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sixeyesonathiel · 2 months ago

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a guide to ditching the world’s most persistent nerd!

CH04 – case study: identifying gojo satoru's type

pairing - nerd!gojo x baddie!reader

summary : gojo satoru has been the bane of your existence since kindergarten. you invited him to play during recess? he chose studying instead. you tried to give him chocolates? he rejected them for the sake of your dental health. you called him boring and never looked back.

years later, you’re a party girl with daddy issues, and he's the smartest, richest, greenest green flag at your elite university. when you're paired up for a project worth 60% of your final grade, you think you can slack off—except gojo keeps finding you at every exclusive club, dragging you back to work like the menace he is.

you flirt to distract him, he humors you. you push, he pulls. you seduce, he tucks your hair behind your ear and looks at you like you're the most precious thing in the world.

oh no.

tags -> modern au, university au, tooth rooting fluff with a side of light angst, unresolved romantic tension, suggestive themes, gojo satoru is a green flag menace, reader has issues, power struggles but gojo is unaware he's in one, forced proximity via group project, reader tries to ditch gojo satoru and fails spectacularly, pining disguised as irritation, rich kids and their rich kid problems, the art of denial, humor (i hope), eventual happy ending

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chapter summary : step four in ditching the world's most persistent nerd: do not let him steal your food, do not let him drink from your straw like he owns it, and absolutely do not let him flip your own trap back on you until you're suddenly the one planning a date.

monday morning, and the world remembers exactly who you are.

the moment your heels click against the pavement, heads turn, conversations stall, and admiration thickens in the air like expensive perfume. they watch—of course they do. how could they not? in a city of polished legacies and wealth-drenched surnames, you are a spectacle, a masterpiece in motion. black silk drapes over your body, dipping scandalously at the back, every step deliberate, every glance stolen in your wake a testament to your control. the gold chain of your bag glints under the morning sun, nails skimming over the cool metal as you exhale—bored, detached, untouchable.

and yet, a hand—too rough, too desperate—for your own liking, ruins the perfection.

“please, baby—just one more night, i swear—”

a grip on your wrist. tight, pleading. naoya zenin, heir to an empire that means nothing to you. his breath is uneven, his jaw tight, that arrogance you once found mildly entertaining now crumbling into something pathetic. you barely remember him—was it months ago? weeks? a forgettable night, an indulgence with an expiration date. but naoya, poor fool, still thinks your attention is something he can buy back.

“don’t do this,” he murmurs, voice dropping lower as if he has the right to be intimate. “tell me what i did wrong. i can fix it.”

your sigh is soft, practiced. slow enough to be cutting. with an elegant tilt of your head, you look down at him, gaze laced with something almost pitying. naoya zen’in, who has never been denied, never been left wanting, now stands before you as nothing more than another name to forget.

“naoya.” his name falls from your lips like an afterthought, like you are already done with him. “stand up. you’re embarrassing yourself.”

but he doesn’t.

instead—he drops to his knees.

gasps ripple through the crowd, scandal blooming like wildfire in hushed voices. a zen’in heir, kneeling? in public? unheard of. his peers—other heirs, legacies wrapped in old money and colder expectations—watch with thinly veiled amusement, a few pulling out their phones, eager to immortalize his disgrace. but naoya doesn’t care, doesn’t see the way his reputation fractures with every second he lingers on the ground.

“please,” he tries again, his voice raw with something close to desperation.

and you—oh, you laugh.

a soft thing, delicate yet cruel, wrapping around him like silk before tightening into a noose.

“oh, sweetheart…” your voice dips, low and syrupy, cutting through the stunned silence like the clean edge of a knife. “you can’t fix being forgettable.”

the air shifts.

someone chokes on their drink. others whisper, murmur, revel in the spectacle of naoya zen’in being reduced to nothing in the span of a breath. he flinches, something ugly flashing behind his eyes, but it doesn’t matter. your wrist slips effortlessly from his grasp, heels clicking as you turn away, leaving him kneeling in his disgrace.

this is where you belong—wanted, envied, feared.

the crowd still hums with the aftermath of naoya’s disgrace, whispers laced with admiration and well-hidden fear. you don’t need to look back to know the scene you’ve left behind—naoya, still kneeling, his pride shattered in broad daylight. you don’t spare him another thought. this is your domain, your world, where attention bends at your will, where men crumble with a glance, a word, a perfectly timed smirk. your victory is absolute.

except one person, the only person who should be reacting, doesn’t even look up from his phone.

gojo satoru sits on the bench a few feet away, posture relaxed, scrolling through whatever holds his interest more than you. his glasses catch the light as he idly taps at the screen, face unreadable, completely disengaged from the spectacle. no flinch, no barely concealed admiration, not even a flicker of acknowledgment. he doesn’t glance up. he doesn’t care.

and that?

that makes your teeth grind, your jaw tighten, something hot curling in your stomach. because for all the eyes on you, for all the reverence in the air, he remains unmoved, unaffected, untouched. and somehow, that pisses you off more than anything.

lunch is exactly how it should be.

your table is a constellation of the university’s elite—wealth, beauty, and power seated in effortless poise, as if this gathering were inevitable. the girls at your side embody perfection in different flavors, each a masterpiece of influence. shoko lounges, long fingers idly stirring an untouched kale salad, amusement curling at the edges of her lips as she absorbs the latest gossip. heir to a medical empire, a legacy carved in scalpels and sterile white halls, yet she prefers her nights drowned in neon lights and laughter thick with alcohol. mei mei, the quiet storm, never glances up from her phone, her world a battlefield of investments and acquisitions, real power plays that make her father’s advisors shift in their seats. utahime, delicate and deadly, chews exactly one cherry tomato and a single plain almond with the calculated grace of someone who can slip past any barrier, velvet rope or otherwise, without so much as a second glance.

and the men? they hover.

their attention drapes over your table like expensive silk, their gazes flickering between you and the girls beside you, waiting—hoping—for something as simple as a look, a word, a fleeting acknowledgment. every laugh you let slip makes them lean closer, every shift of your wrist brushing against your glass sends ripples through their restraint. they hang on to the edges of your presence like moths circling the glow of a flame, waiting for the inevitable moment they get too close. this is control. this is power. and you let it linger, basking in the unspoken reverence, the silent competition for a moment of your favor.

until gojo satoru stands up from his table.

you don’t need to look. you feel it.

a ripple in the air, subtle yet undeniable, as the world around you shifts focus. because it’s never just you watching him—it’s everyone else. conversations falter, stolen glances turn to blatant stares, admirers pause mid-breath as the inevitability of his presence overtakes the room. he doesn’t need to command attention; it bends toward him naturally, effortlessly, as if even gravity itself is subject to his whims. and the worst part? he doesn’t care. doesn’t chase it, doesn’t acknowledge it—just exists in it, a force of nature too accustomed to its own magnitude to be impressed.

