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someonegoood · 2 months ago

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SUTURES & SCARS part 1 ✫ jeon jungkook

CONTAINS: medical!au, surgeon!jungkook x surgeon!reader, slow burn, teasing, mutual pining, enemies to lovers, fighting turned bonding, past and present love, fluff & angst :)

NOTE: well... i'm back with a medical!au inspired by doctor slump (that drama was so good omg). thanks so much for reading, hope you enjoy it!! this work is not revised, and english is not my first language. next part will be uploaded tomorrow!!

my main masterlist! ❀ comment to be on the taglist!

taglist 🩺 @senaqsstuff @jjkluver7 @lovingkoalaface @khadeeeeej @pipipipiiiii @jungkooksmytype @jkxlvrr @whoa-jo @anemonatae @iviamagatitos @nerdycheol @thelilbutifulthings @banana-creampie @beomluvrr @user-190811 @mar-lo-pap @jiminismine4ever @boringmichelle @marilo11 @jenniebyrubies @littlestarstinyseven @kooeuphoria @rayyrayy10 @moonchild1 <3

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4.

You weren’t supposed to be here.

This hospital—one of the most prestigious medical institutions in the country—was never meant to be your landing place. It had a reputation for being exclusive, only taking in the most skilled and accomplished doctors. Under normal circumstances, your application wouldn’t have even made it past the first round. But these weren’t normal circumstances.

They were desperate.

A sudden shortage of doctors had left the trauma surgery department scrambling to find specialists who could take on the relentless workload. And that’s how you, despite not being part of their initial selection, had been handed a contract at the last minute.

Still, there was no warm welcome waiting for you. Your arrival hadn’t been met with admiration or respect. Most of the staff knew exactly who you were—not because of your surgical skills, not because of your work ethic, but because of that video.

The one that had gone viral.

A single moment of frustration, caught on camera and spread across the internet like wildfire.

At your last hospital, you had been drowning. The shifts were relentless, the expectations impossible. No matter how many hours you put in, no matter how many patients you saved, it was never enough. Your superior—an arrogant, self-important man who treated younger doctors like disposable tools—had pushed you too far.

And you had snapped.

You hadn’t planned for your voice to carry across the entire ward. You hadn’t expected someone to be filming. And you certainly hadn’t expected the clip to be uploaded with captions like "Doctor Stands Up to Toxic Work Culture!" and "She Said What We All Wanted To Say!"

But that’s exactly what happened.

You had told your superior—bluntly, unapologetically—that you were tired of being exploited. That working 36-hour shifts with no breaks wasn’t a sign of dedication, it was a sign of systemic failure. That no matter how much you loved medicine, you wouldn’t let yourself be crushed under its weight.

The words had barely left your mouth before his furious response had followed: “if you think you’re so indispensable, why don’t you find somewhere else to work?”

So you did.

Or at least, you tried.

But the video followed you. Some people admired your courage, others saw you as reckless, unprofessional. A liability. Your name was whispered in hospital halls, passed around in hushed conversations. Respected institutions suddenly had no available positions when your application landed on their desks.

Still, you told yourself it didn’t matter. This was a fresh start. You would put your head down, do your job, and prove that you belonged here. But then, of course, there was him.

Jeon Jungkook.

The person who had, at one point, made you want to pull your hair out in medical school. There had always been a gap between you and Jungkook. A space carved not just by time but by opportunity. It started with the entrance exam.

You had worked yourself to the bone, studying until the words blurred together, until caffeine barely kept you functional. And yet, no matter how hard you pushed yourself, Jungkook had ranked higher. He had scored near the top effortlessly, securing his place in the best medical program without breaking a sweat.

While you had to fight for your place every step of the way, Jungkook had walked through the doors like he belonged there.

And, to be fair—maybe he did.

His talent was undeniable. He was the kind of doctor who made procedures look easy, who had an instinct for trauma surgery that couldn’t be taught. But that wasn’t the only reason people gravitated toward him.

It was his face.

The moment Jungkook entered the medical field, his reputation exploded. Patients wanted to be treated by him, some even exaggerating their conditions just for the chance to see him in person. His name spread through social media—the handsome trauma surgeon, the genius doctor who looks like he walked out of a magazine.

