uhhhh it was only a matter of time before this happened lmfao
i work in healthcare but know next to nothing about what happens in the er!!!! please correct me but also i’m just writing for funsies!!!!! i also totally and completely stole this idea from guardian/goblin: the lonely and great god!!!!!!!
PART ONE, two, three (ongoing)
title: smoke gets in your eyes, pt. 1 fandom: bts pairing: yoongi x reader content/genre/warnings: reincarnation au, reader is an er doctor so some morbid and blood mention but nothing super gory, uhhh lots of death but like... passively rating: t for swearing word count: 5460
They say that you become a Grim Reaper when you commit an unforgivable sin.
Or, after a chance meeting with your new neighbor in the ER, you find yourself running into and spending more time with him. Agust is secretive, subdued -- but he feels familiar.
Or, Agust knows he shouldn't want to talk to you, shouldn't want to spend time with you, shouldn't want to know you, but he does.
You’ve never been late to anything in your entire life. You came into this world three months early (a traumatizing experience your mother will never let you forget), started walking well before you were supposed to (another traumatizing experience your mother won’t let you forget), skipped a grade in elementary school, never skipped a class in high school, was always early and sitting at the front of your undergrad classes. Your friends have learned that when you say you’re meeting at a certain time you’re going to be there fifteen minutes before, you were always the first one to show up at your clinical rotations (regardless of how much — if any — sleep you got the night before), and there is no meeting (group project, advisor, study group, parent-teacher, etc. etc.) you haven’t been at least a half hour early to.
You have never been late to anything in your entire life — so why TODAY of all days!?
“Jin,” you wheeze into your phone, as soon as he answers. “Jin, I’m running late—”
“Who is this?”
“Seokjin,” you hiss.
“No way this is (Y/N), who showed up early to her own surprise birthday party.”
You grit your teeth as you contemplate how you’re going to exact your revenge on him. “Seokjin.”
“This can’t be my (Y/N), who goes to the movie theater forty-five minutes before even the ads start.”
“Jin.”
“Not MY—”
“KIM SEOKJIN,” you snap, “you are not allowed to come over to my apartment for free soju and Dumpling pats ever again if you don’t shut the hell up and—”
“OkayokayokayokayOKAY, I’m sorry!” he whimpers. “I can create a distraction for maybe fifteen minutes, but I’m really scared of what Dr. Tang will do to me, so you better hurry.”
“Thanks, bud!” you say, much more chipper, but still very out of breath.
After six years of an intense and competitive medical school program, clinical rotations, an internship while juggling tests and classes, and three years of residency (all filled with more breakdowns, breakouts, and breakups than you can count), today is your first day as an emergency room physician. You’ve been dreaming of this day for over two decades — your first memory is telling your mother you wanted to become a doctor when you grew up. Ideally, you would not have spilled your latte all over your freshly pressed white coat, you would not have woken up to your chunky exotic shorthair cat munching on the kimbap your mother so lovingly packed for you, you would not already be nursing a blister from your new sneakers, and you definitely would not be running late on the first day of your dream job—
Still, it’s your first day of your dream job, and other than the overwhelming and nearly debilitating anxiety of failing after years and years of hard work, you’re excited.
It’s only a five minute walk (and a two minute run at the pace you’re currently going) from the train station to the university hospital. When you all but slide through the glass doors of the ER, you make brief eye contact with Jin, who has his phone shoved in the face of your Chief of Emergency Medicine. You mouth an exaggerated “Thank you so much” as you sneak into the break room to drop off your things.
“Dr. Kim,” you hear Dr. Tang say. Her tone is even, but you can feel the simmering rage behind her words. “I’m very happy you’ve found companionship and comfort in your cat—”
“She’s not technically my cat,” Jin says.
“— I’m very happy that you’ve found companionship and comfort in this cat,” she says, through gritted teeth, “but I do not need to see anymore pictures, and frankly, neither do you. If you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting.”
