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The first time Seungmin got hurt—really, truly, can’t-be-patched-up-with-the-dilapidated-Agency-issued-medkit-they-keep-crammed-at-the-bottom-of-Jisung’s-backpack hurt—they were in Busan, orchestrating an unexpected and tragic accident for a man who had gotten too comfortable playing puppet master with the wrong people. Because it turned out that when an organization has protection through foreign governments, the yakuza, the yakuza lite, and “I can’t believe it’s not the yakuza,” they raise enough red flags to freak the Seoul gangs out just enough to send in hired spies, like Seungmin and his unit, to “fix” the problem before it grew any bigger.
The accident had gone off without a hitch, the kind of silent and seamless job that almost made Seungmin feel a quiet sort of pride in his work. The target’s car had skidded exactly where it should have, the oil slick blending perfectly into the worn asphalt, and within seconds, it was all over.
Then Jisung happened.
It wasn’t even the worst screw-up they’d dealt with, but it was definitely up there. Somehow, Jisung had ended up in the worst possible place at the worst possible time, holding the kind of illegal weaponry that could send their entire operation up in flames, or at least land them all in handcuffs for the foreseeable future. The police had been too quick and too suspicious and all too interested in the twitchy guy clutching a military-grade taser like it was a stress toy.
And, of course, Jisung had done what Jisung always did.
He opened his mouth.
A snarky, ill-advised one-liner had slipped out before Seungmin or Minho could slap a hand over his face and things had gone downhill from there.
In the back of his mind, Seungmin can almost see the PowerPoint presentation Chan will insist on giving them after they report back titled “The structural integrity of your ribs really aren't worth the satisfaction of delivering that witty one-liner, so maybe think things through for one, single minute before doing something stupid.”
But right now, it didn’t matter.
If Chan wanted a team that knew when to keep their mouths shut, he should have started recruiting directly from law enforcement washouts like any other respectable gang. Hell, he’d probably have to take himself off the roster if that was what he really wanted.
Seungmin barely had time to process the sheer stupidity of it all before things escalated. When Jisung went down after a well-timed hit, Seungmin jumped into the fray without hesitation, blatantly ignoring Minho’s deep, soul-weary sigh in the background.
Seungmin always fought slightly irritated, like it was a personal offense that anyone would dare to complicate his day, but despite that lingering exasperation, he had moved quickly, disarming one officer with a twist of his wrist and knocking another back with a well-placed elbow. For a fleeting moment, it had seemed like they might get out of it clean.
Then backup arrived.
They might have been able to handle it without bloodshed, but once inside the police car, Jisung decided to double down on the personality flaws of the officers. One of the officers had started getting creative with insults, and, naturally, Seungmin had tried to use his handcuffs as a weapon. That had earned him a rough shove into the seat and an aggressive restraint from the second cop.
Minho, watching the scene with the kind of detached amusement that usually meant he was two steps ahead, had leaned forward and, in his most harmless voice, antagonized the officers further.
“You should really hit harder if you don't want us to beat you senseless.”
The third officer had drawn his gun at that, which, to be fair, was a reasonable reaction when Minho started speaking in that creepy, measured way of his. Seungmin probably hadn’t needed to critique the man’s gun handling, except that, actually, he really had.
Long story short, it had been fine.
They had dealt with it.
Jisung had taken a picture with Minho in front of the burning police car to add to his collection of successful mission memories. The image had come out nearly perfect. Jisung smirked, carefree, and Minho’s hand caught mid-motion, curving over the side of Jisung’s neck, fingertips almost grazing his throat.
It was a stupid photo, but it looked like the exact kind of thing Chan would print out and keep in their training room to “boost team morale,” or something equally sappy and cheesy.
Seungmin thought all of this while half-conscious from blood loss slumped on the side of the road.
Maybe, just maybe, celebratory-picture-time should have come long after make-sure-all-the-angry-cops-are-really-super-ultra-dead-and-also-unarmed time.
