Being in a hospital is never fun, period. But there's one thing in this case that seems to make things better; the doctor who visits to check on you more frequently than others. Dr. Kim Namjoon is a totally swoon-worthy cardiac doctor who just happe...
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ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ-ꜱɪx | "ᴘʀᴇꜱꜱᴜʀᴇ ᴄᴏᴏᴋᴇʀ"
It's later that night when I walk into the kitchen and then see Namjoon cooking. Well, attempting to cook. It smells interesting, and I half wonder how many times a week Namjoon eats takeout to make up for his meals that don't turn out. I immediately look down and attempt to start to walk away, back into the bedroom upstairs without being seen. But Namjoon looks up, frowning when I attempt to walk off. Oops, busted. "You can run, but you can't hide!" He calls, and I stop in my tracks.
"I don't want to talk to you," I mumble. "I'm still mad at you for this morning."
Namjoon sighs. "I'm sorry, about this morning, love. I just...you know I can have some pretty bad mood swings sometimes."
"Anger issues and being bipolar is more like it," I mumble. "I know," I reply, louder, hoping he didn't hear my previous sentence.
"It's just not fair of you, to ask me to leave my room, just so you could change. It's still my room, which we share, and you shouldn't have to ask me to leave so you can change your clothes."
"You're right." I stop dead in my tracks, now knowing we'll be having a full-on conversation, and escape is now impossible. "It's not fair. I shouldn't have to ask you when it's a given that you'll leave without being asked to begin with." I respond, "I mean, you're already forcing me into so much I'm not comfortable with, the least you can do is leave the room when I change my clothes. Do you think I'm comfortable showing you myself naked? I'm not even comfortable telling you the truth about how I feel!" I rant until I slap my hand over my mouth. This damn mouth of mine will be the death of me, I swear. I shouldn't have said that, because now he's going to dwell on the fact that I "feel" a type of way for him. Oh yeah—I "feel" a certain type of irritation straight from the deepest lagoon of my heart. You know, the one that almost failed and killed me.
"Fine." He says quietly, "I'll leave the room from now on when you change if that'll make you happy."
"Thank you. But it's not about 'making me happy' or leaving the room when I change. It's the fact that I shouldn't have to ask you to do that type of thing to begin with, because you should just know that it's the polite thing to do. Didn't your mom teach you all of this about respecting women?"
"Of course she did! Of course, I respect women, Y/n, you know that! But this situation is a little different since you're my girlfriend, and I've already seen your body, that's why I don't understand why it's such a big deal." He fires back, and damn, is he dumb.
"I understand that, but do you think in those moments I was choosing to show you? I was in the hospital, for crying out loud. I didn't have a choice then. You cannot keep using that as an excuse. The point is, right now I'm still uncomfortable and trying to get used to living with you, and as my best friend, it shouldn't be hard for you to respect that."