but what’s worse? he’s walking toward you.

a breath of tension hovers over the cafeteria, unspoken yet deafening. the men around your table stiffen, pride twisting into something wary, something reluctant. the girls exchange glances, subtle but pointed, as if calculating the implications of this approach. gojo satoru does not come to you. he does not seek, he does not chase, he does not follow. and yet, here he is, weaving through the crowd with infuriating ease, steps unhurried, gaze sharp behind the glint of his glasses.

why is he here?

before you can even question him—he swaps the trays.

no hesitation, no explanation. just takes yours, sets his own down in front of you, and steals your croissant like it was never yours to begin with. the motion is so fluid, so casual, that for a second, you almost think you imagined it. but then he has the audacity to inspect it, like he’s judging the nutritional value of your choices, and something tight coils in your chest. around you, the air shifts—utahime’s fork pauses midair, shoko lowers her coffee like she’s bracing for impact, and mei mei hums, mildly entertained. the men around your table stiffen, their expressions flickering between confusion and outrage, because they don’t understand what just happened.

but you do.

“eat real food.” satoru says smoothly, tapping his fingers against the edge of his tray.

he doesn’t sit. instead, he leans against the table, weight shifted onto one foot, perfectly composed. like he’s just passing through. like he hasn’t just disrupted the delicate balance of power at your table. your world operates on control, on effortless admiration and quiet desperation, on men who trip over themselves for a single moment of your time. but satoru? satoru doesn’t just take—he decides. and this time, he’s decided that your daily diet of a croissant and iced coffee is unacceptable.

you blink. “did you just steal my croissant?”

“i traded it.” he corrects, lifting your iced latte and taking a sip—like it’s his.

pause.

your iced latte. your straw.

utahime’s eyes widen, shoko’s brows shoot up, and mei mei exhales an amused chuckle. someone further down the table chokes, and from the corner of your eye, you catch a girl whispering a scandalized, “indirect kiss?!” the men around you bristle, their thinly veiled adoration now edged with frustration, because not only did gojo satoru approached your table uninvited—he just touched something that was yours. the fact that you let him—or rather, haven’t ripped his throat out yet—only fuels their disbelief.

but you? you are seething.

not because it means anything. because it doesn’t. not because you care. because you don’t. but because of the pure, unfiltered audacity.

your fingers tighten around the fork, nails pressing into your palm, but your expression remains pristine, carefully schooled into something neutral. your gaze flicks over him, assessing, cataloging every infuriating detail—the smug curve of his lips, the relaxed set of his shoulders, the absolute nerve of him to act like this is normal. “that’s not what trading means.”

satoru, completely unbothered, takes another slow sip, like he’s savoring it. finally, he slides into the seat beside you, effortless, natural, like this was inevitable. his presence shifts the air again, disrupts the ecosystem of your table, sends a ripple of tension through the men still hovering. you know it. he knows it. but his gaze—sharp, assessing, cutting through the layers of performance—lingers just a second too long on you before he finally speaks.

“it is now.”

you exhale, slow and measured, fingers flexing against the table, resisting the very real urge to stab him with your fork. this is fine. totally fine. except—the cafeteria is still buzzing, the weight of too many stares pressing against your skin. naoya looks like he’s about to combust, the men around you are barely restraining their irritation, and the balance of power has tilted so effortlessly in satoru’s favor that you don’t even know how it happened.

satoru just smirks, fingers still tapping against your latte, fully aware that he’s just put himself at the center of your world—and isn’t planning to leave.

and while you’re still processing the sheer audacity of what just happened. satoru, completely unaffected began to speak.

“by the way, we got feedback from our professor about our introduction. we need to go over it later. you have no classes after lunch, right?” his tone is infuriatingly casual, as if this is a normal conversation, as if he didn’t just hijack your meal, steal your drink, and make himself comfortable at your table. he taps his fingers against your latte like he has every right to it, sipping lazily, his entire demeanor oozing ease. you barely hear him, too focused on the way his lips press against the straw, the way your name is still written neatly on the cup—small details that shouldn’t matter, that don’t matter, except they do. because no one does this to you. no one dares.

but satoru gojo is not just anyone.

your friends are watching.

because they have seen you work miracles. they have watched you break men with a smile, unravel them with the tilt of your head, reduce them to nervous, stammering fools with a single touch. they have witnessed ceos, heirs, trust fund babies practically trip over themselves for a shred of your attention, for the privilege of being acknowledged by you. and yet—satoru is still standing. still smirking. still entirely composed.

shoko’s nails tap against the table, slow and deliberate, as she exhales through her nose. utahime crosses her arms, frowning, unimpressed with the way this situation is unfolding. mei mei takes a slow sip of her drink, not looking up, but you know her well enough to recognize the calculated amusement in her stillness. the men at your table are watching too, stiff, visibly unsettled, because for the first time, you are not the one in control. and the worst part? satoru knows it.

“…gojo,” you deadpan, expression unreadable. “do you even like coffee?”

he hums, unfazed, taking another sip—mocking, infuriating. “i like messing with you.”

yor nails dig into your palm, but your expression does not waver. you cannot—will not—spend another few hours being academically held hostage at his condo, forced to endure his insufferable presence under the guise of productivity. you need an out, a way to tilt the power back in your favor, to make it clear that he does not get to do this. but your friends? they need a win.

so, you do what you do best. you deflect.

lean in. tilt your head. let your voice slip into something smooth, teasing, dangerous. a distraction, a trap—one you’ve set a hundred times before, one that always works. but beneath it, a thread of unease coils tight in your chest, a what if you refuse to acknowledge. because satoru is not like the others. he doesn’t stutter, doesn’t falter, doesn’t trip over himself to impress you. and after the way he’s effortlessly brushed off your advances before—gliding past them with practiced ease, like he’s untouchable—you know you need something bigger, something that will finally make him react.

so you go for the last resort.

“gojo,” you purr, voice light, teasing, perfectly crafted. “why do you always have time for me? shouldn’t a man like you be busy with… oh, i don’t know… a girlfriend?”

there. checkmate.

because for all his effortless charm, for all the attention he gets, gojo satoru has never publicly dated anyone. no rumors, no scandals, no fleeting relationships for the gossip circles to tear apart. which means, logically, this should throw him off. this should make him hesitate. this should, finally, be the moment where you have the upper hand.

your girls relax, smug, expectant. because this is it. this is where he’ll fold. where he’ll stammer, avert his eyes, get thrown off his game—like every other man before him. shoko takes a slow sip of coffee, already anticipating his fumble. utahime leans back in her seat, satisfied. mei mei, ever unreadable, watches with mild interest. the men at your table straighten, subtly hopeful, waiting for satoru’s inevitable failure.

but his lips simply quirk.

not flustered. interested. amused. a slow, deliberate shift, the corners of his mouth tilting upward like he’s savoring this, like he’s already decided how this is going to play out. the movement is lazy, almost imperceptible, but you catch the flicker of something sharp behind the glint of his glasses. pale blue eyes, keen and calculating, linger on you for a second too long—watching. waiting. you know that look. the same one he wears when he’s two moves ahead, when he knows he’s already won but wants to drag it out just to see you squirm.