You had seen the way people looked at him, how his mere presence commanded attention. And deep down, you hated to admit that you understood why. Because you remembered a time before all of this.

Before the fame. Before the Dr. Jeon Jungkook reputation had taken over.

You remembered late-night study sessions when he was just an annoyingly competitive classmate, back when you were both just students fighting to survive. Back when there was no distance between you. Back when he was just... Jungkook.

And now?

Now, you stood in the same hospital, both specialists in trauma surgery. But while Jungkook had been welcomed with open arms from the beginning, you had barely made it in. You were a last-minute addition, a second choice.

And worse?

He probably didn’t even care.

Maybe he didn’t even remember.

The trauma surgery unit was the kind of place that didn’t allow for distractions. It demanded focus, precision, and expertise. Every decision counted. Every second mattered. That’s why Jeon Jungkook thrived here.

He was respected, no, admired, for his technical skill. But if there was one thing Jungkook lacked, it was an emotional connection to his work. He could save a life with a steady hand and a clear mind, but when it came to anything beyond that, his walls were impenetrable. He’d spent years cultivating that distance—after all, trauma surgery wasn’t the place for sentiment.

The day he returned to the hospital after an extended time away, it should’ve felt routine. But as soon as he walked into the trauma bay, something felt different.

The harsh fluorescent lights of the trauma surgery unit buzzed above, their hum a constant, almost soothing companion to the chaos unfolding below. The scent of sterile antiseptic mixed with the faint tang of blood in the air, and yet, Jungkook moved through it with practiced ease. This was familiar territory. The pressure, the critical patients, the intensity of saving lives—he thrived in it.

Yet today, there was a subtle undercurrent of tension he couldn’t quite shake off.

His gaze swept over the trauma bay, the usual clamor of activity surrounding him, but something felt off. The familiar presence of his colleagues was there, but it wasn’t until he stepped into the main OR corridor that he saw her.

You.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t expected to see you. The hospital was a big place, and you were a trauma surgeon now, just like him. You were bound to cross paths at some point. But the reality of it hit him all at once. His pulse quickened before he could stop it.

You—the one person who had always challenged him. Who had made him question his approach to everything. You were part of this team now. Not that he had expected anything less. You were brilliant, after all.

You, with your patient-centered approach, always thinking of the person beyond the injury, beyond the trauma. He’d never understood that about you. You were too empathetic, too invested in the stories of the people you saved. To him, it was all about the procedure, the perfection, the technical execution. The detachment was necessary. It kept him sharp.

You were standing by the operating table, your back to him. Your movements were fluid, efficient, as you spoke to a resident with the calm authority that had always been so effortless for you. You had a way of speaking, not loud, not commanding, but with such quiet conviction that it felt like everything you said was an undeniable truth.

His breath hitched in his throat. He hadn’t expected the old feelings to resurface so quickly. There had been years—six of them—between now and the last time he’d seen you. Six years since you had been his rival in medical school, six years since that fateful day when everything had changed.

When Jungkook first heard that a new surgeon was joining the trauma team, the thought barely registered—just another name on the roster, another doctor to either impress or ignore. But for a fleeting second, as he skimmed the email announcing the department’s newest addition, his mind had entertained a thought he hadn’t let in for years. What if it’s her?

It was ridiculous, really—he hadn’t seen you in so long that you’d become more of a memory than a real person.

But some part of him, buried under layers of pride and time, still remembered the way you used to challenge him, push him to be better, and make him feel something he never quite understood.

But here you were, looking the same as you had back then—composed, confident, untouchable.

As his eyes lingered on you, the noise of the trauma unit faded into the background. The beeping of machines, the rushed footsteps of nurses, the rustle of surgical gloves—all of it seemed to dissolve into a soft hum. He didn’t want to feel this way, but the old animosity—the rivalry that had always thrummed just beneath the surface—flickered back to life.

It had started innocently enough. You had been another medical student, just like him. The two of you had been assigned to the same rotations, but where Jungkook was determined to prove himself with hard work and sheer perseverance, you had a different approach. You made it seem easy. Effortless.