They were all super-ultra-dead now. Seungmin had made sure of it, right before deciding that the ground was a much better place to be than anything even remotely upright.
Minho had suggested taking him to a hospital. Seungmin had argued, of course.
He lost. Of course.
“It’s just a graze, hyung,” Seungmin whined, dragging his feet as they crossed the hospital parking lot. “Some painkillers, some gauze, some tape, and I’m fine.”
He was leaning on Jisung for balance, the world tilting unhelpfully.
“Do you even know how many questions we’re going to raise?” he continued complaining, never one to give up easily.
“Fewer than if you die on an airplane,” Minho replied. “Our IDs are still good. We’re taking the risk.”
Inside, the waiting room was a mess of crying children and Seungmin's head immediately started hurting. Minho left him and Jisung in a pair of hard plastic chairs and went to get the paperwork. Jisung rested his head against the wall, eyes shut, and Seungmin found himself counting the slow rise and fall of his chest.
Minho returned, handed Seungmin a pen, and watched him start filling out the forms. Then, without a word, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a slightly crumpled pack of honey candies. Seungmin’s favorite.
Seungmin blinked slowly.
“You carry these?”
Minho shrugged, looking away like it didn’t matter.
“You get weird when your blood sugar’s low.”
It was a small thing, but Seungmin popped one into his mouth anyway, letting the familiar taste anchor him.
Jisung snickered.
“Wow. Minho hyung does have a heart.”
“Shut up,” Minho said, though his eyes lingered on Seungmin longer than necessary.
They waited. Seungmin let himself relax, just a little.
Seungmin let the honey candy melt on his tongue, feeling the sticky sweetness coat his throat. It didn’t do much for the throbbing in his side, but it gave him something to focus on besides the way the fluorescent lights flickered overhead, or the rhythmic tapping of Minho’s fingers against his knee. It was almost comforting, in a way that annoyed him.
Minho wasn’t even looking at him, flipping absently through an outdated issue of a magazine, but Seungmin could feel the weight of his attention in the way he hovered. It had been like this for a while now, Minho orbiting around him and Jisung like they were some problem he was determined to fix but too stubborn to admit he cared about.
Jisung, for his part, wasn’t hovering.
He was leaning.
Pressed up against Seungmin’s side in a way that always made it impossible to tell if it was an accident or intentional. He smelled like smoke and gunpowder, and Seungmin could feel his warmth bleeding through his clothes. Every time Seungmin shifted, Jisung adjusted with him.
Seungmin sighed, letting his head tip back against the wall.
“You don’t both have to sit here and babysit me.”
Minho didn’t look up from his magazine.
“We’re not babysitting you. We’re supervising to make sure you don't die on us.”
“That’s the same thing,” Seungmin muttered, flicking a finger against Jisung’s knee. “And you. Stop drooling on my shoulder.”
Jisung hummed sleepily, unmoving.
“Mmm. No.”
Seungmin rolled his eyes but didn’t push him off.
Minho flipped another page.
“Let him be. He’s had a long and stressful day. You almost died.”
Seungmin groaned.
“It was a graze, hyung.”
Minho finally looked up, fixing him with that infuriatingly calm stare.
“A graze that nearly bled you out on the side of the road. If you hadn’t been too busy playing action hero, maybe we wouldn’t be here.”
Seungmin opened his mouth to argue, but Minho held up a hand, cutting him off.
“Save it. You’re already stuck here. Let the nurse poke at you, and then we can go back to pretending none of us have any emotions whatsoever.”
Seungmin frowned, biting down the immediate protest that rose in his throat.
Minho wasn’t wrong. But it was easier to keep moving, easier to stay sharp, to be efficient than to sit in a sterile waiting room with Jisung’s weight pressed against his side and Minho’s eyes too soft when he thought Seungmin wasn’t looking.
“Fine,” Seungmin mumbled, shifting uncomfortably. “But I don’t need both of you hovering.”
