#Crestone Peaks | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lavienjin · 3 years

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cruise control | knj

summary: Clumsy by nature, Namjoon often comes into your hospital for the smallest of injuries; results from his foolish driving as he races in the streets or from his job at the auto body shop. You remind him often enough to be careful, but never — not even in your worst nightmares — could you imagine that the limp and bloodied figure lying on the operating table is the same one that had just asked you out on a date.

↠ part of the BTS meets 50s collab!

pairing: street racer!namjoon x doctor!reader

word count: 13,681

rating/genre/au: 18+ | street racing au | smut, fluff, v lil angst

warnings: blood • depictions of injury • swearing • explicit smut in the forms of: unprotected sex • fingering • creampie

author's note: lot of research went into this including, but not limited to: 50s slang, pretending to sound like a doctor, and what constitutes a fuckin car! this is also part of the research au challenge for bccsg! thanks to @homeofbangtan for letting me be a part of this heckin collab; please send the love to the other writers as well! to my betas, dee @sugasbabiie and my secret ginchiest babe (who doesn't want to be named), thank you for being patient with me! and yes the irony that joon is the only one w/o a driver's license isn't lost on me

playlist: tokyo drifting // vroom vroom // big black car //

credit for the gif!

m.list | ao3

There’s a breathtaking scenery that exists beyond the windows of a moving vehicle. Lights and sound blurring together into one as Namjoon steps foot on the gas, urging his red Ford Thunderbird to keep up with the twists and turns of the streets, humming quietly to himself as he taps on the steering wheel.

The sun barely had time to peak from the horizon, its softest rays have yet to kiss the clouds, and he’s already racing against a black Bentley, one of them rich people cars that had honked beside him in the red light, rolling down the window to ask if he’d fancy burning some rubber. Who was Namjoon to deny such a fun request? As soon as the lights turned green, they were off. The unspoken rules of street racing in his town are simple: keep within a specific distance between your challenger or better yet, surpass them entirely, until you hit the big city limit sign and you win. There were a few caveats here and there – one of the more dangerous ones involving the winding roads of Crestone Peak, but it’s a death wish to try and race there. The folks out here just want a good time and Namjoon’s more than happy to provide that. With his car so well-known in the city, a deep red Thunderbird with a cherry decal on the side, Namjoon receives invitations in all forms of manners – a phone call, a letter, or even spur of the moment instances such as these.

Forgetting his worries, Namjoon shifts his gear stick to the fourth notch, Cherry’s engine purring in support as his eyes focus on the license plate in front of him, tongue prodding the inside of his cheek as he rolls the windows down, whooping loudly as the wind blasts through his hair and he leaves the guy in the dust, passing the sign only a few seconds before the Bentley did.

The victory was sweet, albeit shortlived, and Namjoon will surely never see the guy again as he sticks his hand outside and waves. He slows his car to the appropriate speed limit, laughing to himself as he navigates his way around the city, cruising to find another sap that would dare race with him.

“Kim motherfucking Namjoon!”

He winces when his full name is thrown in the air with such annoyance - at the shrill voice muttering phrases no patient should be hearing in the hospital. The curtains around his bed is yanked away, revealing you in a lab coat with a furious glint in your eyes, mouth turned into a deep scowl. Namjoon can’t help but smile warmly at your irritated figure as he waits for the tirade with a chuckle.

“What’s the problem, doll?”

“The problem is that you’re here. Again. And I should be asking youthat question,” you remark pointedly, glaring at his sad state. "What the hell, knucklehead? How did you get hurt this time?"

Despite your brusque tone, your hands are busy inspecting his body: listening to his heartbeat - "124 bpm," you note - and measuring his temperature (though Namjoon isn't sure why you go through such lengths). When you prod your delicate fingers along his sternum while trying to locate the injury, he hisses, face scrunching up and muscles locking instantly as he tries to breathe through the pain.

Instantly, your face morphs into one of concern, knitted eyebrows and soft eyes as you snatch your hand away to stand beside him, rubbing his back soothingly. As the pain ebbs turning into a dull ache, Namjoon can't help but turn towards you, a strained smile on his lips as he relaxes from your touch. He wonders silently if you do this for all your patients or just him. He hopes it's the latter.

“Hey, are you okay?” you whisper, pushing his shoulders gently to have him relax on the bed again. “Seriously, what happened this time, Joon?”

He looks momentarily at your hand resting on his shoulder; at the warmth that's spreading all over his body. He chuckles, but it's caught in his throat, sounding raspier than ever, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead as he clutches his chest, preparing himself for another onslaught of nags. “Oh, I just… umm… crashed the car and I knocked my chest against the steering wheel pretty hard. Thank god the airbag didn’t deploy and break my nose or anything.”

“You crashed your car!?” you half-gasp, half-yell, eyes bulging out of your head before whipping around to make sure no one in the ward heard anything. Your voice drops to a whisper, mouth forming a thin line as you continue your examination. “I can't believe this. Lift your shirt up.”

“The least you could do is to take me out to dinner first,” he teases.

An eyeroll is your only response as you order him again. Sighing, Namjoon does as he’s told, shrugging his shirt so it wraps around his neck. There’s a blueish mark on the centre of his chest and the way your warm fingers brush against it makes him sigh, craving more of your touch despite the ache. You’re silent as you continue to press and prod along his abdomen before you finally lean back, letting him pull his shirt down with a nod as you scribble silently in your clipboard.

“Good news,” you singsong playfully, before sighing and slightly shaking your head. Anger forgotten, the corners of your mouth turn upwards into a lopsided grin. “You should be fine. The damage is all epidermal – surface level, and I don’t feel any broken bones nor do I detect any laboured breathing. Please do come back if you start experiencing those symptoms. It’s going to hurt like a bitch, but I think you’ll be okay after a few days.”

Namjoon stares at you; observing the way your shoulders seem to sag with relief, at the storm leaving your eyes when you realise that he’s going to be fine.

“You’re free to go, though. I can prescribe you with some painkillers if you need them?” Your voice breaks through his thoughts and he’s forced to look at those glimmering eyes.

Hiding the blush of his cheeks with a cough, Namjoon quickly shakes his head. “No need, doc. The whole reason I came here was to take a gander at your pretty face anyway.”

Subtle.

You falter at that and Namjoon doesn’t miss the way you tuck a strand of hair behind your ears, eyes shifting between your clipboard and the floor. Cute.

“A-Anyway, I have other patients to attend to, so if there’s nothing else…” you trail off, still resolutely looking at your shoes instead of Namjoon.

Wincing at the dull ache in his chest, he circles your wrist with his hand, tugging gently to get you to look at him. Tongue turning into lead, he opens and closes his mouth, trying to push out the question that's been on the tip of his tongue for a while.

Now or never.

“There is one thing… You've been taking care of me all this time. Let me take you out to dinner, yeah? As thanks.”

His heart is the sound of a roaring lion, commanding his attention. The silence doesn’t treat him gently – his palms are beginning to sweat as he waits for your answer, smile faltering with every second ticking where you’re not looking at him. Finally, you turn around and Namjoon smiles wider, dimples flashing when you agree with a quiet ‘yes’ and a nod of your head.

“I can’t this week. Maybe the next?” you reply meekly, avoiding his gaze.

“Sounds like a plan, Stan.” Namjoon swings his legs from the bed, the pain already ebbing away with how excited he is at the prospect of finally taking you out. “See you later, alligator.”

You think he’s out of earshot, but Namjoon catches you mumble under your breath, voice barely audible among the beeps of machinery. He forces himself to walk normally, despite wanting to jump for joy and pump his fist in the air.

“Not for a while, crocodile.”

===

The rest of the day seem slower now as Namjoon works at fixing his beloved Cherry, resenting his past self for losing control on the slippery road and crashing. It wasn’t a bad one, especially with his skills, but the front bumper had come off and with the very specific red that paints his car, it’s going to be a bitch to order the part and have it painted the right colour to avoid any patchiness. He supposed it got him a date next week, so he shouldn’t be too mad.

He had found the Thunderbird in the junkyard, about to be crushed into a sad cube before he raced to the guard’s booth, paying the person discreetly to let him have her. With a lot of elbow grease and sweat, Namjoon managed to bring her back to life with the help of his mechanic buddies and one too many sleepless nights. He can’t imagine what sort of person would discard such a hot rod, but he’s not complaining, especially since it came virtually for free. His boss, Max, was even gracious enough to let him keep her in his garage, allowing Namjoon to fix whatever problems she has as long as he continues to work diligently at his actual job.