It wasn’t that he disliked you—it was the way you moved through everything. The way you never seemed to struggle, never seemed to fall behind. You were always ahead, always one step further. And no matter how much he tried, no matter how much effort he put into studying, it never felt like enough.

The real clash had come in the third year of medical school. Both of you had been assigned to the same trauma surgery rotation. The patient had been a young girl, barely seventeen, who had been in a car crash. Her injuries were grave—broken bones, internal bleeding, and a collapsed lung.

In the OR, there had been no room for egos. At least, that was what Jungkook had thought. But you, always calm, always calculated, had known exactly what to do. The attending had left the two of you in charge, and the moment you had stepped in, it was clear that you were taking control.

“I’ll handle the internal bleeding,” you had said, your voice soft but firm. Your eyes locked onto his, and he had felt something shift in the air, a small but undeniable challenge.

This was your first surgery in a while since the video. And now, standing in the operating room, hands steady despite the weight of everything that had led you here, you knew there was no room for mistakes. Not when everyone was watching. Not when he was watching.

Jungkook had felt his throat tighten. There was no way he was going to let you take over—not now, not after everything he had worked for.

“I’ll lead this one,” he had said, his voice tight, almost too tight.

You had raised an eyebrow, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Of course you will, doctor. But if you miss something, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Now, Jungkook tried to push the past from his mind as he walked back into the trauma bay. The noise of rushing footsteps, the shouts of nurses, the beeping of monitors all flooded back to him. He had a job to do, and he would do it perfectly, just as he always had.

But there you were, standing at the head of the patient’s bed, giving orders with that same calm, steady demeanor that always made him feel like a novice. Your presence was unmistakable, and though he told himself he didn’t care, the tightness in his chest said otherwise.

The OR was a chaotic, controlled madness. Every second counted, and every decision had to be precise. But even amidst the pressure of a life-or-death situation, there was one thing that always managed to break through: the undeniable clash between you and Jungkook.

The patient on the operating table had sustained severe trauma—a shattered femur, multiple fractures to the ribs, and internal bleeding. The first few minutes had been smooth, the team working together efficiently to stabilize her. But the situation had quickly escalated. She wasn’t responding to the fluids they had administered, and her vitals were dropping rapidly. Her blood pressure was dangerously low, and the internal bleeding was proving harder to control than they anticipated.

Instead, your eyes were on him. Watching him. Your gaze was sharp, almost like a challenge.

"Get the hemorrhage controlled," Jungkook ordered, his voice sharp as he focused on the screen displaying the vitals.

"I’m on it," you replied, stepping in to assist the anesthesiologist with stabilizing the airway, watching her oxygen levels as the other doctors worked on her fractures. There was a quiet efficiency to your movements. It was the same calm approach you’d had in medical school, the one that had driven Jungkook crazy all those years ago.

But this time, the two of you weren’t in sync.

You reached for a clotting agent, about to administer it, when Jungkook’s hand shot out to stop you.

“No, that’s not the first thing we should be using,” he said, his tone dismissive as he moved to the other side of the table. “Clotting agents aren’t going to solve this if we don’t address the internal bleeding first.”

You paused for a moment, the air thick with tension. “I know what I’m doing, Jeong-woo. We don’t need to delay any longer. Her vitals are crashing.”

“She’s not going to survive if we don’t control the internal bleeding first. You’re always looking for the quick fix, but you can’t just keep throwing medications at the problem and hope it’ll solve itself,” Jungkook shot back, his words sharp, his focus never wavering from the patient.

There was a small but noticeable pause before you spoke again, this time more firmly. “I’m not throwing anything at the problem. I’m trying to stabilize her enough so we can actually get to the root cause of the issue, instead of playing catch-up with her blood pressure. You’re too focused on your sterile approach, Jungkook. This isn’t about just getting it done—it’s about caring for the whole person.”

He let out an exasperated sigh. “We are caring for the whole person, but we need to stop acting like we’re treating some emotional case. This is trauma surgery. We need to act fast and with precision, not waste time comforting a patient who’s already in critical condition.”

The words cut through the tension like a knife. It was always this way with you—compassionate, almost to a fault, and unwilling to see the raw practicality that Jungkook valued so highly in this field.