“what, are you applying?” his voice is smooth, effortless, like the answer genuinely doesn’t matter to him. like this is just fun.

your breath hitches. so, so small, a sharp inhale barely masked by the background hum of the cafeteria—so subtle that no one else catches it. no one except him.

his head tilts slightly, gaze dipping lower, amused. his fingers, still wrapped around your stolen latte, tap against the cup in a slow, rhythmic pattern, as if counting down the exact number of seconds it will take for you to recover. you feel the weight of his attention pressing against your skin, feel the way the air between you shifts, charged and dangerous.

he’s waiting. for you to slip first.

your table freezes.

shoko actually chokes, coughing into her hand. utahime’s fork clatters against her plate. mei mei hesitates mid-sip, something flickering behind her sharp gaze. the men surrounding you look betrayed. because this isn’t how it’s supposed to go. satoru isn’t supposed to keep up. he’s supposed to stumble. he’s supposed to break.

but instead, he wins.

still, you don’t miss a beat. your expression remains perfectly schooled, your lips curling like you expected this, like you aren’t mildly panicking beneath the surface. “that depends,” you counter smoothly, voice light, playful. “are you hiring?”

there. you’re back in control.

your girls exhale, tension dissolving, the balance tipping in your favor once more. you’ve realigned the narrative, settled back into your element. a beat passes. satoru hums, adjusting his glasses, pale blue eyes flickering behind the lenses—assessing. considering.

“sure.”

you freeze.

your fingers curl against your lap, nails digging into your palm as you keep your expression pristine. not even a flicker of hesitation. but inside? your thoughts are a blur of static.

“…wait, what?” you blurt out, incredulous.

he tilts his head, completely unbothered, lifting your latte to his lips once more. “you wanted an out,” he says, as if this is the simplest thing in the world. another sip, another stolen moment of control. “so now you have a date. hope you pick a good place.”

your stomach drops.

this was not the plan.

shoko stares at you like you’ve personally wronged her. utahime’s mouth is actually open. mei mei is already calculating the implications of this disaster. the men around your table are reeling, the balance of power shifted so violently that they don’t know how to recover.

satoru simply turns to leave—far too satisfied with himself.

his stride is slow, unhurried, completely at ease as if he hadn’t just shattered the natural order of your world with a few simple words. he doesn’t even glance back, doesn’t check to see the damage he’s left behind, because he knows. he knows the cafeteria is still buzzing, voices hushed yet urgent, disbelief thick in the air.

“did she just—”

“—with gojo satoru?”

“—what just happened??”

your admirers? devastated.

naoya, still licking his wounds from earlier, looks like he wants to throw something. his jaw tightens, fingers curling into a fist, tension radiating off him in waves, but even he doesn’t dare speak. the men who once hung onto your every word are stiff, their carefully maintained composure cracking under the weight of what they just witnessed. because it wasn’t just that gojo satoru didn’t fall for you—it’s that he played you. and worst of all? he won.

your girls, however? silent.

calculating. reeling. this is wrong. this is not how this was supposed to go. they have seen you reduce men to nothing with a smile, leave them speechless, fumbling, desperate. you should be the one walking away victorious, leaving him dazed and ruined in your wake. but satoru? satoru strolled in, stole your drink, stole your time, stole a whole damn date—and left completely unscathed.

your fingers curl into your lap, nails pressing against your palm as you glare at his retreating figure. his glasses catch the light as he raises your latte to his lips, taking one final slow sip, knowing damn well you’re watching. your jaw clenches, blood simmering beneath your skin, irritation winding tight in your chest. this is not over. not by a long shot.

and so, with pure, unfiltered spite, you take an aggressive bite of the lunch he forced onto you. and the moment satoru exits the door, your girls close in like a board of directors preparing for crisis control.

they move fast—shoko nudging her coffee aside, utahime crossing her legs, mei mei setting her phone down with a deliberate click against the table. their attention is singular, sharp, trained on you as if you’re the breaking news headline of the hour. the air tightens, charged with a purpose too serious for something as ridiculous as gojo satoru just agreed to a date. they gather like a corporate crisis team—efficient, ruthless, ready to dissect every second of the disaster that just unfolded. but before the debrief can begin, before the first strike can be made, a more pressing matter demands their attention.

shoko straightens, lashes lowering, voice syrupy sweet. “gentlemen.”

every man within a five-meter radius stiffens.

the shift is immediate—conversations falter, movements still, a collective tension settling over the table like a held breath. you don’t have to look to know what’s coming. shoko only ever uses that tone when she’s about to drop a guillotine, and right now, her smile is all sharp edges and impending doom.

“we need you to leave.”

a pause. then—mutters, exchanged glances. confusion. indignation. hesitation.

“excuse me?” naoya scoffs first, ever the entitled one. his shoulders square, head tilting as if that might make him any less disposable. “i was here first—”

“cute,” utahime cuts in, tone sharp as the gleam of her manicured nails, casually popping a cherry tomato into her mouth. “but irrelevant.”

mei mei leans back, swirling her sugar-free oat latte, gaze barely flicking up. “it’s a ladies-only meeting. private.”

naoya glares. “we’re literally having lunch—”

“not anymore,” shoko chirps, lashes fluttering, voice light, effortless. “you can relocate. for her sake, of course.”

and at that—all eyes flicker to you.

the tension shifts. the resistance falters. because of course it does.

these men—heirs to empires, sons of political giants—wield more power than most people could dream of. but you? you are a different kind of untouchable. your presence alone shifts dynamics, commands rooms without effort, without force, without needing to demand anything at all. and when your chin tilts just slightly, when your eyes lower in disinterest, when your fingers tap idly against the table—they listen.

begrudgingly. bitterly. but they listen.

“fine.” one mutters, pushing back his chair.

“whatever.” another sighs, grabbing his untouched drink.

one by one, they leave. chairs scrape against the floor, conversations shift, the last remnants of male indignation hanging in the air like a bitter aftertaste. naoya lingers for a moment longer than necessary, like he’s considering some final act of defiance, but even he knows when he’s outnumbered. with a sharp exhale and a glare that could curdle milk, he turns on his heel and stalks off, tension rolling off him in waves. the cafeteria hums around you, but at your table? silence—heavy, expectant.

shoko clasps her hands together, satisfied. “excellent.”

she turns back, eyes gleaming, posture shifting as she slides effortlessly into the seat beside you. her gaze is sharp, cutting straight through your carefully maintained composure. “now—” she leans in, elbows resting against the table, voice a conspiratorial hush. “what the hell was that?”

utahime follows, practically vibrating with barely contained energy. “you have been keeping secrets. start talking.”

you sigh—long, dramatic, exhausted, like this entire conversation is beneath you. your fingers trail idly against the rim of your tray, gaze lowering just enough to feign disinterest. “it’s nothing.”

chaos. disbelief. outright rejection of your statement.