Already in his late 50s, Max was known as the best mechanic in town and made sure that reputation stayed intact to the best of his abilities by hiring people like Namjoon that worked his ass day in and day out. Other than you, he’s the only other person that disapproves of Namjoon’s thrillseeking tendencies, though he doesn’t nag whenever Namjoon comes in bruised and broken in the morning, just a sigh and a gruff reminder to “take it easy.”

“What’s got you smiling so happily today?” comes a voice from behind Namjoon as he screws yet another bolt into Cherry’s side.

Namjoon laughs, turning around to give his friend a quick clap on the shoulder. “Taehyung,” he greets the younger man before turning his attention back to his Thunderbird. “Nothing much, just won myself a hot date.”

“Cut the gas!” Taehyung cheers, wrapping his arm around Namjoon’s shoulder. “The doctor chick? The one you’ve crushed on for like years now?”

“It hasn’t been years, I’ve only known her for like a few months!” he chuckles, slipping away from the younger man’s hold “But yeah, the ‘doctor chick’. She has a name, you know?”

Taehyung sighs, rolling his eyes. “I know, I know. It’s ___. I’ve heard you talking about her in all states of drunkenness, candy ass. Even if I tried to forget her name, I wouldn’t be able to.”

Namjoon grins sheepishly, running his hand through his hair. Taehyung continues to pepper him with questions: about his plans for the date and about the races he’s recently been a part of – all the while helping Namjoon with Cherry until Max called them out to the front to help him work on a car that just came in. It was an average working day for Namjoon, though he’s a little distracted at the butterflies in his stomach, imagining the date that’s happening in a week’s time.

---

The first time Namjoon laid his eyes on you, he’s instantly smitten. Taehyung had suffered a bad stomach flu and needed to go get it checked out. He had pleaded for Namjoon to come with, so he could drive him back to his apartment instead of waiting for the bus. He agreed reluctantly when he saw just how pale Taehyung was, ushering him to the best hospital the city could offer: Hope.

You were the only doctor available that day and boy was it ever a stroke of luck. You’d been kind and gentle, making sure that he felt heard despite whining like a little child. Your easy smile was a bonus too and Namjoon chased after that smile for weeks, turning up to the hospital for every trivial injury; from a paper cut to a broken nail, just to see you again. He learned that you were one of the newer doctors at Hope Hospital, which meant that you had the most shifts out of anyone. Despite all that, the positive and patient smile never leaves your face and the nurses all spoke highly of you, even some giving out courtesy warnings like an older sibling would.

“If you dare hurt her…” one of the older nurses had threatened, raising a scalpel she was cleaning to stab it in the air. Namjoon gulped, nodding as he got the memo loud and clear.

Eventually, your worried fretting over Namjoon stopped and your current relationship is formed, one where Namjoon frequents the hospital as often as he pleases and gets you to check on him just so he could talk to you for a few minutes, much to your annoyance. You’ve yet to throw him out though, always dutifully checking his vitals regardless of how small his injury may be along with comments about how he should have been more carefuland it’s that dedication to your line of work that made Namjoon fall even harder.

In one of the rare occasions, you opened up, he learned that you had no intentions of becoming a doctor, afraid jumping into such a male-driven field, but your college professor had convinced you otherwise and through sheer determination, you managed to graduate top of your class, surprising all your colleagues. And that surprise lasted for quite some time, the university erecting a bench dedicated to you, especially when you landed a job at Hope Hospital as a full-fledged doctor, skipping your residency entirely.

“And you? What’s your story?” you asked after finishing your tale.

“Me? I’m just a guy. My dad used to take me to the tracks and I fell in love with driving, but obviously that’s not in the cards. So, I took my passion for cars and turned it into a career. I’m a mechanic by day, street racer by night,” he explained with a hearty laugh, putting his hands behind his head as he lies on the bed.

“If only you were less clumsy,” you teased, prodding him on the ribcage after finding out that he had came in that day because of a light headache. “Just be careful, will you?”

“I’ll be fine,” Namjoon smiled, showing off his dimples in hopes to reassure you. “Honestly, the only thing I’m worried about is being caught by the fuzz. And even then, I’m not too worried; I know a guy,” he winked, chest warm at your genuine empathy.

“Well, I suppose I know who to reach with my one phone call.”

Namjoon could hear you laugh all day – loving the way your eyes crinkle around the corners and at the occasional snort; at the way you shake your head slightly when it subsides into giggles.

The two of you grew closer since then, to the point where you felt comfortable enough to nag him when he came in to the hospital genuinely injured, his arm dangling limply where he pulled it out of its socket. Namjoon felt comforted as you pumped him full of painkillers and sent him home in a sling, and his smile grew tenfold when you slipped a paper with your schedule in his hand, asking him to come back within those times so you could take a better look in case he developed a negative reaction to the painkillers. Whether he was high in love or if it’s because of the drugs, Namjoon slept soundly that night, the pain in his shoulder momentarily forgotten while he dreamed of your smile.

---

Max breaks him from his reverie by asking Namjoon to come help him with yet another car and thankfully, this car just needed a quick change of oil and some scrub down to get it shiny and ready for the road. An easy enough job for him to do alone to end the work day and he spends the remainder of the night working on Cherry to make sure she’s fixed, muttering quietly to himself and sending thanks to a higher being that the crash only resulted in cosmetic damage.

“I’m headed home!” Taehyung calls when the clock struck six. “See you tomorrow, hyung!”

Namjoon waves enthusiastically at the young man, watching for a moment as Taehyung climbs inside a black vehicle filled with his friends. He never liked the people Taehyung chose to hang out with, always feeling like they’re out to cause trouble wherever they go and he’s usually right as Namjoon’s forced to bail them out of trouble far too many times, hence why he’s so close to the police. He’s known Taehyung since they were kids, having grown up in the same neighbourhood. With nothing much to do in their tiny city, they’d spend summers together in the fields, digging up dirt or running up the hills and making up games as they go. Although he’s a few years younger than Namjoon, the way Taehyung views the world sometimes makes him wonder if he was secretly an old man residing in a younger boy’s body. There’s a sense of wonder and curiosity one might expect from a child, but Taehyung also has that wise knowing look about him that allows people to confide their troubles easily. At the end of the day, however, he’s still a young man that gets himself in far more trouble than anyone Namjoon’s ever known.

Sighing, he finishes up Cherry, pouting slightly at the missing front bumper that gives her a permanent gasping sort of look. The part won’t come until next Sunday and he chews the inside of his cheek, wondering if you’ll mind if he shows up with a wacky looking car. As he cleans up his tools and wipes down his workspace, he looks out the windows to find the stars taking resident up in the sky.

It’s a beautiful night as any for a drive.

So, Namjoon takes the long way home, driving past buildings and winding roads, trying to see if there’s anyone that would be willing to race. Much to his dismay, the streets are empty tonight and so he drives himself back home, ready to crack open a beer and maybe watch some television to relax and unwind for the remainder of the evening.

---

Namjoon groans as he hears the telephone ring from the kitchen. He lets it sing, pulling the covers up past his ears and silently cursing the person on the other line. Just when the shrill noise stops, the silence slowly coaxing him back into sleep, it starts back up again. He rips the covers from his body, eyes bleary, and shuffles to his feet, grumbling as he notes the time: 3:22 in the goddamn morning.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” he mutters to no one in particular. “Hello?”

“Hyung, it’s me. Can you hear me?”

“Taehyung?” Namjoon blinks, worry seizing his throat when he hears his friend sounding panicky; the drowsiness he felt earlier instantly dissipating. “What’s wrong? Where are you?”

“I fucked up, man. I got caught in a rumble and- and- I now owe this guy money. Fuck! Can you come here and get me?”

There’s no need for Taehyung to explain any further; something always goes wrong when he hangs out with that gang of his and Namjoon hopes it’s another one of those nights that he can resolve quickly. He reassures the other man that everything’s going to be okay after asking Taehyung for his exact location and jotting it down on a piece of paper, he’s off, slipping into a pair of shoes. “Wait for me; I’m on my way,” he promises into the night air as he locks his apartment behind him.

The sun hasn’t risen yet when Namjoon peels away from his driveway, heart stammering loudly in his chest as he kicks Cherry into gear. “Come on, come on!” he growls, punching the steering wheel in hopes he can get his chariot to go faster.

