an explanation.” Minho visibly bristled at the request. “Or, at the very least, a formal introduction?” Jisung had been up through the night tending to this man without knowing anything other than his name.
“I'm Lee Minho. Second year resident hoping to become a trauma surgeon,” the corners of his lips twitched, the irony was too good.
“And someone at our hospital is trying to kill you?”
“Why do you get to skip the formal introduction,” Minho diverted with a strained laugh.
With a long sigh, Jisung gave in, “Han Jisung, first year. I want to specialize in pediatrics.”
“Cute,” Minho grinned. Only then did Jisung remember why he knew who Minho was in the first place. He was fucking hot. Jisung could shamelessly take note of that now that Minho wasn't a breath away from the grave.
“So what do I do now? Do I act like this never happened? We go back to passing each other in the halls like I don't know something absolutely fucked happened to you in there?”
“Jisung,” his name rolled off Minho’s lips like a prayer, “I will do anything you ask, but I won't tell you what happened.” Minho had gotten dangerously close now, still smelling vaguely of sterile soap and bandages. That's not what Jisung had in mind in his fantasies. The prolonged silence was too much for Minho, so he persisted in a low plea. “Tell me how to keep you quiet.”