Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Do not speak as loud as my heart
But come back and haunt me”

The surgical silence of the operating room is broken only by the hypnotic beeping of the cardiac monitor that cuts through the stillness with a steady pulse. Overhead, cold lights pour into the exposed chest cavity of the patient lying on the table and the smell of antiseptic hangs in the air, so sharp and unmistakable, mixing with the quiet intensity of the focused minds of the surgery team.

It’s barely nine in the morning, and while Seoul National Hospital is just beginning to stir, Dr. Jeon Wonwoo is already two-hours deep into the surgery. A crisp blue gown suits his slim body, sterile gloves molded tightly to his fingers hovering over the patient’s open thorax. A surgical mask clings tightly to his face and his round glasses perch steadily on the bridge of his nose, catching faint reflection of the view in front of him.

Behind the lenses, his eyes track every detail with calm precision. There’s not a flicker of doubt on his face, not a single tremor in his hands but rather they are firm, sculpted by years of practice and severe discipline. In the operating room Wonwoo rarely speak, but when he does, every head turns towards him.

“Clamps” he says.

The scrub nurse places the instruments into his already outstretched hand. The surgical team moves around him in synchrony, as if they’re playing a silent symphony where Wonwoo is the only one setting their tempo. His fingers are precise as he works, drawing back tissue, identifying the path forward and guiding the scalpel through layers of muscle and membrane with the ease of someone who has done this hundreds of times before but with the same gentle respect for every patient who lays there.

His composure never falters as he focuses to detect the cause of the issue. Only when the malformed mitral valve comes into view — its thickened, irregular leaflets betraying a congenital defect slowly worsened by time — Wonwoo allows himself a faint smile behind the mask. The valve has forced blood to flow backward with each beat. It’s a delicate case, yes, but very familiar. Wonwoo had seen it before but in that moment his mind is consumed only by the open wound in front of him and the quiet urgency of restoring that slightly worn heart.

What a fascinating organ… the heart. So mechanical yet so poetic.

“Pressure ?” Wonwoo asks to his team, without looking up.

“Holding steady” the anesthesiologist replies, “110 over 70, heart rate 78, oxygen at 98”

“Good. We’re stable”

Beside him, a young resident still in training stands in tense silence. Her eyes never leave his hand as she watches Wonwoo trying to memorize every moves, every breathes he takes, where he places each instrument, the right place to cut. She’s new in the team but quick to learn and doesn’t interrupt his rhythm, Wonwoo gives her a brief nod as she places the retractor gently into his palm.

“The valve is fully exposed now” he announce, “Beginning repair”

His fingers move with calm as minutes after minutes Wonwoo threads fine suture through the valve’s delicate tissue. Each stitch closes a gap and reinforces a weakness, restoring a new life into a mechanism that should never have broken in the first place. The needle arcs with graceful efficiency, guided more by instinct than sight.

The nurse hands him another tool before he even asks. “Forceps”

“Thank you” he replies politely.

“Would you like to increase the oxygen flow, Dr. Jeon ?” the anesthesiologist asks.

“No, leave it as is” Wonwoo answers without looking up from the cavity, “I’ll close in three minutes”

The residents watch him focused and in that room, with his hands submerged in the beating chest, Wonwoo looks more alive than anywhere else. There’s something deeper than discipline in the way he works, a kind of communion. Wonwoo operates as if that’s the only place where he truly understands the language of the bodies but also of the whole world they contain.

“Closing now. Suture needle”

The final steps are for him as methodical as they are delicate. He moves from stitch to stitch with quiet resolve, drawing the chest wall back together with each pass of the needle, letting the open body takes shape again. The heart, no longer struggling, beats with a new rhythm beneath the monitor's watchful display.

“Pressure ?”

“100 over 75. Still stable”

Wonwoo glances at monitor for the first time taking in the restored valve, the regular and strong heartbeat, the pale skin now holding the silent story of a successful surgery.

“Perfect” he says, “Excellent work, everyone. The procedure is now complete”

He steps back from the operating table, the rhythm of his hands finally slowing as the sterile field begins to collapse behind him. The drapes are lifted, the instruments are gathered, and the tension of the procedure begins to dissolve into a silent routine. His gloves come off with an expert snap, Wonwoo tosses them into the bin like worn armor as he pauses for a moment longer to watch in the monitor the measured beat of the heart he’s just repaired.

He is sweating beneath his cap, everyone in the room probably is, but his hands stay placed on his hips so measured just like they did when he made the first incision.

The patient is safe, the heart is beating regularly, that’s all that matters to the others in the room but for Wonwoo, instead, that moment hides much deeper roots. It’s not just the quiet pride of another successful surgery, it’s something unspoken that he can’t explain but that is visible in the way his breathing slows every time he holds a heart in his hands, in the tension he feels at every single stitch mending flesh, in the almost religious silence that follows when a valve starts beating in rhythm again.

It’s in those details that he calls small miracles that Wonwoo remembers his purpose in the world. The reason he keeps returning to that hectic but so tiring life that so often he thinks to put in pause and leave it behind.

Out there, the world can collapse. Chaos can touch everything, lives can unravel, systems can fail, people can disappoint. But here, in this cold room, with blood under his gloves and the burning desire in his chest to give that person a new chance to live, Wonwoo understands that it’s there that everything makes sense.

It’s right there that he feels most alive.

It all started with a book, a heavy leather-bound anatomy atlas that smelled of dust and knowledge. Wonwoo was only five years old when his grandfather set him on his knees with the book opened wide across both of their laps like a portal into a hidden world. The pages were filled with intricate illustrations of muscles, bones, organs, and veins, all rendered with pinpoint precision, and little Wonwoo’s eyes immediately lit up at the sight of all the colorful figures.

His grandfather, once a biology teacher, had a soft voice and hands calloused from years of writing on blackboards as he traced the contours of the heart with his finger, naming the cavities and blood vessels, while Wonwoo stared at him with his mouth wide open in wonder as if he were looking at a map of the universe. What fascinated him wasn’t just the drawings but the idea that all of this was inside people. That somewhere, behind the skin, there was an intricate mechanism that pulsed and kept someone alive.

Wonwoo asked dozens of questions, then hundreds. “Why is the heart shaped like that? What happens if it stops? Why do some people get sick and others don’t ?” and his grandfather answered them all patiently, encouraging his curiosity that was blossoming in him like a wildfire.

As a child, while others gradually lost interest in textbooks and science kits, Wonwoo became more and more fascinated by them. He used to dismantle old radios to see how things were put together, watched medical documentaries with the same passion of a child watching cartoons. He never flinched at the sight of blood or wounds, he was too busy trying to figure out what lay beneath. His bedroom shelves were filled with science books, his notebooks with sketches of hearts and lungs and anatomical diagrams copied from memory.

In high school Wonwoo excelled not because he was desperate for grades but because learning was fuel for him. He volunteered at clinics on weekends, assisted in surgeries when they allowed him, and frequently wrote online articles about surgical pioneers and innovations in cardiology just for fun.

When he received his acceptance letter to Seoul National University’s medical school, he didn’t shout or celebrate but rather he simply smiled and walked into the kitchen to show it to his parents who proudly hugged him and patted his shoulders.

His father, a skilled internist back then, became his mentor. He taught Wonwoo the unspoken code of their profession, discipline and moderation but also a little of unsentimental compassion. They often discussed clinical cases over dinner, debated diagnoses and examined x-rays, and it has been his dad the one who guided him through the intensity of early clinical practice but eventually, the time came for Wonwoo to overcome the shadows that had shaped him and spread his own wings.

He left for Japan in his late twenties to specialize in cardiac surgery, a decision that both terrified and thrilled him at the same time. The program was grueling and so damn competitive. Wonwoo was a stranger in an unfamiliar country, in an environment that expected him to prove himself tenfold. And he did. Through fourteen-hour days and endless nights, Wonwoo had studied hard, practiced, learned, failed, improved but finally succeeded. His hands grew steadier with each operation, his mind sharper as his silence deeper.

The fame of his talent spread first to his colleagues then to his superiors and beyond. He was offered a coveted position at one of Tokyo’s most prestigious hospitals for a few years and it was there that Wonwoo found his true essence. He performed complex surgeries with a success rate that caught the attention of his international colleagues. He published scientific papers, he taught to freshmen but most of all he became a constant presence in the operating room.

Now back in Seoul, his nostalgic home, Wonwoo is one of the hospital’s most respected cardiac surgeons. Residents idolize him for his technical brilliance but also for the composure he radiates under pressure. Colleagues seek his opinion constantly, sometimes even just his presence in the operating room to make sure they’re doing the right thing. There is a certain silence that falls in a room when he enters but Wonwoo doesn’t demands it, he just embodies it.

Wonwoo rarely talks about himself. Everything about his private life — his past, his accolades, even his sacrifices — stays behind the same invisible wall that separates the doctor from the patient, the man from the myth. But in those moments, when a heart that is about to give out starts beating in rhythm again, when the stitches are tied and the monitor emits a constant buzz, there is something in his eyes that betrays him.

That spark that lights up his face and bring back the emotion of each surgery as if it were the first.

The patient’s chest is closed by now and Wonwoo almost can’t believe that the heart is beating in a healthy rhythm under the fresh sutures. He takes his time to listen to the machines slowing down, the tempo of beeps seem now quite reassuring as around him and his team begins to relax after those intense four hours.

He pulls off his surgical mask, the elastic snapping gently against his ears as a sheen of sweat clings to his skin beneath his cap but his face is calm and even softened now. His eyes move across the room, checking once more that everything is in order before he glances up at an intern who walks over him so enthusiastically.

“That was incredible, Professor Jeon. Being able to watch you at work is like… magic”

A faint crease touches the corners of his eyes. “Thank you Soobin-ssi but there isn’t any magic here, just discipline”

The young man bows, “I hope to become like you one day”

Wonwoo studies him for a brief moment and recognizes that same and enthusiasm and desire to learn. It’s the mirror of the boy he once was too. “I’m sure you’ll get there” he encourages him with a smile, “Study hard and stay curious”

Soobin nods and repetitively bows at him, clutching to that encouragement like something precious and to that rare smile, however brief, that feels to him like an earned reward. He walks away with his steps lighter this time and Wonwoo’s gaze lingers a second longer, trailing the young man’s retreating figure, lulling in the memory of what it felt like being this careless, so hunger to prove.

Behind him the nurse begins reading out the post-operative checklist, confirming the timing of medication administration while the anesthesiologist, standing at the head of the table, makes a final note in the chart before removing then the endotracheal tube. "Patient is breathing spontaneously" he confirms and carefully the surgical team adjusts the man onto a transport stretcher. The body, once opened and vulnerable under surgical lights, is now swaddled in fresh linens, machines monitoring every beat.

Wonwoo watches them in silence as the stretcher glides out of the operating room, escorted by a nurse and a post-operative tech. The doors swing open then ease shut and with it, the final note of the symphony fades. Wonwoo doesn’t follow them, his part in this story is over for now.

He exits the operating room pushing through the heavy door with his shoulder and walks through the hallway dimly lit by sterile white neon lights which also smells faintly of disinfectant and metal, the familiar scent of control. A junior resident passes beside him, offering a polite nod and Wonwoo returns it with a quiet glance, the kind exchanged by people who’ve been awake too long and seen too much, there’s no need for words.

Inside the locker room, the quiet is different and more private. Wonwoo unfastens his blue surgical gown, pulling the fabric away from his body like he’s removing a second skin. The material falls into the hamper with a soft rustle and he then proceeds removing also the protective boots, kicked off one at time, followed by the scrub cap which lets out stray strands of dark hair that fall loose and damp across his forehead.

He walks then to the sink and starts washing carefully with soap, letting the water run before placing his hands beneath it. It’s warm, warmer than expected, and it flows over his skin in glistening streams. He scrubs his palms and fingertips first, under-nails, wrists and forearms, in very slow movements, not with the usual quick pre-operation urgency, but a quieter kind of washing almost ritualistic and meditative.

The tension in his shoulders begins to release little by little as if through the rhythm of water and breath, Wonwoo is returning to himself. He exhales a long breath from deep in his chest and the clock on the wall right in front of him reads just past eleven. The surgery had taken nearly half the morning but the rest of his schedule stretches long ahead. Consultations, post-operations check ups, a meeting in the evening. Still, all of that can wait for him for just a few minutes more.

Wonwoo reaches for a towel as he finishes cleaning himself, drying his hands and face with care before slipping into his white coat. The fabric is worn-in, soft around the edges, the collar slightly bent from habit and the name tag catches the light as he straightens it.

“Dr. Jeon Wonwoo, Cardiac Surgery”

A simple title but behind it just an entire life shaped by the sound of heartbeats.

Wonwoo steps out of the locker room and walks down the hall, his white coat trailing softly behind him with each step. The ceiling panels buzz slightly, casting a pale glow on the tiled floor but everything around him is hushed, only the distant murmur of voices and the low hum of the machines reach his ears, fading gradually into the background.

His body aches with the dull tiredness that follows every surgical procedure, the kind one that doesn't beg for sleep but only for rest and quiet. Wonwoo draws in a deep breath through his nose, the smell of antiseptic still clings to the air but it’s slowly being replaced by the comforting scent of something more inviting that smells like fresh coffee. Exactly what he needs.

The hospital cafeteria waits for him just around the corner, hidden behind the main wing of the general surgery pavilion. It’s a modest space, nothing too fancy, with wooden tables and sun-faded posters on the walls reminding staff and visitors about balanced meals and regular checkups. Still, it radiates a kind of quiet comfort, the same one found in routine and friendly faces, in the sweet pause between responsibilities.

The morning crowd of doctors begging for coffee has thinned out. Just a few nurses linger in the far corner, chatting over paper cups and trays of delicious toast, and near the window a young intern hunches over her laptop, chin in hand and blinking slowly as if willing herself to stay awake.

Wonwoo makes his way to the counter where the barista, the sunny and always so smiley Seungkwan, is wiping down the polished surface humming a tune that sounds suspiciously like a recent pop song.

As soon as he looks up and sees him, Seungkwan beams like a spotlight turning on. “Good morning, Dr. Jeon!” he chirps, already moving toward the espresso machine, “The usual ?”

Wonwoo allows himself an appreciative smile, “Good morning, Seungkwan” he bows, “Yes, please. And… something to eat too. I need a bit of a recharge”

“Recharge ?” Seungkwan echoes, grabbing a clean mug from the cupboard, “Say no more. I have the freshest carrot cake today, homemade by my aunt. Moist just right, spiced up nicely with cream cheese frosting so good it could heal broken hearts. Not that yours needs healing, I guess”

Wonwoo chuckles under his breath, the tension of the operating room melting further with each passing second. “That sounds perfect. I’ll take a slice, thank you”

Seungkwan expertly pulls the espresso shot, steam hissing in precise bursts. “Tough surgery ?”

“Not much” Wonwoo replies, “But demanding as always. It required precision and lots of concentration”

“I imagine that kind of focus is exhausting” he says, placing the cup gently onto a saucer. “You doctors carry lives in your hands, I just carry caffeine. It’s a good pairing, don’t you think ?”

“Essential pairing” Wonwoo smiles, “One keeps the heart going, the other keeps the doctor upright”

Seungkwan laughs and carefully arranges a generous slice of carrot cake beside the coffee, adding also a small napkin and a spoon. He reaches for a tray and lines everything up with meticulous care before sliding it toward Wonwoo.

“There you go, Dr. Jeon. Coffee, cake and good company. Well me, for a few seconds”

Wonwoo accepts the tray with a small bow of gratitude. “You’re too kind, Seungkwan. Thank you”

“My pleasure as always” the barista says, giving him a wink. “Sit down now and rest those miracle-working hands. I’ll keep the second espresso ready in case the first doesn’t do the trick”

Wonwoo smiles softly and makes his way to a quiet table by the window with the tray steady in his hands. He eases into the chair, feeling the tension gradually unwind from his limbs. His legs, stiff from hours of standing, finally begin to relax, though his body still hums faintly with the aftershocks of adrenaline.

He takes a sip of coffee and the first taste is heavenly, like the world suddenly slows down around him. The rich bitterness of the blend grounds him and he follows it right away with a bite of carrot-cake, which appears so moist and creamy on his tongue, exactly what he needs. His stomach rumbles in satisfied approval, Wonwoo makes a mental note to thank Seungkwan again later for the much-needed treat.

He then pulls his phone out of his coat pocket, unlocking it with a practiced swipe of his thumb. The screen lights up instantly and his feed quickly loads up with headlines, stock updates and medical journal alerts, but none of it holds his attention, Wonwoo ignores them for something lighter this time. He scrolls through his Instagram until a trending entertainment story about a newly announced drama catches his eye. Apparently the internet is already abuzz with speculation about the lead actors and their off-screen chemistry, Wonwoo taps the article curious and scrolls through it lazily, lifting another forkful of cake to his mouth as he scans the gossip.

But a sudden thud on the chair in front of him distracts him from reading. “Guess what happened ?” a voice says, brimming with enthusiasm.

Wonwoo looks up to see Dr. Lee Seokmin, ENT specialist, leaning over the table with a grin so wide on his face that it seems to shine brighter than the sun through the cafeteria windows. He wears a green scrub under his white coat, his ID badge is swinging from his chest like a medal.

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow over the rim of his mug. “If it makes you smile like that, I’m almost afraid to guess”

“You’re going to love this” he says, bouncing in his seat. “Do you remember the middle-aged opera singer from last week ? The one who came in convinced she had a throat cancer because of that weird rasp in her voice ?”

Wonwoo nods, interest piqued. He takes another sip of his coffee, already sensing where this might be going.

“She came back today for a follow-up and other examinations and turns out —“ Seokmin leans forward conspiratorially, “— That she didn’t have cancer. She had a furball in her pharynx!”

Wonwoo blinks. “A furball ?”

“Cat fur, precisely, from her Maine Coon!” Seokmin grins, clearly savoring the punchline. “Apparently she kisses it good morning every single day and she didn't realize she had been swallowing the fur in the meantime that got accumulated between her esophagus and her pharynx. A tiny ball of betrayal”

“That’s the most dramatic diagnosis I’ve heard in weeks!” Wonwoo bursts into laughter.

“I know, right ?!” Seokmin joins him, clearly delighted to have drawn that reaction out of him. “I had to restrain myself from writing ‘lovesick for cats’ as the primary cause. Anyway, she’s totally fine now. Back to her soprano range and promised never to kiss the cat so often again”

Wonwoo shakes his head, still chuckling. “These things only happen in ENT, you guys always have so much fun in there”

“That’s what I’ve been saying!” Seokmin leans back, folding his arms smugly. “You should come over and work with us. It’s a riot. We don’t restart hearts but just dislodge the occasional animal hair”

“Very tempting” Wonwoo deadpans, sipping his coffee again. “But I think I’ll stick with the ticking clocks for a little bit more”

Seokmin chuckles, still riding the high from his unusual diagnosis, and props his elbows on the table. “Alright, enough about my glamorous world of feline mysteries. What about you, Dr. Jeon ? You looked like someone who just walked out of an operating theater”

“Yeah, that’s it” Wonwoo exhales, resting his fingers on the warm curve of his coffee mug. “I had a mitral valve repair this morning. The patient had pretty significant regurgitation but we were able to preserve the valve instead of replacing it, which is always the better outcome if you can manage it. Still, it took a lot of precision”

“Open-heart procedure, full team, stakes through the roof ?”

“Exactly” he nods. “We had to stop the heart, go on bypass… the whole orchestra. A lot of finesse with the sutures and then it’s all about patience and precision. Suturing a valve is like stitching a flower petal with a needle, every movement matters. You’re racing the clock but you can’t rush”

Seokmin lets out a low whistle. “That makes my cat furball sound like a sitcom plot”

“Well, at least your story had a happy ending with a soprano reclaiming her high notes” Wonwoo replies with a faint smirk. “Mine ends with a patient in recovery and me buried in postoperative notes”

“You definitely earned a calm shift then” he grins, “What’s next on your tragic hero schedule today ?”

“Mostly rounds and post-op check-ins” Wonwoo says, brushing a few crumbs off the edge of his tray. “A transplant patient and some I’m monitoring more closely. One of them keeps accidentally tugging at her IV, so the nurses and I are tag-teaming to keep everything in place”

“Ah, that’s so classic!” the ENT doctor smiles, “So you have a full day ?”

“Until five then I’m going home” Wonwoo says stretching his back slightly, “I can’t wait to have the longest shower in the world and possibly fusing with my couch after that”

“Living the dream! That sounds very romantic” Seokmin grins, then something crosses his mind “Oh, by the way, don’t forget about the meeting this afternoon!”

Wonwoo pauses, tilting his head. “What meeting ?”

“Wait… you don’t know ?”

He shakes his head slowly, suspicious now. “Should I ?”

“Oh man —” Seokmin groans with exaggerated sympathy. “Jihoon has called a mandatory meeting for all department physicians. He sent the emails just last night”

“I didn’t get anything” Wonwoo lies, he didn’t even check his emails.

“Well, add it to your agenda or your pager will go crazy later. Jihoon will not give you peace if you skip this meeting, it’s at four o’ clock in the conference room”

“Just when I thought my couch and I had a date” Wonwoo sighs, “Alright, I’ll be there. Any idea what it’s about ?”

“Something about a new hospital program he wants to implement. I don’t know much, honestly. He has been all mysterious and very cloak-and-dagger about it and wants to explain in person”

"I don't have much choice, do I ?”

“I don’t think so, Dr. Jeon. You’re the elite of this hospital, you can’t miss it for the world” Seokmin teases him, standing up and smoothing his coat. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a waiting room full of ears, noses and throats calling my name and probably at least one more story that will top the cat hair saga”

Wonwoo chuckles and raises his coffee in a toast. “I’ll be waiting for the sequel”

“See you at four, buddy” Seokmin calls over his shoulder as he heads off, “Have a good round and try not to merge with your couch in the break room!”

“I’ll try to, thank you!”

Wonwoo finishes the last drop of coffee and sets the empty cup down on the tray with a soft clink. The heat lingers on his tongue, mixing with the sweetness of the cake cream, and he sighs contentedly this time with a full stomach and the tiredness finally eased by sugar and caffeine. He gets up from his seat and stuff his phone into the pocket of his coat, then he adjusts the stethoscope hanging from his neck and waves goodbye to Seungkwan, heading into the ward.

Outside the cafeteria, the familiar echo of rolling carts and rhythmic footsteps takes over the hallways again. The hospital is back being hectic and it’s time for Wonwoo to start his rounds.

The Cardiothoracic Recovery Unit is located on the third floor, in the quieter west wing where the lighting more natural filter through the large windows overlooking the courtyard below. The usual antiseptic chill in the air slowly gives way to something more familiar with notes of lavender coming from an oil diffuser at the front desk, Wonwoo makes his way to the main nursing station and pauses in front of the laptop screen, logging into the hospital system with a few practiced clicks.

Patient charts lit up the screen in rows, his schedule for the day blinks back at him: morning rounds, medication reviews, dressing changes, discharge consults. Wonwoo scans the list for post-op patients who need special care, some names stand out, some he recognizes from surgeries the week before. At the top of the list he finds Mrs. Im Hyeran’s name, a woman in her sixties, heart-transplant recipient who was admitted six weeks ago. She is recovering so well, no signs of rejection, Wonwoo smiles softly reading her chart.

She’s in room 523 and after collecting the charts he needs, Wonwoo walks down the hall to pay her a quick visit. His shoes scrunch on the polished floor, a nurse exits from there just as he arrives, nodding him with a smile. “She’s in a great mood today, Dr. Jeon” she says, “I think she’s planning a victory lap”

Wonwoo chuckles. “I’ll make sure it’s a medically supervised lap, then”

He taps gently on the doorframe before stepping inside. The room is bathed in sunlight, pale cream walls glow warm, Mrs. Im sits propped up against her pillows flipping through a fashion magazine opened across her lap. A silk scarf is wrapped stylishly around her neck and she also did her own makeup that morning, there’s a shimmery pink eyeshadow on her eyelids.