He flashes his Charming Jin Smile, though it doesn’t seem to have the same effect on Dr. Tang as it does on other ladies, and she simply brushes by him with a roll of her eyes. “Bye, Dr. Tang!” he says, waving goodbye.
Once you’re certain the head of your department is out of sight and earshot, you sneak out from the break room. Releasing the heavy sigh that’s been curling in your chest all morning, you slap a hand on Jin’s shoulder. “Thank you,” you say.
He gives you a look that tells you he’s not going to forget this one for a long time. “You owe me, bud,” he says, as he pockets his cell phone. “Luckily for you, I have years’ worth of pictures of Dumpling.”
“Stop showing people pictures of my cat.”
“She’s our cat! I’m her papa!”
“Jin, she poops in my apartment.”
“And I bring her her favorite wet food!”
“Her cat litter is in my slippers!”
“Um, Dr. Kim. Dr. (L/N).” Nurse Jana gives you a little bow when she says your name, then turns to Jin. “Sorry if I’m interrupting. They just finished Claudia’s CT scan and you said you wanted to talk to the radiologist when they were done.”
“Alright, I’ll be there in a sec,” he says, and she nods before scurrying off to complete her next task. “We’re not done with this conversation; we really need to outline the specifics of Dumpling’s custody. I’ll see you for lunch.” He narrows his eyes at you, pursing his lips, before dramatically spinning on his heels and dashing towards radiology.
Even though you roll your eyes you can’t help but laugh. No matter what time of day or what terrible trauma is plaguing you, Jin’s laughter and humor has always been infectious. Soju, beer, and the occasional edible aside, he’s been your saving grace since your first year of med school. He brought you egg salad sandwiches and gatorade when you forgot to eat during finals week. He put together a little sickness pack (Sprite, chicken noodle soup, a crocheted blanket by his mother) for you when you caught the flu in your fourth year. He forced you to come out to dinner and drinks when you got a particularly shitty grade on the group project you worked so hard on and subsequently hid away in your dorm for an entire weekend. He knew when you needed a break, would come over with whatever goofy romcom his roommate’s girlfriend had left behind, two bags of popcorn, and an eight pack of Mike’s Hard Lemonade.
You know you’re lucky — not everyone gets a Seokjin. You suppose you’re lucky, that if you have to have joint custody of your beloved cat with anyone, it’s with Jin.
You’re yanked out of your trip down memory lane when someone claps their hand on your shoulder, whipping you back into reality. “Dr. (Y/N)! There you are!” Jimin offers you both a smile and a warm cup of coffee, both of which you accept gratefully.
“There’s my Mimi! My favorite nurse,” you coo, tussling his hair.
He swats your hand away, but he’s still grinning fondly at you. “I couldn’t miss my favorite doc’s first day of being a real doctor.”
You give him a pointed look. “Excuse me, I’ve been a real doctor—”
“I know, I know. You know I’m just teasing you.” Now he’s tussling your hair, and if it weren’t for the handful of hot coffee in your hands, you’d be swatting at him. “So are you ready to get to work? I just brought back a patient with a facial laceration.”
You wince. “Kid?”
“19. Playtime with grandma’s pomeranian got a little rough.” You wait for him to tell you he’s joking, but it never comes. “She seems to be in good spirits. I’m a little worried about her left eye, though. We’ll probably have to consult with ophthalmology. Maybe oculoplastics.”
“That’s rough,” you sigh, as you sip your coffee. “Hope the ophthalmologist on call isn’t an asshole. Alright, where is she?”
It’s raining.
“The weatherman was wrong,” he grumbles, glaring into the downpour. It doesn’t look like it’s going to let up anytime soon, no matter how much he glowers and swears, and — he steals a glance at his watch — he doesn’t have any more time to spare.
“You’re going to the hospital, right?” Ashley, his coworker, asks him. Unlike him, she came prepared with an umbrella. “I’m meeting up with a couple others at the bridge. There’s supposed to be a pretty big accident.” The bridge is in the opposite direction of the hospital; she simpers apologetically, as though it’s her fault he decided to trust the lying weatherman.
