Anny_the_Kitty
Taehyung is trapped.
Trapped.
There's a human sized obstacle between him and the door, and it's one he can't exactly justify biting. Taehyung can't help but notice that Jungkook is also ridiculously muscular, especially for a doctor. Nobody needs that kind of muscle to perform surgery.
Or: Being sick sucks, but Taehyung manages to find some good in it anyway.
~
If he's being honest with himself, Taehyung is, to put it mildly, scared out of his goddamn mind right now.
"Will—will there be blood?" he asks.
Jimin stares at him, mouth pressed into a tight line. "You're asking me if there will be blood," he says, slowly. "In a blood examination."
"I don't like blood." Taehyung says, defensively. "You know I don't."
"Taehyung," Jimin says, voice softening, "there has to be blood. We can't find out what's wrong with you otherwise."
And then he's grabbing Taehyung's hand and leading him to sit down—to the murder chair, Taehyung's mind supplies helpfully—to get his blood drawn. "Come on, sit. It'll be over before you can blink."
"No," Taehyung pouts. And then pouts some more, just for good measure.
Jimin takes a deep breath, so slow and even that it has to be perfectly deliberate. "If we get this done now, you won't die of something perfectly preventable like iron deficiency in four to six weeks. Think of me, Taehyung. Who am I supposed to have crappy reality show marathons with?"
"Namjoon-hyung?" Taehyung suggests meekly, the corners of his lips curling up in a tiny smile.
Jimin smacks him across the arm. Hard.
"Ouch, stop going to the gym," Taehyung says, rubbing at his arm. "I am a delicate flower, Jiminie. I should be taken care of accordingly."
"You're a pain in my ass," Jimin mutters, now resigned to bodily shoving Taehyung to sit on the chair.
After approximately fifteen seconds of valiant resistance on Taehyung's part, he finds himself falling, ass-first, on the cold marble floor, Jimin's hand stuck between his teeth. The beginnings of real, tangible guilt prick at his insides, but he can't really help it. He's a stress biter.
He's in that very flattering position when the doctor finally walks in. He takes one look at the scene before him and coughs.
Taehyung hurriedly lets go of Jimin's hand, letting it fall out of his mouth, reddened marks visible around the edge Taehyung's teeth had sunken into.
"You must be Kim Taehyung?" the doctor says, and, really, this can't be right. This boy looks even younger than him. And weren't nurses usually the ones in charge of something as simple as drawing blood for an exam? Has he been affected by something so rare and dangerous that they had to send a real doctor to deal with him? Are his veins, like, invisible, or something?
"Aren't you a little young?" Jimin's squinting suspiciously up at the boy from his spot next to Taehyung on the floor.
"I'm a resident," the boy says. "My name's Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook. I'll be the one to—"
"Stick a needle in me," Taehyung says, even though he knows it's rude to interrupt. He'd rather not be pierced to death. "What are the chances of dying because of that?" he asks, bracing himself on the arm of the chair—the dreaded chair—to stand up, and reaching a hand out to help Jimin right after.