“There he is, my miracle man!” she greets him, voice so bright and full of life.

“Good morning, Mrs. Im” Wonwoo bows as he crosses the room, “You’re looking radiant today”

“Oh Dr. Jeon, you and your compliments” she waves a hand, mock-flustered. “You can make even an old lady like me blush”

Wonwoo laughs softly and pulls up a chair beside her bed, checking the monitor above her head. “Vitals are steady, your rhythm looks excellent. How’s the breathing ?”

“Smooth as ever” she replies proudly, lifting both arms as if conducting an invisible orchestra. “Look, I can even stretch without feeling like I ran a marathon! I feel like I could go dancing again, do they let post-transplant patients salsa in here ?”

“I’ll put in a requisition form for a dance floor” Wonwoo says with a small chuckles, “But no spins until your next electrocardiogram”

“Deal” the woman laughs, then her gaze softens. “But really… I wouldn't be here thanks to you, Dr. Jeon, you saved my life. I know I’ve said it already before but I feel like I need to do it again”

Wonwoo meets her eyes and shakes his head, “You’ve done the hard part, Mrs. Im. You followed the protocol, took your meds, stayed committed to recovery and let yourself heal. I just gave you a new engine, you’re the one driving it now”

She touches a hand lightly to her chest over the spot where her new heart beat strong. Her fingers tremble faintly but her eyes are clear with emotion. “You’re a good man, Dr. Jeon. Thank you”

“It’s just my job” he smiles, “Also I have good news for you! If everything keeps looking this good, with stats like these we might even start talking about a possible discharge next week”

“Really ?” Mrs. Im’s voice pitches higher with hope. “You think I can finally go home ?”

“If your labs stay stable and there are no signs of complications, absolutely” he nods. “We’ll taper your immunosuppressants down to your maintenance dose and keep a close eye on your kidney function. The transplant team will do one last evaluation, maybe even let you stay a couple more days to walk some laps and make sure your strength is holding up. If all goes well, we can start getting the discharge paperwork ready”

“Oh god this is the best news ever, Dr. Jeon, I’m so happy” she reaches out to squeeze his hand, “I miss my garden so much. My roses probably think I’ve abandoned them”

Wonwoo smiles, “We’ll make sure you’re back in time to apologize to them in person”

Mrs. Im chuckles, eyes twinkling. “I’ll even name one after you. Dr. Heart Bloom”

“That’s actually a legacy I can be proud of” he laughs.

After a few more questions to check on sleep quality, appetite, any pain or unusual sensations, Wonwoo goes on with a routine physical exam. His touch is gentle and clinical, the stethoscope cool against the woman’s shoulder as he listens closely to the steady thrum of her heart and the soft expansion of her lungs.

Every breath she takes confirms what the monitors had already suggested: she is stable and recovering well. Wonwoo now moves in front of her with silent precision this time, carefully checking her reflexes and the site of the incision on her chest. Satisfied with the wound that has now mostly healed, he jots down all the updates and progress in his digital chart, typing notes on his tablet.

“I keep telling you I’m ready to dance” she says, her eyes gleaming.

Wonwoo chuckles as his fingers tap lightly across the screen. “Well, I might let you waltz down the hallway with Dr. Hong”

“Oh such a handsome young man” Mrs. Im comments, “I’ll take that as official permission, then”

Before leaving, Wonwoo gives her a reassuring smile and a few quiet words about the upcoming exams. Nothing Mrs. Im has to worry about, just routine, it’s all part of the process. The woman nods at him visibly comforted and relieved by the good news of her finally coming back home and Wonwoo, after those recommendations, greets her goodbye promising to return to visit her the very next day.

As the door closes softly behind him, the warmth of the room lingers for only a second before fading into the cooler rhythm of the hallway. His pager attached to the waistband of his slacks buzzes softly but luckily it wasn’t about any emergency rather just a reminder for the next checkup.

Wonwoo walks briskly, weaving past nurses wheeling IV stands and pushing carts stacked with linen. Around the corner, he passes a group of residents huddled around a mobile workstation. Their blue scrubs look freshly laundered and barely worn and as he approaches them, their conversation drops to hushed murmurs, one of them subtly elbows the other in the ribs, causing all three to straighten their posture almost comically.

Wonwoo glances at them sidelong and offers a small smile followed by a polite bow of his head.

“Morning, Dr. Jeon” the nervous one blurts a little too loudly.

“Morning” he replies simply, not breaking his stride.

He remembered what it felt like to be this young, still figuring out the shape of your hands inside gloves, standing on the fringes of confidence while watching the legends of the department move past like mythic figures. Those early days were filled with awe and tension, all adrenaline and aspiration and Wonwoo didn’t particularly miss them but he respects the fire behind the young doctors’ eyes and excitement. This was their first time in the ward, their first real encounter with patients outside textbooks and simulations.

Everything seems so exciting in the hospital, every white coat seems to carry the weight of genius and heroism. Wonwoo knows that feeling very well, the rush of admiration, the hunger to become someone worth looking up to, but admiration never stuck to him the way it did to others.

Even now, after years in the ward, accolades and nicknames whispered behind his back, he didn’t let it settle into his bones. He never let those flatteries go to his head and believe in the myth of the infallible doctor, not for himself at least. He had always seen himself as just a man doing his job, one hand at a time, one heart at a time.

Competent, yes. Dedicated, absolutely.

But no more than human.

Wonwoo keeps walking exchanging gentle glances with the residents and, rounding the next corner, he finally reaches room 530 where he was supposed to assist the second follow-up of the day. The lighting is dimmer inside with the curtains drawn to reduce the patient’s eye strain. The sound of the cardiac monitors provides a steady background rhythm, a metronome that ticks off the time at precise intervals. On the other side of the bed is Dr. Park Hyunsuk, the department’s chief physician, tall and composed in his trademark black-framed glasses and tailored white coat.

He’s examining the chart in front of him, methodically scratching the page with his pen while three interns stand behind him like sentries, trying not to shift their weight too visibly or breathe too loudly lest they break the reverent quiet and the unspoken tension that always accompanied Dr. Park’s presence. When Wonwoo steps in, all three interns instinctively tense. One of them, a nervous-looking young man with a notepad clutched too tightly in one hand, swallows loudly as if he's just been caught red-handed.

Dr. Park glanced up from the chart, pen still in hand. “Dr. Jeon” he says with a nod, “I just finished reviewing this morning’s labs. Post-op ones are within acceptable range, no signs of infection, renal markers stable. He’s tolerating the new meds without any adverse reactions so far”

“Excellent, that’s good to hear” Wonwoo replies, “He was still a bit drowsy from the sedation when I checked on him yesterday evening. He has had a rough few days post-operation but the vitals looked solid. I wanted to do a follow-up this morning while he’s still resting, listen in on the heart sounds and reassess fluid retention”

“Sounds good. Just make sure his potassium levels don’t start to drift. The diuretic might start nudging things off balance in the next 24 hours”

“I’ve already asked the nurses to flag it on the next blood draw” Wonwoo says smoothly, “I’ll review the labs again later before ending my shift”

“That’s fine” Dr. Park clips the pen back and tucks it into the inner pocket of his coat, “I’ll let you continue your visit then. I’ll be in the east corridor for the next half hour if anything comes up”

“Thank you, Hyunsuk-nim”

Without other words Dr. Park walks past him, the heels of his shoes making authoritative clicks against the tile, and the door closes behind him with a gentle sound. As if released from a spell, the three residents exhale in unison. Their shoulders drop and jaws unclench, one of them even lets out a breath he must have been holding since he walked in.

Wonwoo chuckles softly and shakes his head. “Relax” he says them in a lighter tone. “I don’t bite, unlike him”

That draws a tentative but still nervous chuckle from the trio. One of them steps forward, Wonwoo can see his ID clipped to his chest. Lee Chan, early twenties and barely out of university, with short black hair and the kind of earnest expression that suggest he has probably rehearsed this interaction a dozen times in his head before working up the courage to speak.

“Dr. Jeon, sir” he begins, slightly breathless. “I… I was wondering if we could confirm the blood pressure reading. I think I got it wrong”

“Sure” Wonwoo nods, “Let’s take a look together”

Chan gathers himself and approaches the bedside, wrapping the blood pressure cuff around the patient’s arm so gentle and careful. Wonwoo watches him work quietly, his fingers are steady but his shoulders are so tense, visibly coiled with nervous energy.

“Good, now position the stethoscope” Wonwoo says, offering calm guidance. “Where do you place the bell ?”

“Over the brachial artery”

“Correct. Go ahead and make sure the cuff is at heart level before you start”

Chan adjusts the patient’s arm and cuff position before starting pumping. The cuff inflates with a soft hiss, the needle dancing upward as the pressure rises. The room narrows to the gentle pulse of machinery and the quiet concentration on Chan’s face. He leans in, furrowed brow nearly touching the tubing as he listens with full focus through the earpieces.

“Do you hear anything ?” Wonwoo asks gently.

“I think… I heard a whoosh ? Then it faded”

“That first whoosh is the systolic pressure” he confirms, “Now wait for the sound to disappear and when you stop hearing it completely, that’s your diastolic. Take your time, don’t rush”

Chan nods slightly and tries again, watching the needle with the kind of focus that makes time slow down. Then he straightens up and glances at Wonwoo, “It’s 140 over 88”

Wonwoo gives a small nod and unloops his own stethoscope around his neck. “Let’s confirm it”. He repeats the reading smoothly and a moment later, he steps back showing him a little smile. “It’s solid” he says, “You were off by ten millimeters the first time. That’s a good read”

Chan blinks in surprise. “Really ? I thought I had completely messed it up”

“That’s why we double-check. You’re learning, it’s allowed”

A visible wave of relief washes over Chan’s face, softening the star lines of tension. Behind him, the other two residents ease slightly as well, their rigid stance giving way to something more natural.

“But these numbers are important to us, don’t play guessing them” Wonwoo teaches them, “If you’re unsure, just say so. There’s no shame in not knowing something, only in pretending that you do”

“Yes, sir. Absolutely”

Wonwoo then turns to the monitor, scanning vitals, double-checking the IV lines and adjusting the patient’s positioning ever so slightly. Everything is where it should be, stable and peaceful.

He glances back at the trio. “You still have four more rooms to go through, right ?”

They nod. “Yes, sir”

“Then don’t let me slow you down. Go on, I’ll catch up here”

“Thank you, Dr. Jeon” Chan murmurs and the others chime in with hushed thank-yous as they exited the room repeatedly bowing at him.

Wonwoo watches them go with a hint of a smile tugging the corner of his mouth. He lingers a moment as the patient’s steady breathing and the faint beeping of monitors fill the quiet again, focus sliding back into place as the rhythm of the day carries on. It bleeds forward in increments and Wonwoo moves through his remaining rounds like a metronome, steady and methodical.

Each of his patients receive his full attention no matter how small the task. A dressing that needs changing, a medication schedule that needs adjusting, an anxious family member who needs a few extra minutes of explanation. Wonwoo does it all without any rush. His voice stays calm even when the monitors beep irregularly, even when a nurse pulls him aside to double-check a dose.

His mind stays clear as he works, time passing quickly between updating medications in patient records and answering internal calls between departments. In one room, he double-checks the fluid balance then explains to a patient why he feels chest tightness. It’s not dangerous, just his lungs and heart adjusting to a new rhythm of healing. Wonwoo reassures him that his recovery is going well and that with a little patience he will soon be able to return home to his family.

Before he knows it, it's well past lunchtime. Wonwoo looks at the watch on his wrist and realizes he has no chance to sit down and enjoy a good meal so he walks past the staff room and grabs a pre-packaged sandwich from the communal refrigerator, thanking the nurse who made it for him.

He opens the wrapper with the quiet desperation of a man who’s had no time to care about flavor, and the first bite indeed is not the best in the world. The bread is dry, chicken overcooked and bland with lettuce and no mayonnaise, but Wonwoo chews it anyway just to put something solid in his stomach as he scrolls through test results on the tablet, one hand navigating the latest EKG scan and the other awkwardly holding the remaining half of the sandwich.

It’s just fuel, not even lunch, Wonwoo finishes it and reaches the connecting walkway that links the cardiology department to the outpatient pavilion. His legs ache, his back is stiff, but the moment he steps through the automating doors into the next wing, Wonwoo straightens his shoulders and coat and wears his usual approachable kind expression back on his face.

But right on cue, his pager buzzes against his hip.

“Meeting. Conference Room.”

Wonwoo exhales through his nose and pauses mid-step, pinching the bridge of it for a second longer than necessary. Of course that damn meeting. Right when his brain was starting to fantasize about soft cotton pajamas and the warmth of his blankets. He mutters to himself and slips the tablet under his arm, heading for the elevator and moving with the steady pace of a man accepting his fate. If he could delegate just one thing in this job, it would be meetings. But apparently wishes are for people without pages.

The conference room is tucked just beyond the administrative offices, a stark white space flooded with late afternoon sunlight from the large rectangular windows that span the wall. The center of the room is dominated by a long dark wooden table surrounded by high-backed chairs. There are some bottles of water and orange juice in the middle, just to make the atmosphere a little more comfortable and familiar.

A few doctors are already seated along one side. Wonwoo offers them a courteous nod as he enters the room, scanning it until he spots general surgeon Dr. Yoon Jeonghan slouched near the far end, fiddling with his phone like a man enduring slow torture and trying so hard to become one with his chair.

Wonwoo slides into the empty seat beside him, “Hey” he greets him quietly.

Jeonghan doesn’t look up. “Let me guess. You also had dreamt of going home early today”

“I was already mentally ready to wear my pajamas” Wonwoo says. “Didn’t even get a proper lunch, just ate a chicken sandwich that tasted like regret”

“At least you got protein, I had a granola bar I found in my coat pocket. I don’t even know how long it had been there” he mutters, starting complaining “Who in their right mind schedule a meeting at four in the afternoon ? It's the medical equivalent of hitting someone with a clipboard just as they're getting their coat to go home"

“A classic Jihoon’s meeting” Dr. Joshua Hong, internist, says sliding into the seat on his other side. As always he’s pristine, like the tiredness of the day hasn’t touch him even a bit, with his tie knotted cleanly and not a hair out of place. “Did I miss anything ?”

“Nope” Jeonghan replies, stretching out his legs beneath the table. “Just collective suffering and the shared grieving of a stolen afternoon. How many back-to-back cases did you have today ?”

“Five patients, three med adjustments and a small incident involving pharmacy” Joshua says. “Apparently I checked the wrong version of a dosage protocol and had to redo a chart from scratch”

“They’ll never let you live that down, you monster” Jeonghan deadpans.

Joshua chuckles. “What about you ?”

“Three patients, two consults, one awkward family meeting. I felt like a human sponge for everyone else’s emotions, needed a breather and got a meeting” he replies, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Wonwoo ? What you got in your hat ?”

“One mitral valve repair this morning” Wonwoo ticks it off on his fingers, “Two full rounds, a transplant follow-up and three recovery checks. And a blood-pressure tutorial for an intern who looked like he was going to pass out from nerves”

“So the usual light and breezy shift” Jeonghan mutters, “This meeting seems to be the dessert”

“Bitter desserts” Joshua adds, “With sprinkles made of Excel spreadsheets”

Wonwoo leans back in his chair, “Do either of you know what this is actually about ?”

“Not a clue” Joshua glances at his watch, “The invite came last night close to midnight which tells me it’s either something dramatic or something bureaucratic. I heard it might be about new electronic documentation protocols. They’ve been pushing for system updates in internal medicine, might be rolling it out hospital-wide”

Jeonghan groans, “If this is about a new way to waste time charting, I’m walking out. Respectfully”

“No one walks out on Jihoon, you know that” Wonwoo chuckles.

“True” he sighs, “He’d track me down by the parking garage and make me sign three confidentiality waivers for breathing the wrong way”

“Relax” Joshua says with a grin. “Maybe he’s just here to announce he’s finally taking a vacation”

“That would be the most shocking medical development of the year” Jeonghan replies, “Jihoon stepping away from his desk for more than three hours would send the entire hospital into cardiac arrest”

Wonwoo shakes his head with a chuckle and before he can say more, the door at the front of the room swings open. The low buzz across the conference table fades almost immediately, chairs shuffle and postures straighten, coffee cups are discreetly lowered as, neurosurgeon and top clinician, Dr. Lee Jihoon strides in with his usual efficiency. A folder is tucked under one arm, a tablet in the other and on his face, behind the glasses, the expression of a man who already knows how long this meeting will last to the minute.

“Good afternoon, everyone” he greets them at the head of the table, “Thank you for coming”

Jihoon is shorter than most of the doctors sitting around him but there isn’t a single person in the room who doubts that he commands the space. He moves silently, almost soundlessly like a shadow, his crisp white coat hanging perfectly from his petite shoulders. His expression is stern, perhaps disapproving by default, his dark eyes scanning the table as if he’s already noticed who’s annoyed to be there and who’s forgotten to fasten the second button on their shirt.

There’s nothing particularly loud about him. Jihoon doesn’t raise his voice, he doesn’t scold his interns, he actually doesn’t need to. His silences are legendary and speak for themselves. His piercing gazes can chill the air in a room faster than the air conditioning and interns have been known to rehearse their medical records updates by heart just to avoid a single raised eyebrow from him.

He is, by all accounts, the silent terror of the hospital corridors.

And yet Wonwoo, Jeonghan, and Joshua know more than anyone that behind that facade lies a tender man.

They’ve seen him in quieter moments, outside of work hours. Jihoon handing out vitamins to overworked interns. Jihoon wrapping a scarf around the shoulders of a nurse napping during a long shift. Jihoon leaving handwritten notes of support on post-it when someone solves a complicated case. His heart, however hidden, beats loudly beneath layers of brisk professionalism and bureaucratic armor.

And right now he’s rummaging through a folder with clinical efficiency, flipping through documents until he finds what he’s looking for. He sets it aside and turns to the projector set up right next to him. A few seconds of pressing a button, a loud buzz, and the screen on the far wall lights up with the pale glow of a hospital-branded slide template.

Jihoon clears his throat, his eyes sweeping across the table.

“Can we get started ? Are we all ready ?”

But just before anyone can nod, two polite knocks sound against the door and all heads turn as soon as a tall figure pushes it open and slips inside with an apologetic half-bow.

“Sorry I’m late” Dr. Kim Mingyu says, voice warm but slightly breathless. “I’m very sorry”

The pediatric surgeon steps into the room with his usual, almost irritating brand of effortless presence. His green scrub clings to his broad frame, the color makes his tanned skin looking almost divine under the bright hospital lights. His dark hair is neatly slicked back, still damp from what must have been a rushed shower or a very recent scrub-down in the operating room. His white coat sways slightly as he walks and the head of a goofy-looking stuffed tiger peeks out of his breast pocket with its tiny paws dangling over the edge.

A prop, no doubt, to make children smile during checkups. Or, Wonwoo thinks bitterly, just a calculated touch to appear even more charming.

Wonwoo stiffens, his jaw clenched before he knows it. He doesn’t turn his head but his eyes follow Mingyu’s entrance with a gaze so sharp it could strike someone dead. The entire room seems to move with him, some of the younger residents coming to life in their seats, someone in the back whispering something under their breath.

Of course, Kim Mingyu doesn’t just walk into the rooms. He arrives as if the spotlight naturally adapts to his steps.

It’s always been this way, Wonwoo remembers, ever since college.

Mingyu would walk into class five minutes late and somehow the entire class would turn around as if on cue. Not because he asked, not even because he tried, but because people would just look at him. He had that kind of strong, dazzling presence that was effortless. Professors remembered his name, classmates gravitated toward him. And worse, he was good. Not just good, brilliant, in that infuriating way that made others feel like they were trying too hard just to keep up with him.

Now, years later, nothing has changed. Mingyu is back at Seoul National Hospital after a six-month leave spent in Hawaii, and people already act like he dropped in off the clouds instead of a direct flight from Honolulu. The charity-funded pediatric surgery program he enrolled in basically came to him wrapped with a gold ribbon. He returns not only with clinical prestige but with stories, tans, and the uncanny ability to captivate the entire fourth floor as he walks the halls.

The hospital has welcomed him like a returning hero. Mischievous and inappropriate smiles, nurses whispering about how tanned he is. Interns eager to ask questions they already know the answer to, just to hear him speak.

Wonwoo folds his arms, unimpressed unlike others. His body may be still but something stirs inside him, a familiar resentment toward that blowhard man that he has never fully acknowledged and never quite extinguished.

Must be nice to waltz in, throw a grin around, and still be everybody’s favorite.

He watches Mingyu gently bow to the people there again and slide into a chair not far from him, giving Jihoon a polite smile, which, to Wonwoo’s growing annoyance, he actually returns it.

“It’s nice to see you back here, Dr. Kim” he says, “I hope you had a good stay in Hawaii”

There’s a ripple of polite murmurs behind him, a few soft chuckles from around the table. Someone smiles too broadly, other whispers something not very appropriate under their breath.

Wonwoo narrows his eyes. He doesn’t smile seeing him, doesn’t even blink at his presence, rather his jaw stays tense because of course Jihoon lets it slide. Of course there’s no reprimand, no glance at the clock, no five-second silence of judgment from him. If any other physician had walked in late, no matter how busy the day or noble the excuse, Jihoon would’ve acknowledged it with a look sharp enough to draw blood.

But Kim Mingyu, instead, manages to get a smile only. “It was great, Dr. Lee, thank you” he replies smoothly, “The team over there was incredible, such a rewarding experience. But I’m also glad to be back, I missed the work here”

“Frantic as always, nothing has change as you can see” Jihoon’s mouth lifts faintly at one corner “But more hands are always helpful, I’m sure the pediatric ward is glad have you again“ he says, turning slightly toward the projector “Shall we begin now ?”

As Jihoon looks out over the room, Wonwoo sinks into his chair with his posture tilted slightly to the side. His eyes are fixed on the glowing slide in front of him but his mind doesn’t register the bullet points, too tired to absorb them even more after all the work. His arms fold loosely across his chest, his posture relaxed in shape but tense at the core, every muscle in his jaw drawn tight beneath the surface. Next to him, Jeonghan yawns softly behind his hand, muttering something incomprehensible about meetings and life crises but Wonwoo barely catches.

His thoughts are already projected outside the hospital, to all the relaxing things he could do at home. He’s imagining a fabulous delivery dinner eaten in the comfort of his couch, soft blankets hugging him and the weight in his shoulders begins to soften in fantasy, just a little. Until Wonwoo feels a subtle pressure on him, a magnetic push that’s more than a mere glance.

He shifts his gaze just enough to scan the room and not so far from there, there it is, that look, belonging to Kim Mingyu who is slyly watching him just few seats away.

It’s nothing too intense, there’s no smirk on his lips, just a sneaky look that this time doesn’t contain any smug of challenge, but held long enough to be intentional. Mingyu's expression is unreadable, so neutral and composed, but beneath the surface there is a flash of memory that has always lingered between them.

His chin is slightly tilted, his eyes fixed under the dark eyebrows. There’s no hostility in his eyes but that gaze is not casual either.

Wonwoo actually knows that look.

He has known it since college lectures and hospital stairwells, since the first internships and meetings in the ward hallways. Since rotations where they would trade clipped nods outside the operating rooms and surgical debriefings where no one said it out loud but everyone knew who among them was right.

