Chapter Text
By the time Namjoon walked into the healing den that morning, Seokjin already had a headache.
Not because of the herbs drying near the window, or the pot of water he had forgotten over the fire, or even because someone had left muddy footprints across his clean floor again.
No, it was because of Kim Namjoon. Again.
Seokjin did not even look up from the bundle of dried leaves he was tying together, because he knew that walk by now, the careful weight of it, the soft drag of someone trying very hard to pretend he was not in pain, and the door had barely finished creaking open before the scent reached him.
Gardenia. Fresh, bright, warm, and stupidly pretty for an alpha who had the survival instincts of a startled deer.
Seokjin sighed, keeping his eyes on the knot in his hands even though his patience had already started slipping. “What did you do this time?”
There was a small pause from the doorway, just long enough for Seokjin to imagine Namjoon making that wounded face of his, before he answered far too cheerfully. “Good morning to you too, Seokjin.”
Seokjin finally looked up and found Namjoon standing there with one hand pressed to his upper arm, sleeve torn, hair messy from the wind, face dusty, and that exact same dimpled smile that had been ruining Seokjin’s peace for months.
For a moment, Seokjin only stared at him, which somehow made Namjoon’s smile grow wider, like being glared at by the pack healer was a reward he had earned.
Seokjin put the herbs down slowly, partly because he was trying to remain calm and partly because he did not trust himself not to throw them at Namjoon’s head. “I’m going to ask you one more time,” he said, folding his arms across his chest as he fixed Namjoon with a look. “What did you do?”
Namjoon stepped fully inside and nudged the door shut behind him with his shoulder. Despite the blood on his sleeve, there was not a trace of concern on his face, only the familiar look of someone who thought he was being charming.
“Why do you always assume I did something?” he asked, sounding genuinely offended.
“Because you're bleeding on my floor,” Seokjin replied pointedly.
Namjoon followed Seokjin’s gaze downward and blinked at the thin trail of blood that had already reached the floorboards. “Oh.”
Seokjin closed his eyes for a moment, frustration slipping through despite himself, his warm vanilla-cinnamon scent turning sharper and slightly sour. Somehow, despite going on patrols all the time and getting injured far too often, Namjoon still looked surprised whenever he realized he was bleeding.
“Oh,” Seokjin repeated. “He says oh. Like the blood appeared there by itself.”
Namjoon had the nerve to look sheepish, his shoulders lifting slightly as he offered a smile that probably worked on everyone except Seokjin.
“It’s not that bad.” Namjoon lifted his free hand in a small, dismissive gesture, as if the blood soaking through his sleeve was a minor inconvenience at most.
“You always say that.” Seokjin arched his brow, setting the herbs aside with deliberate care before planting a hand on his hip.
“And I’m usually right.” Namjoon offered a crooked smile, spreading his fingers in a helpless shrug.
“You are never right.” Seokjin pointed at the stain creeping down Namjoon’s arm, his expression flat. “Exhibit A.”
Namjoon opened his mouth as though ready to argue, then took one look at Seokjin’s expression and wisely reconsidered. Good, Seokjin thought, at least some survival instinct was still functioning. He then pointed toward the treatment cot . “Sit.”
Namjoon obeyed at once, crossing the room and settling himself on the edge of the cot with the ease of someone who had spent entirely too much time there already.
Seokjin hated that he noticed how natural Namjoon looked there. The first few times Namjoon had shown up, Seokjin had assumed it was coincidence. The territory was large, patrols happened daily, and injuries were part of pack life. Then the visits had started becoming suspiciously regular. A scrape one week. A bruised shoulder the next. A cut across his palm because he had apparently tried to catch a falling axe. Seokjin still remembered that one. Namjoon had walked into the den smiling while blood dripped onto the floor and somehow spent the entire appointment flirting instead of explaining why he thought grabbing a falling blade was a reasonable decision.
Looking back, Seokjin should have banned him from the den months ago.
“So,” Seokjin said as he grabbed a bowl of water and a clean cloth before moving closer. “Are you going to explain, or should I guess?”
Namjoon watched him approach, bright eyes following his every movement. “You can guess.”
Seokjin smiled, it was not a kind smile which immediately made Namjoon sit up straighter. “Actually,” he said quickly, “maybe I should explain.”
One corner of Seokjin's lips curved upward, more smug than satisfied. “Wise.”
“There was a branch,” Namjoon said sheepishly.
Seokjin stopped with the wet cloth in his hand, then he slowly looked up. “A branch.”
Namjoon nodded with complete sincerity. “A very aggressive branch.”
Seokjin stared at him, and Namjoon stared back, his mouth twitching as though he was trying not to laugh. Without breaking eye contact, Seokjin pressed the wet cloth directly against the wound.
“Ah—Seokjin!” Namjoon shouted, jerking back with a sharp hiss as his shoulders tensed.
“The branch sends its regards,” Seokjin said dryly, one eyebrow arching.
”Namjoon looked at him with wide, offended eyes, though the effect was ruined by the laughter already pulling at his mouth. “You’re very mean for someone whose job is healing.”
“My job is healing wounds, not protecting grown alphas from tree branches,” Seokjin said flatly.
“It attacked first,” Namjoon insisted, looking entirely serious as he pouted a little, his brows drawing together in exaggerated offense.
“It was a tree,” Seokjin deadpanned, staring at him like he had completely lost his mind.
“It was hanging low,” Namjoon argued, lifting one shoulder in a helpless shrug as if that explained everything.
“So was your common sense,” Seokjin shot back with a flat look.
Namjoon looked so deeply offended that Seokjin almost smiled for real. Almost.