Minho shrugged.
“We’re a package deal.”
Seungmin looked over at Jisung, who was now fully leaning into his side, a content little smile tugging at his lips.
He sighed.
“Yeah. I figured.”
Silence settled between them again, and Seungmin let himself relax, just a little. His eyes slipped shut, exhaustion creeping in despite the sterile hospital lights.
Seungmin remembers the first time he’d joined Minho and Jisung’s unit, how the two of them had moved in sync with a familiarity that went beyond training. There had been no doubt in his mind that they were together. The way Minho’s gaze softened when Jisung spoke and the easy way Jisung leaned into Minho’s space like it was his own was too comfortable for them to be anything else.
It should have made Seungmin feel like an outsider, but it never did.
It was a strange thing, to feel like he belonged without ever having to fight for it. Seungmin had spent most of his life proving his worth, making himself indispensable, and crafting himself into someone who couldn’t be left behind.
But Minho and Jisung had never needed convincing. They had just let him in, easily and without question.
The worst part was that Seungmin didn’t know how to talk about it. It wasn't friendship, not exactly. It wasn’t love in the traditional sense, either. It was something in between, something that settled beneath his ribs and warmed him even when he was sitting in a too-cold waiting room with Minho tapping his fingers against his skin and Jisung pressed too close to his side.
He must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew, Minho’s voice was low and close to his ear.
"You're such a pain in the ass, you know that?"
Seungmin cracked one eye open to find Minho leaning in, his face half-shadowed by the dim light.
"You’re a pain in the ass,” Seungmin retorted.
Minho smirked, a small, familiar quirk on his lips.
"But I have a nice one, though."
"Debatable," Seungmin murmured, but the edge of his mouth twitched, just a little.
Jisung shifted beside him, blinking blearily.
"Are you two flirting? Because I want it on record that I am literally right here."
Minho didn’t even hesitate.
“I'm doing emotional damage control.”
“Pretty sure it’s flirting,” Jisung yawned, settling his head back on Seungmin’s shoulder. “I’ll allow it, though. You’re cute when you’re worried, hyung.”
Minho rolled his eyes, but there was no real bite behind it.
“Shut up, Sungie.”
Seungmin shifted, feeling the pull of his side, and winced. Minho caught the movement immediately, his hand, warm and steady, landing on Seungmin’s wrist.
“Easy, Minnie,” Minho murmured, his thumb pressing lightly against the pulse point.
It was too much. The concern, the touch, the weight of Jisung against him, and Minho watching him like he might break apart. Seungmin let out a frustrated sigh, shaking Minho off.
“I’m fine, hyung,” he grumbled.
Minho didn’t move back.
“I know.”
Seungmin stared at him, and Minho stared right back, and for once, neither of them tried to fill the silence with snark or avoidance.
Jisung, observant in his own sleepy way, looked between them and groaned dramatically.
“Oh my god, can you two just kiss already?”
Seungmin shot him a glare, and Minho laughed under his breath.
“Patience, baby,” he said, voice light but something else was laced into his voice that Seungmin wasn’t sure he was ready to name just yet.
But maybe, just maybe, he didn’t mind the waiting so much.
When his name is called they both go in with him. They don't ask, which he thinks he should resent, but they all know that if they had asked he would have had to say no. Not talking about their weirdly intimate relationships is really what makes them work together so well.
No communication is absolutely key.
The examination room smelled too clean, like it was covering up something rotten underneath. Seungmin sat stiffly on the edge of the paper-lined cot, the crinkle beneath him loud in the otherwise quiet space. Minho and Jisung flanked him like they always did. Jisung slouched against the wall with his arms crossed, eyes scanning the motivational posters peeling at the edges, and Minho stood with his hands in his pockets, deceptively casual but alert in a way only Seungmin, or maybe Jisung, would notice.
The nurse barely spared them a glance, too busy inputting information into the computer.