If there’s one thing he’s always refused to do, it’s shrink in front of the uni-golden-boy Kim Mingyu. That’s why Wonwoo doesn’t shy away from him like others often do, he doesn’t feel intimidated by his presence because he’s always been able to stand up to that challenging look if not being the only one who could do it.

Wonwoo meets his stare just for one-second, direct and surgical, then he lowers it again as if nothing had happened. His mouth stays tight, pressed into a firm line, and his jaw clenches with the same precision he uses while threading sutures. There’s no reaction from him, Wonwoo doesn’t reciprocate his curiosity neither gives him such satisfaction.

But inside ?

Inside, the monologue starts playing on loop.

He thinks that the world turns a little faster for him only. Still late, still smiling like he owns the hospital. Arrogant. Disrespectful. Typical Kim Mingyu.

Wonwoo exhales through his nose, long and slow. A mere provocation. Let him watch.

He tries to tune back into Jihoon’s voice echoing slightly in the white-tiled room as the first official slide clicks into place on the screen.

“— As many of you are aware, our hospital is continuing to grow not only in reputation but also in complexity” Jihoon says. “Our emergency rooms are constantly at capacity. We often don’t have the staffing flexibility to meet the evolving needs of every patient in real time. More and more frequently, we are seeing cases that don’t fall neatly into a single department and these are no longer exceptions but they are becoming quietly the norm”

Jihoon clicks to the next slide and on the screen appears a graph showing a steady upward curve admissions, complications, referral delays. More numbers than anyone wants to see late in the day.

"These very often include pediatric cases that have congenital heart defects and complications that we need to be as prepared as possible to address surgically. Trauma cases with concomitant neurological and vascular injuries. Cancer patients with underlying metabolic instability. These are patients who need integrated care, not segmented silos”

Another slide shows Jihoon’s personally annotated case studies, photos blurred for privacy, paired with brief diagnostic overviews.

“That’s why —” the chief says, pausing briefly to make eye contact with the room, “ — starting this month, we’re implementing a new hospital protocol called Integrated Clinical Collaboration”

A low murmur rises around the table, chairs shift slightly as pens flutter. Wonwoo raises an eyebrow but says nothing as next to him, Jeonghan tilts his head as if someone has just opened a math book in front of him and Joshua lets out a long impressed whistle. Mingyu, in front of him, leans forward slightly, hands clasped on the table and eyes fixed on Dr. Lee in silent attention.

Jihoon keeps to explain, now that he has full control of the room. "This protocol is designed to move us away from working in watertight compartments. For complex or high-risk patients, especially those whose conditions cross multiple disciplines, we will now form interdepartmental teams to coordinate diagnosis, surgeries and postoperative care. These teams will operate with shared authority, equal access to patient data and unified rounds schedules to eliminate fragmentation”

The chief taps the tablet screen once again and a new slide now displays a table listing the departments involved: Cardiac Surgery, Pediatric Surgery, Neurology, Oncology, Emergency Medicine, General Surgery.

Colored lines connect the categories.

"In the first phase, we will begin with selected pilot cases, carefully handpicked for complexity and feasibility of interdepartmental collaboration. The first of these will be a partnership between Cardiac Surgery and Pediatric Surgery”

Wonwoo feels the shift in the room and the subtle turn of eyes of his colleagues. He keeps his face neutral, but something in his chest tightens with the quiet inevitability of it all.

Please don’t say that.

“This collaboration will focus on pediatric patients who also require cardiology consultations in the same department, whose conditions benefit from combined surgical and pediatric expertise. Dr. Jeon and Dr. Kim will jointly lead this first area —“ Fuck “— and we are confident that our patients will be in good hands as they will be responsible for managing the integration at this stage, working closely with your respective surgical teams, intensive care and post-operative monitoring units”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes with restrained annoyance, the motion small but sharp, just enough to betray the current of irritation running beneath his otherwise composed exterior. His jaw tightens as he exhales slowly through his nose and with measured disinterest, he turns his head slightly toward Mingyu, the one he would have to share shifts with from then on, but turns out to be a big mistake.

Because Mingyu is already looking back at him.

He’s seated with ease, one arm draped casually over the table’s edge, but his gaze is anything but careless. It’s direct and focused and worse, there’s a flicker of something curled at the corner of his mouth, not a smirk and not even a full smile, but something amused that let Wonwoo being aware of how much his presence will get under his skin, enjoying it just enough to make it personal.

Wonwoo bites his cheek and shifts his gaze away refocusing on the front of the room. Jihoon continues his methodical listing, tone clipped and clinical as the next slide shifts. “— Dr. Choi’s traumatology department will be working closely with General Surgery. Their unit has been selected for musculoskeletal trauma integration”

Joshua snorts under his breath and leans over, nudging Jeonghan’s arm with a grin. “Looks like you’re up, Dr. Yoon. Time to tango with Choi Seungcheol"

Jeonghan groans softly. “I’d rather be sedated”

“You and me both” Wonwoo mutters, just loud enough for the two of them to hear.

A low ripple of private laughter passes between them but still Jihoon doesn’t pause. With his usual brisk efficiency, he clicks to the next slide in the presentation, the glow of the screen reflected faintly in the lenses of his glasses. “Questions, anyone ?” he asks, turning back toward the conference table. But his tone is sharp, the lift of his brow more directive than inquisitive, less an invitation than a summons.

For a second, silence stretches. Then Mingyu raises his hand.

“Has the pilot case already been selected ?” he asks, his tone professional, perfectly pitched.

“It will be finalized in the coming days” Jihoon replies. And then his eyes flick briefly to both Mingyu and Wonwoo. “I expect the best from you. You’ll conduct the preliminary assessment together, define the surgical plan and coordinate post-operative care. Full collaboration. Full responsibility”

There’s a shift in the room, subtle but unmistakable. A few of the residents exchange looks, quiet flickers of curiosity or caution. Even Jeonghan tilts his head slightly, one eyebrow lifting in silent interest. Wonwoo doesn’t flinch but there’s a faint twitch in his fingers where they rest against the curve of his bicep, barely noticeable unless you knew him well.

Then Mingyu nods smoothly and worse, looks at Wonwoo again. “We’ll do our best” he says.

The words are delivered with soft certainty but to Wonwoo they cut with the cool precision of a scalpel. It’s the way he says it, that confident use of we, laced with quiet intent. A statement that sounds harmless but lands heavy and sharp enough to provoke.

Wonwoo doesn’t speak, he can’t do that with the weight of so many eyes on him. Jihoon is already going on with his presentation, his voice a low rhythm as he shifts to the next bullet point, but the cardio surgeon barely registers his words this time. His jaw tightens until the muscle aches from the strain, and he keeps his eyes locked on the screen, posture unmoving like stone.

Inside, though, he’s bracing for impact.

It’s going to be a ride.

And not the smooth kind one.

Chapter Text

“I'm bigger than my body
I'm colder than this home
I'm meaner than my demons
I'm bigger than these bones”

That early morning the pale light of dawn filters lazily through the curtains, casting a soft milky glow across the bathroom wall. It’s as if even the sun has woken up more tired than usual, taking its time to rise, stretching slowly across the horizon like someone reluctant to leave the warmth of their bed. The air around is a little cold but unhurried, so fresh but still wrapped in the quiet bliss of that sleeping city for a little while longer.

In front of the mirror, Wonwoo is buttoning his shirt. The cuffs are still undone but the collar is folded carefully at the edges, as if each crease deserves his full attention. The fabric is plain white slightly stiff from being ironed the night before and like all of his favorites, this one is clean-cut as well, minimalist, with seams so straight they could be mistaken for surgical incisions.

His morning routine is a sort of sacred ritual for him, Wonwoo’s every movement silent and wrapped in his own private bubble where no sound could enter. His fingers move along the row of buttons, fastening each one with the same delicate precision he uses to handle delicate instruments in the operating room while behind him, the apartment is equally silent.

Or rather, the place he has called home for years now.

A modest apartment on the seventh floor of a quiet building in Seongbuk-dong, with wide windows and light wooden floors. Wonwoo had chosen that place for its proximity to the hospital and its view of Naksan Park — particularly beautiful during spring time with its cherry trees in bloom — and he had always promised himself that one day he would fix everything and turn it into a real home. He would buy some colorful paintings to hang on the walls, fill the shelves with novels and essays he actually wants to read, replace the plain agency-provided curtains in the living room with something warmer and more personal. Even new glasses for tea, he had told himself.

But that day never really came.

The bookshelf behind the couch holds nothing but medical manuals and a few philosophy texts scattered among them like misplaced files in an otherwise orderly system. The dining table sits untouched, pristine, except for a lone mug left there for the herbal tea drank the night before. On the couch, blankets are draped carelessly and in the diluted light of the morning, as his reflection sharpens in the mirror, Wonwoo wonders for a moment if the house had ever really become his or if it was just the place where he returns to sleep between one call and another.

He fastens the cuffs of the shirt with brisk gestures. The veins on his hands are evident and stand out like thin ropes under his skin, in the dim light the dark blue of his capillaries seems almost fluorescent. Wonwoo stares at them a little longer than necessary. Surgeon’s hands, everyone says so, long and fine fingers, delicate even in the way they hold a fork or write a prescription on paper.

But to him they just seem like hands. Tired, expert. Sometimes even sore.

On the counter next to the sink, the midnight blue tie is waiting for him rolled up. Wonwoo picks it up and begins knotting it without even looking his own movements, fingers moving automatically the way they have hundreds of times before. A simple double knot, just as his father taught him, cinched at the base and pulled up carefully to rest beneath his Adam’s apple. Neat enough to look professional, loose enough to feel comfortable. Elegant but never showy. Always balanced just like everything in his life strives to be.

His work bag sits on the armchair in his room. Black, in matte leather with a sturdy zip and forced stitching. Inside, along with his notebook and iPad, documents of all types, Wonwoo has also folded a clean white coat freshly smelling of fabric softener. It’s not the one he usually wears at the hospital soaked with the smell of disinfectant but the one with his name embroidered in dark blue on the pocket that he reserves for formal events like the conference he needs to attend that morning.

That interdepartmental clinical event had been organized by his hospital a few weeks ago, Wonwoo had marked it on his calendar and even put a reminder on his phone so he wouldn’t forget. It is open not only to internal doctors but also to visiting professionals and selected residents. The topic is “Hybrid Treatment Models in Oncology Patients with Cardiac and Neurological Comorbidities” not exactly his field but his presence as a surgeon, according to Jihoon, is more than necessary.

Wonwoo runs a hand through his hair to smooth it back, and as his fingers rake through the strands, the fading echo of his first conference from years ago comes to him with an unmistakable charge of nostalgia, suddenly resurfacing in his mind.

He was just twenty-one back then. A second-year university student with too little sleep and too much nervous energy in his veins, suddenly chosen to accompany a group of senior professors to a national conference on Child Neuropsychiatry. He hadn’t known a thing about the subject, not really, but for an entire week leading up to the event, Wonwoo had buried himself in articles, lecture notes and case studies, determined not to seem clueless beside a cohort of expert physicians.

He could still picture the red notebook he had bought especially for the occasion, pretty cheap, spiral-bound, its cover already soft at the edges from being carried everywhere. The pages had been filled margin to margin with tiny handwriting, as if sheer diligence could compensate for what he lacked in experience.

He remembered sitting in the front row, palms too sweaty and posture too straight. When the panel opened the floor for questions, Wonwoo had hesitated only a second before raising his hand. His question had been basic, perhaps even naive, but it had come from a place of genuine wonder. The professor on stage had smiled at him, not indulgently but warmly, and had answered with surprising care, acknowledging Wonwoo’s curiosity rather than his inexperience.

That simple moment had carved itself into his memory and that same night, on the train ride back home, Wonwoo had stared out the window with a fierce pride swelling in his chest. He still didn’t know what he was building yet but he was sure, even then, that it was something important.

Back then, just being there had been enough.

Now, years later, the sharp thrill of those early days has dulled into a kind of rhythm. Conferences are no longer shining milestones to be reached but recurring obligatory appointments. The anticipation has faded into formality. Invitations arrive with usual regularity and the applause of congratulations for the speech begins and ends like background music. The prestige no longer dazzles as before, or perhaps it’s not the prestige that has changed but Wonwoo himself.

There was a time when he believed that being seen meant being valued, that recognition equated to having respect. But now Wonwoo looks at the world more cautiously and understands that sometimes silence weighs more than a thousand compliments. Sometimes the most authentic form of respect is the absence of noise, the confidence to simply be.

Wonwoo takes one last look at himself in the mirror. His tie is straight, his shirt smooth without a single crease. His gaze is calm but tired, not at all excited about the day ahead but composed enough to appear so.

And maybe that's all the energy he needs for today.

With one hand he picks up his bag, with the other he turns off the light in his bedroom and steps into the corridor to pull the door close behind him. The apartment sinks into silence once more and in that space even time seems hesitant to move, tiptoeing gently around, careful not to disturb what little warmth still lingers in the air.

The hallway outside is dim, motion sensor lights flickering as he passes. Wonwoo presses the elevator button and waits, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder as his fingers drum absentmindedly on the worn edge of the leather. When the doors open with a soft ding, he steps inside catching a glimpse of himself in the mirrored wall, looking just like someone on their way to work, or maybe someone pretending not to fear another day of responsibility.

Outside his building, the sky is still painted in the soft blues and grays of dawn. Seoul city is just starting to stir and wake up. The streets are mostly deserted, traffic is light as the usual hum of horns and engines are not yet in full swing. A newsagent lowers the shutters of his stall. A jogger passes by with headphones on, his breath faintly condensing in the morning chill. Somewhere nearby, a bus pulls away from the sidewalk with a soft hiss of brakes.

The cafe just around the corner is already open, its dim yellow lights glowing like a lantern in the gloom. Wonwoo stops briefly inside to please his body screaming for caffeine, the bell above the door tinkling softly as he enters. The barista behind the counter greets him with a nod and a big smile, he is a familiar face by now, and Wonwoo points out his usual order to take away. A black Americano with no sugar or milk.

The warm paper cup is in his hands few minutes after and Wonwoo is back on the sidewalk. He takes a slow sip as he opens his car, savoring the bitter taste on his lips. It’s not a perfect coffee but enough to remind him that he’s awake, that the day has begun and that there’s no way back to the warmth of his bed.

The car ride is quiet. The streets are still soft with sleep as the traffic light changes from red to green at long slow intervals. Seoul stretches out in front of him in a patchwork of rooftops and soaring towers suspended between shadow and light. Here and there, the city slowly comes to life. Office windows glow, vendors arrange their windows’ shops, neon signs still hum faintly from the night before. The Han River runs alongside him for part of the journey, its glassy gray surface broken only by the occasional ripple from a passing boat.

Wonwoo drives in silence with one hand clamped firmly around the steering wheel, his knuckles pale against the leather. The only sound accompanying him is the soft hum of the engine, a subtle vibration beneath his seat like a heartbeat trying to soothe him. He doesn’t bother turning on the radio, that quiet is a rare comfort, and in that same bubble of stillness, Wonwoo allows himself a few more moments of solitude as if holding off the inevitable current of voices and obligations just a little longer.

The conference this time is held in a fancy hotel near Dongdaemun, one of those skyscrapers which its sleek glass facade catches the morning sun like a surface of rippling water. Wonwoo pulls into the underground parking lot and flashes his badge and invitation at the attendant, catching sight of other cars filing in right behind him. Doctors step out of their taxis in tailored suits, their lanyards swinging as they adjust their jackets. Nurses and coordinators cluster near the entrance, flipping through folders and checking their phones with their badges clipped neatly to their chest pockets.

Wonwoo parks his car close to the elevator (strategically chosen for a quick escape later) and kills the engine even though for a moment he doesn’t dare to move. He sits there, instead, with both hands resting on his lap, letting the engine's silence settle over him. Then, with a soft sigh, he grabs his half-finished coffee from the console, slings his bag over one shoulder, and opens the door to head toward the tide already rising above him.

The hotel lobby is already bustling with life. A polished floor stretches beneath a chandelier that sparkles like an icy waterfall. Receptionists in matching uniforms gesture at conference signs and a steady stream of people passes through the space. Some chat in groups, others alone, eyes scanning phones or checking their watches on the wrist. Wonwoo follows the signs down a hallway lined with glass walls and promotional banners. A huge digital screen near the entrance displays the name of the event in bold blue letters, National Conference on Neurological Innovations, as a program slowly scrolls beneath it, listing speakers, times, and locations for the various panels.

The main room is large and bright, filled with rows of white chairs and long tables stacked with brochures and glossy name tags. People are already gathering in small circles, waving their hands, laughter rising in gentle waves. Some of the faces are familiar, colleagues from previous hospitals, professors from his residency, research partners he once emailed late into the night. Wonwoo nods every now and then when he catches someone’s eye, offering a polite half-smile. Some wave back, others are too engrossed in their conversation to notice.

It isn’t quite loneliness that settles in his chest more like a sense of disconnection, as if Wonwoo were watching a party through a pane of glass. The laughter, the conversations, they all seem just slightly out of reach, muffled by an invisible barrier he can’t quite name.

Across the room, in the far corner near a display booth, Wonwoo spots Jihoon. The younger man is in his element, flanked by two other physicians who seem absorbed in whatever he’s saying. His hands move as he speaks, emphasizing points with a grace that doesn’t feel rehearsed. His posture is relaxed, the easy confidence of someone who knows exactly where he stands. That’s always been Jihoon, precise but never cold, charismatic without effort, able to win over even the most hard-nosed skeptic with a single well-placed remark.

Wonwoo watches him quietly from the edge of the room, there’s no need to interrupt. Not yet. He lifts his coffee to his lips for the last sip and tosses the paper cup into a trash can before letting his gaze wander around the room.

The stage is still empty, a large screen flashes with the event’s logo behind an elegant podium. Around him, people are starting to take their seats, flipping through programs with a soft rustle of paper. The low hum of voices rises and falls like a tide and spotting a few empty seats in the center, Wonwoo begins to ease his way through the crowd, gliding through the rows like a shadow.

He adjusts his coat as he walks, tugging it into place with the kind of unconscious motion born of routine, and takes his seat on the front row, bypassing the clusters of idle conversation. It’s not about visibility rather giving people around him the illusion of control, to himself the chance to tune out the murmur behind him and fix his eyes on the stage and nothing else.

To be present but also to be apart.

Wonwoo settles into his chair, his back resting comfortably against the cushion. He slips his phone from his pocket and begins scrolling through his social feed not out of any real interest but more from muscle memory, a reflex born of idle moments and background noise. The glow of the screen casts a faint pallor over his face as images and headlines blur past, his gaze skimming without truly landing on anything.

A message from Jihoon blink at the top corner, “See you later. I’m on the other side”, to which Wonwoo replies with a thumb-up emoji and swipes it all away.

Then, without warning, before Wonwoo can even look up, the chair beside him shifts under a sudden weight and a strong cologne insinuates itself into his nostrils.

It arrives softly at first like the echo of a moving breeze but quickly builds in intensity. A complex, unmistakably masculine perfume, a scent steeped in sharp bergamot, softened by the warmth of cedar wood and something subtly smoky in the background, leather perhaps. It's the kind of cologne that lingers and claims its space with quiet arrogance.

Kinda refined, if not intentional.

“You still prefer sitting in front row like in college, mh ?”

Wonwoo clenches his jaw before his eyes turn to that warm, soothing voice, too familiar to his ears.

Mingyu sits next to him perfectly composed in an elegant black suit that fits his figure like a second skin, flawless and studied in every fold to best show off his figure. His hair is slicked back, sharp at the sides, effortlessly stylish. A pair of black-framed glasses rests on his nose, giving him the kind of intellectual authority that most people have to work years to fake. But Mingyu actually had no need to fake anything, he had always moved through the rooms as if he owned the air.

Wonwoo takes a deep breath, letting his eyes scan him for a second. "I just prefer to stay away from narcissists like you" he says bluntly, locking the phone and slipping it into his coat pocket.

Mingyu chuckles amused, “Ah, there it is, that sharp little tongue of yours. I’ve missed it”

“Don’t romanticize it. It's not a compliment”

Mingyu leans back in his chair with a soft sigh, crossing one long leg over the other, fingers laced loosely in his lap. “And yet, it still cuts the same. Honestly, Wonwoo, I don’t know how you manage to stay so cold in a room full of warm people”

“I manage because I don’t waste energy on pointless conversations”

“But this —” Mingyu gestures between them, a faint smile curling at the edges of his mouth, “— isn’t pointless. It’s nostalgic”

Wonwoo doesn’t answer back and Mingyu takes that as permission to continue. “Remember that time in second year ? The case review with Professor Bae, when I answered that question for you before you could open your mouth ? You looked like I’d just insulted your family lineage, same expression you’re making right now”

“Without my notes, you wouldn’t have had that answer in the first place”

“Your notes were terrifying. I’m pretty sure I still have nightmares about your handwriting, like a swarm of angry little ants marching in lines”

“Yet you copied them religiously”

“Only because I hated neurology and your notes were better than anything I had. And maybe, just maybe, because I liked watching you pretend not to notice me reading over your shoulder”

Wonwoo bites the inside of his cheek, eyes narrowing. “What do you want today, Mingyu ? To see how fast you can reach my threshold for irritation ?”

“Conversation” Mingyu replies with a smile, “Companionship. Camaraderie. The C-Triple”

“I can offer you ‘cynicism.’ That’s the only ‘C’ you’re getting from me”

Mingyu laughs again, this time quieter, and shrugs. “You know, most people change after a few years in the field. But you… you just polished your sarcasm and filed it into a more socially acceptable tone”

“Not everyone needs to change to fit in” Wonwoo replies, his voice colder now.

“You don’t fit in at all, in fact. That’s what makes you different from the others”

There’s a moment of silence between them as the room grows louder behind them. More people arrive, more voices overlap, the buzz of microphones being tested. Somewhere in the back, a projector turns on, the program’s welcome slide illuminating the screen with a soft light.

Wonwoo shifts in his seat and exhales slowly through his nose. “Why did you sit here, of all places? Do you feel like a lost puppy among professionals and suddenly need a familiar face?”

“I’m doing this for you” Mingyu says casually, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’ll have to get used to having me around, we’re working together for the next few months, remember ? Or have you already erased Jihoon’s briefing from that steel-trap memory of yours ?”

Wonwoo turns his head just enough to catch a glimmer of seriousness in Mingyu's expression. "I couldn’t forget, even if I wanted to"

"They seem to think we make a good team together"

Wonwoo snorts, ”I think they're confusing functionality with compatibility"

“Well” Mingyu says, shifting just enough so their shoulders are almost touching, "Sometimes conflict creates chemistry, just like in college"

“This isn’t college, Mingyu” Wonwoo replies through gritted teeth, “And I’m not interested in recreating the illusion of rivalry you enjoyed back then”

“Oh, I never saw it as a rivalry” he replies, feigning surprise. “More like… productive tension. You challenged me, I challenged you. You wrote brutal feedback on my papers, I stole your spotlight during rounds. It was an ecosystem in balance”

“Barely tolerable balance” Wonwoo mutters.

“And yet, here we are, Jeon Wonwoo” Mingyu’s smile widens, “Full circle”

The overhead lights dim slightly, casting a soft glow over the large conference room, and a low murmur spreads through the audience like an ebbing tide. The event director’s voice rings out from the microphone on the podium, slightly distorted at first, then clearer, as he welcomes attendees to that annual International Symposium.

The rustle of the brochures and whispered conversations fades into a polite round of applause. Wonwoo straightens in his chair and joins them, clapping his hands softly as he adjusts his posture with the concentration he reserves for things that bore him but demand his attention. His eyes stay fixed on the stage but the scent of Mingyu’s cologne keeps lingering between them, clinging to the air like static electricity. His presence feels too close, too intense, and for the first time in years Wonwoo feels the irritating itch of being watched.