"You don’t understand," you said quietly, but there was an edge to your voice now. "It’s not just about speed, it’s about being mindful of the body’s limits. You’re not seeing the full picture here."

Jungkook took a deep breath, trying to rein in the rising irritation in his chest. He had always found your approach frustrating. The way you treated patients like emotional beings, rather than just cases to be solved. To him, it was a weakness, one that had no place in trauma surgery. This wasn’t some soft-care ward; it was a battlefield where the strongest survived.

“Your approach is too emotional,” he finally spat out, barely keeping his voice low enough for the team not to overhear. “You’re making decisions based on what you feel instead of what’s medically necessary.”

Your eyes narrowed as you shot him a look, but you didn’t let the argument show on your face. Instead, you focused on the patient, your hands still working with precision, despite the fact that you could feel every word he threw at you like a punch.

"We’re all in this for the same reason, Jungkook," you muttered, your voice unwavering. "The difference is, I’m not willing to sacrifice everything else for the sake of 'just getting it done.' I won’t lose my patients just because I’m trying to be quick and detached."

The tension was palpable. The air felt heavy, almost suffocating, but neither of you could back down. It wasn’t just professional pride at stake; it was something deeper—something that had started back in medical school, that simmered beneath every exchange. You were both experts, both brilliant in your own right, but the differences in how you viewed your profession were beginning to clash violently, both on and off the operating table.

The situation was growing worse, faster than anyone had anticipated. The patient’s blood pressure plummeted even further, and despite the efforts to control the bleeding, she was slipping away. The constant beeping of the monitors only intensified the pressure mounting on both of you.

“I’m telling you, we need to clamp the artery,” Jungkook said, frustration seeping into his voice now as he leaned over the patient’s abdomen. "We can’t waste any more time with these temporary fixes."

“No,” you retorted quickly, taking a step forward to assess the patient yourself. "She’s bleeding internally because her system can’t cope with the stress. Clamping the artery will only worsen the shock. I’m going to administer a vasopressor first to help stabilize her blood pressure before we do anything more invasive."

It was clear you weren’t backing down. Jungkook shot you a look—angry, dismissive—but he didn’t have the luxury of time to argue further. He had to act.

“Fine,” he muttered through clenched teeth, "But this better work."

You kept your gaze steady on the patient’s vitals, ignoring his sharp, biting criticism as you prepared the medication.

For a moment, the room fell into a tense silence, broken only by the sound of rapid beeping as the seconds ticked by.

Just as the situation began to spiral out of control, the anesthesiologist called out. The patient’s heart rate dropped drastically. It was now or never.

Without thinking, you and Jungkook moved in sync, both of you leaning over the patient, working together despite the tension that had been building all along. You shoved him aside just as his hand was about to clamp the artery, pushing your way in to apply the pressors. Your heart raced, your hands steady despite the heat of the moment.

And then, something happened. Amidst the frenzy, as you both fought to save the woman’s life, you found that the team was working together in a way that only you two could manage. Despite the constant bickering, despite the criticisms, you both knew how to make it work—however begrudgingly.

The crash didn’t happen. Slowly, the woman’s vitals began to stabilize.

Hours later, as the team was finishing up, you stood off to the side of the break room, your hands trembling slightly from the adrenaline. Your back was to the wall, and you took a deep breath, trying to shake off the tension that still buzzed through you.

Jungkook entered shortly after, a slight frown on his face as he grabbed a cup of coffee, his usual detached demeanor firmly in place. But as he took a seat, he couldn’t ignore the strange, lingering feeling that sat between you two. It wasn’t just rivalry anymore. It was... something else. Something unspoken.

He glanced at you briefly. “You did good,” he said, his voice unusually soft.

You didn’t respond immediately. Instead, you focused on your coffee, not daring to look at him directly. “You did too,” you replied, though it was more a formality than a compliment.

And yet, as you exchanged those words, both of you knew something had shifted. The rivalry hadn’t disappeared, but there was a quiet acknowledgment of each other’s strengths. A crack in the wall that had been between you for so long.

But neither of you was ready to confront it—not yet. Not while there was so much left to prove.