Taehyung’s on the other side of town, a raunchy place usually filled with ill-intentions and bad decisions, so it comes to no one’s surprise that he’s caught up in something shady. Double-checking his address, Namjoon parks wildly, the front tire above the cub before bolting out of the carriage, unkindly slamming the driver’s side shut before walking around between the buildings and calling out Taehyung’s name.

“Hyung!”

Namjoon turns around, relief washing over his nerves until he catches sight on the figure standing next to Taehyung.

“What did he do this time?” Namjoon mutters under his breath. Pushing his hands inside his jeans, he conjures up a mask of indifference as he walks up to the two men, watching Taehyung’s face for signs of danger, but the man hosts no bruises on his face, if anything he just looks like he’s only slightly shaken up. Catching his eye, Taehyung gives him the smallest shake of his head, but the hand on his thigh makes a peace sign, a signal to Namjoon to indicate that there’s two more of Yongjin’s friends lurking in the shadows somewhere.

“Yongjin,” Namjoon greets curtly.

To live in this city is to know the name Cho Yongjin. He’s the eldest son to a prolific family riddled with hidden secrets that possibly connect them to an even bigger crime syndicate. In essence, messing around with the Chos is never a good idea. Namjoon’s tired brain tries to come up with possible scenarios that would land Taehyung in this sort of trouble, but he waits patiently, tongue prodding the inside of his cheek in hopes that Yongjin thinks it’s out of irritation and not nervousness.

“Ah, if it isn’t Big Bro Namjoon!” Yongjin calls mockingly. “Taehyung said he has a friend that could help him out of this predicament. I didn’t think he’d call you. Do you even have the money?”

“Just let him go, Cho. Whatever Taehyung got himself in this time, I’m sure we can work out a deal.”

Yongjin laughs at his words, head thrown back and mouth wide open, before his face morphs into an ugly scowl. His black hair is greased with oil, slicked back perfectly as he plays with the straps of his leather jacket. “No, no. This one owes me a little too much for me to get into another deal with him.”

“How much?”

“How about fifteen grand worth in cash?”

Namjoon balks at the statement, taking a full step back before his eyes land on Taehyung. The younger boy winces at the number, shrinking considerably into his dark hoodie even though he stands several feet taller than Yongjin. “Taehyung,” Namjoon says slowly. “What the fuck did you do?”

There’s an inkling that tells Namjoon it has something to do with gambling and probably the rumble he mentioned over the phone, and when Taehyung parrots what he’s thinking, it feels like someone’s stabbed him repeatedly in the chest. Not one for the party scene, Namjoon can’t fathom how one wracks up fifteen grand in debt, but he nods, turning his steely gaze from Taehyung back to Yongjin.

“Make a deal with me then. Let’s race. You know my reputation. If I lose… I’ll give you Cherry and pay you back Taehyung’s dues. If I win, you clear his debt. Fifteen grand is mere nuggets for your family, yeah?”

Sweat drips from his brow down his face as he watches Yongjin ruminate, lips pursed and a finger tapping on his chin. It’s a tempting offer, but is it enough? Cherry isn’t exactly a luxury brand vehicle, although she’s well known around the city because of Namjoon’s driving skills.

“How about this: if you lose, give me Cherry andyou’ll quit your job at Max to come be my chauffeur until you have enough to cover Taehyung’s debt.”

A fate worse than death.

Working for the Chos as a driver driver could mean a variety of things: from driving him from one illicit affair to another or being in contact with some of the more dangerous criminals out there and Namjoon isn’t sure he’s comfortable with that. But… if it’s for Taehyung—

“Deal.” His voice wavers slightly, but he sticks to his resolve. “Where are we racing?”

“How about Crestone Peak?”

Winding roads, barely any light… if he crashed there, he’s as good as dead. Namjoon’s sure of his skills, but even the most seasoned street racer is nervous when they’re forced to face the infamous peak. To make matters worse, Namjoon hears a rumble of thunder above him. Great. It might rain too, which makes the road all the more treacherous.

“Whatever you say,” he resigns. “I’ll meet you there.”

He turns around and walks back to his car without waiting for Yongjin to respond. When he starts the engine, worry knots in his stomach and he isn’t sure if he was going to throw up or to cry. Namjoon’s grip on the steering wheel tightens; a quiet hum of determination slowly replacing the uneasiness. He can do this. He will win.

And with enough luck, he hopes that he and Taehyung goes home safely tonight.

There’s a date he needs to get to.

---

Taehyung doesn’t say a word as he slides into Namjoon’s car. Whatever apologies that lie on his tongue is silenced when the older man throws a simmering gaze from the side, so Taehyung busies himself by staring absentmindedly at the zooming lights and buildings, the rain making the colours bleed into the darkness and he hopes it isn’t a bad omen of some kind. Namjoon can sense the nervousness rolling off the younger man seated next to him; catching glimpses of Taehyung nibbling his nails and the bouncing of his leg, sighing occasionally while raking his fingers in his dark hair.

Namjoon breaks the silence by turning the radio on, though the host’s words filter in his ear and back out again. “I’ll be okay, kid,” he sighs, throwing a not-so convincing smile in Taehyung’s direction before returning his gaze on the road. “You know I’m the best fucking racer this town has ever seen. Sure, I’m not a professional, but I sure as hell won’t lose to the likes of Yongjin.”

Taehyung snorts from beside him, but there’s a quiet, shuddering intake of breath and Namjoon spares another glance at the dark-haired man, only to find his head in his hands. In a broken voice sounding much younger and defeated unlike how he normally carries himself, Taehyung sobs. “I’m sorry, hyung, I fucked up. I- I shouldn’t have let it go this deep. I should’ve told you earlier.”

“You should’ve,” Namjoon agrees, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “But what’s done is done. Let’s win this race, head home, and grab a beer, yeah? I’ll ring Max and let him know what happened in the morning. I’m sure one of the other boys can cover your shift.”

There’s a bit of silence only punctured by the quiet chattering of radio and Taehyung’s sniffles. Namjoon exhales, bringing his hand to clasp Taehyung’s shoulder and squeezing it a few times for reassurance. “So, are you going to tell me what happened? Paint me a picture on what got you into this mess?”

“It’s… ridiculous. Me and the boys have been playing cards, and I kept losing. So, I borrowed money from a friend a couple of times,” Taehyung stares at the rain again as he tugs a few strands of his hair. “When I couldn’t pay him back, we started throwing punches – I don’t think I started it, though. That’s when Yongjin and his crew showed up and paid the guy, saying that I can pay him back over time. I didn’t know that meant interest…” he spits, slamming his fist on to his lap.

“I- I thought it wouldn’t be anything as high as fifteen grand. Maybe a couple hundred at most, which I could cover by picking up extra shifts.”

Namjoon nods as he listens to Taehyung’s explanation. It made sense. Yongjin – the Chos – isn’t someone to play fair when it comes to money. He wonders briefly how long this has gone on without his knowledge, but that’s another question he’ll save for another day. They’re nearing the last bend in the road, a large sign with the words ‘Crestone Peak’ coming into view, paired with a yellow hazardous symbol with a black exclamation point reminding people to be careful on the trail. Namjoon snickers bitterly at the irony.

Yongjin’s navy Chrysler is just up ahead, right before the opening that leads to dangerous winding trails and lack of streetlights beyond. In the day, Crestone Peak is beautiful – trees with various height jutting up to the sky and the sounds of animals chittering quietly on the ground. There’s a road for pedestrians to the side and Namjoon would often see old couples and families walking hand in hand halfway before stopping at the rest area, usually opening picnic baskets and dining as they watch flocks of birds flying overhead. Of course, there’s also the ‘Crestone Challenge’, an annual charity marathon that supports Hope Hospital with more medical equipment for their staff and the city has made it its goal to bring in as many people as possible to participate – the streets during that weekend are usually filled with laughter and food and balloons. In the din of night and with the rain thundering on the rooftop of his vehicle, however, Crestone Peak looks more like a beast; with an open maw that seems ready to swallow any foolish riders into the darkness.

For a brief moment, just before Namjoon turns off the ignition to greet Yongjin, his thoughts drift to you. He chuckles to himself when he hears you nag – his mind conjuring up a visage of your face with furrowed eyebrows and that tight lipped grimace, telling him to turn back and go home and to not do anything dangerous for god’s sakes. You’d flip your lid for sure if you knew what Namjoon’s about to do. But the time on the dashboard now reads fifteen minutes to four thirty and despite the anxiety clutching his heart, he’s comforted with the thought that you’re sleeping soundly in your bed, somewhere in this city and away from danger.