Not with judgement or malice but with something close to a bittersweet memory, maybe with something else he doesn’t really want to name.

Beside him, Mingyu doesn’t move much but his presence is overwhelming. His body language exudes a quiet confidence, the kind that doesn’t need to be shown off to be noticed. He leans back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, arms relaxed at his sides as if he belongs in every room he enters without having to earn it. His glasses catch the reflection of the light, the sharp frames standing out against his features.

Wonwoo keeps his gaze fixed on the stage and tries to focus on the event only. The first presentation is held by a Viennese researcher which starts to discuss the early diagnosis of cardiac risk in patients undergoing neurotoxic cancer therapies. The slides are thick with flow charts and abbreviations, graphs of cerebral perfusion overlap with heart rate variability. There’s a talk of biomarkers and mitochondrial fatigue, Wonwoo should be interested but he actually isn’t.

His gaze flattens into something passive, absorbing the words but letting them slide off the surface of his attention. A woman two seats away scribbles something on a notebook, a man at the end of the row shifts noisily in his seat. The overhead lights hum faintly and Wonwoo inhales slowly, resisting the urge to yawn.

The second presentation comes from Tokyo. The speaker talks about inflammatory markers in immunotherapy patients and their correlation with mood disorders and brain atrophy. More numbers, more bar graphs. Wonwoo’s eyes start to glow again and his normally sharp and meticulous mind starts to wander. He thinks about his list of patients, the ones he’ll have to check on during the night shift, about the unread messages on his phone, he also thinks about the phone call he remembers to make tomorrow for his mother’s birthday.

“Do you think anyone would notice if I sneaked out for a coffee ?” Mingyu suddenly whispers in his ear.

Wonwoo doesn’t turn his head but his eyes narrow slightly, cutting sideways toward him with the slow burn of a glare that speaks volumes. “I would notice” he says, flat and sharp.

“Oh, so you care about me” Mingyu hums, clearly delighted with himself. “How touching”

“I care about not sitting next to an irresponsible person” Wonwoo hisses back, “Now shut up and pay attention to the attendant”

Mingyu chuckles softly beside him, a warm velvety sound that somehow still manages to be full-bodied and loud enough to turn a few curious heads nearby. It’s the kind of laugh that fills a space whether invited or not and Wonwoo doesn’t turn to look at him but he feels his irritation spike like a needle against skin. His jaw tenses, he presses his tongue against the back of his teeth, forcibly keeping himself from snapping with a glare that would only fuel whatever satisfaction Mingyu was drawing from his discomfort.

On the stage a third speaker steps forward, noticeably younger and considerably more animated than the two before. His posture is upright with a kind of performative enthusiasm, voice bright with practiced European cadence. The subject he presents seems cutting-edge, “AI-assisted neural feedback systems designed to provide real-time cardiac monitoring in cancer patients undergoing chemotherapy or immunotherapy” and the presentation is clearly rehearsed.

Slides come to life on the screen in front of them. Pulsing heat maps of the brain and heart, digital overlays that dance with movement as if the body were a city lit up at night, neurons like streetlights flickering intentionally. The images are visually arresting, momentarily capturing Wonwoo’s attention but the intrigue dissipates just as quickly. Colors become noise, words become empty. Everything floats in that sterile void that so often exists between academic innovation and the brutal immediacy of an emergency room.

Wonwoo shifts slightly in his chair. His back stays straight, his hands draped in his lap offering an image of attentive professionalism but inside his head, his focus drops again. These polished slides never account for the smell of seared flesh, don’t show the sweat that runs down the temple of a patient mid-crisis. They don’t quantify the way a heart skips a beat under gloved fingers just before a code is called.

Wonwoo admires the research but he can't understand its detachment from the real hospital life.

So clinical, so far removed from the sweat, blood, and real-time urgency of surgery.

He starts to feel almost out of place in that context but then something flashes on the projector and the logo of their hospital suddenly appears on the screen.

Wonwoo lifts his chin slightly, pretending attention as his colleague heads toward the podium. It’s their senior, Dr. Hwang Daejin, an internal medicine specialist with a penchant for exhaustive detail and dramatic gestures. The man adjusts the microphone with the same care he uses when he recites drug interactions during checkups.

“Good morning, esteemed colleagues” he begins, his voice sounding so warm and charismatic. “It’s a privilege to be here today, among so many forward-thinking minds. Today I’d like to talk to you about a model we’re developing at our institution, one that seeks to bridge the all-too-common gap between oncology, neurology, and cardiology. Too often, our patients experience cardiac complications after they’ve started neurological treatment and we believe it’s too late to intervene with a specific treatment in that case. What if we moved the cardiac evaluations to the beginning of the protocol instead of waiting for symptoms to appear ?”

There’s a murmur of curiosity in the room. Wonwoo feels the air shift slightly, becoming more alert and more interested.

Dr. Hwang continues, flipping through a slide illustrating the integration model. “We’ve created a system where the patient sees a cardiologist before their first oncology imaging exam. We evaluate left ventricular function, ischemic risk, and ECG irregularities, particularly in cases where neuro-oncology treatment involves vascular overload”

Wonwoo nods weakly, recognizing the language of his hospital on the screen. The model isn’t perfect yet, but it’s ambitious, it works.

He allows a brief moment of pride, which is quickly cut off. “Didn’t he ruin last year’s presentation by citing a paper that wasn’t even peer-reviewed ?” Mingyu murmurs, leaning in so close that the heat of his breath touches the outer edge of Wonwoo’s ear.

Wonwoo huffs quietly through his nose. “That was a mistake” he replies, “He corrected it during the Q&A”

“Nothing like a room full of oncologists tearing into a citation error like it’s raw meat. Quoting a study that hadn’t even cleared review takes a certain kind of confidence, or or a deep belief that no one in this room actually reads the footnotes”

“He owned up to it” Wonwoo says in a low voice, “Unlike some people who pretend they’ve never been wrong in their entire lives.”

Mingyu snorts, clearly amused “Are you talking about yourself ? Or is this some thinly veiled jab at me?”

“If I wanted to insult you, you’d know it”

“You’ve been practicing that line in the mirror ?” Mingyu says, grinning.

“I don’t have time to rehearse my comebacks. Some of us have actual work to do”

“And yet you always have time to argue with me”

Wonwoo doesn’t even blink, “Are you allergic to silence, or do you just like being annoying ?”

“I’m only trying to add some texture to this dry little opera” Mingyu says, gesturing loosely toward the speaker on stage. “You’ve seen half the room’s asleep, right ? And the other half are just nodding like they understand all the acronyms when really they’re thinking about lunch”

“Funny” Wonwoo hums, “I don’t recall your commentary being listed on the agenda”

“That’s because I’m an unscheduled delight” Mingyu boldly replies, all teeth and confidence, “You’re welcome, by the way”

“You’re insufferable”

“Admit it. You missed this”

Wonwoo’s eyebrows twitch, “Missed what ?”

“This” Mingyu gestures vaguely between them. “You. Me. Academia. Shared suffering”

“Don’t mistake my tolerance for nostalgia”

“Come on, Jeon Wonwoo” Mingyu teases, “Keep lying to yourself but you actually like having me around, otherwise you would’ve told me to leave the moment I sat down”

“I was hoping you’d take the hint and vanish on your own but I see that was overly optimistic”

“You’d be bored without me”

Wonwoo finally turns to look at him, his expression unreadable but something behind his eyes flickers. “I’d be focused without you”

Mingyu’s grin only grows, cocky and unrepentant. “So you do admit I’m a distraction”

“You’re a nuisance, not a distraction. There’s a difference”

Wonwoo lets the last word hang between them like a door closing, then exhales through his nose, softly but definitively. He folds his arms across his chest, the fabric of his sleeves rippling with the movement. It’s a small act of self-containment, a silent gesture of focus, his gaze returns to the stage willing his attention back into place and reminding himself that he’s here for the science, the knowledge, the formality of it all.

Dr. Hwang is still speaking from the podium. His tone is calm, his hands resting symmetrically on either side of the lectern. To anyone else, he’d probably sound composed but Wonwoo’s eyes suddenly narrow in instinct.

The cadence is off, it falters just slightly in kind of lapse unnoticed by most. A beat too slow between two words that should have followed one another effortlessly, an emphasis that’s out of place not too alarming to draw attention from the crowd but enough for someone like Wonwoo — trained to notice deviations in rhythm, cadence, breath— to hear it.

Dr. Hwang’s left hand, which usually gestures in articulate sweeps to emphasize his points, now clamps onto the edge of the podium. The skin over his knuckles turns pale, bloodless. His right hand floats briefly up to his chest in a subtle motion, too quick to register as distress to the audience, but far too telling for Wonwoo. He brushes away a bead of sweat from his forehead, his fingers linger there, pressing into his temple as though trying to steady himself from the inside.

Wonwoo straightens in his seat. His sense sharpen.

The man clears his throat with effort and reaches for the presentation remote with a motion that lacks his usual elegance. The pointer in his hand twitches slightly. He tries to change the slide but the click doesn’t land on the first try. Nor the second. His hand jerks instead of gliding, the gesture fractured by something internal. When he speaks again, his voice has grown thinner like a wire stretched too tightly. There’s confusion now in every syllable, a rasp he can’t quite suppress. His chest rises a fraction too quickly, the breaths shallow, mismatched to the rhythm of his speech.

Wonwoo scans him quickly, watching with clinical precision and cataloguing details like symptoms in a chart. The unnatural sheen on the man’s forehead, the slow tug at the collar of his dress shirt, as though trying to make room for air that refuses to come. The uneven shift of his weight, his stance growing slack, his knees bowing subtly inward as if forgetting how to hold him upright.

Cold sweat.

Labored breath.

Pallor blooming across his skin.

Dizziness, disorientation.

Chest ache.

The symptoms click together like teeth. The thought is so clinical, so immediate, that it stuns him in its clarity. “Mingyu” Wonwoo calls him by his side.

But Mingyu, still half-immersed in his running commentary, doesn’t register his alarming tone. "— seriously, at this point, I think if someone dropped a pen, it’d echo like a gunshot. Do you remember that seminar when —” he keeps babbling.

Wonwoo reaches out with firm intent, placing his hand on his forearm. “Mingyu” he says again, voice edged now with urgency. “Look at him”

“What ?” Mingyu follows his gaze to the stage and just like that, the humor dies on his lips. His eyes narrow as well. “Why is he —” his voice drops, “What’s happening ? Why is he trembling like that ?”

“Because he is having a heart attack” Wonwoo has the clarity to say before standing up from his seat. Mingyu follows him almost in near-synchrony and in that precise moment, staggering a step backward, clutching at nothing, Dr. Hwang collapses on the floor.

Chairs scrape, voices gasp, but Wonwoo is already halfway to the stage.

He bounds up the stairs two at a time, not slowing until he reaches the still figure slumped near the podium. The microphone gives a shrill screech of feedback as it topples from the lectern, hitting the floor with a clatter, forgotten. Dr. Hwang lies twisted on his side, one arm pinned beneath his body, the other outstretched as if seeking a balance he has never achieved. His glasses have fallen halfway from his face, his chest lifts just barely once before it stills completely.

Wonwoo drops to his knees beside him, completely changing the shape of his role. He is no longer just a face in the audience, no longer the quiet man in the front row. In that moment he is only the doctor in charge. Entirely, unquestionably.

“Dr. Hwang. Can you hear me ?” Wonwoo calls, loud and clear, but there’s no response. He presses two fingers against the man’s carotid artery but still no pulse from him, not even the slightest flicker.

Wonwoo gently rolls him onto his back, careful of any spinal sprains, adjusting the tilt of his head to open his airway. He checks again, no chest movement, no breath, no pulse. The skin around Dr. Hwang’s lips has begun to turn gray, his suffered face tells him all he needs to know. “He’s in cardiac arrest” Wonwoo murmurs to no one in particular, simply stating a fact.

There’s a stillness to Wonwoo’s body that masks the urgency coursing through his veins. His mind has already leaped ahead in time, oxygen flow, compressions, access to the AED, but there’s no crash cart here. Just carpet, lots of panic and the slow creeping realization from the crowd that this isn’t part of any simulation.

Wonwoo then rips the top buttons off Dr. Hwang’s shirt and slides his jacket to the side with practiced efficiency, freeing access to his sternum. The man’s conference badge slips from his collar and skitters to the floor. Someone behind him speaks — maybe calling for help, maybe asking questions — but Wonwoo doesn’t register any.

His focus sharpens to a single point.

He spreads his knees to anchor himself, interlocks his fingers, and positions his shoulders directly above his hands. Then, with precise force, Wonwoo drives the heels of his palms into the man’s chest starting the cardiopulmonary resuscitation. The first compression lands, followed by a second, Wonwoo tilts the head back counting softly under his breath and locking into the rhythm.

Two fingers to the carotid artery back again but still nothing. No pulse.

Wonwoo laces his fingers and begins again. “One, two, three…”

His weight rocks forward with mechanical control, each push met by the dull recoil of a body too still. The sternum creaks faintly beneath his hands with each thrust as the murmurs of the room fade, replaced only by the study thud of flesh against flesh.

Mingyu drops to his knees right next to him, his hands already poised to assist him. “You’re burning out fast” he says, scanning the veins standing out on his forearms and the sweat clinging to his jaw. “You’ve got maybe one minute left before you’ll lose the rhythm. Switch with me”

Wonwoo doesn’t even look up. “The rhythm is holding and still effective” he mutters through gritted teeth, “I’m counting the seconds. You’re crowding me”

“You’re going to lose compression depth” Mingyu snaps, “This isn’t a solo hero moment, there’s no surgical team to catch you if you collapse. We have to alternate”

“I said give me space” Wonwoo bites back, shifting his knees for better leverage as he drives his weight down harder. “If I stop now and your tempo’s even slightly off, we lose cerebral perfusion, oxygen, everything!”

Mingyu’s jaw flexes. “I know the goddamn protocol, Wonwoo. That’s why I’m saying you need to alternate. You’re at risk of fatiguing, your wrists are trembling, look at your hands —“

“Don’t touch me!” Wonwoo growls as Mingyu moves to correct his angle, jerking his shoulder away “I know how to run a code! You think I’ve never done this before ? I’ve worked in cardiac units since before you even finished your residency”

“And now you’re letting adrenaline call the shots” Mingyu hisses, “You’re overheating, you’re not even listening what I am —”

“I am listening” he snaps, “To his heart, to the fucking absence of it!”

“Then you damn well know cardiopulmonary resuscitation loses effectiveness fast if you don’t rotate!” Mingyu says louder now, frustration flaring in his eyes.

“I know that perfectly” Wonwoo barks, compressing harder now, almost punishing the space between each thrust. “And I also know if we interrupt rhythm now, we might never get it back. So either back me up or get out of the way!”

Mingyu reaches for his wrist, firm enough to make him pause. “You’re fucking lose control and you know it! Your face is crimson, your breath is uneven, you’re done!”

Wonwoo freezes. Just for a moment.

The auditorium buzzes distantly. Footsteps scuffing, someone yelling into a comms device, a gasp rippling through the back rows but the space between the two of them feels utterly still.

“I don’t need a pediatrician to tell me how to treat an adult going into arrest” Wonwoo says coldly.

The words slice through the air like a scalpel. Mingyu blinks once but something shifts in his eyes, a wounded flicker that’s gone before it can fully surface. “This isn’t about specialties. It’s about clarity and you don’t have it anymore”

Wonwoo’s lips twitch not in a quite a response but more like something cracking behind his composure. He keeps his eyes down, refusing to meet Mingyu’s as his hands go back to compressions, a little harder now, his rhythm still precise but his body visibly tiring.

Mingyu doesn’t move away, “You think being the only one who can save him makes you stronger. But you’re not alone, Jeon. Let me help. Switch with me. Now!”

“I’m the one —” Wonwoo mutters, voice labored “— who’s spent years watching hearts stop and start in my own hands. Don’t tell me what to do”

“And I’m the one who’s watched doctors exactly like you, brilliant and burnt-out, push until they make a mistake they can’t undo” Mingyu says, hitting the weakest point of his pride. “You think I don’t recognize this look ? You’re not worried about him anymore. You’re worried about you being wrong”

Wonwoo’s hands waver for just a second then he exhales deeply exhausted in controlled surrender. Without a word he shifts position letting Mingyu take the final reins of the operation. He takes over the compression without missing a beat, picking up the pace with the expert ease of a lifetime.

“One, two, three…” he counts under his breath, voice calm and precise despite the tension simmering under his skin.

Wonwoo stays kneeling beside him, one hand braced on Dr. Hwang’s shoulder, watching every motion with focus. His chest rises and falls in shallow bursts, as if he’s just surfaced from deep underwater. His jaw is locked, his silence heavy. They don’t look at each other but they move together in a purposeful rhythm now.

Just two doctors and one heart between them.

Mingyu is still deep into his compressions when another figure drops to the ground in urgency right next to them.

“Status ?” Jihoon asks briefly, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, fingers reaching for Dr. Hwang’s neck to double-check the absent pulse. “What are his vitals ?”

“Unconscious, no pulse on initial check, apneic. We’re at three minutes of compressions” Mingyu says. His words come clipped between breaths, muscles straining with each thrust. His pace remains steady and controlled but fatigue is slowly creeping in.

Jihoon scans the scene quickly, his eyes lands on Mingyu’s firm and rhythmic hands as he counts under his breath. “Good depth, keep that” he nods, turning sharply. “Wonwoo, can you ventilate ?”

Wonwoo doesn’t respond immediately. He’s leaning slightly back on his heels with sweat trickling down his temple, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. His hands are red from the strain of continuous compression. For a second too long, he doesn’t move.

“Dr. Jeon!” Jihoon says again, this time with urgency.

That snaps him back. Wonwoo blinks and shifts into motion,“Yeah. Yeah, I’ve got it”

He tilts Dr. Hwang’s head back, opens the airway with clinical precision, does a quick sweep of the mouth to check for blockage. Then with practiced calm, Wonwoo pinches the nose shut and delivers two measured breaths. The man’s chest lifts slightly under the air, then drops.

The three of them move in such perfect and unspoken coordination now. Mingyu compresses, Wonwoo ventilates, Jihoon checks vitals and scans the room for emergency responders. The crowd has parted in a wide arc around them now. Voices buzz low with unease but none dare to interfere into their operation.

Jihoon presses his fingers to the man’s neck again and then, his eyes widen just slightly. “Wait— there. There. He’s got a pulse. Faint and irregular but it’s there!”

Wonwoo releases the breath he didn’t realize he was holding and sits back on his heels, shoulders sagging with something like relief. “He’s coming back” he mutters, like saying it aloud might anchor it in reality.

Mingyu’s hands hover above the man’s chest now, ready if the rhythm falters again. His brows draw together as he watches for movement, but the shallow rise and fall has begun. “We need oxygen. Bag-valve mask, anything” he says under his breath, eyes darting toward the far side of the room.

As if summoned by the sheer force of will, the doors at the far end of the room burst open.

Two paramedics rush in with a stretcher and a medical kit, one of them already unrolling oxygen tubing as a third responder follows them with a portable defibrillator. Jihoon stops them before they fully descend on Dr. Hwang and gives them a quick efficient rundown of what’s been done, the timing and pace set by Mingyu and Wonwoo and the man’s subsequent response.

“Spontaneous circulation returned approximately forty seconds ago after three minutes of continuous compressions” Jihoon explains, “Pulse is weak but consistent”

The paramedics nod and get to work without any further hesitation. Mingyu and Jihoon step back to make them room, Wonwoo still lingers instead, watching the mask being placed over Dr. Hwang’s face. His chest is finally rising under assisted ventilation, a monitor beeping steadily from the machine now attached to him.

“He’s stabilizing” one of the paramedics confirms. “Let’s move”

They lift Dr. Hwang onto the stretcher, securing the straps across his chest and legs, and as the stretcher pulls away, the crowd thins again this time with more reverence than fear. Wonwoo is the last to stand up. His legs feel like jelly as the weight of adrenaline wears off just enough to let the exhaustion in. His hands fall limply to his sides, fingers twitching from overuse. Beside him, Mingyu exhales deeply, dragging both hands through his hair before resting them on his hips. His chest heaves in and out, still catching up to the effort.

Jihoon looks between them, his gaze is sharp but not unkind “Thanks to your promptness, Dr. Hwang is safe but you two took a big risk, your delay in coordinating could’ve cost him dearly” he scolds them, “Your can’t afford arguing when someone’s heart is the one paying the price. Remember that you are doctors, not teenagers, and the next time you let your egos get in the way of a patient, there might not be time to fix it”

Jihoon doesn’t wait for them to reply. He’s already turning on his heels, brisk steps echoing against the polished floors as he follows the paramedic team toward the exit. There’s nothing left to say actually, the damage is done, or perhaps a disaster has been narrowly avoided. Either way, the atoning silence they leave behind feels well-earned and extremely heavy.

Wonwoo stays there frozen to the spot. His jaw tightens until it hurts, his fists are curled at his sides, his chest keeps rising and falling in shallow bursts as adrenaline drains and something heavier takes its place. It’s not just fatigue, it’s fury. Not solely at Mingyu or the confrontation they just had, it’s something knotted and old, a collision of emotion that folds in on itself and settles in his sternum like a bruise.

Everyone’s eyes are on them, someone is muttering whispered words under their breath, but Wonwoo doesn’t care, he doesn’t feel intimidated by them neither he feels a sense of shame on his skin. Instead, inhaling deeply through his nose, he turns and walks fast not sparing a single glance at Mingyu. He strides across the conference room and down the hallway outside, his white coat flutters in his wake, ghosting behind him dragging his urgency to escape. The first door he sees, Wonwoo takes. It’s a restroom barely lit in those annoying fluorescent cold light.

He closes the door with a thud and silence wraps around him like a void, total and suffocating, as if the noise outside has been traded for the noise inside. The sudden privacy makes him feel like submerged underwater, the stillness envelops him but it doesn’t calm him. Not yet.

Wonwoo staggers toward the sink and twists the faucet on hard, water crashes into porcelain and his hands tremble as he slides them under the cold stream. He looks at his bloodless knuckles, stiff fingers and muscles, and he scrubs his palms harder than necessary, water slipping down his wrists and sleeves as he tries too hard to erase something that isn’t even there.

He rinses again and again until his hands burn then he cups the icy stream and throws it on his face letting the cold strings running down his cheeks and dampen his collar. It’s still not enough, those horrible feelings doesn’t go away and when he finally looks up, the mirror doesn’t offer him the slightest comfort.

Dark hair falls slightly out of place, his face is pallid from exertion. His eyes are sharp, shadowed with the residue of panic. He doesn’t recognize that expression anymore or maybe he does, and that’s what makes it worse.

"You’re not supposed to lose it" he thinks bitterly, “Not in there. Not during a code”

Wonwoo’s fingers curl on the edge of the sink and a tremor runs down his spine.

He had sworn to himself once that he would never let emotions get in the way of his actions. Not after the first time he had watched someone die on the operating table, not after he realized that knowledge wasn’t always enough. He had promised that he would train until his hands knew what to do before his brain did, that he would develop a kind of control that wouldn’t break under pressure.

Wonwoo had thought that strength meant precision, that same precision meant calm. But today… today he had lost it all.

For a second, just one second, Wonwoo had let himself get the better of him and argued in front of a dying man. He’d let words get in his way, let Mingyu get to him. He’d wasted time, even if it was just a handful of seconds, when he could have saved a life.

“Not again” he whispers.

His mind drifts back to the version of himself he once was. Young and determined with lively eyes and with such already-so professional attitude. Always early to class sitting in the front row, always ready to volunteer first for simulations because he naively believed that if he practiced enough, if he memorized and tried hard enough, he could control every outcome.

