One shots | Kim Taehyung

His first love | Part 3 | KTH

Days turned into weeks, and a routine settled into your small apartment. Each morning, you'd wake up to the gentle whirring of Taehyung's wheelchair as he navigated his way to the kitchen. There, you'd find him perched at the table, a shy smile gracing his lips as the aroma of your freshly brewed coffee filled the air. Breakfast was a quiet affair, filled with stolen glances and tentative conversation. You'd learned he preferred his coffee strong and his eggs scrambled soft, and he, in turn, discovered your secret love for burnt toast and extra jam.

Physical therapy became a daily ritual. You'd help him transfer from his wheelchair to the car, his initial awkwardness replaced by a growing determination. At the therapy center, you'd patiently wait, the sterile environment a stark contrast to the warmth of your apartment. When he emerged, his face flushed and his brow beaded with sweat, you'd be there with a cool towel and words of encouragement. Each step he took, however small, was a victory you celebrated together.

But you knew recovery wasn't just about physical progress. You saw the flicker of doubt in his eyes, the moments when despair threatened to engulf him. It was then that you took on the role of his confidante and his cheerleader. You'd create movie marathons filled with his favorite action heroes, reminding him of the strength he possessed. You'd spend evenings reminiscing about his childhood dreams, rekindling the spark of ambition that had dimmed during his ordeal.

One particularly difficult evening, after a frustrating therapy session, you found Taehyung staring out the window, his face etched with frustration.  He mumbled something about feeling like a burden, a useless appendage. 

You sat beside him gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Taehyung," you said, your voice firm but kind, "you are anything but a burden. You're strong, you're determined, and you're going to walk again. It might not be tomorrow, it might not be next week, but you will walk again." 

He turned to look at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and defiance. "But what if I can't?" he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. 

You cupped his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. "Then we'll find a new way," you said, your voice filled with conviction. "We'll adapt, we'll overcome, and we'll face it together, okay?"

A single tear escaped his eye, tracing a path down his cheek. A single tear escaped your own eye, mirroring his.  The professional boundaries you'd so carefully constructed began to crumble under the weight of a truth you could no longer deny.

The memory of Taehyung's confession, whispered under the canopy of cherry blossoms all those years ago, flooded back.  A shy smile, a fumbled declaration, and a nervous laugh that had sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach.  You, the studious one, and him, the charming troublemaker.  You'd never acted on those feelings then, afraid to jeopardize a cherished friendship.

The weight of the past, intertwined with the present, overwhelmed you.  Before you could even think, you acted.  Gently, you pulled him into an embrace, the familiar scent of his cologne washing over you.  He tensed for a moment, surprised by the sudden gesture.  Then, as if a dam had broken, he melted into your touch, burying his face in your shoulder. 

His body trembled with a mixture of relief and unspoken emotions.  In that embrace, the lines between doctor and patient, past and present, blurred completely.  You were Y/N, holding Taehyung, the boy who had once confessed his love, the man who now needed your strength. 

You held him tightly, whispering words of comfort in his ear.  It wasn't just about offering solace; it was a silent acknowledgment of the truth.  The truth that this wasn't just about physical therapy or recovery.  It was about a connection that transcended professional obligations, a bond that had blossomed amidst shared vulnerability and unwavering support.