“Yongjin,” Namjoon shouts as he exits the car. Taehyung follows suit, hoodie pulled up past his head though it’ll soon be soaked anyway with the thick curtain of rain falling from the sky.

Namjoon struts confidently towards the man despite his thunderous heart. Yongjin’s dark eyes flit between Cherry and Namjoon, a snake-like smile appearing on his thin lips a moment later. One of his friends? Subordinates? Namjoon isn’t sure – is holding an umbrella over Yongjin’s head, keeping the sleazy man dry while the rain pelts his clothes, turning the white shirt translucent and his hair plastered on his face. The friend-subordinate remains impassive, bored, as though it’s a nightly occurrence for him and Namjoon reckons it probably is.

The sound of his name brings him back to the present and he watches Yongjin snap his ruddy fingers into the air. Another man exits out of a car, carrying with him a large black briefcase before setting it on the Chrysler’s trunk, bowing swiftly to Yongjin as he waits for his next order.

“Open it up.”

Namjoon hears a gasp from behind him, forgetting for a moment that Taehyung is still there. His eyes widen when he takes a step forward to inspect the contents of the briefcase. Stacks of cash line every inch of the velvet interior and Namjoon has enough sense to not gawk, quickly turning away to meet Yongjin’s eyes again.

“What’s this?” he demands, fisting his hands into his jeans. The cold from the rain is starting to take effect – he didn’t have time to grab a coat when he left his apartment to come to Taehyung’s rescue and the thin shirt he’s wearing underneath does little to protect him against the wind.

“Just some extra… incentive,” Yongjin snickers, waving his hand again. The man next to him bows, closing the briefcase with a snap taking his place next to the umbrella-holding man. “If you win, Kim Namjoon, not only will I clear your brother’s debt there, I will also pay to commend you for a job well done.”

Was he so confident in his ability to win that he’s willing to bet so much? Namjoon bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smiling. No, this was just the way the Chos operate. Playing mind games to increase the stakes – giving their opponents a false sense of security. There’s something else behind the promise and Namjoon will be damned if he doesn’t find out. Swallowing thickly, he nods, hoping that he’s right.

“And in return?”

“Smart guy,” Yongjin smirks. “Set me up with that pretty doll of yours, huh? The one that’s got you on such a hook.”

Everything slows. The deafening sound of rain ceases to exist as he stops breathing, the cold in his veins snaking up and stilling his heart. Namjoon didn’t have time to ponder how Yongjin knows about you before he launches himself into the man with a snarl, fist raised to deliver a punch square on his smug face. Taehyung’s barely quick enough to hold him back, arms wrapped around his midsection as he pulls a thrashing Namjoon away, shouting his name and reminding him to stay calm.

Yongjin just smiles, laughing quietly to himself. “Save that energy for the drag, Kim Namjoon. Let’s get this show on the road, yeah?”

Namjoon spits on the ground, eyes burning with fury as he shakes himself away from Taehyung, holding up a hand and taking shuddering breaths to let the younger man know that he’s okay. Furious, but okay. “Same rules?”

“Yeah. Up the peak and then down again. No more than 100 metres between us or you lose. If you manage to get ahead of me, you win instantly. Guaranteed.”

Letting the rain cool his heated skin, he manages to temper his seething rage, locking his jaw tightly as he screws his eyes shut. “Let’s do it, bitch,” Namjoon growls, whipping around to trudge towards his car, sliding into the familiar driver’s seat to start the ignition.

“Hyung- hyung!”

Namjoon hadn’t realized Taehyung had slid in next to him and is surprised to find a hand clutching tightly at his shoulder. Though there isn’t a rule against having passengers in the race, he’s wary for the younger man’s safety and would prefer if he waited in the rain, so he hands Taehyung an umbrella from the backseat as he relays that information. Taehyung nods, letting out a slow, shuddering exhale from his nose.

“Please be careful.”

“I have a date to go to next week. I sure as hell ain’t missing that,” Namjoon smirks wryly, squeezing Taehyung’s shoulder in return. “I’ll be fine. Just watch my lights, kids. Oh, and if the fuzz comes, beat feet. Don’t worry about me.”

With a shared nod and a beat of silence, Taehyung exits the car, a grim line on his face as he watches Namjoon drive the car behind the Chrysler, engine revving loudly. The two men that accompanied Yongjin has stepped away to the side of the road, umbrella shared between them. If it weren’t for the set of circumstances at hand and the hard glare and scowl plastered on their faces, the scene would look almost adorable; a start of a romantic comedy starring two men drenched in the cold. Namjoon lets out a quiet chuckle, appeasing his nerves somewhat.

“Ready?” The shout brings his attention to the road, eyes staring hard at the rain-slicked windows as he waits with bated breath.

The race usually starts whenever the tires squeal on the ground, but this is a more sophisticated affair and Namjoon suppose that requires a countdown. As soon as the handkerchief leaves the man’s hand, Yongjin peels off and Namjoon follows suit, making sure to stay as close within the 100 metre limit as possible, gauging his distance by his ability to see the top of the Chrysler’s license plate.

Winding turn after winding turn, Namjoon shifts his gears from three to four to five, Cherry getting louder as she protests against the speed, tires barely gripping on the uneven and slippery ground. Yet, she persists, letting Namjoon maneuver her every which way, even through the sheet of rain that creates a cacophony of noise inside the interior of the car. At the final bend, Yongjin wavers, tires losing its grip on the pavement as its side screeches into the guard rail.

“Oh, fuck!” Namjoon curses, barely managing to hit the breaks just before he barrels into the Chrysler. Through the black tinted windows, Namjoon can make out Yongjin’s silhouette pounding at his steering wheel. He’s about to exit the car to ensure that he’s okay, but the car in front of him revvs his engine again, eager to continue what he started.

Muttering quietly to himself, Namjoon clicks his tongue, eyebrows furrowed to the centre of his forehead, “Fucker’s flipped his lid.”

He watches silently as Yongjin removes his Chrysler from the wreckage, some of the pieces of metal falling into the depths below. Swallowing thickly, he prays to a higher being that this isn’t some sort of bad omen. Namjoon reverses the car, giving Yongjin ample space to maneuver out of the pit; a courteous act that could cause him to lose the race, but it’s the one that provides safety for his opponent. As the Chrysler regains traction on the road, he shifts his gears once more – from one to two to three – and the race continues, Namjoon keeping up easily despite the heavy downpour. He notices the Chrysler’s side dip close to the ground – a flat tire, most likely and he whistles into the air, impressed by the machine’s resilience. He doesn’t dare assume he’ll win – there’s a lot of factors that are outside of his control, but the earlier crash might work in his favour after all.

The grip on his steering wheel tightens; knuckles white and palm sweating, yet he keeps his eyes staring straight ahead, so focused on the license plate that he’s sure to remember the string of numbers when he closes his eyes that night. There’s a left turn up ahead that allows two cars to drive side-by-side for a moment, but manuevering Cherry in the downpour where the area is caked with mud is a dangerous stunt; one wrong move and Namjoon could potentially blast Yongjin into the depths below. Mouth pulled into a grim line, he only had a few seconds to decide. Should he maintain his distance until the race ends? Does he have the courage to wager another human’s life (even one so shitty as Yongjin) so he could ensure his victory once and for all?

Your face flashes again in his mind. “I’m sorry,” he whispers with a strained laugh, having made a decision, one that he can’t say he’s too proud of. Namjoon slams his foot on the gas, shifting the gear to the fifth slot and push Cherry into a lurching speed, the scenery a mixture of black and dark green from the windows. Holding his breath, time stands to a still as he speeds up, using the other lane to bring himself neck-and-neck to Yongjin. Just as he turns the bend, he passes the Chrysler and slams on the breaks, tires screeching loudly on the slippery ground as if he’s about to crash into the other car.

Please work, he prays silently.

With enough sense, Yongjin slams his breaks as well, the engine stalling and shutting off as he tries to avoid a second crash. Namjoon cheers, bringing his fist into the air and colliding it to the roof as his foot returns to the gas pedal, peeling away from the halted Chrysler and into the night, imagining the owner cursing behind the wheel.

He did it.