He remembers being twenty-one, following his first cardiac surgeon into the operating room. The man’s hands never shake even with someone’s heart exposed under the light. “Don’t waver” he told Wonwoo, “If you want to do this, you mustn’t waver”

Back then, Wonwoo had repeated those sentences like scripture. Don’t waver. Don’t let fear take over. Don’t let your heart overpower your mind. And yet there he was, hands shaking over a sink with the flash of Dr. Hwang’s grey face coming back to his mind with brutal clarity.

Wonwoo knew exactly what to do in that moment, his body had launched into motion without hesitation, but that brief moment of friction — Mingyu’s voice, the argument, the insult — had broken that clarity like a crack in glass, shattering everything.

“Failure isn’t in the outcome” he recalls, “Failure is losing yourself in the midst of trying to save someone”

Wonwoo closes his eyes and presses his wet palms to his face. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He’d worked too hard to prevent something like this from happening in his career.

You shouldn’t waver.

But he did.

And worse, he let himself get drawn into a tug-of-war for control because Mingyu had pushed to save the man and Wonwoo had pushed back to get the better of him. Even if it had been instinct, even if they had saved him in the end, it didn’t change the fact that they’d wasted precious breath arguing about control when they should have been perfectly in tune with each other.

His pride had made him stronger than his logic.

And Wonwoo hates that so much.

He smooths his hair, dries his face with a rough paper towel and turns off the faucet. His hands are steadier now but that’s not to be considered a victory for him. It’s rather only the consequence of his body having suffered the fall, a feeling that he knows will accompany him longer than he would like to admit.

A bitter breath escapes him, Wonwoo slowly straightens up meeting his reflection again but this time he is not alone. There through the mirror, his eyes meet Mingyu’s who is leaning against the restroom door with his hands buried in the pockets of his slacks.

For a long second neither of them speaks. Then with such bitterness, Wonwoo breaks the silence. “Are you happy now ?”

“Why should I be ?”

“You got your hero moment” Wonwoo scoffs, drying his hands with harsh motions.“You managed to take over in front of everyone to prove you were right”

“I wasn’t trying to prove anything” Mingyu replies, more calmly than expected. “I just wanted to keep him alive. You were losing control, you didn’t even notice it but your rhythm was faltering. You weren’t listening to anyone, not even Mr. Hwang’s body”

“I had everything under control” Wonwoo clenches his jaw. “You just couldn’t stand not being the one in charge, to be the one always ready with the right line at the right time”

“You think this is about being in charge ?” Mingyu shakes his head, “You really haven’t changed a bit…”

“Look who’s talking” Wonwoo bites back, “Still thinking you know better than everyone, still storming in like you have all the answers —”

“At least I’m not afraid to act when someone’s about to die”

Wonwoo opens his mouth but no words come out. His hands are balled into fists at his sides, Mingyu sees it and steps forward. “You’ve always hated me” he says quietly but that statement slices deeper for it, “Because I reminded you of how hard you had to try, how hard you had to work just to breathe in rooms I walked into without effort”

Wonwoo flinches, not visibly but something behind his eyes shifts. “Don’t flatter yourself”

“You think it was all easy for me. You still do” Mingyu bites, “That every time I got something you didn’t, it was because I charmed my way into it. That I never earned anything by myself”

“Did you ?” Wonwoo asks, tone like ice, “Or did everything just fall into place because the world never told you ‘no’ the way it told the rest of us ?”

That hits. Mingyu's lips part like he’s been slapped and the silence that follows is thick. Painful.

“You don’t know a fucking thing about what it cost me to be taken seriously in my job” Mingyu says, each word spelled well like he’s holding back from shouting. “All you saw was the part that threatened you and just because I wasn’t drowning in textbooks like you, it doesn’t mean I didn’t fight for my spot here as much as you. You couldn’t stand that someone didn’t have to bleed themselves dry to keep up with you”

“I wasn’t competing with you” Wonwoo says quietly but the edge in his voice is frayed. “But just trying to take what was rightfully mine”

“Bullshits” Mingyu laughs sharp and without humor. “You were racing shadows, your own fears, your own goddamn standards and you dragged me into it anyway. You outburned yourself trying to outrun something that wasn’t even chasing you”

Wonwoo stiffens, jaw working as he bites his cheek from the inside.

“You burn everything you touch, Wonwoo” Mingyu goes on, “Your energy, your empathy just to stay one inch ahead of your own expectations, of a race that no one else is even running. You act like perfection is the only thing keeping you together but today you proved it’s not. You were falling apart in the middle of a code and instead of letting me help you, you treated me like I was trying to steal something from you”

“I didn’t need your help —“

“You did. You just couldn’t admit it” Wonwoo’s mouth twists but Mingyu doesn’t stop. “I didn’t come in there to take the spotlight. I came in because I saw you faltering, because I know you. I’ve known you for years even when you’ve made it impossible to get close”

Wonwoo shakes his head, eyes narrowing. “You don’t know me. You think you do but you saw just glimpses. We used to argue over exams and trauma cases when we were younger but that’s not knowing me, Mingyu. That’s skimming the surface”

Mingyu steps in closer, not threatening but close enough to make the air between them feel pressurized. “You’re not the only one who’s ever been scared of not being enough, the only one who’s had to build a version of themselves they could survive inside”

Wonwoo glares at him but there’s a flicker of something more fragile underneath. “You believe I want to be this way ?” he says hoarsely. “That I like walking around feeling like I’m one mistake away from proving everyone right ? That I’m cold, too clinical, too much —”

“You are too much sometimes, yeah” Mingyu interrupts gently. “But not in the way you think”

Silence stretches again, longer this time. Wonwoo’s chest rises, shallow and uneven. The anger hasn’t left but it’s fraying, letting something else bleed through.

“You use your perfection like a wall” Mingyu says, “But not making mistakes doesn’t make you a better doctor than the rest of us”

“Maybe not” Wonwoo mutters. “But it keeps people alive”

“Yeah… until it doesn’t and it turns you into someone who can’t be helped. Someone who thinks crumbling alone is nobler than surviving together. And maybe… maybe that’s the reason why you’ve always hated me, because I didn’t let the control freak swallow me. Because I saw something in you I wasn’t afraid to name”

Wonwoo’s expression hardens, like stone closing over water. Mingyu takes half a step forward anyway. “You can’t keep doing this forever. One day something’s going to break and it won’t be during a code, it’ll be you. And no one will be able to reach you if you keep pushing everyone out like this”

Wonwoo shakes his head, “You don’t get to say that. Not you.”

“Why not me ?”

“Because you were always the one people stayed for” he spits. “You lit up rooms. You were seen. I had to fight tooth and nail just to not be invisible. So no, you don’t get to stand there and act like we carried the same weight!”

Mingyu doesn’t answer right away. His jaw is tight, his eyes look like he’s just been told a secret that hurts to hold. “Maybe we didn’t carry the same weight… but we both carried it alone.”

Wonwoo’s throat works around something unspoken. He looks at him, really looks at him, and for a moment the man he has in front of him is not a rival, not an intruder. Just Mingyu. The same boy from university, from all those long nights in labs and lectures and impromptu arguments in hospital stairwells.

But the flicker of softness vanishes as fast as it came, eclipsed by the ache still clawing at his ribs, by the fury he hasn't finished digesting, by everything Mingyu just laid bare. Wonwoo steels himself again, though this time, it takes more effort than he’d like to admit.

“You need to go now” he says barely above a whisper. There’s a bite in his voice that hides the weight of exhaustion behind it. “Get out. Leave me alone”

Mingyu doesn't answer at first. His expression shifts subtly, a quiet sting lays behind his eyes like he’s just been asked to let go of something he was never really allowed to hold. But he doesn’t look surprised. It’s Jeon Wonwoo, after all. Always guarded and stubborn, always retreating behind sharp edges when someone gets too close.

Still, Mingyu doesn’t move. He stays a second longer and gazes at him with his eyes firm and unreadable, letting a thousand unspoken things press against their own silence. And somehow, despite everything they’ve just exchanged, the poisonous words they’ve spewed, the look in his eyes isn’t angry.

It’s almost… affectionate.

Something gentler lurks in his irises as if he’s seeing the version of Wonwoo that no one else can see. The one who breaks and hides it, the one who bleeds inside and stays silent.

Mingyu then nods. No further dramatic outbursts from him, no words lingering longer than necessary. Just the slightest tilt of his head as if he’s accepting his will that sounds more like something fragile and final.

“Alright, as you wish” he murmurs, “I’m leaving. Hoping you can ponder better on your choice next time"

He turns, the sound of his footsteps echoing faintly on the tiles, the air between them taut with everything unsaid. But at the threshold, Mingyu pauses. One hand resting on the doorframe as he glances back over his shoulder with something close to regret. Wonwoo thinks he’s about to say something more but then the door opens, he’s gone, and it shuts behind his back in a soft click, leaving the silence heavier than any slam.

Wonwoo doesn’t move, he stays still at the centre of the room. His shoulders are stiff, his grip on the counter white-knuckled. There’s a lump in his throat that he doesn’t swallow but rather he lets it sit there, raw and bitter.

He doesn’t know if he’s won the argument or if he has just lost something much bigger.

He only realizes that outside that door, life goes on anyway. Voices murmur, shoes squeak, laughter even rises from a distant hallway, but there, in that cold fluorescent silence, Wonwoo breathes as if he’s learning everything all over again.

Because when the heart begins to beat again, it doesn’t always bring relief. Sometimes, it only echoes with the deafening silence of all that was never said.

Still. Sore. Like it’s a brand new skill it hasn’t quite mastered yet.

Chapter Text

“Sometimes you just feel weak
And when you feel weak, you feel like you wanna just give up
But you gotta try to find that inner strength and just pull that shit out of you
Get that motivation to not give up, not be a quitter
No matter how bad you wanna just fall flat on your face and collapse”

The kitchen is shrouded in a silence so thick it seems to muffle even time itself. It's not the peaceful quiet of early morning nor the calm hush of sleep but something more oppressive and almost punishing. Only the low, mechanical hum of the refrigerator dares to disturb it, accompanied by the soft click of the kettle as it finishes its boil and falls into stillness. Steam curls weakly from the spout, already dissipating into the air.

It’s nearly dawn according to the clock on the wall but the world beyond the windows stays cloaked in night. The buildings outside are hulking silhouettes, stoic and unmoving, like sentinels who’ve long stopped caring whether the sun rises. The sky offers no hints of morning, only an unyielding blackness that reflects back his unrest.

Wonwoo sits at the table, elbows resting on the edge of the wood, hands wrapped around a cup that’s still steaming faintly but hasn’t touched yet. The tea inside has long over-steeped, its fragrance must be muted and its flavor is surely bitter by now. He knows it but it doesn’t matter, he hasn’t tasted it and likely won’t. The cup just serves him to anchor himself, to have the perception of something warms between his palms, something to remind his body it’s still alive. His grip is firm but not tight, his knuckles have turned pale under the pressure and the veins that run beneath the surface of his skin stand out like cords stretched too tight.

Wonwoo hasn’t changed out of his clothes since he came back home. The shirt he wore throughout the day, and now into the night, is wrinkled and weary, a quiet testimony to the weight of hours that passed too fast and yet dragged on endlessly, culminating in a moment he just cannot stop replaying. The top three buttons are undone as if they too gave up somewhere along the way, and his sleeves are pushed to his forearms exposing his skin that is too cold to the touch.

It’s not the first time that sleep has eluded him after a rescue. He’s grown used to the rhythm of trauma — how it arrives, how it fades, how it lingers — but tonight, something is different not because the man they saved was his colleague, not even because of exhaustion he has lived with that for years. What unsettles him the most is something smaller and more insidious. A fault line that split open within him at the precise moment he turned on Mingyu and shouted him “Don’t touch me”.

Words that had come out sharper than he intended.

Or maybe they came out exactly as sharp as he meant them.

That’s probably what haunts him the most.

He brings the cup to his lips out of instinct and lets the rim touch his mouth without drinking. The bitterness isn’t only in the tea, it’s in him too. Something that brewed over years of tightly held control, over discipline and expectations and the long silence that stretched between who he thought he would be and who he has become.

Wonwoo closes his eyes.

And just like that, memory comes for him. Not gently but all at once, as if it had been waiting in the dark corner of the room for just this moment to strike.

It was a winter morning, cold and blindingly clear. The sky stretched pale above the hospital’s rooftop and the frost lingered on the windows as if reluctant to melt. It was the kind of day that felt too pristine to belong to something tragic, nothing about that suggested it would be the one Wonwoo remembered for years after. But grief, he would learn, didn't care for symmetry or poetic timing.

The first patient he lost under his hands was a fifty-six-year-old man.

A diabetic with a history of mild ischemic heart disease. A routine case that surgeons accept without batting an eye, predictable and absolutely textbook. There was nothing unusual in the medical records, no warning bells that foreshadowed the storm that was to come. The procedure was in fact quite elective, a coronary artery bypass graft planned and even rehearsed during the pre-op briefings. The surgical team was ready and focused and Wonwoo that day, still at the beginning of his specialty, had been assigned the coveted position of first assistant.

It was an honor for him, still so young but so smart and meticulous.

So eager to prove to everyone that he was ready.

Even now, years later, Wonwoo can feel that same adrenaline coursing under his skin, electrifying his nerves with every breath. It had not been fear but only the feeling that if he could keep his mind clear, if he followed every step precisely, if he did everything correctly, the result would obey him.

He had prepared everything with maniacal rigor. Checked every valve, every stitch. Wonwoo had breathed slowly as his mentor had taught him. “Steady hands. Clear thinking. The rest is noise”

But this had been the arrogance of early ambition. Believing that medicine was a formula, that success was a matter of discipline, and that failure only happened to the negligent.

And yet, something had unraveled.

It began with a tremor, a sudden ventricular fibrillation that lit up the monitor like a siren. Then came a secondary hemorrhage, fast and unexpected, gushing with a violence no one could predict. The sterile calm of the operating room disintegrated in seconds. The anesthesiologist called out numbers, blood pressure, oxygen saturation, heart rate, all dropping suddenly like stones. The attending surgeon barked orders, his voice rising in urgency, cutting through the chaos. “Suction! No, clamp there! No, there, faster!”

Wonwoo had passed instruments with numb precision, faster and faster, but the blood kept coming. It soaked the gauze, it slicked the table, it crept into the sterile light of the surgical lamp, turning everything crimson and surreal.

The monitor flattened. Code red.

The compressions began automatically and brutally like all desperation but it was already too late as the body under the sheets had already slipped out of their reach. The silence fell in the room, one of those who taste like failure, the hum of the machines becomes sterile, gloves were removed sanctioning the sound of something final.

Wonwoo stayed there, motionless. His hands still gloved and stained with blood were suspended in mid-air as if he had not yet accepted the truth, as if he could reverse time if only he stayed still long enough. No one had said it was his fault, no one had pointed a finger, but he still felt an invisible weight pressing on his chest, the sensation that he had somehow failed in his work.

The chief-surgeon had looked at him only once and placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Sometimes it happens” he said, the words were meant to console but to Wonwoo they sounded empty, like an excuse, a protection of something he never wanted to be defended from in the first place.

He didn’t step into an operating room again for ten days. For two weeks sleep became a memory as every time he closed his eyes Wonwoo saw blood. Nights were chased away by panic, he would wake with a jolt in the dark, his heart hammering against his ribs and hands cling at empty sheets as he desperately tried to grab instruments that were no longer there and to stop a hemorrhage that no longer existed.

That loss had changed something in him.

It had planted the seed of obsession in him.

The need to control everything he could, a perfectionism that no longer served his ambition but became a real necessity. Wonwoo didn’t want to be the best surgeon in the world but just someone able to stop history from repeating itself.

From that moment on every checklist became a lifeline, every protocol a shield. Wonwoo needed control not for his personal ego as many thought, it wasn’t about pride at all, but only for the lives he held in his hands. He couldn't bear the thought of letting chaos win again, the possibility of standing there once more with eyes that couldn’t meet anyone else’s because they were too full of guilt.

He didn’t want to be forgiven.

He wanted to make sure he never had to be.

And that was the beginning of the end for him, the moment when his pursuit of excellence had become a whole penance.

Wonwoo comes back to the present with a labored breath as if even that small gesture required a lot of effort. Steam rising from the untouched cup of tea reaches his glasses and fogs them up in soft clouds but he doesn’t bother cleaning them. Instead, he removes them and places them on the table next to the cup running a hand over his tired face, feeling his skin cold and jaw hurting from being clenched for too long.

He has never truly forgiven himself for that first death, not in any way that matters, not in the way that brings him peace. The memory of that fear lurks beneath his every action like a weight hidden in the corners of his mind, like a scar that still stings when pressed, and even though he saved a life today, that same old fear of seeing the light leave someone’s eyes and not being able to stop it, has gripped him again.

Fear of losing control.

For most it’s just a passing doubt to push through but for a man like him, it’s a deeper fracture. Wonwoo has built his entire self on discipline, on the quiet mastery of his hands, on the belief that precision can hold the world steady if only he grips hard enough. Control isn’t just a preference, it’s the very scaffolding of his identity, the spine of who he really is.

Pain, he can endure. Wonwoo knows its edges. It’s tangible and something the body learns to live with. But fear… fear is different. It doesn’t sit in the body the same way but rather it seeps, it bleeds so invisible and insidious. It doesn’t announce itself but it corrupts from the inside, curling around his fingers, slipping into his mind until even his thoughts feel unsteady.

His voice tightens. His judgment clouds.

It’s not just discomfort. It’s disassembly.

Fear undoes him. It unthreads all the careful stitching he’s done over the years, the mental sutures that hold his calm, his certainty, his competence in place. With enough fear, even the steadiest hand can shake, even the sharpest mind can falter. And that truth, the knowledge that he is not immune, is the one Wonwoo simply cannot make peace with.

He stands up slowly and stretches his aching shoulders. Then he carries the cup to the sink to tip it over, letting the untouched tea dripping out in a thin amber stream. The scent once vaguely comforting, smells bitter and stale now. Wonwoo never intended to drink it actually, he just needed something to hold that makes him feel safe for a moment.

He stands there in the kitchen for a little while with his hands on either side of the sink gripping the edge as if he were afraid he might slip. His head is bowed, his chin almost to his chest, and eyes are fixed on the black void.

"If you tremble while holding a heart in your hands, you're not a doctor anymore. You're just a scared man"

Wonwoo doesn't know where he first heard that sentence. Maybe a professor told it to him, maybe a colleague, or maybe he made it up himself pieced it together from the fragments of his own fears and failures but those words have stuck deep under his skin and they always emerge in moments like this, when the world is too still and the noise in his head has nowhere else to go.

Deep down Wonwoo knows that this is the truth he can never get over, the idea that in the moment that matters most he may no longer be the man to save someone. This is what haunts him more than any loss and mistake. After all he is just a man… just a pair of shaking hands, a frightened breath.

Something more he probably can't even name himself.

The empty cup lies in the sink, a silent witness to another failed attempt to calm his mind and insomnia. It shines faintly in the dim light but is now an empty vessel that, like him, should have offered comfort in the beginning but now contains only the remains of it.

Wonwoo leaves the kitchen and drags his feet on the floor without bothering to turn on any more lights, letting himself be guided by the dim glow of the street lamps outside, along with the silent familiarity of a space he has crossed a thousand times in the dark. The cold air is thick and not at all sweet as he crosses the corridor, shadows clinging to the walls and furniture like memories that have not yet completely faded from his memory.

In the living room, the bookcase awaits him. A tall, orderly monument with shelves full of gray and blue volumes stacked with almost military precision. They are mostly medical texts, each a fundamental piece that had helped shape the man he had become over the years. Some novels break the monotony, their placement more aesthetic than authentic, but his gaze falls squarely on the center of the highest shelf, on a red spot that breaks the grayscale.

There, nestled between a treatise on comparative anatomy and a manual on vascular surgery, lies a notebook that would not really belong there. The leather cover, once shinier, is now worn and faded, the corners softened by time. The spiral binding is oxidized and even a little bent but the moment he sees it, Wonwoo finds the slightest comfort in it.

He takes it with the care one might give something sacred, his fingers brushing the rough cover as if greeting an old friend. This was his first college notebook. The one he carried with him like a second skin during those desperate years of studying. He had written in it as if he were carving his future into the pages, convinced that if he simply recorded everything — every process, every path, every rule — he could learn more than the mistake itself.

Wonwoo sits on the couch and opens it, letting the fate choose the page. The paper creaks slightly at his touch, thick with ink and time, and stops on the title of a lesson, "Beta-blockers and the Management of Hypertensive Crises" and like a breeze that brushes an old film, the memory of a pharmacology class begins to vibrate in his mind.

Classroom 3B. Front row, always the same seat. Wonwoo sat with his back straight, the pen already balanced between his fingers before the professor could even enter. The page in front of him was pristine, its header neatly underlined, as if it were waiting for knowledge to arrive and be inscribed with reverence. His highlighters were aligned on the desk and he was so ready to consume every fragment of information like oxygen, to absorb all that knowledge like a sponge.

Then, like every morning, a clockwork but never on time, Kim Mingyu also arrived.

And his appearance carried the chaotic imprint of his hectic morning, with his hair still slightly damp from a shower he had evidently taken in a hurry, a coffee cup gripped in one hand, half-empty and dangerously tilted, a backpack slung over his shoulder unzipped and threatening to spill its contents with every step.

He had only stopped briefly in the doorway, scanning the rows with lazy familiarity, and then, as if there were no other choice, he had headed to the row behind Wonwoo's seat.

"Good morning, King of the Front Row" he had whispered with too many smiles for such early hour. Wonwoo had not looked at him. He had drawn a clear line under the title of the lesson, instead. “Did you get here early enough to scare the cleaning staff or did you sleep here ?”

“At least I was on time” Wonwoo replied, eyes still fixed on the page.

Mingyu’s laugh was amused, casual, as if nothing in the world could ever truly faze him. And when the professor began his class, Mingyu always leaned forward to glance at Wonwoo’s notes on that red notebook.

“Can I copy your notes ?” he whispered, “Your microchip handwriting is the only thing more legible than these slides”

“Of course it is if you take notes like you’re drawing hieroglyphics” Wonwoo said, annoyed but not surprised. Mingyu always copied his notes. And, silently, even though Wonwoo hated it, he always let him.

It had become a routine that neither of them would admit out loud.

Mingyu watched. Wonwoo let him watch.

"If I were a patient, I would never let you put your hands on me” once Mingyu said to him with a smile,

"Neither would I" Wonwoo had replied dryly. "But unlike you, I would know where to put the scalpel”

Now, in the quiet of his apartment, the notebook lies open across his lap. His fingers drift across the page tracing the smooth graphite outlines of a heart in cross-section, the annotated arrows pointing to beta-1 and beta-2 receptors, the pharmacokinetics scribbled neatly in the margins.

It smells faintly of old paper and dried ink. Turning the pages is like brushing fingers against the bones of a former self full of ambition and hunger, too young to understand that effort wasn’t always enough. The version of himself who believed that studying harder could save everyone, who hadn’t yet faced the cruel honesty of failure, who hadn’t stood in a bathroom stall at 3 in the morning biting back tears so no one would hear.

Wonwoo closes his eyes and for a moment he just breathes.

Then he closes the notebook, sets it gently on the table, and lies back on the couch sinking into the cushions with a sigh that feels heavier than his own weight. The blanket brushes his legs, his arms fall loosely at his sides. He stares up at the ceiling thinking that in a few hours he’ll be back at the hospital for another shift. Or better another day of walking the narrow line between control and collapse.

His heartbeat is slow but is not cautions and not even calm, just careful enough as if his own body knows not to let go completely, as if even sleep has to be approached with gentle care.