Almost, especially when the other alpha turned his head away as if he had suffered a terrible personal insult. But Seokjin did not feel bad, not even a little.
He carefully pulled the torn sleeve aside and examined the injury more closely, his teasing fading as his healer instincts took over. Thankfully, it looked worse than it actually was—a messy scrape that had bled more than necessary, likely because Namjoon had kept walking around instead of sitting down for five minutes. Typical. Reckless, stubborn, and endlessly frustrating. Exactly like the alpha attached to it.
“It really isn’t bad,” Namjoon said after a moment, noticing the frown pulling at Seokjin’s face.
“You don’t get to decide that, I am the healer here.”
“I’m the one injured.”
“And I’m the one who has to look at you while treating it.” The moment the words left his mouth, Seokjin regretted them.
Namjoon’s brows lifted and his entire expression brightened. “You look at me a lot, actually.”
The words came out so casually that Seokjin almost missed them. Almost. His hand paused on Namjoon’s arm, and for one very unfortunate second, their eyes met and Namjoon looked entirely too pleased with himself. It was unbearable.
Seokjin immediately applied more pressure with the cloth. Namjoon let out a sharp yelp. “Careful,” Seokjin said in a syrupy tone that carried no real kindness as he looked up. “You're injured.”
Namjoon’s laughter spilled through the room, warm and familiar enough that Seokjin recognized it instantly. He hated that. Hated even more that it fit him so well. Before his expression could give anything away, Seokjin reached for a jar of salve and focused on unscrewing the lid. “This is the third time this month.”
“Hmm... Is it?” he said, trying to look clueless.
“Do not pretend you don’t know.” Seokjin’s eyebrows rose. “You were literally here five days ago.”
“That was different,” Namjoon protested, lifting his chin as though that settled the matter.
“You had a bruise,” Seokjin replied flatly, arching a brow.
“It was a serious bruise,” Namjoon insisted, placing a hand over his chest in mock offense.
“It was the size of a coin,” Seokjin said, giving him an unimpressed look.
“A large coin,” Namjoon argued without missing a beat, his mouth twitching as he fought back a grin.
Seokjin drew in a breath without thinking and regretted it, instantly. The scent of gardenia wrapped around him, warm, sweet, and far too appealing, blending with the traces of vanilla and cinnamon clinging to his hands until the entire room carried a fragrance he wasn't prepared to deal with. Breathing had been a mistake.
“You know,” Seokjin said as he opened the salve, “some people go weeks without needing a healer.”
“Boring people.”
“Healthy people.”
“Same thing.”
Seokjin pointed the wooden spatula at him. “You know, one day you’re going to come in here with a serious injury I can’t fix.”
For once, Namjoon didn’t answer with a joke. His gaze drifted briefly to Seokjin’s hands, the salve, the bandages waiting nearby, before returning to his face. The smile remained, but it had softened around the edges.
“Then I’d be lucky if you were the last person I saw.”
The room fell strangely quiet. For a moment, Seokjin forgot what he was doing. The spatula lingered uselessly in his hand as Namjoon watched him with that infuriating sincerity that surfaced without warning and somehow made every joke before it feel a little too real. Then Seokjin pulled himself together, because someone in this room had to be normal, and it certainly was not going to be Namjoon.
“You’re not allowed to say things like that when I’m holding medicine.”
Namjoon smiled, slow and warm. “Why?”
“Because I may use too much,” Seokjin replied dryly, dipping the spatula back into the salve.
“Out of affection?” Namjoon asked, tilting his head with exaggerated innocence.
“Out of irritation.” Seokjin parroted.
“Same thing with you.” Namjoon said teasingly.
Seokjin gasped and pressed a hand dramatically against his chest, “Excuse me?”
Namjoon leaned back looking entirely too pleased with himself, one corner of his mouth curling upward. “You heard me.”
“I should charge you double,” Seokjin declared, pointing the spatula at him like a weapon.
“I would pay, I work hard, I earn enough” Namjoon said without hesitation.
“Triple.”
“I would still pay.”
“You’re far too comfortable here.”
Namjoon glanced around the healing den with a fondness that made Seokjin’s ears warm despite his best efforts.
“It’s a comfortable place.”
Seokjin ignored the comment and focused on spreading the salve over the scrape. “It’s a healing den,” he said a few seconds later, pretending not to notice the way Namjoon’s arm tensed beneath his touch.
“It can be both.”
He sighed tiredly. “You’re impossible.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
“Mostly from me.”
“Exclusively from you,” Namjoon corrected, amusement dancing in his eyes.
“Maybe you should listen more carefully, then.”
Namjoon laughed, the sound filling the room with easy warmth. “See? There you go again.”
“What?”
“That look.”
Seokjin narrowed his eyes. “What look?”
“The one where you pretend you’re annoyed when you’re actually having fun.”
Seokjin nearly dropped the bandage.“I am not having fun.”
“Sure.”
“I’m not.”
“Of course not,” Namjoon replied teasingly.
“You are bleeding on my cot.”
“And yet you keep talking to me.”
Seokjin opened his mouth then closed it. Unfortunately, Namjoon looked delighted by that. The worst part was that Seokjin was beginning to suspect the man enjoyed getting under his skin almost as much as he enjoyed being patched up afterward.
Seokjin reached for the bandages before Namjoon could continue, because the real problem was not the injury, or the blood on the floor, or even the fact that Namjoon seemed determined to fight every branch in the territory.
The real problem was that every time Namjoon sat on this cot, smiling at him like that, Seokjin forgot how to stay properly annoyed.
And that was far more dangerous than any branch.
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