“I’ll be fine,” he says, sighing. He has to get his hat and coat dry-cleaned anyway. What’s a little extra rain? “See you around.”
“See ya, Agust. Drinks on me next time, okay?” She gives him a two finger salute before she goes skipping off with her umbrella, her pink hair swaying behind her.
The rain is worse than he thought. By the time he makes it through the ER doors, he’s drenched from head to toe, the droplets rolling off the rim of his hat and pooling into a small pond around him. No one pays him or the slippery floor hazard he’s making any mind, all the triage nurses focusing on new patients, and people waiting to be seen slumping against family members. They’re too caught up with their own concerns to pay attention to the man dressed in black.
He reaches into his coat pocket and withdraws a blank envelope. Inside is a white card, and on the card is a name, age, and date written in red ink.
Jonathan Tomlinson, 72, Birthday May 4, 1948
Death Day September 1, 2020, hemorrhagic stroke
Agust hopes that Jonathan doesn’t put up a fight like the last one did; for one, he doesn’t want to have to call in backup and, more importantly, he has an appointment to sign a lease in two hours. Apartments in the city have been going as soon as twenty minutes after a listing goes up, and if he has to spend another month on Jungkook’s couch he is going to lose it.
It’s a busy day in the ER today. He walks by a number of grieving families, which makes him double check and make sure that he just has the one name card. “Maybe just a lot of close calls today,” he thinks.
It takes him ten minutes to find Jonathan Tomlinson, who is in the very last room at the end of the hall. No family is seated outside of his room; maybe they’re all inside, mourning. Exhaling, Agust tucks Jonathan’s name card back into his pocket and braces himself for the confrontation.
The door opens, and you stagger out of the room, haggard, bleary-eyed, pale. You make direct eye contact with him — and before he can even register it, he feels tears gathering in his eyes, one coursing down the smooth curve of his cheek.
Immediately, your brow furrows in sympathy. “You must be Mr. Tomlinson’s family,” you say, voice soft, like you’re talking to a child. “I’m so glad you’re here. I— we were worried no one was going to come. I… I’m so sorry.”
You must be the doctor, he thinks, as he eyes your (coffee-stained?) white coat and navy blue scrubs. But how do you… “You can see me?” he says.
“Yes?” you answer, confused.
He reaches up, wondering if he lost his hat at some point during his search, but it’s still nestled comfortably on his head. What is happening?
“Sir, I know you must be upset—” You reach for him, but Agust quickly pulls his hands out of your reach. Briefly, you look hurt, and he feels a ping of guilt. “I know you must be upset,” you say again. “We did everything we could, but…” You shake your head, forlorn, and release a long sigh. “I’m so sorry. I… I can give you a moment.” You gesture towards the door, waiting for a couple seconds, before departing with a respectful bow of your head. Before you turn the corner, he catches you glancing at him over your shoulder.
Agust continues to stand there, his current task at hand briefly forgotten. He withdraws one hand from his pocket, wipes away at the stray tears still lingering on his skin. For some reason, his chest feels tight. “Who was that?”
Later, when your first shift as a licensed Emergency Room physician is over, when Jimin is putting together dinner and Jin is pouring you a glass of wine, you find yourself thinking about the man dressed in black. The wide-brimmed hat, the full suit and tie, the trench coat, the shiny shoes — he looked like he was dressed for a funeral. “Maybe he already knew, inside,” you think. Still, people don’t usually come to the ER in funeral garb; it’s a little presumptive, if not morbid. More than his odd wardrobe choice, however…
He was crying.
You expect to see tears in the ER, but this just seemed… different. And he’d seemed surprised, too.
“I know I wasn’t looking hot, but I don’t think I was so ugly I’d make someone cry.” You frown, suddenly feeling quite offended, and you take a generous gulp of red wine.
“What’s bothering you?” Jin asks, nudging you with his elbow.
Jimin gives him a pointed look as he snaps the tea towel at Jin. “Are you kidding me?” he mouths.