“Just a few hours” he tells himself, “Just a little respite”

Sleep does come eventually. It doesn’t embrace him but it seep into him curling around his thoughts, and in that space between waking and dreaming, something surfaces back again. A thought, dressed more like a truth he has never quite managed to silence.

It rises from deep within, like an old whisper echoing through the chambers of memory.

“You have never stopped competing, Jeon Wonwoo. Not even with yourself”

And it was all Wonwoo knew about himself.

The next morning he walks through the sliding glass doors of the hospital with the steady pace of someone who knows every inch of that place by heart better than his own home. It’s a kind of familiarity that comes from routine and saturation, from years spent walking those corridors until they are imprinted on the soles of his shoes and the curve of his spine.

His ID badge hangs from his neck, bouncing gently on his chest in sync with his slow breathing. His face is calm but not at peace at all. His eyes are hollow from a restless night, there are also signs of light purple circles under them to remind him how many hours he had spent fighting against a brain that wouldn’t shut down, a mind that wouldn’t forget, and a body that instead just begged for a little respite.

Wonwoo still has the taste of uneasiness on his tongue, the phantom pressure of an unjustified anxiety that hovers over his shoulders like a dear old friend.

His white coat is folded neatly on his arm, it’s freshly laundered but feels heavy in his grip. He is wearing a simple navy blue scrub today, neutral, a little anonymous, hoping he can go unnoticed among the medical staff and not carry the burden of being someone significant that everyone can count on in one way or another.

He walks down the main corridor, the lively chatter of the nurses and the squeak of the gurney wheels on the tiles touching him only as a muffled background noise, heading to the end of the east wing where there, beyond a vending machine that groans more than it works, is the room where the doctors usually meet during breaks.

It’s a small space, no bigger than a kitchen, that smells vaguely of reheated food. The walls are a shade of faded cream, the furniture a collage of battered pieces. Two microwaves are stacked in one corner and look like they’ve seen several decades, on the stove there’s a barely surviving stainless steel coffee maker and an old leather couch is pressed against the wall that seems to have seen lots of interns’ sleepless nights and back pain.

As soon as he opens the door, Wonwoo hears hushed giggling voices inside.

Jeonghan sits on the edge of the table with his arms crossed and his legs swaying slightly. His hair, usually loose, is tied in a perfectly neat half-ponytail. His posture is relaxed and he smiles as Mingyu drinks coffee from a plastic cup in front of from him, his other hand tucked into his pants pocket. His white coat is open over his green scrub. So messy, unordered, mannerless.

“And then he starts sliding down the hill with his skis completely crossed, screaming at the top of his lungs” Mingyu says, laughing with the kind of smile that dimples his cheeks.

Jeonghan tilts his head, amused. “Are you telling me you just stood there and watched the kid slipping down ?”

“I was buried in the snow ten feet up laughing too hard to get out. He was wriggling like a cartoon character”

"You're cruel. The poor boy will be traumatized for life and you were laughing your head off"

"He's nine" Mingyu says defensively then softens with affection, ”But I swear he has the bravery of a suicide bomber"

“Nine ? Didn't you say he was five last week ?"

"I wish" he admits with a smirk. "They grow so fast, I used to change his diapers few years ago and now he already has the ego of a hormone-fueled teenager"

Jeonghan snorts, "Like uncle, like nephew”

Wonwoo closes the door behind him at that moment, the soft snick of it slicing through the two doctors’ laughters, and both heads instinctively turn towards him. Mingyu’s smile dies mid-crease, slipping from his face into something neutral that takes over him, composed and guarded as if a switch has been flipped in him. His posture stiffens imperceptibly, the warmth that had been radiating just moments ago cools right away.

Jeonghan flicks his eyes to Wonwoo, evaluating the situation and already cataloguing the change in atmosphere like vital signs on a monitor. He tilts his chin in a subtle nod but there’s a glint in his eye that suggests he’s fully aware of the tension he’s watching unfold.

“Good morning, Doctor Jeon” he says smoothly, the corner of his mouth quirking as if he’s about to tack on a tease but it dies on his lips when Wonwoo doesn’t rise to the bait.

“Hi” Wonwoo replies flatly.

Just that, one clipped syllable. His lips are pressed into a line too thin to be polite and his eyes avoid theirs completely. Wonwoo doesn’t linger in any further conversation, doesn’t ask what they were laughing about. Instead, he moves past them with the quiet purpose of a man whose entire focus is narrowed down to the task of staying invisible for the rest of the day.

He heads for the coffee machine, opens the overhead cupboard and picks up a random mug. Placing it on the counter, he pours himself a cup of black coffee, unbothered by the rising steam curling against his face. The sound of liquid trickling into the mug is the only thing that fills the space now, each slow drip more amplified than it has any right to be.

Behind him, the silence thickens in tension.

Mingyu lowers his gaze to the floor as his fingers tap a muted rhythm against the rim of his empty plastic cup, betraying the nerves he’s trying not to show. Jeonghan watches them both now, his eyes moving from one to the other, and what he sees isn’t unfamiliar. He’s seen this before, two surgeons on opposite ends of the same patient, hands moving in sync while their minds stay barricaded. But this, whatever it is between Mingyu and Wonwoo, it’s not a difference in technique, not even a disagreement over protocol. It’s an old scar tissue trying to hold itself together.

Jeonghan clears his throat, breaking the standoff with levity. “Did someone declare a holiday and forget to tell me ?” he quips, raising an eyebrow.

Wonwoo doesn’t even flinch at his provocation. He remains turned away, staring at the cup slowly filling with coffee and bitterness. Mingyu briefly looks up at him but when Wonwoo doesn’t turn around, he looks back down at the floor. His shoulders hunch inward slightly, almost as if he’s trying to make himself smaller.

Jeonghan opens his mouth again, half-preparing another tease but the moment is stolen by a sharp vibration.

All three pagers buzz at once, a collective tremor against their hips. Their bodies snap into motion with instinct. Mingyu is the first to check his, hand already on his waistband, face tightens as he reads. Wonwoo leaves his coffee untouched on the counter, the mug half-full and forgotten as his hand moves to the pager clipped at his pants.

“Pediatric patient incoming. Car accident. Code red” Jeonghan reads aloud, his voice tightening with each word, “We need to go, now”

The atmosphere between them shifts instantly as if the oxygen itself has changed density. Adrenaline pulses to the surface in a call their bodies have long since learned to obey, coffee is abandoned half-poured, their coats flutter as they run through the halls. The tension evaporates quickly replaced by the surgical focus that comes only when lives hang in the balance.

By the time they reach the emergency room, the room is already bustling. Fluorescent lights hum overhead, monitors flash red numbers at irregular intervals and loud beeps pick up pace. A stretcher waits beneath the surgical light as nurses swarm like bees around a hive, donning gloves, loading IVs, ensuring suction and checking supplies with streamlined efficiency.

Joshua is already there, a green surgical cap is pulled over his hair, his calm expression hardened with concentration. Next to him is Choi Seungcheol, head of the trauma-department, with a clipboard in his hand, speaking in a firm and composed tone of someone who has delivered bad news far too often but never lets precision dampen his professionalism.

"Twelve-years-old girl" Seungcheol begins reading on the chart, “Hit by a car on a crosswalk on her way to school. Cardiopulmonary resuscitation performed on the scene. She has regained a pulse very quickly but she's walking around the edge"

A second passes. The team huddles together.

"Blunt abdominal trauma" he continues, "Bilateral rib fractures, suspected diaphragm injury. We have a left hemothorax and a severely distended pericardium. The tamponade is progressing rapidly and the portable ultrasound shows free fluid in the abdomen and chest. She needs surgery immediately"

Mingyu’s eyes sharpen, the line of his jaw tense. “What’s her vitals ?”

“Heart rate through the roof” Seungcheol replies. “Blood pressure is crashing, she’s barely compensating now”

“Operating room, we can't waste any more time" Jeonghan says. There is no debate between them, only firm decisions. "Three teams. Cardiology, general, and pediatric. We go in together and need to collaborate simultaneously" he turns to Wonwoo, his eyes steady "You're on pericardial control, prioritize drainage and decompress the tamponade. Can you handle it ?"

Wonwoo doesn't even blink. "Of course"

Jeonghan nods once, already turning around. "Mingyu, you're thoracic. Left lung collapsed, there's a laceration that we'll need to close immediately after spleen extraction"

Mingyu doesn't waste a breath, he just nods. His features are clenched, every line of his face is drawn tight stripped of everything that isn't essential. There’s no trace of the man who was telling funny stories moments before, no charm in his eyes which are looking at Wonwoo now with a gaze brief, indecipherable, maybe as sharp as a scalpel.

Wonwoo catches the look, only because he has learned over time to anticipate Mingyu’s angles like a second heartbeat. He meets it because looking away would be cowardice, but there is no nod between them, no expression exchanged. Eventually something flickers in the space between them, a recognition perhaps that tastes like necessity.

The stretcher runs through the operating room doors pushed briskly by the trauma team. The little girl, little more than a fragment of a person, lies motionless on the table. The blush has drained from her cheeks and her limbs seem too thin, too limp, as if her body has forgotten how to stand. The oxygen cannula wraps awkwardly around her tiny ears. Her lips are dark, tending to shades of purple and blue as the heart monitor begins to crazily scream. Her vital signs flash wildly on the screen. Her blood pressure is plummeting, her heartbeat irregular, the oxygen saturation dangerously low. The nurses begin shouting the data in a chorus of urgency. Syringes and scalpels are inserted without request, IVs are flushed. The sterile field is set up with such surgical precision.

Wonwoo moves first, putting on his gloves and adjusting his surgical gown. His breathing slows as his concentration narrows and his mind suddenly clears away any unnecessary thoughts. There was no time to account for his anxieties at the moment, he needed to step into the shoes of the surgeon he was and fix that pericardium knowing that every second of delay could tip the scales too far.

Jeonghan is at the head of the table, Mingyu puts on his mask and positions himself on the left side near the thoracic inlet where he would have to operate. Wonwoo moves to the center, ready to penetrate directly under the sternum through a median sternotomy. Their movements line up like clockwork, efficient and expert, almost without hesitation.

The little girl's chest rises at irregular intervals as the anesthesia kicks in. The ventilator clicks and blood begins to pool where it shouldn't. There is no time to remember old discussions, only the rhythm of a synchronized team. Their hands hover over the child like conductors before a symphony. Jeonghan picks up the scalpel, Mingyu adjusts the suction line already anticipating the lung’s collapse.

“Incision. Let’s go” Jeonghan says, and so they begin.

The lights in the operating room are blinding, bleaching the already sterile space of any semblance of emotion. Their harsh beams are fixed on the prepared surgical field where the little girl lies unconscious under anesthesia. The only clearly audible sound is the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor, syncing with the hiss of the mechanical ventilator. Her small torso has been incised with meticulous care, revealing a heart that pulses beneath the thin dome of a stretched pericardium, trapped in a space far too tight to survive for long.

Jeonghan keeps his gaze lowered behind the clear face shield. “Mingyu, focus on the left field. Avoid further contact with the pleura that it’s already compromised. Wonwoo, be ready to incise the pericardium but wait for my signal”

Mingyu adjusts the angle of his forceps, searching for the right entry point between the seventh and eighth intercostal spaces. Wonwoo responds Jeonghan with a nod as his eyes are locked on the fragile dangerously taut membrane. The scissors in his fingers are ready even though his mind feels steady. A near-imperceptible tremor in his gloved hands betrays him, so slight no one else would notice, but he feels it. And he hates it.

Mingyu inserts the forceps further more into the thoracic cavity, separating tissue with a motion that, to Wonwoo, seems too steep and rushed. The tip brushes against the edge of the collapsed lung, it’s gentle but also in a way that strikes Wonwoo as careless. It’s not his specialty, he knows that, and he has no authority to dare a correction but seeing the misstep is instinctual. Just a reflex.

“Watch your angle” he says without looking up, “You’re forcing the plane near the lower lobe”

Mingyu glances him up briefly, raising an eyebrow in a way that’s sharp, even behind the sterile mask. “Didn’t know you had become a thoracic expert now”

“I’m just saying —”

“That you should stay in your own lane, Dr. Jeon” Mingyu cuts in, his tone edged. “This is my field. If I was called in for this procedure, I think it’s because I’m capable of it and I’m perfectly aware of what I’m doing right now”

The jab lands harder and Wonwoo swallows it, lips tightening beneath his mask. He knows he overstepped and there’s only silence now between them, so thick and heavy, as if it’s absorbing little by little all their tension. Across the table, Jeonghan pauses watching them having their little no-so-nice debate, scalpel suspended mid-air.

His head tilts slightly, the corner of his mouth lifts. “If you’re planning to tear each other’s throats apart at least wait until the patient’s hemodynamics are stable. I’d rather not have to stitch up your egos too later”

Mingyu looks at Wonwoo. Their eyes meet but neither speaks, now isn’t the right time for them to fight. The silence stretches echoing off the tile walls, threading through the hiss of the respirator and the metronomic beep of the monitor. At Jeonghan’s signal, Wonwoo makes the incision with surgical precision, opening a window in the pericardium. Thick black blood oozes out, slow and heavy like ink, an unmistakable sign of tamponade. The decompression is instant as the heart swells slightly, finally allowed to exhale.

“Suction” Wonwoo says, guiding a cannula into place as his other hand holds back the still-tense membrane.

Mingyu leans in to assist with the suction, angling the tip carefully to maintain a clear view of the field. In the narrow space between retractors and the steady beat of the heart beneath them, his focus sharpens not just on the task but on the hands moving beside his.

It’s in that moment that he notices the subtle, barely perceptible, tremor in Wonwoo’s fingers. There’s a faint quiver running through his index as he adjusts the pressure of the cannula. To an untrained eye, it could be dismissed as nothing but tiredness and adrenaline, but Mingyu notices. Of course he notices. He always has.

His gaze snaps to Wonwoo’s face, eyes searching and questioning, but the surgeon doesn’t meet it as he’s fixed on the surgical field pretending not to feel the weight of being observed.

Mingyu watched. Wonwoo let him watch.

Mingyu’s eyes drop back to that finger as a tiny, involuntary twitch speaks louder than any confession. It’s not just exhaustion, it’s something deeper, and Wonwoo feels the exposure, the crack in his armor and his hand instinctively retreats as if distance could erase what was revealed in that small, traitorous spasm.

But it’s too late. Mingyu saw it.

And worse, he understood.

“We’re below the margin, right ?” Mingyu casually asks, very rhetorical. He actually already knows the answer to that, it’s almost stupid for a surgeon like him making such question but he needs something, anything, to anchor Wonwoo to the present, to pull him away from the obsessive thoughts that, he knows, were starting flickering behind his guarded eyes.

Wonwoo glances at him, his gaze obscured by the protective goggles. He simply nods. “Yes”

Jeonghan presses his lips together beneath the surgical mask, his eyes narrowing with a different kind of scrutiny as he watches them, how they avoid each other, how their silence pulses louder than the machines’ steady beeping. It’s not just tension but something that hangs between them, thick and unresolved.

Then chaos suddenly strikes. The monitor starts screaming, alarms bursting to life in a sharp crescendo. The sterile calm of the operating room is shattered as a torrent of blood floods the surgical field violent and uncontrollable. A small branch of the pericardial artery has ruptured, probably torn by the mounting pressure that has proven too aggressive.

“Clamp! Now! Suction, suction!” Jeonghan barks, already in motion, hands moving fast.

Instruments clatter as Mingyu shifts the retractor and tries to isolate the bleeding zone but it’s too much for one pair of hands.

“I’ve got it!” Wonwoo steps in without hesitation.

His gloved fingers dive into the flood, pressing gauze down firmly to stabilize the atrium. He applies pressure, feeling the frantic beat of the heart thrashing beneath his touch, alive and terrified. Not again, he thinks as his breath catches beneath his mask and his own heart is pounding just as wildly, echoing the chaos of the one he’s trying to save.

For a moment they move in perfect tandem. Four hands just for one shared purpose. Mingyu maneuvers the forceps to keep the visual field clear while blood coats their gloves and gown sleeves. There’s no room now for anything but instinct and precision, and in that fleeting contact of their fingers brushing through latex, tension wound tight. There is no grudge in the space between them but only the urgency to finish what they started, to pull someone back from the edge.

Mingyu steals a glance at him. His eyes don’t waver from the surgical field but there’s something new behind them that has nothing to do with anatomy or protocol. It's admiration, maybe. A kind of respect or simply the quiet recognition of what they’re capable of when they stop fighting each other and start working as one.

Wonwoo feels it, that penetrative gaze on him but he doesn’t return the glance even though something inside him unclenches just for a moment. The bitterness fades into the background, there’s no space for past resentment if not for the required discipline and precision only to save that life.

The hemostatic clamp locks in place with a snap and the bleeding stops instantly. The heart, now clearly visible and freed from the crushing weight of hemorrhagic pressure, beats at a more steady rate. It is still fragile but at least durable and no longer a drowning heart.

“Blood pressure is rising,” the anesthesiologist announces. “Heart rate stable.”

Wonwoo glances at the monitor for only a second before returning his focus to the operating field. His hands move calmly, cool and composed, as he adjusts the gauze to avoid obscuring his view, and Mingyu responds immediately, reading his intentions without words. Together, they stabilize the atrial section, closing the torn vessel with two clean single-stitch sutures. The heart responds beneath their fingertips, stronger now, beating at a new, freer pace.

"Tamponade cleared. No more active bleeding" Jeonghan confirms, his voice still alert but visibly more relaxed. "Good job, guys”

Wonwoo and Mingyu simply nod, acknowledging the work done but there is no room for praise at that moment. The operation slowly folds up and reaches its final sequence but it was not quite over yet. The drain is carefully inserted, followed by the irrigation phase with the fluid that cleans the entire field just operated on. Hemostasis is checked and each vessel is inspected with lots of care. Then comes the layered suture — fascia muscle and dermis — each sutured very meticulously.

The instruments are slowly released one after the other. The forceps click delicately against the tray while the gauze is counted out loud by the assistants.

Then Jeonghan utters the sentence that everyone was waiting for. "We can close”

The child is transferred with gentle hands to the mobile stretcher. The endotracheal tube is secured in place, the IVs are rechecked and the vital signs monitored. The mechanical hum of the equipment continues to pulsate but the urgency is now a distant memory as the worst is over. Around the operating table, the gloved hands of the surgeons lift in silence. Their faces stay hidden behind sterile masks but there is something unspoken in the glances they almost exchange, an invisible thread of shared relief.

Outside the operating room, the corridor is still and time feels suspended as if the world itself is waiting to be told it can start breathing again. Wonwoo steps out peeling off his gown and gloves, the sterile armor falling away yet the tension stays in his chest, and he sees Mingyu just a little ahead of him kneeling beside a woman seated on the waiting bench, probably the child’s mother.

Wonwoo hadn't even noticed that he had left the operating room and the way he was comforting that woman makes him stand still on the spot as if he were suddenly in the way of a delicate moment and not a surgeon who had participated in that operation just like him.

The woman’s hands tightly grip a tissue with corners torn by anxious fingers. Her eyes are red and swollen from crying, hair messy and gathered in a sketchy ponytail. She stares straight ahead, so lost and fraying, until she gets snapped to reality by Mingyu’s voice.

"Your daughter is stable" he says gently, "It was a critical situation but the surgery was successful. She is under close observation now but the most dangerous part is over. She made it"

She nods and trembles, her lips part but her voice falters. Tears spill freely down her cheeks as she bows her head twice in awkward, halting gratitude, unable to find the words for what she feels. "Thank you, Doctor Kim…” she barely whispers.

Mingyu doesn’t reach for her out of respect, he doesn’t crowd the silence with platitudes, but he simply stays kneeling beside her, present without intrusion. "We’re transferring her to pediatric intensive care now. You’ll be able to see her very soon, I promise”

A few steps away, Wonwoo watches them in silence. There’s something disarming in the scene that strips away the last of his clinical detachment. Mingyu, crouched with humility and quiet strength, looks nothing like the arrogant person Wonwoo has kept preserved in his memory.

He says nothing in that moment and doesn’t even try to approach them. Instead, he turns and walks down the corridor toward the changing room with the rhythm of a tiny heart still echoing through his fingertips. Once inside, the noise of the corridor closes behind the door with a soft click, leaving Wonwoo immersed in the type of silence that usually gives him so much comfort after a frenetic shift.

The metal of his locker reflects under the intense white lights of the room and Wonwoo slowly takes off his scrubs top still a bit damp with sweat, that also smells of disinfectant, folding it messily before placing it in a transparent bag provided by the hospital that will end up straight in their laundry service. He feels lighter now, as if that thin layer of fabric had weight on him like a suit of armor held up for far too long.

He stops for a moment with his bare back exposed to the freezing air as a shiver runs down his spine, covering his chest in goosebumps. The muscles of his neck are hard as taut ropes, every vertebra seems to cry out for revenge for those hours of effort and concentration, yet Wonwoo does not stretch his shoulders to loosen them. He stands there, motionless, as if he feared that any movement could break the unstable balance he had built until that moment.

He looks at his hands. They are still now, but he knows what they did, how they shook during the emergency and, even though they saved that little girl's life, Wonwoo feels the same emptiness inside him as always. This is what remains after a shot of adrenaline, after feeling fear, after his impeccable surgical precision that leaves him empty of everything.

An empty shell, that's what remains when everything else goes out.

Wonwoo closes his eyes and exhales slowly, as if the breath alone might carry the weight from his shoulders. For a moment he allows himself the indulgence of stillness, the heavy silence after crisis, and he wants to stay there just a little longer, let the tension seep from his muscles and his thoughts stop racing but behind him the door opens with a quiet click.

Mingyu enters the locker room without a word. His surgical cap is gone, the mask stripped away, his face is marked by the tiredness of the long hours spent in the operating room. They don’t greet each other. Between them there’s only the rustle of clothes being removed, the clang of locker doors opening and the sound of breath perhaps held a little too tightly in chests that haven’t quite relaxed.

Wonwoo knows he owes him something. An apology, maybe. He knows that the comment he made in the operating room about his way of working was out of place, driven more by wounded pride than by the real clinical concern of the patient lying there, but in that moment words just don’t come out from his mouth. They stall in his throat, dense and uncomfortable, like a forgotten gauze left beneath sutured skin.

So instead, he reaches for a neutral ground. Something professional that sounds like concern and not like remorse at all.

"Did the pericardial drainage work ?" he asks, too casually.

Mingyu doesn’t turn. He stands in front of his locker, pulling his scrub top over his head in a single, smooth motion.

“She is stable” he replies flatly, “We’ve set up continuous blood pressure monitoring. Arterial gases are trending upward”.

It’s the kind of answer you'd give on rounds. Not to a colleague, not to someone who should be closer than this. Wonwoo tightens his jaw, frustrated not with the answer but with how far away Mingyu suddenly feels. He tries again, just a little more human this time.

“What about the saturation ?”

“Ninety-five percent at the last check” he says, still not looking at him. “They’ll move her to the intensive care in ten minutes”

Mingyu shuts his locker with a metallic thud. He doesn’t speak further more, he doesn’t look up at him either and that’s when Wonwoo got the silent message that Mingyu doesn’t want to indulge in conversation and talk to him at all. He is mad, maybe offended, and Wonwoo doesn’t blame me, he has every right to be.

A long moment opens between them, one of those where every word suddenly feels too late or too insufficient to pronounce. Wonwoo lowers his gaze and nods to himself, turning back to his own locker to reach for a clean shirt to pull it on. Then, just as the fabric grazes his skin, Mingyu’s voice breaks the air, low but sharp in a way that cuts beneath the surface.

“What was that tremor in your fingers ?”