It was foolish and dangerous, but he did it. Heart hammering loudly in his chest, Namjoon’s grin widens when he spots a very tiny Taehyung jumping in the air for joy, fist in the air and umbrella falling on the ground. He allows himself to breathe. It isn’t over yet, there’s still a few sharp turns until the finish line, where the road opens up a bit more, providing ample space for the navy vehicle to pass him by if Yongjin’s smart enough. Namjoon doesn’t like to count his chickens before they hatch, so he pushes Cherry to her limit, ensuring a great deal of distance between his trunk and the front grill of the Chrysler.

“Come on, doll, give me all you got, yeah?” Namjoon encourages Cherry with a few firm slaps on the dashboard, shifting his gear for the last time.

In a blink and it’s all over. Yongjin couldn’t keep up after his crash on the peak and from the stalled engine from earlier, luxury brand or not, the Chrysler reached its limit, allowing Namjoon’s Thunderbird to cruise down the remaining bends with ease before stopping just past the ‘Crestone Peak’ sign. Relief washes over him at the victory and Namjoon groans, feeling the muscles tightening after enduring the stress. He smiles through the pain, however, knowing that it’s a valid excuse to visit you today.

Taehyung rips open the driver’s side door to shout incoherently, words drowning in the rain and adrenaline that still courses in his bloodstream. There’s a lot of expletives thrown around and the sound of his name, but all Namjoon could manage is a small smirk and occasional laughter, still feeling weak and reeling.

“Hyung. Thank you.” It’s the most sincere voice Namjoon’s ever heard from his friend and he chuckles, pulling him into a tight hug.

“Don’t mention it.”

Taehyung continues to gush, but the victory is short lived. The sound of tires screeching on pavement catches their attention and suddenly, Namjoon’s staring at a pair of headlights that’s hurtling closer at an incredible speed. He had a split second to react, and with whatever strength he has left, he pushes Taehyung backwards, noting the fear in the younger man’s face as his eyes widen, mouth hanging open while empty hands tries to grab a hold of Namjoon.

But he’s too slow.

There’s a loud crash and his body is shot backwards, tumbling into the soft earth as pain blooms like flowers all over his skin. Namjoon groans, dizzy and disoriented – a loud ringing in his ears making it hard for him to focus. He hears Taehyung shout his name in horror, and the squelching noise of boots sliding down on earth, but everything is muffled. Namjoon finds tears in the younger man’s eyes and he lifts his hand only for it to fall back on his chest. He wants to assure him that he’s fine, but with no strength left, his voice comes out in gurgles and tasting like iron in his mouth. His eyes are refusing to stay open, mind being pulled under a heavy blanket of hurt.

And the last thing he hears before the world fades to black is Taehyung’s broken voice.

“NAMJOON!”

══════ ∘◦❀◦∘ ══════

“There you go, sweetie, make sure you remind mommy to take her medication, okay?” you smile, winking at the young girl as her mother bows and mutters her thanks. The girl gives you a toothy smile, promising that she’ll take care of her mum in your absence, waving cutely as the pair exit your office.

It’s just another morning for you, filled with patients and reports that require your attention. You stretch, feeling strangely stiff despite only sitting for an hour. You allow yourself a moment of silence as you finish typing up your notes, sipping your tea with a hum before calling the next patient inside.

“Mrs. Chen,” you stand, greeting the elderly woman with a smile. “Please come on in. How’s yo—”

The frantic call of your name captures your attention away. You turn your head towards your closed door, wondering if it’s just your imagination. When you hear it again, you’re already moving, excusing yourself from a terrified looking Mrs. Chen as you throw her a quick, strained smile, assuring her that everything is just fine. As soon as you step foot outside, the lobby is a mess of thundering feet and gasps and it takes you a dizzying moment to grab the nearest nurse, demanding an explanation.

“There’s someone calling for you, doc,” he explains breathlessly. “In the ER – it’s bad.”

That’s all the information you need. Feet pounding against the white tile, you speed to the emergency lobby to come face-to-face with a man that you vaguely know, his face oddly familiar though you’re sure you’ve never met him before. But you have no time to dwell on where you could’ve encountered such a handsome stranger because it’s what he’s holding that makes you stop cold in your tracks, the blood freezing instantly in your veins.

In his trembling arms lies a very broken Namjoon, right foot twisting in the wrong direction and blood dripping onto the floor over a gash on his forehead. If you screamed, you had no recollection of it, because you’re instantly in action, directing and calling out nurses to assist you as you instruct the young man to lay Namjoon down on the hospital bed, the white sheets turning red instantly upon contact.

“Please. S-Save him,” the dark-haired man begs, tears flooding his face as his body shakes with panic.

It’s his eyes that caused a surge of memory to come forth – of Namjoon bringing in photos of him in one of his visits as he explains about how he’s more like a younger brother than a friend; telling you stories about the myriads of trouble he’s gotten into in the past. Swallowing thickly, you instruct the nearest nurse to bring him a blanket and some tea, hoping it’ll calm the young man down while you steel yourself to face Namjoon. The lobby is frantic, your team of nurses calling out numbers: heartrate, blood pressure, oxygen levels and the like, but it all fades to the background, their words muffled as you hear the sound of your own blood rushing in your ears. This isn’t the time to panic, you chastise yourself quickly. You have to go. Now.

With a pounding heart, you force yourself to enter the emergency room, your eyes straining as you assess Namjoon’s unconscious figure, double checking the clipboard that is thrusted into your open hands. A nurse rattles off the numbers again while you wash your hands, and you breathe a little easier, the textbook information in your head reminding you that he’s stable and not in any immediate danger.

“He’s hooked to the IV? Good. How much blood has he lost? Okay, that should be all right. He’ll be fine.” Your voice doesn’t sound like it belongs to you, but you continue to work, asking for scissors as you slice open his clothes to take a look at the damage. Your eyes roam quickly over his exposed figure, instructions falling from your lips as you guide your team through every procedure.

From your assessment, Namjoon’s condition isn’t as bad as the multiple bruises and blood suggested – two broken ribs and a broken leg; the gash on his forehead thankfully isn’t deep and won’t require much stitching either. Tears of relief start to well in your eyes, but you take a shuddering breath, trying to keep your emotions in check as you close the last stitch, grateful for the additional pairs of hands that’s helping you from all sides.

Your breathing is laboured when you’re done and Namjoon’s heartbeat no longer looking like jagged mountains gives you an even greater sense of solace as you slump in a nearby chair. He’s going to be okay. The nurses around you whisper as such and you nod mutely. With a heavy heart, you tear yourself away from Namjoon’s side, letting the nurses dress his wounds up with practiced ease as you exit out of the room to talk to the man outside.

Blinking into the sun, a glance at your watch shows that you’ve been in the room with Namjoon for longer than a couple of hours, though it felt like a few minutes barely passed by. You find the man in the lobby, nodding asleep for a few minutes before jerking awake, dark circles underneath his eyes. When he spots your approaching figure, he stands abruptly, blanket falling away from his shoulders to pool around the plastic chair. His bottom lip begins to quiver and fresh tears wets his cheeks as you slump next to him, urging him to sit with a wave of your hand.

“Is he…”

“He’s going to be just fine,” you reassure him, flashing him a tired smile.

You listen quietly while he – Taehyung is his name – talks about the race, about the debts, and about Cho Yongjin. The story he’s telling doesn’t make a lick of sense; exhaustion and stress slurring his speech, but you can piece together the gist of it and though you want to be mad at the foolish man in front of you, there’s not a shred of energy left for you to nag. So, you pat him in the shoulder and asked him to go home; to shower and sleep before returning to the hospital.

Peace returns quickly after the commotion and you spend the rest of your afternoon rescheduling appointments with your patients, apologising profusely at the inconvenience today’s events might have caused. Clearing your schedule for the rest of your shift, you make your way towards Namjoon’s room, opening the door quietly after taking a few deep breaths.

There’s never a time in all your education that could have prepared you for this very moment. You can write recipes for medicine that no one knows how to pronounce or recite with your eyes closed the chemical components that make up aspirin, but watching Namjoon unconscious in the bed, blues and purples marring his skin?

This is fresh hell.

And you’d endure all the pain and studying that got you this damn job if it means Namjoon wakes up from his slumber.

You take his hand in yours, pressing your warm forehead on the back of his cool palm. In the quiet of his room with the sounds of beeping machines and sunlight filtering through the sheer curtains, you screw your eyes shut, thinking about his laughter and the dimpled smiles he’d throw your way.