“Gunshot wound, right side,” she read aloud, not looking up. “No allergies. No medications.”
Seungmin nodded, his voice coming out quieter than he intended.
“Yeah.”
“Okay,” she said, typing rapidly. “And how did this happen?”
Jisung snorted from the corner, and Minho cut him off with a look before he could say something that was likely to be profoundly unhelpful. Seungmin glanced at them both, then settled on the well-practiced lie.
“Got caught up in a mugging.”
The nurse didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t argue. She handed him a gown, motioning for him to change, then disappeared through the curtain.
Seungmin sighed, staring at the thin hospital-issued fabric in his hands.
“Great.”
Jisung kicked the leg of the cot lightly.
“You want help?”
His tone was teasing, but Seungmin caught the flicker of concern beneath it.
“I’ve been shot, Jisung, not incapacitated. I don’t need help stripping.”
Minho made a noise low in his throat.
“Debatable.”
Seungmin rolled his eyes but stood, wincing as he peeled off his shirt. The fabric was soaked through and he felt the tug of dried blood against his skin. He didn’t need to look to know that Minho’s eyes were on him, cataloging his whole body.
“Stop staring,” Seungmin stated, but Minho didn’t move. "Don't make this weirder than it needs to be."
Instead, he reached out, tugging the gown from Seungmin’s hands and helping him slip it over his head with a gentleness that Seungmin didn’t know what to do with. Their fingers brushed for a second too long, and Minho’s hands lingered at his shoulders, steadying him.
The doctor came in a few minutes later. He spoke in clipped, professional tones, explaining the procedure while Minho and Jisung stood on either side like they were prepared to take him apart if he so much as looked at Seungmin wrong.
Seungmin barely listened, answering in short nods and hums, his fingers curling into the paper lining beneath him as the stitches began. It wasn’t the worst pain he’d felt, but it was enough to make him grit his teeth, enough to make his vision swim slightly.
Minho noticed.
His hand, warm and steady, landed on Seungmin’s knee, just briefly, but it was enough. Seungmin exhaled slowly, letting the tension drain from his shoulders bit by bit. He didn’t pull away.
Jisung’s voice broke the silence.
“So how long until he’s back to his usual charming self?”
The doctor barely spared him a glance.
“A week of rest, no heavy lifting. He’s lucky it’s just a graze.”
Minho snorted.
“He’s not good at taking orders.”
Seungmin shot him a glare, but Minho only smiled, soft and a little smug.
“But we’ll make sure he behaves,” Minho said, pinching the skin on Seungmin’s thigh.
“Fantastic,” Seungmin muttered under his breath, but the warmth in his chest betrayed him.
After what felt like an eternity, they were discharged with a bag of supplies and instructions that Seungmin fully intended to ignore. He stepped out into the night air, cool and sharp against his skin, and immediately regretted leaving the warmth of the hospital.
Jisung yawned dramatically, stretching his arms over his head.
“Well, that sucked. I vote we get food. You’re not dying anymore, right?”
Seungmin laughed.
“I was never dying, Sung.”
Minho rolled his eyes, but instead of arguing, he just reached into his pocket and pulled out another one of those honey candies, pressing it into Seungmin’s palm without a word.
Seungmin stared at it, then at Minho. He didn’t say thank you, and Minho didn’t expect him to. That was just how they worked.
Jisung grinned, nudging Seungmin’s shoulder.
“You know, for someone who claims he’s fine, you sure look like you’re about to collapse.”
“I’m not,” Seungmin said, but the way Minho’s hand hovered near his back told him they didn’t believe him.
Minho didn’t say anything, just quietly slid his arm around Seungmin’s waist, steady but not suffocating. Just enough to let him know he was there.
Seungmin sighed, giving in, just for a moment, leaning slightly into Minho’s side. Jisung fell in step beside them, arm winding around Seungmin from the other side.
It wasn’t much, but it was enough.