Wonwoo freezes as the fabric of his uniform hangs suspended in his hands. For a second he says nothing, he just stares at the locker in front of him, then he bites the inside of his lip, as if that small pain might keep the truth from spilling out.

“It’s nothing to worry about” Wonwoo mutters but even as he says it, he knows it’s a lie. And he knows Mingyu knows it too.

“Because it’s under control, right ?” he scoffs indeed.

There’s irony in his tone and even though his words aren’t loud, they land hard. Wonwoo doesn’t reply to that mere provocation, he just can’t, it’s too much for him to explain, so he prefers to ignore the exposed elephant in the room and drops his hands to his side.

Mingyu turns halfway toward him, “Look, you better sort it out whatever is going on with you lately” he says. There’s an edge to his voice, something almost reluctant like concern wrapped in barbed wire. “We can’t afford hesitation in the operating room, not with patients on the table”

The silence that follows is cold and heavy, honest in a way neither of them know how to handle. Wonwoo looks down and nods, the pause from Mingyu long enough for him to think he’s about to say more, he’s held back from slapping him again with harsh words, but then he turns and chooses to leave. The door slams shut behind him and Wonwoo lets go, pressing his forehead against his locker.

He’s tired. Down to the bone.

But there’s no time to stop. His pager buzzes at his side, urgent and insistent. Maybe another call from the emergency room, another crisis to handle, another chance to prove that nothing is wrong.

Wonwoo straightens, puts on his shirt and white coat and leaves the cold room.

Face impassive. Hands steady. Heart far from it.

Luckily for him, the call from the cardiothoracic department is not an emergency but just a routine check for a patient who had surgery a few days earlier, now recovering, who needs an adjustment in his new drug therapy. Nothing that requires an extraordinary effort, apart from a level of mental clarity that tiredness had begun to blur just at the edges.

The hospital corridor at that hour is quieter than usual, barely illuminated by the orange lights of early afternoon. In the room where his presence is required, Wonwoo greets the nurses with a polite nod and approaches the bed where the patient is sleeping soundly, breathing slowly and peacefully under the well-tucked blanket.

A nurse comes forward and hands him the medical record. Wonwoo accepts it without saying a word and starts browse through it as he listens to the woman giving him a summary of the patient’s day situation. His eyes scan the rows of data where blood pressure, oxygen saturation, heart rate are noted. The numbers scroll across the page in neat rows but his gaze lingers on them a little longer than usual, as if the information is moving in and out of view.

His fingers grazes the edges as if touch could translate into understanding and after a brief pause, Wonwoo takes a pen out of his pocket and starts to write on the paper, in his small handwriting, angry little ants marching in lines, “Reduce dosage of beta-blockers. Monitor blood pressure every two hours. Consider tapering off low molecular weight heparin”

He adds his initials to the end in a sketchy signature and when he looks up again, Wonwoo adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his nose. The gesture is automatic, his eyelids feels heavy but he forces a smile as he hands the chart to the nurse who bows and thanks him.

Wonwoo is about to leave when a soft knock lands against the doorframe. He glances over his shoulder to see Jeonghan standing there, his white coat is unbuttoned and his freshly shirt slightly loosened on his petite figure.

“Dr. Jeon, do you have a moment ?” he asks, the relaxed ease in his face is a stark contrast to the clinical rigidity of their surrounds.

Wonwoo studies him for a beat before giving him a quiet nod and step together into the corridor. Jeonghan moves beside him with his usual effortless confidence, the kind of presence that doesn’t ask for permission but somehow never oversteps, and without warning, he gently takes Wonwoo’s arm beneath his one.

“What is it ?” Wonwoo asks, chuckling as he is caught a little off guard.

“Nothing” Jeonghan replies smoothly. “I I just want to tear you away from work for a moment. I thought that it was time for us to relax for a bit and take a break with a nice coffee, would you like that ? The gossip chat is included in the package”

Wonwoo hesitates for a moment, as if looking for a reason to say no, to tell him that he is busy with other stuff to do, and for once he doesn’t find a real excuse but rather and a small smile appears on his lips. “Gladly”

The doctors’ staff room is silent when they arrive, as if the hustle and bustle of the ward never manages to cross the threshold there. It’s the same room where, only that morning, laughter had filled the air before the red code suffocated it. Now, instead, there is only the faint hum of the refrigerator and the stale smell of burnt coffee, too long forgotten in the rusty moka pot on the little stove.

Wonwoo enters first. He pauses for a moment on the threshold as if seeking some form of silent authorization to grant himself a moment's respite, then without saying anything, he approaches the old sagging leather sofa and lets himself fall onto it with a suppressed half-groan. His back sinks into the loosened stitching, his head rests against the rough backrest and his legs stretch out heavily. He closes his eyes and for a moment he no longer feels anything except the slowing of his heartbeat and his breathing becoming regular again.

A long sigh escapes his lips. One of those that carry with them hours of concentration and control held by force. Jeonghan, in the meantime, has made himself quietly at home, moving towards the corner of the kitchen and opening the door of a cabinet where the coffee pods are kept. He takes out two and handles them as if they were delicate test tubes, humming softly some untraceable melody rhythmic enough to actually suggest he's thinking.

Jeonghan has always had the talent of waiting for the right moment before speaking. “Do you want your coffee long or do you need the kind that jolts your coronary arteries back to life ?” he asks with his usual gentle irony.

Wonwoo doesn’t even open his eyes. “Strong but without sugar. Thanks”

Jeonghan nods, more to himself than to him, and puts the pods in the machine which coughs and splutters before actually turning on. The slow gurgle of coffee dripping begins to fill the small space. A comforting scent unfurls into the air, bitter warm and grounding.

“You did a good job today” he says almost distracted, as he places the plastic cups under the spout.

“I wasn’t alone” Wonwoo replies without moving, “It was a team effort”

“That’s true, Mingyu did well too” Jeonghan concedes a soft hum of agreement, “But the drain and timing were yours. That heart was on the verge of collapse and you took it back even though it was such small space for you to operate”

Wonwoo slowly opens his eyes, letting the dim light of the room irritate them slightly. He stares at the ceiling, then shifts his gaze to Jeonghan as he approaches with the two steaming cups.

“Thank you” Wonwoo murmurs, accepting it with both hands wrapped around the warm plastic. He doesn’t say anything more. He rarely does when praise comes so directly.

Jeonghan sits on a chair in front of the couch, one leg crossed over the other, coffee nestled between his palms as he watches Wonwoo for a while, sipping slowly.

“The little girl is stable” he says eventually, “Joshua texted me a little while ago. Blood pressure is holding, no signs of residual tamponade. Blood tests are clean, she’s doing better than I expected. I’m sure she’ll wake up very soon”

Wonwoo doesn’t look up. He stares into the dark swirl of his coffee, the surface trembling slightly with every breath he takes. “I’m glad to know that” he says.

Silence hangs between them as both take their own time to sip their coffee. The warmth of the cups in their hands seems to offer a small moment of respite, a break from all the pressure, but then Jeonghan’s voice breaks again with something more pointed.

“Can I ask you something ?” he says, flashing a smile at the corner of his lips.

Wonwoo glances at him. “You’re going to do it anyway”

“And you’re not gonna like it” Jeonghan leans back on his chair, his expression turning mischievous, “Because it’s about Mingyu”

"I don't want to talk about that" Wonwoo precedes him.

“Come on!” Jeonghan snaps, stamping his feet on the floor, “Don’t think I didn’t notice all that tension between you two during the surgery! You’re like opposite poles of a magnet in there. All spark, no ease. It’s not just tension, it’s something else. So what was that, exactly ?”

His name lingers in the air for a moment, almost palpable in its weight. Wonwoo doesn’t respond immediately, instead, he takes a slow sip of his coffee, the bitter liquid offering no comfort but a brief pause as Jeonghan wonders if he hasn’t pushed him too far.

“It’s an old story” then he finally says. “Goes back years during university”

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow, not surprised, but intrigued. “An old story that makes you clench your jaw every time you hear him breathe in the same room as you ?”

“We’ve always been… competitive” Wonwoo recalls, the words trailing off as if even now the memory of it burns a little too bright. “It started on the first year. Same class, same ambitions. We were both… brilliant but also too similar. And we knew it, that didn’t help”

“So what ? You clawed each other’s eyes out throughout all college ?”

“Metaphorically speaking, yes” Wonwoo continues, “Seminars, internships, even exams… it was a tireless race between us. We never said it aloud but we both knew it was a constant effort to one-up each other. We wanted to be the best, to prove who was better. If I scored a point higher on a test, he’d sign up for an extra internship. If he gave a flawless presentation, I’d rush to submit an article for publication. It was a challenge and we pushed each other hard”

Jeonghan chuckles, “So who won ?” he asks, like he was assisting a game.

“No one” Wonwoo says with a slow shake of his head. “Or maybe we both lost something in the process. We used to mess with each other a lot” he continues, his voice more reflective now. “Always subtly. Mingyu once hid my notes the day before an oral exam and I switched the labels on his histology slides during practicals. We were young, very arrogant and probably too smart not to realize we were just damaging ourselves”

Jeonghan leans forward slightly, “But then you lose touch during residency, you went to Japan”

“Yeah, we went our separate ways for a while. Mingyu stayed here and then got a scholarship to America while I moved to Tokyo” Wonwoo’s voice trails off, a little lost in the moment. “But now we’re here, I guess, and it doesn’t seem like anything has changed”

“Maybe something has changed. You just don’t want to admit it”

Wonwoo turns slightly toward him. “What do you mean ?”

Jeonghan gets into a more relaxed position. "You've spent years building this image of each other, rivals and competition, but then I saw you both today in that operating room... and there was something else, Wonwoo. A rhythm and a kind of synchronicity that I've rarely seen in my life and it doesn't come from hatred but from knowing someone too well."

Wonwoo falls silent at those words. His mind begins to swirl with thoughts he doesn't want to admit, things he's buried for years. He opens his mouth but the words don't come right away. When they do come, it's almost like a confession.

"Sometimes I think I don't even know what bothers me about him anymore" he says almost hesitantly. "Maybe it's not rivalry anymore, maybe it's just a bad habit. I really hated him, Jeonghan, not because he was better than me but because he was better without trying. I studied like crazy, slept three hours a night, felt like I had to earn every grade and every compliment from the teachers. And then he comes, always smiling, always brilliant, and everything came naturally to him, as if success... just found him"

Silence settles for a moment and Wonwoo takes a deep breath, he had never said those things to anyone and now he felt a bit like a river in flood. "Do you know what I once thought?" he murmurs again. "That if I were like him, maybe I would finally be happy."

Jeonghan tilts his head slightly, his expression softening into one of understanding. "Are you jealous of him ?"

Wonwoo nods, slow and deep. “Yes, but not that simple envy, not the kind where you just want to be into someone's shoes. It was more like... he was everything I couldn't be, everything I was afraid I couldn't be. And I was angry about that not just at him but at myself too, because I always needed everything to be perfect for me, for tying my value to success, unlike him. And seeing him always so relaxed, competent, charismatic… it hurt me"

"This is ridiculous, Wonwoo, you’re the best here and you know it” Jeonghan scoffs him, “Now you and Mingyu are colleagues, both exceptional surgeons and you work in the same hospital sharing the same space. Does it feel like history is repeating itself ?

“Yes, kind of” Wonwoo replies, a bitter smile tugs at the corners of his lips. “Now when I make a mistake, he notices and even if he doesn’t say anything… I know he notices. It makes me feel judged by an expertise that I don’t think I have and I know he could intervene. Part of me hates that he could do that. The other part… is relieved”

“Because you trust him, like you trusted him today in the operating room”

Wonwoo doesn’t bat an eyelid. “I respect him” he says, “A lot. And maybe… that’s what bothers me the most”

Jeonghan watches him for a while reading the tight line of Wonwoo's mouth, the stiffness of his shoulders. The silence grows longer between them but it's not empty, rather filled with all the words Wonwoo had never said, all those repressed feelings he had kept hidden for years.

"You know" he says, softer now "You really need to stop competing with him"

Wonwoo doesn't look up right away. His eyes are still fixed on the empty paper cup in front of him.

“I’ve worked with you long enough to know that. You’re one of the best heart surgeons I’ve ever seen and I don’t say that as a friend but as a colleague who watches you open chests and revive hearts as if you were born to do it. Everyone trusts your hands, let’s be honest. Mingyu is brilliant, yes, that boy is just a natural talent. Quick hands, great instincts, an uncommon readiness to intervene in emergencies but that’s his field” he pauses, “When the stakes are highest, when a heart is hanging by a thread, everyone in this hospital knows they want you in that room”

Wonwoo looks up slowly. There’s disbelief in his eyes but also something fragile buried under years of internalized silence.

“You’re no less than him” Jeonghan goes on. “You both are the same, just in a different way. He's energetic and shines under pressure, you're gravity and make pressure irrelevant. You reduce panic to silence and complication to clarity. You don't have to be him, Wonwoo, you've already carved out your own place in this world in your own way"

Wonwoo swallows, his throat tight. Something inside him wants to argue, brush it off like he always does, but he finds he can’t do that. Not with Jeonghan looking at him like that, not with the exhaustion rising from his bones and telling him he's tired of carrying this weight.

"I don't know how to let go of it" he mutters, his admission barely audible. "The comparisons. The pressure. It's been with me so long I don't know what's left without it"

“Start small" Jeonghan says, "Stop trying to win a competition that ended years ago, wondering who's better among you and start questioning who you are now without all the noise around"

Wonwoo nods slightly, a subtle but real movement. A part of him begins to loosen, as if something long tense has begun to unravel. Jeonghan straightens and stretches slightly, “And now go home, please” he says softly. “Get some sleep and do something for those dark circles under your eyes. Let go of what happened today, just for a while, you don’t have to fix yourself in one day”

Wonwoo nods slightly, considering the suggestion that now seems more appealing than usual, “Thank you” he whispers softly. “For not... making a joke out of it”

Jeonghan smiles, “Some things just need to be said”

They sit in that small room for a while longer, letting the last sips of coffee settle at the bottom of the paper cups as the rhythm of the hospital fades behind the door. Their voices slowly lower to lighter topics like Jeonghan’s latest argument with an overconfident intern, a funny incident with one of the microwaves that somehow still holds up, something about how terrible the new coffee vending machine is. It’s not much but enough to make the weight of the previous conversation gradually dissipate just like steam coming out of a slowly cooling cup.

Jeonghan is then suddenly called in for a consultation in the ward and Wonwoo gets up from there as well, taking off his coat with slower movements but perhaps more decisive this time. He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling softly through his nose and, without another word, he heads out into the hallway letting the buzz of the fluorescent lights accompany him as he leaves.

As he walks, his friend’s words echo softly in his mind: “You don’t have to be like him. You’ve already carved out your place in this world in your own way”

It’s not something that stings. It doesn’t feel like a concession or a second prize. For the first time in a long time, it feels like something he could really believe in.

And for tonight, maybe that thought is enough for him.

The city outside is silent, wrapped in the stillness of the now-pressing evening hour. The walk home is fast, the cold air holding him still, and when Wonwoo finally crosses the threshold of his apartment, it feels different. It’s not that empty, not like a waiting room to enter for another version of himself. That home feels lived in, present and his.

Wonwoo turns on the soft lights in the living room letting them warm the shadows along the walls. His bag falls onto the couch, the silence around him is relaxing and not suffocating but he decides to let it be filled with something else anyway. He turns on the radio and a soft song comes to life, little more than a melody, but enough to keep the quiet company.

He sinks onto the couch exhaling deeply, and there on the coffee table, waiting for him as he had left it the night before, is the red notebook back again like his closest and oldest friend. Wonwoo picks it up and flips through the pages absentmindedly once more, his mind wandering rather than focused. His gaze settles on a corner he had folded where a sketch of an anatomical structure he had obsessively corrected lays, drawn and redrawn million times for his anatomy exam.

The lines are precise, intense and so familiar.

And a memory resurfaces in his mind.

He was standing outside the lecture hall with the adrenaline of the exam still pulsing in his veins like an echo of effort not yet faded. The university hallway was full of quiet chatter, the occasional thud of a backpack and the creaks of sneakers on tile, but Wonwoo barely registered any of those sounds. His focus was pinned to the bulletin board in front of him, the one that bore the weight of names and numbers and months spent buried in books and sleepless nights.

He scanned the list slowly, his finger trailing just beneath the rows of surnames, and suddenly it appeared. There it was, “Jeon Wonwoo” in neat line of characters followed by three columns, written exam one, written exam two, oral exam. All perfect scores. Highest mark in the entire course.

His first reaction hadn’t been elation. No fist pump and no celebration. Just a quiet flicker of breath and a subtle nod to himself. He'd folded that satisfaction up neatly, tucked it into the lining of his bag, already preparing for the next exam, the next proof of his worth.

Wonwoo hadn’t even turned around before Mingyu leaned a little closer, glancing at the paper over his shoulder with that infuriating ease that always made everything seem lighter in his presence.

He felt him chuckling in his ear, his big smile showing off his perfect fangs. "Sometimes you win without even realizing it"

Wonwoo had rolled his eyes at the time, assuming Mingyu was just making fun of him as usual, one more playful jab in the long string of unspoken challenges between them. He hadn't realized how gently the words had landed or how deeply they’d root themselves in his memory.

Now, only with time, Wonwoo perceives them differently.

And maybe... maybe it was true.

Maybe not all victories came with applause. Maybe the ones that mattered most didn’t need an audience. Maybe some wins were quiet, earned through persistence, through refusing to give up even when everything wanted to collapse. Maybe triumph could be found not in beating someone else but in simply becoming who someone was meant to be.

Wonwoo lets the notebook fall closed in his lap, his hand still resting on its cover. He leans back into the couch, letting his body sink into the familiar embrace of cushions. The radio plays softly in the background in a melodic hum that fills the air like breath.

Tonight, the silence of his apartment doesn’t press down on him. It doesn’t feel like absence or emptiness but rather like space made for peace.

For the first time in a long while, solitude isn’t something to endure.

It’s something that welcomes him in.

And for once, without resistance, Wonwoo lets it.

Chapter Text

“When the night has come, and you’re tired of being all alone, I’ll carry you home”

In a corner of that quiet office room, Wonwoo sits with one leg tucked beneath him on a worn-out chair that creaks softy each time he shifts. The leather is cracked, the cushion thinned in all the wrong places. It's not comfortable, not really, but it’s familiar like certain habits that survive even the longest night shifts.

In front of him, the pale blue light of his laptop screen flickers across the lenses of his glasses, casting faint iridescence over the hollowed curves beneath his eyes. Beside the keyboard, next to him, lies an open pack of crackers half-forgotten. Two of them are broken in half, nibbled down more out of boredom than hunger.

That one seems like any other unmoving nights where silence stretches on in something that feels like sacred. There are no alarms, no rushed footsteps running down the hospital hallways, no voices croaking on the intercom. The emergency room is mostly deserted and the only sounds that reach Wonwoo’s ears are the low hum of an old refrigerator and the steady tick of a wall clock which beats barely resemble the ones of a slowly calming heart.

It’s just past one in the morning and the world outside seems to have surrendered to sleep already. Outside the wide windows, the sky has sunk into a shade of deep indigo bleeding into black at the edges. It’s veiled in layers of shifting clouds, heavy with the promise rain or a passing storm that hasn't quite made up its mind. Streetlights glow amber through the fogged glass, scattering their light in broken halos.

Wonwoo slides his fingers across the trackpad as his gaze traces the peaks and valleys of an ECG report displayed on the screen. He cross-references it with clinical notes of a patient he hasn’t met yet. He is just a name on a screen, faceless for now, but the complexity of the case presses at Wonwoo already like a shadow that’s quietly crept into the room.

Every so often, Wonwoo reaches for another cracker. It crumbles dryly between his teeth, utterly flavorless, and when he lifts a thirst to his mouth, the door behind him clicks open in a confidential sound that doesn’t even make him flinch, too familiar to startle.

“So this is the exclusive VIP party, huh ? Who do you have to know to get on the guest list ?” the voice arrives before Wonwoo raises his gaze. Seokmin steps into the room with a crumple of a plastic wrapped in one hand and the dull thud of an energy drink can hitting the table following close behind.

“You just need to not have a social life” Wonwoo replies without looking up, the corner of his mouth curling into half a smile.

Seokmin gives a loud exaggerated groan and flops onto the aging couch with not so very delicate grace, the springs indeed groan beneath him in protest. He is still in his scrubs, a baby blue color set that had seen better hours, and his hospital ID badge dangled from his chest swinging slightly as he shifted to get comfortable. His hair was a mess of curls, spiked in a way that could’ve been intentional but probably wasn’t.

“God, I hate slow nights like this one” he sighs dramatically, throwing an arm over his eyes. “I feel like I’m stuck in one of those filler and boring episodes of Grey’s Anatomy. You know, the kind where no one hooks up in the locker room and no one needs help”

Wonwoo chuckles softly as he reaches for another cracker, “So basically, real life”

“Exactly, so tragic” Seokmin sighs with his eyes closed, “I was hoping for at leasts some excitement, I don’t know, a yellow code, a dramatic collapse, a marble stuck in a child's nostril. But nope, the most thrilling thing I got tonight was a sweet old lady asking if she could press the emergency button just to see if it worked”

“Did you let her ?” 

“Of course I did, you know I have a soft spot for elderly people. Then I staged a whole fake emergency to make her happy” he says, popping open the can of energy drink to take a sip. His face suddenly twists in a mild bitter expression, “Ugh… It’s warm, how disgusting”

“And still you drink it, that’s a bold move” Wonwoo murmurs amused.

“It was the only thing left in the vending machine after someone stole the last ginseng chocolate. Ring any bells ?”

“It wasn’t me, I don’t drink ginseng” Wonwoo chuckles, lips twitching into a small smirk. “Just black coffee”

“I had no doubts” Seokmin laughs, taking another long sip anyway. He leans his head back against the cushions, his expression relaxing for a moment. After a brief pause, his gaze finds Wonwoo again, “How long have you been here ?”

“Before my shift even started” he replies, not looking away from the screen. “I’m reviewing the chart of an oncology patient. It’s a tough one, multiple metastases. One of them’s in the heart”

“Age ?”

“Seventy-eight, mentally impeccable, blood tests as good as if he were a teenager. Junhui requested a cardiology consult for tomorrow morning”

“That guy is a good one. A little weird sometimes, very shy, but he has got a gentle touch” the ENT specialist comments, “So you’re going over the patient’s medical history now ?”

“Mm-hm” Wonwoo gives a small nod. “I like being prepared, complex cases deserve attention”

“You give attention to every case, even the routine ones. That’s why patients still call you after they’ve been discharged just to say thank you”

“Not all of them” Wonwoo smiles, “Some would rather forget they ever ended up under my scalpel”

“Well, at least their hearts are still beating” Seokmin says, voice softer now. “Even the ones who forget to say thank you”

A sweet silence settles between them, companionable rather than awkward. Seokmin stretches out further on the couch, pushing off his slippers and shifting onto his side. He tucks one arm beneath his head, the other drapes lazily across his stomach.

“Hey —” he says, eyes already half-closed, “You mind if I nap here for a bit while you work ?”

“Not at all, go ahead”

“Wake me if anything happens, alright ?”

Wonwoo chuckles, “I hope nothing does”

Wonwoo clicks the touchpad and the monitor stirs back to life, casting its familiar bluish glow across his features. The light carves sharp lines along his cheekbones, illuminating the bridge of his nose, but beneath that clinical sharpness something gentler had begun to stir. He returns to his work, scrolling slowly through all the medical reports and typing a few notes on the pages’ corners. Every now and then, his eyes drift sideways toward the couch where Seokmin had curled up like a puppy in a too-small space. His breathing had slowed into a deep even rhythm and after a few minutes, a soft snore escapes him gentle, almost childlike in its cadence.