“NOTHING??” utahime gapes, gripping her fork like she’s about to stab something. “he just drank from your straw. in front of everyone.”

“naoya looked like he was going to cry,” shoko adds, deeply amused.

mei mei, ever the voice of calm devastation, swirls her latte, voice dripping with indulgent amusement. “sweetheart,” she muses, watching you over the rim of her cup, “do you understand what just happened? men would literally commit fraud for a chance to buy you a drink, and gojo just—”

you cut her off with a sharp flick of your wrist. “enough.”

a beat of silence. they all lean in further.

you exhale, slow and measured, like you’re about to gift them the rarest of treasures—your honesty. fingers tapping idly against the table, gaze flicking toward the exit where satoru disappeared moments ago.

finally, you meet their expectant stares, shoulders rolling back.

“fine.” you exhale, exasperated. “i’ll tell you.”

the entire table is locked in.

they lean forward as one, like sharks scenting blood in the water, their gazes sharp, expectant, ravenous for information. tension thrums between you, an unspoken understanding that whatever you say next will change everything. and so, with great reluctance, with an exhale meant to feign nonchalance but edged with something far too weighted—you finally tell them about your history with gojo satoru.

shoko is losing her mind.

“you mean to tell me—” she inhales sharply, hands slamming onto the table, rattling plates and silverware as she glares daggers at you “—that you have been fighting for your life against that man for years and you NEVER mentioned it?!”

utahime gasps, hands flying to her mouth as the realization clicks all at once. “you two have history?”

and then, chaos.

“this makes so much sense—”

“oh my god, that explains the way he looked at you like he knows—”

“wait, wait, wait—why does it feel like he’s been winning?”

you bristle. “he is not winning.”

the silence that follows is too long. too heavy.

mei mei squints, utterly unreadable, but her voice is smooth, calm—calculated. “are you sure?”

because that’s the thing, isn’t it?

satoru has been slipping through your fingers for years. since kindergarten, when he chose a math book over playing with you. since high school, when he sat at the top of the class, untouched, while you spiraled through the mess of your family, your reputation, your life. and now—now, at university, he still walks through your world like he owns it, like he belongs there, like you were the one who had to catch up.

he doesn’t fall. he doesn’t trip. he doesn’t crumble beneath the weight of your charm like every other man does.

and today?

he stole your drink.

he stole your time.

he stole a whole damn date.

and he walked away completely unscathed.

your jaw tightens, lips pressing into a thin line. you know what they’re thinking. you know the weight of their stares, the way your friends—your witnesses—are trying to figure out if you have been losing this entire time. you straighten, shoulders rolling back, chin tilting higher as you meet their gazes with an expression pristine enough to rival polished glass.

“he is not winning,” you repeat, slower this time, voice smooth, unwavering. the words land, heavy, thick with certainty. but beneath the table, your fingers curl into the fabric of your skirt, grip just a little too tight.

shoko’s nails tap against the table, slow and deliberate, each click a metronome to the quiet tension curling between the four of you. her expression is thoughtful, the kind of slow-burning intrigue that means nothing good. finally, after what feels like an eternity, she exhales through her nose, tilting her head slightly before delivering her next words with the weight of a courtroom ruling. “okay. important question.”

your eyes narrow. “what.”

shoko leans in, deadly serious, as if she’s about to discuss classified information, voice dipping into a conspiratorial hush. “do you think he might be into vanilla girls?”

the table goes silent.

even utahime stops pretending to be full off one cherry tomato.

you blink, caught between exasperation and the slow horror of realizing exactly where this conversation is going. your fork stills against your plate, the air thick with anticipation as three pairs of eyes zero in on you. “...yeah, actually,” you say after a beat, flipping the utensil between your fingers before spearing a piece of grilled chicken. “that would make sense.”

a collective gasp.

shoko physically recoils like you’ve committed some great betrayal. “you’re just going to agree?”

“i mean, think about it.” you gesture vaguely, the glint of your bracelet catching in the light as you settle back against your chair. “he’s rich. disgustingly smart. irritatingly responsible. maybe he does like his women a little… soft.”

mei mei hums, finally acknowledging the conversation, swirling her spoon in the same small pool of yogurt she’s been nursing for the past thirty minutes. “subtle.”

utahime, deadpan, chews her almond with the weight of someone chewing through a revelation. “you mean boring?”

your frown is immediate. “i didn’t say boring.”

shoko raises a brow. “what did you say, then?”

your mouth opens, but the words stick, because the truth is, you don’t actually have a good answer. you stab at your plate again, suddenly annoyed with the way their collective amusement lingers between you like a loaded gun. “i said… non-threatening.”

they all exchange glances.

“so, boring.” utahime concludes.

you exhale, pushing a grilled tomato across your plate with the edge of your fork. “okay, but like,” you start, irritation curling at the back of your throat, “am i wrong?”

the silence that follows is too long.

utahime, after a painstaking moment of slicing her cucumber into even smaller pieces, exhales sharply. “...no,” she admits, her voice tinged with reluctant horror.

“unfortunately, no,” shoko echoes, sipping her black coffee like it’s the only thing keeping her tethered to life.

“probably not,” mei mei adds, frowning at her yogurt like it personally offended her.

you lean back in your chair, arms crossed, resisting the urge to click your tongue again. “see?” your fork twirls idly between your fingers before tapping against your plate. “i knew something was off. my usual strategy should’ve worked by now.” the words come out sharper than intended, irritation settling deep in your chest. “but if he’s immune, it’s because i’m not his type.”

and for some reason? that pisses you off.

shoko hums, contemplative, her nails drumming lazily against her coffee cup. “it also means—” she pauses, then tilts her head. “you’re not a threat.”

you blink.

“excuse me??”

shoko shrugs. “think about it. men like him? powerful, old-money, from some ridiculous bloodline? they don’t go for girls like us.”

there’s something so casual about the way she says it, but it sends something unpleasant curling at the base of your spine.

“girls like us?” you laugh, but there’s an edge to it, sharp enough to draw blood.

shoko, unbothered, lifts a shoulder in a loose shrug. “relax, i’m not saying we’re undateable. i’m saying they marry vanilla girls.” her voice lilts, mocking, as she counts off on her fingers. “the perfect, soft-spoken, high-society wives. the ones who smile and wave at charity galas. the ones who bake cookies and apologize for existing.”

