✅(JINKOOK+TAEJIN)❤️ 2nd Book(completed)

Hospital ❤️(jinkook)

The silence in their large, once vibrant home had become Jin’s constant companion. Each echoing footstep of Jungkook in the hallway felt like a prelude to the inevitable – the crisp white envelope containing his eviction notice. The revelation of his past, his time at the strip club, had shattered the fragile peace of their marriage. Jungkook’s initial shock had curdled into a cold resentment, a constant reminder of Jin’s perceived betrayal.
Jungkook’s mother’s venomous words, overheard by Jin that fateful afternoon, played on a loop in his mind: “A man like Jungkook deserves better than someone with that kind of history. He should divorce him before it stains his reputation further.” The words had sunk deep, planting a seed of despair that had now taken root and blossomed into a suffocating inferiority complex.
Where would he go? The question was a relentless hum beneath the surface of his every thought. He was an orphan, with no family to turn to. The streets felt like a tangible threat, a dark abyss waiting to swallow him whole once Jungkook finally cast him out.
The shift in their routine was a stark testament to the growing chasm between them. Jungkook no longer shared their bed, choosing the sterile comfort of the guest room. Jin continued to prepare his husband’s meals with a heavy heart, each dish a silent offering met with indifference. Jungkook’s preference for takeout was a sharp sting, a clear rejection of Jin’s efforts.
Neglecting himself became an unconscious act of self-punishment. Food lost its appeal, and the vibrant energy that once defined him began to wane. One afternoon, the world tilted and then went black. He awoke to the frantic sound of Jungkook’s voice, his face a mask of panic as he lifted Jin into his arms.
The sterile white of the hospital room was a stark contrast to the warmth of Jungkook’s hand clutching his. For the first time since the truth had come out, Jin saw genuine fear in his husband’s eyes. The diagnosis – a tumor in his intestine – hung heavy in the air, eclipsing even Jin’s fear of abandonment.
The image of Jungkook, a solitary figure with a black mask obscuring his mouth, watching as Jin was wheeled into the operating theater, was etched into his memory. The agonizing six hours that followed stretched into an eternity. When the doctor finally emerged, Jungkook looked ashen, his usual composed demeanor shattered. Jin knew, in that moment, that a part of Jungkook still cared, deeply. He had overheard Jungkook’s tearful phone call to his mother, a firm declaration that he wouldn’t even consider divorce. He loved Jin too much.
But the realization was bittersweet. Jungkook’s care seemed to bloom only in the face of Jin’s suffering. A dangerous thought began to take root in Jin’s mind: If he only cares when I’m sick… maybe I should stay sick.
Back home, Jin’s recovery was a silent act of sabotage. He “forgot” to take his medication, the small pills remaining untouched on his bedside table. One evening, driven by a desperate need for Jungkook’s attention, he carefully, agonizingly, cut a few of his surgical stitches. The sharp pain was a twisted comfort, a perverse way to feel connected to his husband’s concern. He lied effortlessly when Jungkook inquired about his well-being, painting a picture of diligent self-care.
Sunday arrived, a day Jungkook was home. The aroma of Jin’s cooking filled the air, a familiar comfort that was suddenly broken by a sharp crash from the kitchen. Jungkook rushed in to find Jin on the floor, clutching his abdomen, a dark stain blooming on his bandages. Panic flared in Jungkook’s eyes as he scooped Jin up, his touch surprisingly gentle.
A strange sense of triumph washed over Jin as they sped to the hospital. Jungkook’s frantic energy, his worried murmurs, were a validation of his twisted plan.
The doctor’s grim face confirmed Jin’s reckless act. “The stitches have been deliberately reopened,” he stated, his gaze sharp. Jungkook’s face crumpled, a mixture of anger and disbelief.
The secondary stitching was a brutal affair. Without anesthesia, each plunge of the needle sent searing pain through Jin’s body. He cried out, his body trembling uncontrollably as the nurses held him down. Jungkook stood beside him, tears streaming down his face, his hand gripping Jin’s tightly, whispering soothing words that barely registered through the agony.
When the ordeal was over, and they were alone in the quiet of the recovery room, Jungkook’s voice was thick with emotion. “Why, Jin? Why would you do this?”
Jin’s confession was a broken whisper, a desperate plea for love. “Because… because you only look at me, you only care when I’m sick. Otherwise… otherwise, I’m just someone you tolerate.”
Jungkook’s tears flowed freely now, a torrent of guilt and regret. “Oh, Jin… I’m so sorry. I was so foolish, so blinded by my own insecurities and my mother’s words. I almost lost you… because of my pride.” A shudder ran through him. “I love you, Jin. More than anything. Please, don’t ever do this again. I’ll show you, I’ll prove to you how much you mean to me.”
A fragile hope flickered within Jin’s chest, battling against the ingrained fear. He had wanted Jungkook’s attention, a desperate, childish yearning. But seeing the raw anguish on his husband’s face, the genuine fear of losing him, finally pierced through the fog of his inferiority complex. Perhaps, just perhaps, this brush with disaster had finally opened Jungkook’s eyes, not just to Jin’s pain, but to the depth of his own love. The road to healing would be long, both physically and emotionally, but for the first time in a long time, Jin felt a glimmer of hope that he wouldn’t have to walk it alone.