“Please wake up soon. You still owe me a date, yeah? Come back to me, Joon,” you whisper, but no one answers.

Kim Namjoon.

Careful to avoid the stitches on his forehead, you push his hair away from his face while letting out a shuddering sigh. You gaze at his sleeping form for a long time, heart aching at the scraps and blooming bruises all over his skin. You had no plans of falling for this man, but after countless hospital visits and conversations, you find yourself thinking about Namjoon more often than you’d like to admit.

It started out with a simple ‘I wonder what he’s doing now’ while you’re filling out paperwork until it gradually evolved into actively searching for his dark mop of hair in the waiting room. He rarely comes in with any grievous injuries, only simple ones that hardly require your attention, but you wanted to be the one to examine him anyway – going through the bells and whistles you wouldn’t provide to a normal patient.

You wonder if he knew of every instance you stalled him from leaving; after all, a paper cut hardly requires a stethoscope to the chest. But every time he walks out the hospital doors with a wink and a promise to return, there’s a mixture of elation and disquiet in your heart, fearing that the back you’ve been watching for so long will disappear one day.

Odd. This man is odd.

“Namjoon,” you whimper, voice strained and broken. You’ve nagged him to be careful, made him swear not to do anything dangerous. So, how dare he come back to the hospital so quickly to disrupt your quiet work day? How could he ask you out on a date only to end up badly injured and unconscious?

You long for his smile, for those adorable dimples that tug at your heart strings, but his face remains impassive – captured in sleep.

And finally, after holding yourself in check in front of Taehyung and the nurses, your mask slips and you let yourself sob.

══════ ∘◦❀◦∘ ══════

Pain.

Lots and lots of fucking pain.

From his leg, to his chest. Even breathing fucking hurt. Namjoon tries to groan, but that only amplifies the scratchiness of his throat and his displeasure only grows when he sees that he’s been fitted into one of those plastic, green hospital gowns which make a racket of noise every time he moves. Unable to sit up, he’s forced to take a look at his unfamiliar surroundings by just turning his head. Memories of the race come flooding in: the dangerous turn, the victory, and then a pair of headlights before everything turns black.

Yongjin.

Anger boils under his skin as Namjoon thinks bitterly about the slimy man, hoping that he gets what he deserves. He doesn’t need his fucking money as long as he stays the fuck away from Taehyung. He flinches when he hears the door open; pain blooming on his neck when he cranes his head over the bed rail to see his visitor. And, oh, despite being furious just moments before, he sighs, a smile worming his way into his features when you walk in.

“Namjoon?” you whisper in disbelief, hands coming to cup your mouth as your clipboard clatters to the floor.

“Hey,” he manages to croak out with a lopsided smile, voice gruff from unuse. “What’s up, doc?”

“Oh my god.”

Namjoon groans quietly when you charge towards the bed with a speed that matches Cherry, apologies fluttering past your trembling lips as you cradle his head into an embrace. He feels tears on his scalp and though he wants to hug you right back, his limbs scream with exhaustion, so he sits lamely with his hands by his side, waiting for you to finish.

“Hey, hey, I’m okay,” he whispers into your arm, Adam’s apple bobbing as tears prick in his own eyes.

After some time, you manage to extract yourself from his head with a loud sniffle, settling on a chair next to his bed. You fill him in on all the details he’s missed: he’s been asleep for three days (“Not uncommon,” you reassure him); Yongjin is behind bars for attempted murder; and the best news of all? Taehyung and Cherry are both fine.

“And you?” he asks after you help him take a large swig of water. “Are you fine?”

Your eyes soften at his question and his heart wrenches in his chest when you bite your bottom lip to keep them from trembling. “I wasn’t,” you mumble, eyes casting downwards on the empty plastic cup in your hand. “I was scared and I didn’t know what to do and I… I thought I’d lost you.”

Namjoon hums, whispering your name to get you to look up. He musters the most brilliant smile he can manage. “You didn’t lose me. I’m right here.”

You exhale loudly, a small smile on your lips. To Namjoon’s surprise, you take his hand and thread your fingers through the spaces, kissing each digit gently. When your eyes meet his dark ones again, he sees the raw emotion behind them; of a calm shore at the end a heavy the storm. “I’m okay now. I’m glad you’re awake.”

The two of you gaze into each other’s eyes, the world melting away slowly until the only thing that exists in Namjoon’s sight is you.

Just you.

“We’re going to have to get a rain check on our date, huh, doc?” Namjoon grins lopsidedly, trying to ease his hammering heartbeat. “I mean, until I’m better at least.”

You make a short snorting sound, covering your mouth with your empty hand. “You need to get better quickly then.”

A quiet whimper of protest escapes from his throat when you stand, but he knows you have other patients to attend to, so he lets you go. Just as your hand grazes the handle of the door, he calls your name. You turn around with a tilt of your chin, eyebrows furrowed and eyes darting around to make sure that he’s not in pain.

“I like you,” Namjoon confesses with a bright dimpled smile.

There’s a tension in your shoulders as you blink at him, head tilting to the side as your brain registers his confession. He keeps his steady gaze on you until your mouth slowly falls open and your hand clasps over it, eyes bulging after connecting the dots. The two of you stare at each other for a moment, Namjoon’s grin growing wider as you start to flounder for words.

“I- I like you too,” you admit quietly, flashing him a small smile. Namjoon snickers when you clear your throat in embarrassment, turning haphazardly around and banging your clipboard loudly on the door, causing you to jump backwards in surprise. You join him in his boisterous laughter at your clumsiness, raking your hands through your hair. With a final glance at Namjoon, you leave the room, lab coat fluttering behind you as you close the door shut.

---

“Ow, ow, be gentle with me, will ya?” Namjoon pouts, protruding his bottom lip as you change his bandages. “I’m an injured man!”

Before you can retort, the door opens, laughter filtering in the room as Taehyung stands in the doorway. “Aww, hyung, don’t be such a wuss!” he laughs, popping an orange slice in his mouth while watching the entire scene unfold.

He’s been visiting the hospital frequently since the accident, usually no more than a few hours at most to share a few stories from the shop or his day-to-day life. Much to Namjoon’s surprise, he admitted to distancing himself from his so-called ‘friends’ after what happened, swearing that he never wants to put anyone he loves in that kind of position again.

“No friends of mine would ever think of endangering my life,” Taehyung mourned in one of his earlier visits. “Seeing you on the ground… that’s what changed. I mean, my life is pretty boring now without them, but I have you and the fellas at the shop.”

Namjoon’s proud of him for making such a mature decision and when he expressed as such, Taehyung laughs bitterly before choking back a sob, apologies spilling from his lips as he presses his head on Namjoon’s bed. He merely strokes the younger man’s hair as his tears stain the white sheets, reminding him that he’s – for the most part – all right and unharmed.

Then, there’s you.

The first couple of days of medication and sleep left a tinge of haziness in Namjoon’s memory, but he could faintly recall the quiet click of the door opening and a warm hand enveloping his in all hours of the day and sometimes, well into the night, along with gentle whispers of praise and gratefulness that he’s alive. The two of you haven’t talked about the confession since it happened and Namjoon has been dying to understand the depths of your feelings.

He watches you talk animatedly with Taehyung as he takes up the empty chair in the room, wondering when the pair had time to get closer to the point where they’re comfortable enough with one another to poke fun at Namjoon. His laughter is strained and high-pitch when Taehyung mentioned his crush on you, cheeks burning and eyes falling to his lap to avoid further embarrassment.

The mirth disappears when your hand ghosts over his ribs, accidentally prodding a little too hard on the bruise. “OW!” Namjoon jerks, causing the bed to rattle. He hisses in pain while looking tearily up at you. “What was that for?”

The scowl on your face isn’t reassuring, but it’s one of concern instead of irritation. “Sorry,” you quickly mutter, going back to touch his chest with gentler fingers. “I want to check on your ribs to see if they’re healing properly. There’s nothing alarming, besides the fact that you’re blue.”

Namjoon grimaces, looking down on his naked torso at the cuts and bruises marring the skin. He had been lucky to be alive, a fact you frequently point out when he whines and pouts over syringes, especially after getting hit directly by Yongjin’s car. Thinking about the bastard behind bars gives him a sense of comfort, though he knows it wouldn’t be long before his family would make bail.

He shakes his head to clear the image, not wanting to think about the short man with a sleazy grin, and trying to focus instead on the words he missed coming out of Taehyung’s mouth. “Huh? What was that?”