The conference room buzzed with quiet chatter as the trauma team assembled after the surgery. The air felt thick with unspoken words, the weight of the earlier tension hanging heavily over the room. Jungkook was already seated at the front, a posture that suggested his usual calm confidence, but even he couldn’t mask the storm that had been brewing throughout the surgery. His thoughts, his frustrations, still swirled around his mind like a whirlwind.

You walked in, the door clicking shut behind you, as you made your way to your seat. Conversations stilled, subtle glances exchanged across the room. They all knew. Knew about the video, about the controversy, about how you had barely made it into this hospital.

You could feel the weight of their curiosity, the silent judgment lingering in the air, as if waiting to see if you’d live up to your reputation—the surgeon with a sharp tongue and an even sharper fall from grace.

The rest of the team, quieter now, took their places, sensing the undercurrent of tension between you and Jungkook. Everyone had noticed the clashes earlier, but none of them dared to speak up. It wasn’t their place. Not now.

The meeting began. The attending physician, Ryuk Jinho, quickly moved through the cases, reviewing patient outcomes and discussing next steps. He started with a breakdown of the trauma cases from the past 24 hours, highlighting complications and successes.

“For the MVA patient from last night,” Jinho began, flipping through the reports, “the splenic rupture was managed well, though there was significant blood loss pre-op. Good call on prioritizing vascular control first.” His eyes skimmed the room before landing on you.

“But I’d like to discuss the choice of a non-operative approach for the hepatic injury. In cases like these, aggressive management can lead to better outcomes.”

“I don’t understand why you insisted on using pressors before the hemorrhage was under control,” Jungkook began, his voice cutting through the room like a knife. “It’s not an approach that works in trauma. You can’t stabilize someone with just medications when their vitals are crashing because of direct blood loss. You just don’t get it.”

You took a deep breath, meeting his eyes across the table. The weight of his words pressed on your chest, and though you’d spent years perfecting your ability to stay calm under pressure, something about his cold dismissal stung. He was so sure of himself. And the worst part was, he was doing this in front of everyone, as though it were a public spectacle, a way to undermine you.

“You think you know everything, don’t you?” you shot back, your voice firm, but just under the surface, there was the anger you’d been holding in. “I’m not the one who was about to clamp the artery without considering the bigger picture. You’ve been so wrapped up in your textbook approach that you didn’t even think about the patient’s whole condition. I don’t operate just on numbers and guidelines, Jungkook. I care about how they’re doing, not just what is happening.”

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, that look of cold detachment never leaving his face. He was used to people criticizing him. He had perfected the art of shrugging it off, of distancing himself from anything that wasn’t logical, wasn’t quantifiable.

“It’s easy to care about how when you don’t have to make the hard decisions,” he said dismissively, eyes narrowing. “You don’t even understand the weight of the responsibility. You think your feelings will save these patients, but it won’t. The reality is, if you don’t make decisions based on science, you won’t survive in trauma.”

The words cut deeper than you wanted to admit. For a moment, the room seemed to close in on you, the faces of your colleagues blurring as the anger flared within you. You weren’t just defending your methods anymore.

You were defending yourself.

“You don’t even know what it’s like to care,” you said, quieter now but laced with an emotion that surprised even you. “You hide behind your cold, sterile approach because it’s easier than facing the fact that these patients are people, not just cases to check off.”

A heavy silence settled over the room. The team—trauma surgeons like Dr. Min Jihoon, meticulous and composed; resident doctors like Seo Hana, always eager to prove herself; and interns who had barely gotten comfortable in the OR—froze in place, eyes darting between you and Jungkook. No one had ever spoken to him like that, not in this hospital.

Seo Hana shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her gaze flickering to Dr. Min, who remained impassive but was clearly intrigued. One of the interns swallowed hard, while another subtly leaned forward, as if waiting to see how Jungkook would react. Even Ryuk Jinho, who had seen his fair share of heated exchanges, looked taken aback.

Jungkook’s lips tightened, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he looked around the room as if challenging anyone to speak up or question him. His reputation as a skilled surgeon was unshakable, and he knew it. You, on the other hand, knew that no matter how good you were, your methods would never be enough in his eyes.