“the ones who will never cause a scandal,” mei mei adds, swirling her spoon in her yogurt like she’s mixing something far more bitter.

utahime gestures dramatically with her fork. “the ones who know how to be a trophy wife.”

you scoff, flicking your hair back, an automatic response. “my last name is just as heavy as his.”

the table pauses.

“okay, true,” utahime concedes, wiping condensation off her untouched green juice, her tone begrudging. “but you act like you don’t give a fuck about it.”

you don’t. or—you want to believe you don’t. you’ve spent years rolling your eyes at your parents’ business dinners, at the delicate, soft-spoken women with their perfectly practiced smiles, at the unspoken rules of the elite social scene. but you know them. you understand them, the way chess players understand the board, the way predators understand prey. your indifference isn’t ignorance—it’s strategy.

“but that doesn’t mean i don’t know how to play the game,” you say smoothly, twirling your fork between your fingers before spearing a stray cherry tomato.

shoko sighs, finally abandoning her coffee with a resigned shake of her head. “yeah, but do the gojos know that?”

your jaw locks. irritation flares in your chest, curling tight at the edges, because—okay. fine. maybe you aren’t the type to whisper apologies at business dinners, to bat your lashes and smile politely while some old-money heir with fragile masculinity talks down to you about investments. but that doesn’t mean you’re less. it doesn’t mean you don’t belong in the same rooms, the same circles, the same league.

but there is no way that gojo satoru, as impish as he could be, would be the type to marry a girl simply because she is conveniently meek.

...right?

before the thought can settle, utahime snaps her fingers, the sharp sound cutting through the air like a declaration.

“i got it.”

all eyes shift to her, curiosity piqued, waiting. she doesn’t make them wait long, smirking as she pulls out her phone with the ease of someone holding a loaded gun. “if you’re gonna test it, you need the right setting,” she announces, thumbs flying over the screen. “and i know just the place.”

the phone slides across the table with a quiet clink, the screen glowing with an image of a cozy, quiet café.

neutral tones, warm lighting, private rooms meant for undisturbed concentration—exactly the kind of place a certain nerd would gravitate toward. utahime rests her chin on her palm, grinning like she’s just handed over a winning lottery ticket. “perfect for studying,” she says innocently. “or, in your case, proving your theory.”

your eyes narrow. “why does this sound suspiciously like you’ve used it before?”

utahime shrugs, all nonchalance, all carefully curated innocence. “just saying,” she drawls, inspecting her nails, “brought the nerd i was sucking up to in there—folded in fifteen minutes. let me suck him off, let me cheat off him. i passed prelims with high scores, remember??”

mei mei chokes on her plain yogurt, slapping a hand against her chest like she’s been personally betrayed. the reaction is so visceral, so immediate, that it sends a ripple effect across the table. shoko gasps, a sharp inhale cutting through the air, her coffee cup freezing midway to her lips as if the sheer audacity of utahime’s words has momentarily suspended time itself. the moment could be framed in slow motion, complete with dramatic background music. you don’t even blink.

“utahime.”

utahime, utterly shameless, only grins wider, the picture of unrepentant mischief. “relax. i’m just saying—it’s tested. proven to work on nerds.”

you exhale, long and slow, tapping your nails against your plate before crossing one leg over the other. the weight of the situation settles, thick and undeniable, pressing against the edges of your mind. you don’t like to lose. you don’t like unanswered questions. and most of all, you don’t like the fact that this ridiculous theory is starting to sound a little too plausible.

“fine.”

mei mei perks up immediately, leaning forward with a newfound, almost predatory curiosity. “test it how?”

a slow, dangerous smirk curves on your lips, the kind that sends a quiet shiver down the table. “on our date, of course.”

the reaction is instantaneous.

shoko recoils as if you’ve committed a crime against her very soul. “you’re going to act vanilla???”

you shrug, twirling your fork between your fingers, the perfect picture of nonchalance. “just for the night. just to see if he reacts. if he does, even if just a small tic, we’ll know.”

before anyone can say another word, your phone vibrates, the quiet buzz slicing through the tension like a finishing move. with a smug little tilt of her head, utahime turns the screen toward you, the message is already typed out, the address neatly displayed, as if she had been waiting for this moment all along.

you click your tongue, equal parts annoyed and resigned, copy the address, and paste it into a message for satoru.

six pm. don’t be late.

utahime leans back, victorious, arms crossed, satisfaction practically radiating off her. “and now we wait.”

a few seconds later—read.

the pit of your stomach tightens, but you ignore it. this is a terrible idea. this is also the only possible course of actionable.

tag list : @s4ikooo1 @gojoswaterbottle

comment to be added on the tag list! xx

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jellyj777 · 6 months ago

Text

04; Kiss? | THE PATIENT

THE PATIENT | Book | Ch04;Kiss?

JungkookxReader (smut/fluff/angst)

— Falling in love with a patient in an asylum might not be everyone's tea but you had a thing to fix something you never broke at first place.

Words: 4.8k+

TROPES:: One sided hate, Therapist Au.

SYNOPSIS:: —"Don't trust me, Believe in me"

WARNINGS:: Talk about abuse, Violence ahead, explicit language, Anger issues

<- prev | index | next ->

Seok: I'm nervous as fuck, Y/N.

Seok: Send help T-T.

You chuckle at the emoticon he used. Silly funny guy.

You: It's not your first time, don't worry too much ffs.

You: Haven't you been doing this for like five years now?

Seok: So?! That doesn't mean I can't get nervous.

There are new interns at our place this for this meeting, like five or six more, definitely more than last time. True. New university students always join to get their internships to become future nurses or doctors but what confuses you is that why is Hoseok nervous?

Out of all the doctors in this place, you have never seen Hoseok nervous before well that is because he never is. He has always presented whenever these meetings happened and he was never nervous. Always smiley with his tone and words.

You: It's not your first time, stop worrying too much. We're all there for you, Seok. I'd be sitting in front.

Seok: You better be ready for my glare.

Seok: I'll be staring at you while explaining the crowd. Makes it easy ^_^

You roll your eyes and swing on the chair with your back slumped against the same, makes you curious of his topic. He didn't talk about it like he always does before the presentation.

You: Whatever, if that helps you then do so.

You: What's your topic anyways? Thought you've been researching for days now.

Seok: Bipolar Disorder

Seok: We got a new patient with it and I researched for the nurses to learn about the symptoms and stuff.

Bipolar Disorder. Good one and would help the nurses to learn more about the disease.

You: Oh that's cool. I'll see you in the meeting room.

You: You got this!!

Seok: Thxx.

Seok: See u.

Putting your phone down, you get up from your seat to make your way out of the clinic. The clinic named under your name in the hospital designed with little things of yours just for the sake of your own mental health.