Jin just looks affronted. “What!?” he mouths back.
Jimin presses his lips together, narrowing his eyes, and Jin finally shrinks back. “No tact,” he mutters. He wiggles in between you and Jin, effectively knocking him out of the way so that he can wrap you in a hug.
You elicit a small “oof!” of surprise, your confusion switching from how you made a grown man cry with just a look to how you ended up in Jimin’s arms.
“Things like that happen every day, all the time, (Y/N),” he says comfortingly, softly.
You blink. “What are you talking about?”
Now he’s looking at you with deep, genuine concern, and you’re worried that you actually do look bad enough to make someone cry. “We lose patients every day. We can’t save all of them. Sometimes they come to us too late, and— We can only do our best, and—”
You flush, realizing why Jimin is trying to give you a pep talk. “Oh, no, no, Jimin, it’s okay, I’m not— I mean, of course I’m upset, of course I’m sad about that patient, but he’s not—” God, of course you’re upset that you watched a patient flatline today — you’ve watched patients flatline more than a handful of times during your medical education — and it’s terrible every time. It’s an outcome you can never be fully prepared for, and every time it happens, no matter how inevitable it is, it’s a tragedy. Of course you’re upset about Mr. Tomlinson’s death.
But that’s not the reason behind your current pout, and at this point you’re too embarrassed to tell your best friends the real reason. You watched a patient die today — should you really be concerned about how you looked after?
“Can we just eat dinner?” you ask, the request coming out in a squeak.
Still believing that you’re caught up in the mourning that comes with losing a patient, Jimin and Jin acquiesce, setting the table with non-inflammatory comments about the endless rain and the upcoming weekend. The conversation continues over Jimin’s comforting kimchi stew, and while you contribute with an occasional non-committal “uh-huh” or “yeah,” you still find yourself thinking about that man.
Who, you are now realizing, was not in the room when you came back to Mr. Tomlinson’s room. You went to the break room for fifteen minutes to give him some time to say goodbye and grieve, but when you came back, he wasn’t there. You were so caught up in the momentum of things — talking to the nurses, consulting other doctors, setting up the body for transfer to the morgue — that you’d hadn’t even thought how strange it was that he’d left. “Where’d he go?” you whisper.
“Where’d who go?” Jin asks, and you realize your thought was not confined to the inside of your head.
You feel your cheeks burn, but you attribute it to the wine. “Mr. Tomlinson’s family.” His son? Brother? Cousin? Were they even blood related? Or maybe he was just a friend. He looked young, though, your age if not a couple years older. “I ran into him right after, and it looked like he wanted some time alone with him. He wasn’t there when I got back.”
Jimin purses his lips thoughtfully. “His family? I don’t remember anyone coming for him. Are you sure he wasn’t there for someone else?”
“He was walking right up to the door. And…” He was crying. Why would he cry over a stranger? “I’m pretty sure he was there for him.”
“What’d he look like?” Jin asks.
“Well, he was in a suit, and had a hat — all black. Also a trench coat, but I don’t think it was helping very much because it looked like he’d just come in from the rain. His hair was—”
“Black?” Jimin suggests.
“Yes.”
“Was it a priest?” Jin asks. “Maybe he was coming to say last rites, or something.”
“Isn’t that supposed to happen before they die?” says Jimin.
“Could just be bad timing.”
“I don’t think he was a priest,” you say, cutting in before they can get even further carried away. “Don’t they have, like, collars? Or whatever. I don’t know!” You huff indignantly when they chortle at you. “Anyway, I don’t think he was a priest. I’m pretty sure he wasn’t.”
“Well, I don’t remember seeing anyone who looked like this priest-not priest,” Jimin says. “But also I miss a lot of things when I’m running around.”
For some reason, you think this stranger is hard to miss — though you can’t forget the surprise on his face when you acknowledged him. “You can see me?” he’d said.
“Maybe,” Jin says, and he’s already cracking up before he can deliver his own joke, “you just saw the Grim Reaper.”
