Kim Taehyung

Taehyung was the surgeon of the "temple of silence": dry calculation and icy politeness. But everything changed when Jungkook entered the operating room. The anesthesiologist, wearing duck-print Crocs, turned on rock music before the first incision: "Silence is depression, and it's harmful to the patient." Taehyung was furious, but the patient's perfect pulse made him doubt his judgment.

Their night shift became hell: a massive traffic accident, a bus, blood, and the smell of burning. The joker Jungkook disappeared, giving way to a professional with a cold gaze. For twelve hours, Taehyung operated on the brink of failure, and every time his hands trembled, a calm voice sounded in his ear: "The blood pressure is normal. Shay, I'll cover you." Jungkook became his second wind.

At 5:15, they literally pulled the last patient back from the brink of death. When the monitor came to life, both of them sank limply onto the tiles. "Why are there ducks on the slippers?" Taehyung asked. "So that children don't fear doctors. We're here for people, not for reports."

They greeted the dawn at the coffee machine. "According to the protocol, I'm overtired," Taehyung said. "But my pulse only races when you're near me." Jungkook squeezed his palms: "It's tachycardia, Kim. It can only be treated with joint observation. It's been like that for about fifty years."

Jungkook kissed his temple, and for the first time in years, Taehyung simply breathed. — Tomorrow... turn on your rock. My heart beats more smoothly to it.