It's not easy to work in hospital especially as a nurse or a doctor. Especially when you can get slapped before by a patient, saying by the experience while you were working as a nurse doing mainly your internship. It's only been three years since you became a doctor in your department before that life, as a nurse, it wasn't easy at all.

Being a nurse in a mental hospital can be something which is risky for your own mental health too, you're surely aware of how stressful these types of meetings can be from a doctor's and a nurse's perspective. You remember the time when you were a nurse and Hoseok was one of the doctors back then.

He is always cheerful with the staff (the position of the staff doesn't matter) and made the place better than the emotional hell rollercoaster it was, but it amazes you how Hoseok is such a nice doctor even though he has witnessed a lot of bad stuff happening with his patients, done by the patients themselves.

Hoseok is one strong man that you know. Emotionally of course and on physical matters, it truly depends. You're aware how hard it can be to cope up with a patient's pain. Again, with experience.

He was the patient for you at that time. Left quite an impression on you to be honest.

A shrill like scream echoed in the hallway taking you out of your thoughts. The nurses rush towards the sound of the scream and with a frown, you follow along with the nurses. Not confused, just surprised at the sudden outburst. It wasn't uncommon to hear these types of shrills, screams, cries in the hospital building.

Many patients had different illnesses meaning that they have different hallucinations regarding the same. You walk past Jungkook's room who was looking out of the window with his one hand fiddling with elastic as he stretches the elastic out and another 'pop' sound in the room of his.

The sound of the elastic pop echoes. Not in the room but in his mind. Didn't even pay attention to the scream. Too busy with his own thoughts.

"Shit." You murmur and walk past the nurses to look at one of your patients who was laying on the floor with blood oozing of their wrist. "Bring the medic kit."

One of the nurses nod and rush away to bring the kit. Your hand wrapped around the wrist of the patient, mouth leaving comforting words that everything's gonna be fine.

Ji a. A patient who had ED. Suffered from the societal norms of getting fat-shammed in her early teens now in her late 20s has self-harm as her coping defense mechanism and is suffering from malnutrition.

Her other hand held the butter knife. It's actually phenomenal how some patients have found a way to do self harm without any materials provided to them.

You grab the butter knife and throw it away while one of the nurses clean up the wound and the other injects the injection through her forearm which makes her hiss. Ji a cried loud and clear letting you know she's in pain, in pain with the thing that she caused herself.

"It's fine, everything's gonna be fine..." your voice trails off in Ji a's mind, her head drops with a 'thud' on your lap, eyes closed and all the uneasiness washes away.

With a sigh, you get up after Ji a is safely tucked into bed and one of the helping hands walks in the mop to clean the blood from the floor.

"Doc. Mun, your coat..." The nurse points at your coat which had splash of bloods on it. Would leave a stain for sure but it was nonetheless than unusual. A little stain of blood is something every doctor is used to in here due to some of the patients.

"It's fine," you reassure and shrug it off but speak up again, "but what's not fine is that who forgot the butter knife."

The tension among the nurses infront of you rises as no one answers. "I just want to know who forgot it, no big consequences will be taken. Mistakes are tend to happen." You repeat, wanting the person who left the knife to admit without feeling scared, of course mistakes are tend to happen and a lesson should be taught so that it doesn't occur again.

Finally, a nurse steps in front, someone who you haven't seen before. You tilt your eyebrows upwards with a head tilt. "Was it you?" You ask. She nods.

"Everyone, make sure Ji a is fast asleep and check up the place again," You pause and point at the small closet beside the bed. "Make sure to check the cupboard, under the bed and anything that can help in self-harming should be removed."

The nurses nod and get to work, with squinted eyes you read the new nurse's name 'Sarah'. "And Sarah, please be at my office after checking up."

Sarah nods and waits for you to walk out. With a final look around the room, the other patient looking frightened by the encounter is now being comforted by the nurse. You walk out of the room to change your blood stained coat.

First time this week, new achievement for the year as it's Wednesday and it's only the first time blood got stained on your coat.

After changing your coat in the changing room for staff only, you make your way back to your clinic where Sarah was waiting out looking nervous, her gaze fixed on the pillar in front and wasn't even trying to look for you until your eyes meet. You gesture her to get in to which she nods, passes you a nervous smile, makes you reciprocate with your soft one.

The moment you both step, the awkward silence burns in the air, being the doctor you were and the senior one, it meant you're supposed to start the conversation. "I won't scold you," you start breaking the uneasiness and clear your throat. "Mistakes happen but you should be considerate with the choices you're providing for the patients."

Sarah nods, "I know, I'm so sorry, Doctor Mun. I just got transferred from a hospital to here and it's different. This is not an excuse for my behavior but it won't repeat again."

You're glad she took responsibility for her issue and it's normal to make mistakes. We're all just humans after all. "Um, I didn't know what illness was Ji a suffering from." She murmurs again quietly.

Your eyerbrows crease together, "What do you mean that you're not aware of what Ji a's suffering from?" You ask clearly confused by her statement. How can a nurse who is given a patient can't know the diagnosis of the patient.

"I mean, nobody told me. I'm telling you Doctor Mun, I'm new to the place." She pauses awkwardly fidgeting with her hands before she continues again not sure if the words she'll propose are correct. "I got transferred from a normal hospital with normal patients to this horrendous place."

"Horrendous? Excuse me." You scoff and fold your arms in front of your chest. Calling a helping hospital for patients who did not even want a specific diagnosis horrendous is crazy. This is not the correct vocab you'll use for this place.

At least not horrendous.

Sarah just shrugs her shoulders again looking uncomfortable for this conversation. "I said what I said, it's just new to me" She states again, staying stuck to her ground.

"Listen, I understand it's new to you but you cannot call a hospital — any kind — horrendous. Please improve your vocab cause I won't be tolerating this kind of language in a workplace where we are the helping hands for citizens. Understood?"

She nods, so you continue. "If you find this place being hard for you to handle please transfer to another hospital and the mistake that happened today should not be repeated. If you need any help with knowing some diagnosis, you can always come to my office, got it?"

"Yes, Doctor Mun." She nods again as you gesture her to leave with a small smile which she reciprocates and bows before leaving the room.

The lights shut off in the presentation room with projector being the only source of light at the moment, Hoseok clears his throat with a smile, his eyes the room and ended up landing it at you just like he promised.

"Hello everyone," he starts. "I'm Doctor. Jung for many of you who are new to the department or are doing their internships in here for future doctors or nurses. This is the meeting room where the doctors will knowledge you about general topics which can help you to learn more about the patients, I'll be starting today by talking about Bipolar Disorder as mentioned in the slide of the presentation."

He points at the screen behind him with his hand, there were total of six nurses in the room with three new interns and three doctors including you. You sat beside Dr. Kim, eyes locked in the front with your focus on the presentation.