“I asked if the two of you are dating now.”

A blanket of silence stretches across the three of you. Taehyung looks puzzled, eyes flickering from Namjoon’s stricken face to your flustered one. His eyes slowly widen as realization dawns on him and he abruptly stands up, popping the rest of his orange slices in his mouth, wincing at the strong taste of citrus. “Uh, I have somewhere to be!” he stammers quickly, dusting himself off and bolting towards the door. Taehyung throws Namjoon a look that conveys his apologies, laughing forcefully before he leaves. “I’ll come by, um, tomorrow, maybe – yeah! See you guys later!”

The door slams shut.

Namjoon’s dumbfounded, staring at the space where Taehyung had taken up residence not five seconds ago, wishing he could wrap his hands around the brunette’s neck. He turns his face towards you hesitantly, slightly afraid of what he’ll find, but your eyes are on your clipboard, pen scribbling away as you jot down notes about the status of his recovery.

“Sooo…” he begins, scratching his head with his hand. Namjoon’s not really sure what to say, his brain is coming up with nothing as his gaze shifts between you and the blanket on his lap. “Uh, that was kind of weird, huh?”

You hum in response, eyes never leaving your paperwork. As the silence continues to settle, awkwardness reared its ugly head and mocks Namjoon, at his flushed cheeks and sweaty forehead. He clears his throat a couple of times, but the words die in his throat and – fuck – did the room get hotter somehow?

“Well, Joon” – he didn’t mean to jump, but he does anyway when you address him so casually – “it looks like everything checks out. You’ll probably be able to leave within a few weeks if your leg heals up nicely…” You trail off, brows knitted together. “Are you in any sort of pain? What’s wrong?”

A pang of relief and disappointment washes over Namjoon at the question – you didn’t hear what Taehyung said. He stares at you for a heartbeat, wondering if he should repeat it. His mouth opens and closes a few times before eventually settling with: “What are you doing after this?”

You bring your pen to tap on your chin, mouth pressed into a thin line and head tilted to the side. “I’m actually done for the day and was about to head home. Why? Are you still hungry after dinner?” you quiz teasingly, winking in his direction. “I can probably sneak you some jello from the cafeteria if you want?”

The offer is tempting. Namjoon shakes his head, bringing his hands up to stop you. “No, no – I was wondering if you can stay, y’know… with me?”

“Yeah! For sure, what’s on your mind?”

Fuck. He hasn’t thought this far ahead.

Like a car with a bad battery, his brain stalls while trying to find conversation topics because all he really wants is to ask you the question that’s been on the tip of his tongue since Taehyung left. Namjoon’s faced his fears numerous times when it comes to street racing, getting caught by the fuzz being high up the list, but this is much, much worse than the threat of prison.

He exhales slowly, eyes finding yours again. His shaky hands envelope your small ones and he closes his eyes for a moment. “I like you,” he breathes, watching the way you blink rapidly at his sudden confession. “I know you’ve said you liked me too and… I want to make things official. Do you want to go steady with me?”

“As in be your girlfriend?”

Namjoon nods, prodding his tongue to his cheek in hopes of looking nonchalant.

The heart monitor betrays his stoic expression. Fuck.

The shock written all over your face feels foreboding and Namjoon’s heart starts to sink, but then a small grin breaks through as you nod.

“I’d love to go steady with you, Joon,” you laugh, squeezing his hand gently.

He swears he could stand up and beat the Jaguar XK120 at a race after hearing your answer. He pulls you in for a hug, ignoring the throbbing pain in his side as you bump into him, half-stumbling into the bed and giggling as you hug him back awkwardly, flailing limbs still fitting perfectly around his neck.

“Thank you,” he beams, releasing you from his hold. “I swear when I’m all better, we can go on a real date. Like I promised.”

“I’d like that very much,” you grin.

A moment turned into a few hours and after leaving momentarily to grab your things, it turns into a whole night filled with conversation. You find yourself cramped by his side on the small hospital bed, swapping stories about street racing, Namjoon’s work as a mechanic, and life in general. He learned about your family and more in-depth about your studies, marveling at the well of knowledge that lies in your brain as you answer all his medical questions on the fly.

“So, you’re telling me that we’re developing technology that can reattach a finger?” he gasps.

“Yes! Isn’t that fascinating? Nerves and all. I don’t know when it’ll be available for the public, and I’m sure there’s going to be a high risk of failure when it comes to testing, but it’ll be great if it covers alllimbs and not just fingers,” you reply enthusiastically.

Namjoon just stares as you launch into a different topic, hands moving animatedly to make your point as you lie nestled on his chest. You had asked earlier in the night if you could turn the lights off, claiming that the fluorescent lights give you a headache and he’d obliged, but now, in the shroud of darkness with the pale moon barely shining through the sheer curtains, Namjoon wonders if he’s made a mistake. The conversation, although innocent, feels intimate when you’re the only two people in a dark room and if you paid attention to the heart monitor, you’d be able to see the spikes in the chart where his heart beats a little quicker in his chest.

“Namjoon?”

“Hm?” he asks, panicking slightly because he definitely has not been listening to what you’ve been saying for the past few minutes.

“Look at me real quick.”

Busted.

"Ah, I'm sorry for not paying attenti—"

The apologies that tumble from his lips are stolen by your own enveloping his, your thumb stroking his cheek delicately. He’s stunned for a moment as his brain catches up to the scene, but soon, he melts into the kiss, angling his head slightly to avoid bumping your nose as he wraps his arms around your waist. It starts off slow, tentative, as you explore each other's mouths, tongues colliding and intertwining, gasps uttered between millimetres of spaces. Namjoon tightens his hold around your waist, drinking you in as he moans into your mouth, fireworks exploding gently in his brain as his pulse takes over the beeping of the surrounding machines. You break apart to push yourself upwards, careful when you straddle his lap to avoid any of his injuries before resuming, but the kiss this time is hungrier – more desperate as you clutch his face firmly in your hands.

“Hey,” Namjoon gasps between breaths, pulling you away slightly while you continue to chase his lips. “Look at me, hey, baby, what’s wrong?”

He grips your shoulders gently before his palms sweep over your arms, watching the way your eyes dart across his face – at the worry that rests in your furrowed eyebrows and the downturned corners of your lips. “When you were unconscious,” you breathe, pushing his hair away from his forehead. “I didn’t think I understood what it meant to be afraid. Ever since then, I’ve felt this rush and… I just don’t want to lose you, Joon.”

Namjoon cups your cheek, and your eyes close when his thumb strokes your delicate, soft skin. “I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere.”

You nod, a brilliant smile returning as you capture his lips once more, fingers threading through his hair. Namjoon’s arms wrap around your waist and bring you closer, pulling you into his chest. He runs his hands up and down your back, moaning when your hips start to grind on his lap. You took that opportunity to slip your tongue in his mouth, coaxing the muscle to meet with yours.

“I’m so fucking turned on and, god, you are not helping one bit,” Namjoon groans, tilting your chin upwards to place kisses on the length of your jaw. His other hand grips your waist, helping you rock against his hardening cock. “Fuck,if it weren’t for my injuries...” he trails off.

“Some other time when you’re all better, yeah? For now, let me take care of you,” you gasp, pushing Namjoon back on the bed to kiss his neck. Your lips sear into his skin, every bite sending shivers down his spine as he tips his head back and calls your name.

He palms your ass over your pants; your hips still rutting against his cock. Fireworks explode when he closes his eyes and it doesn't take long before he's breathless, pulse quickening when he feels your warm fingers trailing circles on his hip over the hospital gown. Namjoon slips his hand under your shirt, mimicking the motion on your lower back. You groan into his neck, suckling gently on the delicate skin. "Take it off?" Namjoon requests, tugging the waistband down.

With great effort and a lot of shuffling, you manage to get your pants off, flinging the offending material into the darkness. Namjoon stares at your semi-naked state, unable to believe that you were all his. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, voice wavering with emotion. “Come here.”

When your lips find his again, it’s like he’s racing for the very first time – the adrenaline coursing through his veins as he steals glances of the blurring scenery outside of his window. But it’s also different; because no race he’s ever won has made him feel so alive, like every nerve ending that exists in his body sings for you and only you. And when you moan, the sound makes him dizzy and disoriented, blood rushing to his head as he tries to savour every little noise you make in order to engrave them on his heart as best as he could.