Jimin scoffs loudly before slapping Jin’s arm. “Don’t be so morbid!”
Jin pouts as he rubs his stinging skin. “What? I feel like a hospital would be a great hangout spot for the Grim Reaper. He’d definitely get a lot of business.”
“Dude, come on.”
“Forget it,” you say, sighing. “I was on my sixth cup of coffee and I was probably just hallucinating.” If it was, he was a very vivid hallucination. Even if he recoiled from your touch, his presence felt very real. (While reviewing the details of the stranger — the gold chain attached to the button of his vest, the crisp lines of his white shirt, his perfectly knotted tie, the way his dark fringe fell across his forehead — you miss the concerned look exchanged between Jin and Jimin.) “I don’t wanna talk about work anymore; I’m gonna be back there in twelve hours.”
“Yeah!” Jin says. “Let’s talk about your upcoming date with Jana’s friend! That, uh, civil litigation lawyer.”
Jimin’s eyes widen comically. “You have a date with a lawyer?”
You take in a deep, calming breath, before slowly releasing it, all the while glowering at your best friend, who merely replies with a guilty grin. Honestly, you can’t even really blame him; at this point, you know Jin is incapable of keeping a secret. “Jana said he just got out of a long term relationship and he’s looking to get back into dating,” you say.
“And… you offered to take on that task?” he asks dubiously.
“Okay, not just, it’s been, like, a few months or something… Anyway, no, I didn’t offer. Jana showed him a couple pictures of me, and he seemed interested and…” The tips of your ears start to burn in embarrassment. “Look, I was gonna say no because I’ll be coming off a shift, but she said the restaurant reservation was already booked and he was excited and I couldn’t just say no—”
“Hey, hey, hey, hey,” Jimin intervenes, holding his hands up in surrender, “you don’t need to explain yourself to me!”
“I feel like I did!”
He juts out his lower lip, donning an apologetic expression, before leaning over to wrap his arounds around your shoulder. “I’m sorry, baby,” he says, ignoring your yelp of surprise when a piece of tofu drops from your spoon back into the soup. “I just don’t want you to be the rebound for some loser.”
“He’s a lawyer!” Jin says.
“A civil litigation lawyer,” Jimin says. “Which means he probably drives a Jag, has a different expensive watch for every day, and thinks that liking cigars is a personality trait.”
“... Are you projecting?”
“No!” Jimin definitely doth protest too much, but neither you nor Jin are willing to tell him that, not with the current frenzied look in his eyes. “All I’m saying is that my fav doc deserves the best, not some dude who hasn’t been on a first date since the 80s.”
“I’m pretty sure he’s our age,” you mumble.
“And both of you know that Jana’s friends are weird,” he says, and you definitely can’t refute that. Her last Halloween party introduced you to a lot of... interesting personalities that you (gratefully) have not run into again. “Are you sure you can’t back out? My roommate knows a guy — he owns a fried chicken restaurant. You love fried chicken!”
“Are you trying to get me to date this guy so you can get free fried chicken?” you ask, laughing.
“That would be nice.”
Jin snorts with laughter. “Hey, while you’re at it, I also love fried chicken.”
“Okay, I’ll keep that in mind,” you say, ducking out from underneath Jimin’s embrace. “But no, I can’t back out — I already committed! That would be rude, Mimi.” You give his upper arm a chastising poke. “Maybe not all civil litigation lawyers are boring car and cigar enthusiasts.”
“Maybe,” Jimin says, though he sounds unconvinced.
Jin looks absolutely serious when you look at him next. “I really think you should go with the fried chicken guy.”
Once the papers are signed and Agust hands over his first month’s payment to the lease manager, the movers get to work, and within an hour everything in the U-Haul is in his new loft. He begins to unpack, starting with his endless book collection; he doesn’t realize how big of a mistake this is until it’s 10:30 and he still has two untouched boxes of books to sort through. He relents with a sigh after another half hour, resigned to the fact that he’s just going to have to make a day (or weekend — or week) of it, and falls back onto his couch with a cold bottle of Heineken.