These meetings are basically for new people in the hospital or even the old nurses who want to learn more about mental health diagnosis. You were basically here to support Hoseok knowing he returns the favor by coming to your presentations too, you already knew about bipolar disorder but supporting your friend is more important in this situation.

"Bipolar disorder is something that society believes into happening with anger issues in someone. Yes, this can be right but there are different types of Bipolar diseases and not all of them occur due to anger issues." Hoseok clicks the 'enter' button on the keyboard as the slide moves to second page with ease.

The second slide contained of three partition graph of types of bipolar diseases; "Bipolar 1 is defined by maniac attacks which are last up to seven days which can severe in many cases leading the patient to be rushed to hospital." He speaks.

"How severe?" The previous nurse, Sarah asks just like before she looked genuinely confused. Not her fault to begin with, she had zero knowledge about mental health and her transfer here is something that is really funny in a way and you're sure Hoseok will give you the tea about her transfer later, that is making you curious in a way now.

"Very, that patients suffering from this specific type of diagnosis go through depressive and maniac attacks altogether." Hoseok replies as Sarah nods her and writes down in her notebook.

"The worst part about this specific type is that the person suffering from it can change their mood from being overly happy which can be included in mania," He points out so that the interns can write down. "and feeling overly down which can be categorized under depressive attacks."

"So, a person can feel happy and sad at the same time?" An intern asks.

"Yes and the emotions of roller coaster is so fast that the person doesn't even what's happening." He nods and moves to another slide, "The worst part is that the emotions of roller coasters are so high that people can even hallucinate or even get delusions."

"Hallucinations and Delusions? Can you give more specific example for this situation?" Sarah asks raising her arm as Hoseok nods back.

"People living with this disease can feel strange sensations like hearing or seeing something that was never there which is also known as hallucinations; They also seem to believe in irrational stuff which may seem irrelevant to other people. Also note down that this usually happens when a person is going through a maniac or depressive episode."

Sarah nods so Hoseok continues, "A person with bipolar may be unaware that they going with a maniac phase or episode which means, they might be shocked after their phase is over or would mainly not believe people that they actually did something like that. It sound surreal to them basically."

A nurse raises her hand as Hoseok points after to speak, "Is there any cure for this? Like fully cure? Can a person live normally again after being diagnosed with this disease?" She asks.

"Unfortunately no, a person cannot live normally again. Bipolar disease is something which is life long and a person will survive basically on meds their whole life. They would also get episodes out of nowhere and that is what the meds help them in." He shifts his weight form one leg to another, "Meds prescribes can help in reducing the hallucinations and helps in balancing out the happiness with sadness in a person's life."

The next fifteen minutes went by Hoseok answering questions about the diagnosis and went much deeper about this topic. He took the questions and explained thoroughly with a smile and did not get annoyed at basic or even the most obvious questions. Thanks to his six years of training in being a doctor.

He later explained about this new patient who will be transferred here from another hospital next week, the patient was young and that is something uncommon in this specific disorder.

Bipolar can start from the earliest ages in childhood but children are often neglected thinking they are just acting up as kids or even in late 40s with anger and emotions build up. The guy who is being transferred is mere twenty-five and has been admitted since a year now.

"You did great as usual," You smile and pat Hoseok's back who walked beside you, the presentation ended five minutes ago and everyone went back to doing their work.

He shrugs with a proud smirk making you roll your eyes knowing he'll talk about his presentation for the next few hours at this point. He'll point out how good he was while talking about his topic even though this guy was glaring into your soul for the whole time. Was too nervous to even break eye contact. "You know I'm the best."

"Yeah, as if you weren't dyeing in there." You sarcastically comment with a sarcastic smug like smile.

"Ok, bae. I get you're jealous of my speaking skills." He grins walking into your clinic following you behind.

"Fuck off," You laugh and settle back in your chair putting the notes from today on the table, "What's up with the new nurse?"

"Who? Sarah?" He raises his eyebrows settling himself in front of you on the chair. Your hands fiddling on the table with the paperweight, your favorite thing to do in the world besides fixing stuff of course.

You nod, "Yeah, she even forgot butter knife in Ji a's room."

"Oh that was what the scream was about?" He asks, he knew about the patient Ji a, you told him about her condition and everything as he does the same bout his patients. He did in fact heard a scream when he was re-reading his notes for the nth time in front of the mirror but didn't pay much attention knowing it's really common for that to happen.

"Yeah," You reply.

"Hm, Sarah?" He hums again, head tilted upwards thinking about Sarah's transfer. "Oh, she got transferred here from Gwangju district." He answers, eyes back on you as he recalled the talk he had in the morning about new staff.

"Reason?" You raise an eyebrow at him.

"She was like too nice there and got transferred here. Apparently she'll take time with every patient which is a good thing but the amount of staff normal hospital has are less causing the work to be delayed." He answers.

You nod back even though you wanted to scoff at his but now it makes sense why Sarah got transferred here and being honest she doesn't look like the person Hoseok is describing. Maybe you need more time with her to get to know her fully.

After having a talk with Hoseok for the next fifteen minutes, mostly him breaking down the tea he got from another department. Hosoek got up to leave for his clinic. Says a quick 'see you at lunch' and walks out of the clinic room.

You hum to the jazz music that was playing through the small speaker connected to you and go back to doing your work. The door opening catches you a little off guard cause no nurse was allowed to enter a doctor's clinic without permission. You look up and your eyes meet up with Jungkook who stood there in his hospital pajamas, his expression a little unfocused and haze.

"Jungkook?" You ask, he gulps and walks in the room closing the door behind. This was confusing cause what was he doing here if he's supposed to be in his room.

"I need help." He speaks and takes a seat in front of you. You pause the jazz music quick and look at him with curious yet confused eyes. You don't mean to sound rude but you won't currently be getting paid to listen to his rant but you'll welcome it the most if it meant to help him or any other patients in his position.

"Yes? What is it?" You ask back, focus on him now.

"I did a bad thing." He replies, voice soft and innocent unlike how it usually is.

"A bad thing?" You ask back with a smile keeping calm cause both of you can't be panicking.

He nods, "You know Ji a?" He asks as if you were unaware of her. His choice of question now made you more curious, confused of why he's asking if you know Ji a cause you're basically her caretaker and doctor.

"Yeah, what about her? Did you talk with her today?" You question back with a smile but the frown on your face was opposite from the tone of your voice, happy cause he made a friend, maybe? but he just nods and stays silent. His expression was guilty which made your smile fall getting the sign that it wasn't just a friendly chat.

Silence settle between you two as you wait for him to speak but he avoided your gaze. Okay! the hell you mean he'll walk in firstly without permission and then talk like he did a big ass crime and then not speaking at all. "You can tell me, I won't tell anyone, y'know?" You break the silence slowly with a whisper.