But there was more, wasn’t there? This wasn’t just a disagreement over how to treat a patient. This was deeper, rooted in something that had never been resolved. And just as you were about to respond, the attending physician called the meeting to a close.

Jinho raised a hand before the conversation escalated. “Both approaches have merit. In trauma surgery, decisions are made in seconds, and not every call is black and white. That said—” he looked between you and Jungkook, clearly aware of the tension crackling between you “—we need to focus on cohesive teamwork. Let’s move on.”

The three co-workers began to gather their things, heading out of the room, but you and Jungkook stayed behind, your hands gripping the edge of the table as you stared at the empty chairs in front of you.

You could feel Jungkook’s presence behind you, his posture still rigid, still exuding that coldness that had been a constant throughout your medical journey. And just as you felt like you couldn’t hold it in any longer, you turned to face him.

His expression remained unreadable, but you saw the hint of something in his eyes—a flicker of something that almost looked like regret, or maybe it was just frustration. Either way, you couldn’t hold back.

"I didn’t remember you were this cruel," you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them. The weight of the statement hung heavily in the air between you, and you could see the immediate tension in his eyes as if the accusation had stung more than he cared to admit.

Jungkook’s gaze sharpened, but he said nothing at first, just standing there, like he was deciding how to respond. But you could see the walls he had built around himself, the ones he’d used to protect himself from feeling anything, crack ever so slightly.

“I’m not cruel,” he finally replied, his voice quieter now, but still firm. “I’m just... practical. It’s easier that way.”

You shook your head, trying to process everything in your head. “No, Jungkook. It’s easier to shut people out. Easier to treat everything like a puzzle, like you’re just solving a problem and not dealing with the consequences. That’s what makes you cold.”

He didn’t look at you, instead turning toward the door, but you caught the briefest flicker of something in his eyes. A crack in his armor. Something vulnerable, something you had never seen before.

“Maybe you’re right,” he muttered, almost as if he were speaking more to himself than to you. “But I can’t afford to be anything else.”

You didn’t have a response. Not for that.

The door clicked shut behind you as you walked into the apartment, your mind still reeling from the tense encounter with Jungkook earlier that day. The sound of laughter and chatter from the living room broke through the cloud of frustration hanging over you.

"Doctor, you’re back!" Coco called out from the couch, her voice upbeat as she kicked her feet up on the coffee table. She was sprawled out with a book in one hand and a can of soda in the other.

“About time, girl,” Aerum added, sitting next to Coco, already holding a bottle of soju and a bowl of Kimbap on the table between them. “We were just about to start without you.”

You couldn’t help but let out a tired sigh as you dropped your bag by the door, your shoes clicking on the hardwood floor as you made your way over to them. "Long first day," you muttered, sinking into the chair next to Aerum.

Coco grinned, reading the mood perfectly. “Let me guess. The ever-so-charming Jeon Jungkook is as insufferable as always?”

You laughed bitterly, running a hand through your hair as you thought about the morning’s events. "Worse," you admitted, accepting a beer from Aerum and leaning back against the couch. “I didn’t remember him being that cruel.”

Aerum raised an eyebrow as she grabbed a piece of Kimbap. “What happened?”

You took a sip of your beer, trying to calm the rising frustration. “We had a patient today. Pretty critical trauma case. It was bad, but we both... we were both working on it, and he just—” You paused, trying to put the words together. “He criticized every single thing I did. Like, everything.”

“Classic Jungkook,” Coco said, clearly not surprised. “He always did that back in med school. The whole ‘I’m right, you’re wrong’ attitude.”

You remembered a particular group assignment where Coco mentioned her interest in dermatology. He had scoffed, eyes narrowing as he leaned back in his chair. “Dermatology?” he had said, the tone dripping with condescension.

“You really think you’re going to make a difference in skin? It’s like choosing the easy route when everyone else is dealing with real, life-and-death stuff. You’re wasting your potential.” The way he said it, like her choice was somehow lesser, made your skin burn with frustration.

Aerum nodded, adding, “I don’t get how someone can be so brilliant but so… detached, you know? He’s like a robot with a scalpel. No warmth at all.”