He can’t stop thinking about the pretty doctor he met in the ER. He tried to push her to the back of his mind while meeting with Jonathan Tomlinson (who fortunately came along without any fight — though the somberness was almost just as upsetting as if he’d come kicking and screaming), tried to ignore the thoughts and questions threatening to interfere with the rest of his day. He got through the tea ceremony easily and quickly enough, but sitting and listening to the lease manager ramble on about terms and conditions was not conducive to keeping him distracted.
Now that he’s sitting in his own home, alone, he has no choice but to confront the thoughts and questions about the pretty ER doctor.
“She could see me. She saw me.” Such a simple, yet fully loaded statement. She saw him. Spoke to him. Tried to touch him. “She saw me. Saw me,” he murmurs.
But he’d been wearing his hat, so no human should have seen him. No human did see him — except for her. He saw the acknowledgement in her eyes, knew that she was addressing him, was speaking to him. But how?
His eyes drift over to his hat, which is hanging off a hook of the coat hanger by the door. “How?”
She was definitely alive. Granted, Agust has had few interactions with lost or wandering souls, but those situations have made him very aware of the energy of those beings. She was alive.
And she SAW him.
He takes a long swig of his beer.
More inexplicably… he’d cried. For the life of him, he can’t think of how or what or why. The tears began before he could acknowledge them, fell before he realized they were even there. And now, hours later, his chest still feels tight, like someone reached inside of him and grasped his heart.
He’s never seen her before. At least, he doesn’t think so. He’s been a Grim Reaper for almost a thousand years now, has seen and met millions of souls — but no one has evoked an emotion from him like she has. He’d remember her, or at least this feeling, he thinks.
He thinks about reaching out to Ashley, Jungkook even, to see if this is something he should be worried about. But it’s 11:00 now, so Ashley is probably asleep, and honestly Jungkook would probably just send back some smart ass question about the last time Agust got laid.
No, he decides, as he lays back on the couch. He’ll forget about it, will forget about the pretty doctor and the confusing emotions, eventually, and it’ll be business as usual.
But when he closes his eyes, when he finally sleeps, his chest tightens, and he sees — clear as day — the furrow of concern on her brow, and he thinks so much about how he wants to smooth her worries away.
The boys stay for popcorn and a movie, but Jimin leaves halfway through when he gets a call from his roommate who locked herself out of their apartment. After two more glasses of wine, Jin ends up crashing on your couch and, to your dismay, Dumpling curls up next to him. “Traitor,” you whisper to your cat, as you carefully drape your favorite throw blanket over the two of them. (You swear that both of them smile in their sleep.)
You tidy up around the apartment, sticking dishes in the dishwasher and throwing kimchi-stained towels in the washing machine. Even though work approaches with every tick of the clock, you busy yourself with trivial tasks, knowing that your mind won’t be able to rest with the way it’s currently racing. Hopefully, you’ll tire yourself out eventually (and in the meanwhile, also have a spotless loft).
After you bring out the trash, you pause in the doorway, your attention captured by the full moon hanging high and bright in the sky. You find yourself smiling, captivated by its effervescent glow.
And as you’re admiring the gentle beauty of the full moon, you realize that you’re not the only one.
Usually, seeing a strange man at one thirty in the morning would evoke a much more aggressive and frightened reaction than the calm acquiescence you’re currently experiencing.
You blink at the man from the ER, who is now in just ⅔ of his three piece suit. He blinks back at you, equally surprised, and somehow equally as calm. (The effects of the moon, you suppose.)
Maybe it’s the leftover tipsiness from the red wine, but you find yourself waving at the familiar stranger. Your chest feels tight, and your heartbeat pounds in your ears. If this is just another chance meeting… What strange odds you’ve had today.
Slowly, reluctantly, like he’s unsure of himself, he raises his own hand in greeting. He looks shy, you think, and very, very cute. Maybe it’s just the moon, or maybe he’s actually blushing.