He gulps "She, um, came to me today and started talking." He speaks again trying his best to explain the situation. You nod back showing that you're listening to him and he can continue talking. "She kissed me." Jungkook sighs finally letting it out of his chest, doesn't want to roam around the situation that happened. He didn't fully trust you but believed in you that you won't tell anyone hopefully.

Your eyes widened and eyebrows raised very confused now. His head hung low after his confession thinking he did something bad. "I'm sorry, what?" You ask not quiet believing him.

"Yeah, she, um kissed me and I don't know how but she just came to me and started talking and then the next moment she kissed me." He states, panic filled his voice as he looks up again to meet your not believing gaze.

"So you both kissed?" You ask again, he nods and you nod too. You both are quiet again, silence takes over between you two. You didn't see anything bad in this, they just kissed. What's the bad thing about it? "Can you explain me what happened fully?" You ask.

"She came to me and showed me her wrist when I was going to the washroom. She had like bandage around it and then suddenly she kissed me!" He exclaims.

Okay. So the kiss just didn't happen, it happened without his permission which is crazy. In the three years of being a doctor this is not the first time you're hearing about a patient kissing the other, both of them haven't felt intimacy for years now. Longer for Jungkook more than it was for Ji a. You've found patient even fucking in the field so this wasn't the craziest thing you ever heard. What was crazy though that it was out of Jungkook's consent.

"You didn't wanted to kiss her?" You ask and he shakes his head proving that he in fact did not wanted to kiss Ji a. "So, why'd you think that you did the bad thing? You did nothing bad in this." You speak, tone soft keeping up with your phycology major. Thanks to the university teacher who made you find calm in any situation. Periodt.

"I don't know but I didn't wanted to kiss her," He tried to explain shifting uncomfortably in his seat. It was clear sign that he didn't wanted to kiss Ji a but he wasn't sure how to say that in words.

"Uncomfortable?" You ask.

"Yeah, uncomfortable, it was out of nowhere and it fet so uneasy, more uneasy than the injections you guys give." He murmurs, nibbling on his lower lip.

"I'm sorry that happened, I'll talk Ji a and this would never happen again." You apologize, "Are you okay?"

He hesitates but nods; "I just... it's been a long time since I kissed someone or someone kissed me and it was a bit weird too."

"How long, hm? I'm so sorry, Jungkook that this happened to you. I promise this won't happen again." You murmur, a lump stuck jn your throat as you swallow. The feeling Jungkook must've felt must've been crazy to be honest and it was making you vulnerable even when you're thinking about it.

You're aware that Ji a is one of the patients and must have not been in her right mindset while doing something so serious. None of this excuses her behavior though, the way she luntched on Jungkook was clearly a sexual assault; doesn't matter if it was a small one.

"I don't like all this touching stuff," Jungkook declares hoping you'd understand his inability of being comfortable with touches. "And I haven't kissed anyone in a while so it really took me by surprise." He explains.

"I'll make sure it never happens again, Jungkook." You state with confident, this thing happening once was a big shock to you so it happening twice will be a big disappointment in it's own.

He nods, he believes you at least tries to you knowing you always stuck to your words. He gets up and was about to leave but stops in his tracks.

"Can I ask a favour, Doc?" He asks.

"Of course, anything. What is it?" You raise your eyebrows at him, now standing up from your chair so that you can drop Jungkook off to his room.

"Is there any way my room can be near your office?" He questions, voice low and slow almost a whisper. He said it as if it was a crime.

"Give me a second," You bite your bottom lip and bend down towards your computer to check if there's any rooms available nearby your clinic. "Hm, there's one room that was being renovated but it will take time."

He shrugs his shoulders, "I'm fine with the time taking, I just want to near your clinic so that I feel safe."

"Um, okay, I'll talk with someone and try my best to get you the room," You smile, standing up straight again. "Until then, just try to contact me or the nurses if something like this happens again."

He nods and walks out of your clinic with you behind him. The conversation towards his room was basically about his daily routine, about what he's eating nowadays or if he wants to try some new food or even fruits like last time. You got the feeling that he was still affected by the situation with Ji a which was quiet surprising cause Ji a has never thrown herself on to people moreover to kiss them.

She was very insecure about her looks, something that someone should not be but speaking generally out of her results, she was basically afraid to show herself to people. These fears led her to isolate herself from others, feeling conscious whenever someone looks at her, became a picky eater too.

You tried your best to make Jungkook feel safe, even if it was just a little. The effort put by you is enough to be noticed by Jungkook.

"Doc?" He starts, now sitting on his bed while you pour a cup of water for him and hum back to his questioning voice to answer. "Will you actually change my room?" He asks, yet again, a little conflicted and hesitant with his questions.

"I will try to, Jungkook." You hand him the glass of water, at least you'll try to change his room. If being honest, if not by you, you'll probably text another doctor in the department.

He nods and drinks his water; the tattoos on his arm were visible. Few inked tats here and there, to be honest, nobody knew what these tattoos on his right arm means. He never explained it to anyone; not even his friends or family or even the trusted doctors in the previous asylum and hospital he stayed at.

You'd love to ask him about the tattoos but that would be crossing the line. His tattoos were something which were present nowhere, not the documents, previous therapy sessions. Nothing.

"I'll let you know by tomorrow, okay?" You murmur, he nods in return before putting the now empty glass on the table beside his bed.

After making sure that he was all calm now, looked safe and after your reassurance he probably felt safe too. You leave the room quietly and the first thing that comes in your mind is CCTV footage. It's not like you didn't trust Jungkook. No. It's more like you wanted a reassurance yourself or confirmation if said in terms.

Seok: Wya?

You: Surveillance room; r you done with work?

Seok: Yea, lol.

Seok: Whatu doing there?

Obvious question from an obvious guy. You rest your head on the table, cheek pressed with the table while your left hand angled and also pressed on the table to the side with your phone in your hand.

You: Getting some tea :P

Seok: Stopppp, actually?!?

The reaction was so expected. You chuckle and sit up after seeing the notification pop up on top of Hoseok's message.

You: Gonna tell you tom, gtg, Kim's calling !!

Seok: C'monnn don't leave me hanging :(

wattpad:CH04 (read on wattpad)

A/N:

taglist; @seokout @khadeeeeej @bybyash ‘to be added in the taglist : 🏷️’

thank you for supporting 'TP' or 'THE PATIENT' ! Here's an update after so long; I got so busy with my life :<. Anyways, love you and have an amazing day ! This chapter is the longest i’ve wrote till now and i got too lazy to even edit it cuz too much reading and i’ve re-read it a millions times already lol, should i post the smut taexreader that wasn’t written in chap 3 or not!?

#bts #bts army #bts fanfic #fanfic #jungkook #bts updates #bts jungkook #angst #fluff #ask #love #the patient #booklr #fanfiction #bts jhope #networkbangtan

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