Jungkook and Aerum, now a gynaecologist, had clashed during a highly competitive clinical rotation in obstetrics and gynecology. The tension between them escalated when they were both selected to perform a delicate procedure—an emergency C-section—on the same day.

You shook your head. “It’s like he’s too focused on just fixing the body and not looking at the bigger picture. It’s frustrating. He always acts like he knows everything. But today—today, it was like he didn’t even see the patient as a person.”

Coco scoffed, leaning forward to grab another Kimbap roll. “So, the ‘ice prince’ is still stuck in his ways, huh? He used to be the same in school, always acting like he had all the answers. But I remember—he’d never admit when he was wrong.”

"Yeah," you said, letting out a deep breath. "But what really got to me today was the way he shut me down in front of the entire team. It was like he was trying to make me look bad in front of everyone. Like he couldn’t even see what I was doing for what it was."

Aerum exchanged a look with Coco before turning back to you. "Isn’t it kind of funny though? The way you two still go at it after all these years."

“Funny?” You raised an eyebrow, half-amused and half-exasperated. "It’s infuriating."

Coco laughed, but there was a knowing look in her eyes. "No, seriously. The amount of chemistry there was between you two was honestly… ridiculous."

You choked on your beer a little, shooting her a glare. “What? I don’t—I mean, it’s not like that.”

Aerum smirked, leaning back in her seat. “Oh, please. You two were always at each other’s throats in med school, but it was obvious. We all saw it. You just refused to admit it.”

��Admit what?” you asked, now feeling like you were under a spotlight. “There’s nothing between us.”

Coco rolled her eyes. “Right, sure. Whatever you say. But back then, it was like you both thrived off being at each other’s throats.”

You shook your head. "He’s impossible!"

Aerum snickered. "Sure, whatever. But if you’re going to be miserable around him, at least admit that there’s something there."

You threw your hands up in mock frustration. "Okay, fine! Maybe there’s some kind of… I don’t know… tension between us. But it’s not like I want anything from him. He’s just… he's so cold and detached. There’s no way I could—"

“Please,” Coco interrupted, giving you a knowing look. “It’s obvious to anyone who’s ever seen you two together. You hate him, but you also can’t stand being apart from him. The minute he starts being a jerk to you, you snap back. But the minute he does something… even slightly kind, like today, you get all flustered.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes as you stared into your beer bottle. "I’m not flustered."

Aerum leaned in closer, her tone playful yet serious. “Look, girl, we’ve known you for a long time. We’re not saying you like him—at least, not in the way you think. But it’s clear that you’ve got something with him. Whether it’s hate, chemistry, or whatever else—it’s there. Don’t pretend it’s not.”

You felt a mix of irritation and disbelief. "I don’t even know what you’re talking about. You’re just imagining things."

Coco smirked, reaching for her drink. “Tell me this then: when’s the last time you’ve ever been this mad at someone and still wanted to talk to them afterwards?”

You went quiet for a moment, caught off guard by the question. “I don’t want to talk to him.”

“Sure,” Coco said with a raised eyebrow. “Keep telling yourself that.”

You groaned, dropping your head back against the couch. "I didn’t expect him to be like this. It’s been years, and I thought he’d changed. But now I feel like we’re back in med school again, and he’s still acting like the same insufferable guy he always was."

“Well,” Aerum said, her voice a bit more serious now, “he’s probably still carrying a lot of that same baggage. And honestly, I’m not sure it’s just a matter of work. The way he treats you—like you’re beneath him, or like he’s always trying to prove something—it’s so familiar.”

You felt a slight pang in your chest. "Maybe you're right. I just don’t know how to handle it anymore."

Coco nudged you gently. "You don’t have to handle anything. Just keep doing you—you’re brilliant. Don’t let him get inside your head."

Aerum grabbed another piece of Kimbap, her expression turning sly. “But if you ever decide to actually get close to him, just make sure to invite us to the wedding.”

Coco laughed, leaning over to grab her soju bottle. “Yeah, we want to be the first ones to know when it happens.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. "You’re both ridiculous."

But despite the banter, you felt lighter. A bit of the weight that had settled on your shoulders after that surgery and the confrontation with Jungkook had lifted.

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