“Are you just a figment of my imagination?” you ask. The words leave your mouth before they can even register in your mind, and as soon as they do, you quickly slap your hands to your lips in embarrassment. Tipsy words may be sober thoughts, but that doesn’t mean that they need to be shared!
Maybe it’s just a trick of the light, but you swear the corners of his lips quirks upwards in an amused smile. “I was going to ask you the same thing,” he says.
You can’t help but laugh, your embarrassment slightly eased by his playing along.
You’re closer to him now. Maybe you edged towards him, or him towards you, but the space between you has gotten significantly smaller, which makes it that much more obvious that he really is physically here, that’s it’s not just the $9 Malbec. “So,” you say, leaning against the railing, “you must be my new neighbor. The one who’s been making all that noise today.”
You’re not sure if you should be ashamed or absolutely endeared by the way his cheeks burn red. “I’m so sorry,” he says immediately, horrified. “I— The movers made sure they were finished with all the furniture before five, but— I didn’t realize how heavy the boxes with books are, and I couldn’t get my grip just right, so— I’m so sorry—”
And now you’re horrified, because he’s so obviously and genuinely upset, and the last thing you want him to think is that you’re that asshole neighbor who pounds against the wall anytime he makes any noise. (Especially since Jin gets so rowdy while watching The Bachelorette that you’ve had to worry about the complaints being filed against you.) “I was kidding, I was kidding!” You clap a hand to your mouth when you hear your voice echo down the walkway, reminding you of how late it is. “I was kidding,” you repeat yourself, this time in a whisper. “You were actually pretty quiet, I was impressed.”
He looks a little dazed, like he’s trying to figure out if you’re still joking with him. You give him a reassuring, if not slightly guilty, simper, and his shoulders relax.
“By the way…” You trail off, as you think better about completing your question. Is now really the time to bring up Mr. Tomlinson? It’s after midnight, you should be asleep, you basically just met your brand new neighbor — death probably isn’t an ideal icebreaker in most situations, and definitely not this one. “Um, nevermind.”
“What is it?” he asks. His voice is soft. Not like he’s whispering, or trying to be quiet, but gentle. It’s soothing.
“I just…” You shake your head. Usually it’s you berating Jin for lacking any tact. “Earlier, I… Well, I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I feel like I didn’t really get the chance to, and I just… I’m sorry. For your loss.”
He blinks. “My loss?” And as your expression morphs into something akin to fear (because how could you have made so many social faux pas in just five minutes), he realizes what you’re talking about. “Oh! Oh, you think I— Oh, no, no. No, I think you have the wrong idea. I didn’t know— I didn’t know Mr. Tomlinson, in fact… Err.” He trails off, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, I didn’t know him personally.”
“Oh. But, you were there for him?”
A pause. Then, “Yes.”
A suspicious answer, but one you decide to let slip considering all your slips of tongue tonight. Maybe it was just some kind of religious thing, in which case, this is definitely not an appropriate conversation topic, especially with your new neighbor.
“Well,” you say, “I should get to bed. Back to work tomorrow. I’m glad I got to meet you outside of the ER.” The corner of his mouth ticks upwards. “I’m (Y/N).” You extend your hand as you wait for his name, but after a couple seconds of uncomfortable silence, you add, “And you’re…?”
“I’m…” He stares at your hand, and briefly you’re reminded of the way he so quickly pulled away from your grasp earlier. You quickly retract your hand, and he almost looks guilty. “Agust.”
“Agust,” you repeat, and he bobs his head in affirmation. “Nice to meet you. I’ll see you around.”
“See you,” he says, offering a wave. “Good night, (Y/N).”
Your heart startles at his use of your name. “Good night, Agust.” You catch his soft smile before it disappears behind your door. Behind you, Jin stirs in his sleep and murmurs something about shitty break room coffee, but otherwise remains deep in his slumber.
You lay in bed, tucked under your blankets, but even when you close your eyes, you think of Agust’s tears, and his smile.