“Lean back for me – yeah, I’m okay. Good girl,” Namjoon rasps, wetting his lips as you follow his instructions. Your hands are on the sides of the mattress, legs propped up, as you lean back, moaning when his large hands rub your thighs.

He pushes your underwear to the side to reveal your heated core. Namjoon watches carefully as his thumb runs up and down your slit. He notes every gasp – every twitch of your body as your eyes droop close, head falling back while you try to keep your legs open.

“That's my good girl, so wet for me already,” Namjoon chuckles quietly, cocking a playful eyebrow your way as his fingers spread your folds apart before immediately swiping at your clit with his thumb, occasionally adding pressure that makes you moan and shiver above him.

“Joon,” you pant, hips starting to buck into his hands. “Want you. Put your fingers inside of me, please?”

“Not yet, let me enjoy this a little bit, yeah?”

Your moans are getting louder, thighs quacking as he continues to observe your body, learning when to switch gears to best drive you wild.

“Please…” you murmur, grinding into his fingers. “Please.”

Namjoon exhales, a dimpled smile on his face. While his other thumb continues to make figure eights on your clit, he brings two fingers and pops them in his mouth, coating the digits with his saliva before lining them up with your entrance. You’re a whimpering mess when he pushes them inside; the sharp sounds of your wet cunt harmonizing with your moans is a beautiful melody to his ears. Your hand clutches his uninjured leg for balance as you spread your legs wider, giving him more access to your core. Namjoon doesn’t know if he believes in a higher being, but he’s grateful that the accident didn’t render him incapable of using his hands.

“Namjoon, fuck, f-faster.” You utter the last syllable in a lilting voice and he’s quick to follow your demands, his lap and wrists getting coated with your arousal as he thrusts faster, fingers curling and uncurling on your g-spot.

The sheer hospital gown does nothing to hide his erection as he observes your fucked out face, lost in pleasure that he’s providing, causing pride to build in his chest.

“Fuck, Joon, right there! Oh! I’m gonna – ngh – gonna cum,” you keen, muscles tensing and growing tighter around his digits.

He kept his pace; neither too fast nor too slow. He’s moaning with you – his own breathing mirroring yours. With a high pitch whine, you unravel all over his fingers, eyes screwed shut in ecstasy as your whole body shakes, breathing in deeply – waiting for the orgasm to recede. Namjoon leaves your warmth to sit up and embrace you, hands circling around your waist tightly as he kisses your lips, reminding you how beautiful you are in between breaths while choosing to ignore the groaning of his joints as they’re forced to move too quickly. Your hands thread to his hair, tugging at the dark strands and whimpering quietly.

“Joon,” you pant, trying to push him back down. “Lie down. Doctor’s orders.”

Smirking against your lips, he grinds his hips upwards as his hands pin your hips down, letting you feel every drag of his hard cock against your pussy. Namjoon grins devilishly at the way your eyes flutter shut and your mouth hanging open in a silent ‘oh’. “But, baby,” he fake pouts, voice low as he continues to grind. “I love being close to you.”

“F-Fine, fuck, don’t stop – mmh,” you moan, hands clasping his broad shoulders as you work in tandem with his hips.

Namjoon’s cock twitches in anticipation – the itch to bury himself inside you builds with every wanton cry of his name gracing your lips and with every rock of your hips, he’s lost – gritting his teeth to avoid cumming in his boxers. “Shit, I don’t think I can last much longer,” he chuckles, cheeks burning in embarrassment.

Your movements falter, a smirk playing on your lips. “Oh?” you reply simply. "And if I do this?" Your hands snake underneath the hospital gown and rake down his chest, fingers latching on to his nipples while your hips pick up its pace.

He had to screw his eyes shut; his body barely propped up by his exhausted arms, head falling backwards. Namjoon trembles with every drag of your dull fingernails across his chest, grunting desperately as the waves of pleasure shoot down his spine. “Baby, please, don’t tease. I- I can’t –”

Finally, your oscillating hips stop their movements and it’s your turn to watch with glee at the man panting desperately underneath you. Namjoon has barely enough sense left in his brain, half-lidded eyes staring at you as the heart monitor beeps faster in the distance. “Shit, you almost made me cum.”

You grace him with a saccharine smile, saying nothing as you pull his boxers down. The gasp that leaves your mouth puts a tired half-smirk on Namjoon’s face, loving the way your eyes travel from his red tip all the way to the base. Despite the darkness, he catches movement from your throat as you gulp. Gingerly, you lift yourself from the bed to shift your body so the head lines up to your entrance. Your gaze locks to his and without breaking eye contact, you sink lower, mouth hanging open to mirror his.

Namjoon breaks eye contact as he feels your velvet walls around him. He curses loudly when you begin to move, your moans intertwining with his. He knows he’s not going to last – not when your pussy is milking his cock with every thrust. With glazed eyes, he watches you unbutton your blouse and unhook your bra, quickly discarding them with the growing pile next to the bed. You grab his hands and place it over your tits, moaning when he squeezes the tender flesh and rolls the pert nipples with his fingers.

Though his body groans in exhaustion, Namjoon snaps his hips upwards in time with your movements, fucking into you and aiming at the spot that causes your eyes to flutter shut and chanting his name. His hand slips between your thighs as you bounce, tracing circles on your clit to aid your orgasm along.

“Joon,” you whimper into the air, raking your fingernails across his chest gently to leave the barest of red trails on his skin. “I’m gonna fucking cum—”

“Cum for me, let me watch you,” he groans, his hand abandoning your tits to steady your hips while the other continues to swipe alphabets between your thighs.

Namjoon smirks at your attempt to be quiet - at the series of 'oh fuck's from your lips before your walls constrict around him. You manage a strangled cry of his name as the orgasm washes over you, sending you into overdrive; your body shaking and trembling while you latch onto his shoulder for balance. He continues his pace, fucking into you as the coil in his own stomach grow tighter.

"Fuck, fuck, I'm cumming—" he growls, gripping your hips tight as he thrusts one final time, burying his cock deep into your cunt; spurts of his cum spilling inside your walls and mixing with your arousal. You ride him slowly as you both come down from your high before you eventually stop and sit shivering on top of his lap.

Shallow breaths and beeping fills the room while he gazes at you; at the way the moonlight illuminates your features, making you look ethereal and glowing. Namjoon cradles your cheek, pulling you down to plant a slow kiss on your lips, his arm circling your waist as he gently fucks you with his softening dick before it eventually leaves your warmth.

The two of you lay there for another minute with him occasionally kissing the top of your head, listening to the sound of your breathing as it steadies itself.

“Are you okay?” he murmurs, trying to look down on your spent body. The pain is returning, his joints feeling sore after the strenuous activity.

You nod, bringing your beautiful gaze to meet his, a curl of a smile on your features. “I’m sorry if I hurt you,” you whisper, landing a peck on his lips.

“Nonsense. You made me feel so much better.”

You grin at his words, one he returns enthusiastically as he bends lower to claim your lips once more. “Okay,” you giggle, pulling away. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Namjoon protests as your warmth leaves his side, the bed instantly feeling bigger and cold as you gather your clothes strewn on the ground. When you’re semi decent, you grab a rag from the bathroom, the one the other nurses use to help him bathe, and gently, you clean the drying cum off his abdomen. “All better,” you grin, placing the rag in the laundry basket.

You settle back to his side after cleaning yourself off, nuzzling under the covers as you continue to talk about your life. Namjoon’s only half-listening, the irresistible call of sleep coming from every direction. When he succumbs, he feels you plant a kiss on his cheek, whispering ‘good night’.

---

When he dreams that night, it’s about driving. He’s going ten miles over the speed limit in an empty stretch of land; with the windows down and music blaring, his palms tapping rhythmically on the steering wheel. The scenery blurs into tints of blues and greens and Namjoon laughs – finally feeling free as he throws a hand out of the window to feel the cool air. The sound of your giggles from the passenger seat cause him to turn his neck, an adoring smile on his lips as he studies your figure for a fraction before returning his gaze to the road. With cheetahs in your wind-swept hair and eyes wide and bright, you cheer – your own hand sticking out of the window, mirroring his movements.

If there was a breathtaking scenery outside of the moving vehicle in his dream, he wouldn’t be able to recall it in the morning.

And when he blinks awake, sunlight streaming into the hospital room, his joints are heavy and sore.

Because lying down next to him, head perfectly fitted in the crook of his neck, is you.

The most beautiful view.

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