Wonwoo doesn’t smile, not exactly, but something in his expression eases. There is a quiet fondness in the way he let his gaze linger a second longer before returning to the screen. The clinical data before him hadn’t changed, still the same notes and probabilities, but somehow it felt less heavy and cold. The room no longer feels quite so empty, despite he has still a long night ahead full of silence with the mere anticipation of what might come tomorrow, but now, in that picture, there is also Seokmin’s presence not speaking and not demanding, simply existing beside him, that somehow is enough for him to make the hours feel a little more bearable.

Seokmin was one of the youngest doctors on staff and almost universally adored.

It wasn’t a coincidence that nurses had nicknamed him “happy virus” a title that clung to him with both fondness and truth. He had a way of lighting up every room he steps into, of breaking through tension with a well-timed joke in the elevator or a ridiculous pun during morning rounds.

He would sing to his patients always enthusiastically during check-ups, not just to put them at ease but because it genuinely seems to delight him to see others smile. It helped them relax and sometimes even made it easier to examine their vocal cords. In his white coat and ever-messy hair, Seokmin isn’t just a doctor but a whole walking bubble of sunshine.

Wonwoo adores him not just for his warmth, but also for his steadiness. For the way Seokmin always listens without rushing to reply, for how he instinctively makes room for others even when he himself is running on little sleep and too much coffee. From the very first day they had started working together, Seokmin had been a quiet anchor, a luminous presence that never asked for anything in return. And though Wonwoo often told himself that someone like him deserved more — more time, more laughter, more of himself than just a few stolen moments between back-to-back cases — Seokmin never seemed to mind.

He kept showing up, he kept smiling, and if all he got was five minutes next to Wonwoo in a dark room, surrounded only by silence and the faint hum of machines, for reasons that left him both grateful and a little ashamed, it seemed like that was more than enough for him.

Wonwoo lets his gaze linger on Seokmin for a moment longer and something tender and protective awaken in him as he watches the gently rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. With a soft sigh, Wonwoo stands up from his chair and crosses the room to the locker on the opposite wall from which he takes out a folded blanket, thin and a little rough but warm enough to do its job, to drap it carefully over Seokmin’s body, arranging it under his chin without waking him and making sure his shoulders are covered.

Wonwoo wasn’t a man of big gestures and sweet words, indeed, but this was his simple way of saying “I care about you”. A half-hearted smile tugs at the corner of his lips before he can sit back down and go on with his study session in front of his laptop.

When the first hints of faint and gray dawn begin to filter through the narrow windows touching the edges of the room like a whisper, Wonwoo saves the file he was working on and closes his laptop. He stands up, stretches his back rolling his shoulders, and takes one last look at Seokmin still peacefully asleep under the blanket, before walking lightly toward the door. His hand lingers on the handle just a second longer than necessary then with one last glance back, he gently closes the door behind him, leaving the room in a calm that was no longer lonely but filled with the comforting echo of a shared silence.

Wonwoo walks briskly through the hospital corridors that were slowly starting to come alive with newly arrived nurses and doctors. It was just before 7 in the morning and the pavilions of the oncology department were starting to move to the morning rhythm of the day that had just begun for the world, not for Wonwoo though and maybe not even for Wen Junhui who was currently waiting for him leaning against the wall halfway through the corridor.

His attention is focused on his phone, the glow of the screen casting a soft light across the sharp angles of his model-like face. Golden locks spill effortlessly over his forehead, framing his eyes with such elegance, and he’s dressed with the kind of effortless style that turns heads like he’s stepped straight off a runway rather than into a hospital hallway.

The moment he senses movement nearby, Jun lifts his gaze and a little smile curves his lips.

"There you are" he says, slipping the phone into the pocket of his coat, "I thought you were still napping in the room, Dr. Jeon. Good morning"

Rest, what a mirage, rather Wonwoo is always punctual and that day was no exception. "I was actually working for you" Wonwoo replies with a friendly tone "Good morning to you, Dr. Wen"

“How was your night ?” Jun pushes himself away from the wall and comes to stand beside him. "You look like you got some thinking done"

“It was quiet, no emergency thankfully" Wonwoo tucks his laptop under his arm. "I went over some medical records, Seokmin kept me company for a bit. How about you ?”

Jun let out a half a laugh. “Same, it was slow. I got just few hours of sleep before coming here. I’ve been waiting to discuss this case with you”

Wonwoo nods, his expression shifting instantly to clinical focus. “Right, tell me about him”

“His name is Han Myungsoo, 78 years old man” Jun starts retelling, guiding them down the hall in a slow walk, “He was admitted four days ago after a computed tomography scan that revealed a significant mediastinal mass. He had come in complaining of persistent chest pressure and shortness of breath that worsened over the last few weeks. Initially we suspected possible pleural effusion, maybe post-infectious but the imaging told a different story”

“Lung cancer, correct ?”

“Yeah, the primary tumor is in the upper lobe of the right lung” he says, “Non-small cell, adenocarcinoma specifically, Dr. Chwe performed the biopsy and confirmed it. It’s fairly aggressive and the mass is pressing against the superior vena cava and displacing the trachea slightly, which explains the dyspnea. But what concerned us more were the secondary findings”

“The cardiac involvement” Wonwoo says quietly, remembering the test results he consulted during the night.

Jun nods, “Echocardiography and a contrast-enhanced cardiac MRI both show a metastatic lesion involving the myocardium, likely in the right atrial wall. There’s mild pericardial effusion too but no signs of tamponade. So far, it seems stable”

“What about the PET scan ?”

“Positive uptake in the heart and a few lymph nodes but the cardiac lesion is the immediate concern, especially considering the risk of arrhythmia or obstruction. He’s not a surgical candidate for the primary tumor but we need your evaluation on the cardiac side” Junhui glances over at him. “Your call will determine how aggressive we can be with systemic treatment”

Wonwoo’s brow furrow slightly as he absorbs the implications. “Has he been symptomatic from the cardiac side ? Palpitations, syncopal episodes?”

“No syncope but some intermittent tachycardia and mild hypotension overnight. We’ve started continuous monitoring. I wanted you to visit him before we finalize the oncologic approach, if there’s a way to stabilize or manage the metastasis in some way”

“We’ll see” Wonwoo murmurs, already narrowing down thousands of possibilities in his mind. “Let’s review the latest echo together before I examine him. For the rest, how is he feeling ?”

“You’re gonna see him shortly, he’s in room 712” he hints a small laugh, “Conscious, fully oriented, great comic timing and… a little too aware of what’s happening”

Wonwoo smiles in tenderness, “Let’s not keep him waiting then”

Professional in their posture, the two doctors walk toward the patient’s room that is nestled at the end of the corridor between the nurses’ station and a window that frames the day slowly waking up. Junhui stops in front of the door and knocks gently on its surface, opening it shortly after with a gentle push.

Wonwoo follows him inside right away and Han Myungsoo appears more awake than ever. He sits on the bed with an open book in his lap, his thin fingers gripping delicately the sides of the tome’s cover that looks like something narrative at first sight. He is a small bald man, perhaps once more robust, now gaunt from illness and time, his tanned skin is marked by age spots and his eyes are bright and unmistakably alive. An oxygen cannula rests comfortably under his nose, its cable running to a portable tank on the bedside table. A heart monitor shows constant readings beside him, its adhesive electrodes visible through the open collar of his gown.

“Good morning, Mr. Han” Jun greets warmly, approaching his bed. “How are you feeling today ? Did your breakfast pass the exam this time ?”

Myungsoo looks up from his book with a twinkle in his eye. “They tried to kill me with that orange juice again, Dr. Wen. I’m convinced it’s a detergent by now, there’s very little citrus in there”

“I’ll be sure to pass your review on to the diet department” Jun laughs, accustomed to the man’s humor. “I want you to meet Dr. Jeon Wonwoo today, our cardiac surgeon. He’s here to take a closer look at your wayward heart”

His eyes move over him and Wonwoo bows slightly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Han”

“Call me Myungsoo, please don’t make me feel even older than I already am” the man replies, showing a little smile. “So you’ve been talking about me around” he playfully says to Junhui, “I guess this is your way of doing gossip here. What do you think, Dr. Jeon ? Is this heart worth repairing or should we just scrap the entire model ?”

Wonwoo’s mouth curves slightly. “I think it’s a classic that’s definitely worth restoring”

“Ah you’re a romantic” Myungsoo murmurs, closing the book and gently setting it aside. “A doctor who understands art, I like it”

Jun helps him get into a more comfortable sitting position, “Doctor Jeon will examine you now, if that’s okay with you”

“Of course, of course. Do what you want” he replies with a dramatic wave of his hand. “I’m no longer modest, I’m past luxury”

Wonwoo slips on a pair of gloves and approaches him, “Thank you” he says softly, unrolling the stethoscope around his neck to put the edges into his ears, “I promise it won’t take long”

Myungsoo nods and watches his every move as Wonwoo approaches him. He gently reaches behind his shoulder to unfasten the ties of the hospital gown and expose the upper back to hear his breathing first. The stethoscope is placed against his skin, “Can you take a deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth, please ?” he asks.

The older man obeys, drawing in a breath as full as his weakened lungs allow. There’s a slight wheeze on exhalation, subtle but followed by a faint rattle in the lower lobes.

“Once again, please” Wonwoo says, repositioning the stethoscope slightly lower, listening carefully to each breath. His brows knit faintly in concentration as he moves across the back, his trained ear picking up the diminished air entry and a hint of pleural friction.

He glances toward Junhui, who meets his eyes from across the bed and gives him a barely perceptible nod. Nothing is said but in that brief moment something passes between them, shared concern or perhaps just confirmation. Wonwoo moves to the front and presses the bell of his stethoscope against Myungsoo’s chest now, pausing to wait out the monitor’s quiet beeping.

The heartbeat beneath is irregular full of premature contractions and a faint systolic murmur layered with a buzzing vibratory quality that hints at myocardial infiltration.

“What do you hear, Doctor ? Does it sound like a broken sonnet ?” Myungsoo asks.

“A complex one” Wonwoo replies, adjusting his stethoscope again. “But not unsalvageable”

He goes on with the examination, his fingers pressing lightly on the man’s wrists to feel the pulse, comparing both sides, and checking for signs of peripheral edema along the ankles and sacrum. He palpates lightly along the chest wall for thrills or heaves and there’s none, but rather he notices a distinct dullness on percussion along the lower right thorax. The cancer was making itself known in more ways than one.

“You know, I had everything ready to live my retirement” Myungsoo says, “The peace of my house, the quiet of my garden and my typewriter. After decades chasing deadlines and surviving two marriages, all I wanted was silence, time and words. But then this little bastard of a size of a walnut decides to close me down, just now that I finally have time to write poetry”

Wonwoo, gently repositioning the stethoscope along his chest, glances up with a faint smile. “What kind of poems do you write ?”

“Mostly the ones that no one reads” he jokes, “Boring stuff about life and the weight of time. Not just the passing of years but also the way memories linger and press against your ribs. Do you know what I mean ?”

“I think so” Wonwoo replies eventually, his hand stills over the man’s sternum. “Sometimes memories feel heavier than the time they come from”

Myungsoo studies at him for a moment, his eyes narrow slightly perceptive and sharp. “You’re a man of culture, Dr. Jeon, I can tell. You’ve got that stillness about you, the kind one readers carry”

A soft huff of breath escapes Wonwoo, almost a chuckle. He straightens up, removing the stethoscope and tugging off his gloves. “I used to read more when I was younger. Now it’s mostly patient charts and lab results”

The old man gives a dry laugh. “You're still young but I understand you doctors are busy here. Life trades your time for purpose and purpose devours your hours. But you… you’ve still got the quiet of a good listener and the eyes of someone who sees more than he says. That’s rare”

Wonwoo doesn't respond right away, but he smiles genuinely at that brief analysis of him, as if Myungsoo was reading him inside as much as Wonwoo was listening to his body from the outside. He smooths the hospital gown back over the man’s chest, careful not to disturb the lines or the stillness.

“Tell me” Myungsoo says after a beat, tilting his head with mock curiosity, “How’s my invisible friend ? Is my body still under siege or has the invader taken over completely ?”

Before Wonwoo can speak, Junhui steps forward in his warm professionalism. “You’re doing actually great, Mr. Han. We’ll review your latest imaging again today and go over the findings with Dr. Jeon in detail. We’ll take it step by step”

Myungsoo turns his gaze toward him. “Is there a plan yet ? Or are you both still workshopping metaphors for how bad it is?”

“We’re still putting the pieces together but we’ll do everything we can”

That seems to settle something in the room until Myungsoo’s gaze sharpens again. “What would you do if this were your body and heart, Dr. Jeon ?”

Wonwoo hesitates out of respect then he meets the man’s eyes. “I’d want someone to try. No false hope just care and honesty”

Myungsoo looks at him, long and quiet, and then he nods once as if that answer was enough. “Good. That’s all I ask”

“We’ll talk with cardiothoracic and palliative together” Junhui adds, “We’ll coordinate everything with you, Mr. Han, full transparency I promise”

“I trust you” the man says simply, reaching again for the book he had set aside earlier “Just don’t treat me like I’ve already died. Let me keep living, even like this. I still have a few things to write before leaving this world”

“We’ll make sure you have plenty of time” Wonwoo reassures him with a smile.

In that silent exchange, something unspoken is settled between them, more of a recognition than a promise. A shared awareness that life, even if clouded by illness, still has chapters that deserve to be written.

Wonwoo lingers only a moment longer before he gives Myungsoo a small bow of parting. Junhui mirrors the gesture then gently guides them both toward the door. The soft click as it closes behind them feels oddly final, like the turning of a page. They walk down the corridor without speaking at first, still thinking about the man’s condition as the fluorescent lights overhead hum faintly above their footsteps and nurses move past with morning charts.

Junhui glances sideways. “What did you think of him ?”

Wonwoo’s expression stays composed but something thoughtful stirs beneath the surface. “He’s remarkably lucid. Sharp, emotionally and cognitively. I guess this kind of clarity can carry him through a more aggressive treatment path if we’re careful”

Jun nods slowly, “What about his heart ?”

“The myocardial involvement is significant, the mass is localized at least and the rhythm disturbances are manageable for now. I’d recommend a percutaneous intervention, maybe a balloon angioplasty to ease the narrowing in the coronary artery. It’s not a cure but it might reduce myocardial strain and help with perfusion”

“A routine procedure for you, maybe”

“A relatively low-risk one” Wonwoo replies. “If we optimize the cardiac output, it could buy him stability and time which, I think, is what he wants most”

“Yeah, I guess so” Jun sighs, “Thanks for the consultation, Wonwoo. I’ll loop you in once we update the oncology team and speak with palliative”

“Let me know if his rhythm changes overnight. I’ll want to review the telemetry maybe tomorrow night when I’m back in”

“Are you done for the day ?”

Wonwoo nods, “I’m going home now, hoping to get some rest”

“Hoping you actually get some” Jun offers him a half-smile, “Have a good day, then. See you tomorrow”

“You too. Thank you” he echoes with a faint smile of his own.

Jun steps back, heading toward the opposite wing, and as soon as he disappears around the corner, Wonwoo’s smile fades almost imperceptibly. The corridor stretches behind him, silent again. His shift is over, it has been for fifteen minutes already, but Wonwoo stands motionless unsure what to do with the rest of the day. There’s nothing urgent waiting for him at home, no reason to rush toward silence when he’s already lived in it all night.

The hospital hums behind the walls, more alive than his apartment will ever be, but Wonwoo knows he needs to break away from that routine before he forgets how. So he exhales, quietly resigned, and walks toward the elevator heading to get his car in the garage.

By the time he puts the code of his apartment door in the keypad and steps inside, the shift in the air is immediate and completely different from the usual sterile stillness Wonwoo is used to expect. His home is quiet but not hollow, it smells faintly of barely tea steeped too long, of warm rice still clinging to the bottom of the pot. Underneath it all a clean trace of dish soap lingers, domestic and real, making the house almost lived-in.

Wonwoo takes off his shoes at the entrance and puts down his bag as something in his chest slowly relaxes, a quiet invisible tension he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying all day. A tender and sweet smile touches his lips before he heads towards the kitchen, drawn by the unmistakable scent and the homely warmth that had pampered him so much as a child and that, in that moment, feels like a lifeline.

He hand’t known how much he really needed to feel her presence until now. She had always possessed the intuitive ability to appear exactly when he needed her most, as if she could sense the weight pressing down on him even when he said nothing at all. She never waited for an invitation, she never asked for permission to love him in her steadfast way.

And when Wonwoo turns the corner into the kitchen, there she is, standing with her back to him, sleeves rolled up as she silently dries a plate over the sink.

A few strands of graying hair have fallen out of her neatly pinned bun, held up by that blue clip she’s had for years by now. She’s wearing an oversized knit sweater, likely one she kept at the bottom of a drawer here for chilly mornings, and a brightly patterned aprons Wonwoo had stuffed into the kitchen drawer ages ago, more for show than use, tied casually around her waist as if it had always belonged there. Like she was always meant to be here.

“Mom” Wonwoo says softly but with a brightness that hasn’t touched his voice all day.

Haewon Jeon turns around, slightly startled but her eyes brighten with immediate relief. “Oh son, you’re back” a smile blooms across her face.

Wonwoo steps into the warmth of the kitchen, closing the small distance between them in a few strides. He leans down and presses a soft kiss to her forehead, a familiar gesture wrapped in tenderness and quiet gratitude. “I just finished my night shift” he murmurs, “What are you doing here ? I’m happy to see you”

“I was to the market nearby” she points toward the counter where shopping bags rest, half-unpacked. “Picked up a few things, vegetables and fruit, for you too. I figured you haven’t had time to stock your fridge”

A gentle lie that Wonwoo knows too well by now. She hadn’t been nearby, she’d simply been missing him and thinking about him, so that quiet worry had driven her straight here.

“I wanted to ask if I could stop by” she adds a little too casually, as if she hasn’t rehearsed the line in her head all morning. “I didn’t want to intrude on your space but you didn’t pick up any of my calls. Didn’t you get my texts either ?”

Wonwoo rubs the back of his neck and sighs. “I didn’t check my phone at all, honestly” he admits, “I was in the middle of an important consultation before coming here, things got busy and I must have missed them. I’m sorry”

“It’s fine” she waves her hand, “In the meantime I tidied up a little around. I made you laundry, dusted the shelves and opened the windows for a bit”

“You didn’t have to —“ he starts.

“But I did anyway” she cuts in with that same motherly finality that has always overridden any protest. “I also made you tea and some fried rice, the one you like a little crispy on the edges with scallions and eggs”

Wonwoo watches her for a moment, catching the familiar rhythm of her movements as she grabs a bowl from the cupboard and fills it with the rice she’s carefully cooked, realizing he had no escape but to eat this breakfast with her even though he wasn’t very hungry.

“Thank you, Mom” he says softly, sitting down on a chair as she places the bowl in front of him. “You’ve always been good at making the silence feel like home”

“And you’ve always been good at ignoring your own needs” she chuckles, pouring herself a cup of tea and handing him the chopsticks, “You should eat while it’s still hot. You look pale and thinner”

Wonwoo laughs under his breath, touched by the worry in her voice. “I’m fine, just tired”

“That’s what you always say” she mutters, sitting down across from him, “But you work too much, darling. Night shifts, emergency calls, double rotations. You’re always at that hospital. It’s like your apartment is just a place you sleep in when you bother to come back at all”

Wonwoo picks up his chopsticks and takes a bite, savoring the familiar flavor. It’s exactly how he remembers it. Simple, warm, comforting, just like home.

“I know” he says after a moment. “I’m trying to slow down, I promise. Just… not yet”

Haewon’s gaze lingers on him with that motherly intensity that sees through everything. “I just worry, that’s all. You push yourself so hard, you always have. Even when you were a little boy, you’d get sick from staying up too late studying”

“Some habits die hard, I guess”

"Is it for the head of your department candidacy ?" she asks as if couldn’t keep that question for herself anymore, “That's why you're working so hard ?"

Wonwoo huffs softly through his nose and shakes his head. “I’m not interested in that position”

Haewon blinks. “You’re not ?”

“Not at all” he says gently. “It may seem tempting but I don’t want that kind of leadership. I’m not built for the politics, the meetings, the constant pressure to perform outside the operating room. It’s not what I became a doctor for”

A slow, knowing smile spreads across Haewon’s lips. “You’re just like your father, it's incredible. He always said the same thing, you know, that he just wanted to be good at what he did. That he didn’t care about titles”

Wonwoo’s eyes soften. “How is he, anyway ?”

“He’s fine” she leans back slightly, folding his hands in his lap. “He can barely stand the thought of being retired, still refuses to admit that his back isn’t that of a young man anymore, but he goes fishing a lot now, plays golf with his friends in the park every wednesday like it’s a sacred ritual”

“Seems living his best life” he chuckles to himself.

“He does, indeed” Haewon nods with a smile, “We’re going to Jeju in two weeks, your cousin Soojin is getting married”

“Oh ?” Wonwoo lifts his head, surprised. “Already ?”

“Finally I’d say! Her mother has been talking about flower arrangements and weather forecasts for months!” Haewon replies with an affectionate roll of her eyes, “It’ll be a small thing. Just family and few friends. I told her I wasn’t sure if you’d make it”

Wonwoo hesitates, not wanting to disappoint her but knowing the reality of his schedule. “I have a surgery scheduled that week. I might not be able to take time off”

“I thought so” she says without blame. “Don’t worry, I’ll send you pictures and maybe a little video if I can figure out how to use my phone the way you showed me last time”

“You’ll do great” he smiles, genuinely this time “Just don’t film the ground by accident again”

“That was one time!”

They eat in companionable silence for a while. The rice disappears slowly in the bowl and each bite easing the weight in Wonwoo’s chest a little more, grounding him in the quiet rhythm of his home. The hum of the kettle, the soft presence of his mom, everything feels kinder there for a moment.

But Haewon knows that silence is also where secrets like to hide so she lifts her cup of tea, tilting it to her lips with a glance that’s just a touch too casual to be innocent. “Is there someone special in your life lately ?”

Wonwoo nearly chokes on a mouthful of rice. He covers his mouth with a napkin, coughing into it as he looks at her with a narrow-eyed glare. “Seriously ?” he rasps, voice rough with surprise, “You’re asking me that now ?”

“What ?” she blinks naively as if she didn’t just drop a small grenade on the table. “It’s just a question, honey”

“That’s… incredibly abrupt of you”

She shrugs with exaggerated nonchalance, “A mother is entitled to know if there’s someone who makes your heart beat a little faster, that’s all. You’re not getting any younger and you never even mention anyone, not even a name, a hint”

“Maybe I’m just private”

“Or maybe you just work too much to let anyone in”

His chopsticks hover for a moment above his bowl. Wonwoo doesn’t speak right away but there’s a slight shift in his posture, a small twitch at the corner of his mouth as he breathes out a short laugh. “There was someone, once” he says at last, “Happy ?”

She looks at him carefully, quietly, “And now?”

“Now…” Wonwoo lets his gaze drop to the table “I don’t know, I think I’m still figuring it out”

Haewon hums as if in thought, then she smiles with practiced innocence. “Is he a doctor ?”

“Mom —” his warning tone kicks in instantly.

“Come on!” she exclaims, eyes wide in mock offense. “You spend all your time in the hospital. I’m not going to assume you met someone at pilates or on a dating app!”

Wonwoo furrows his brows. “Do you even know what a dating app is ?”

“I’m not ancient” she huffs, affronted. “I’ve seen them on TV. Swiping and such”

“Okay, now you’re terrifying me” he says, laughing softly. He rubs his eyes under his lenses, shaking his head like he’s not sure how he ended up in this conversation. “You really don’t let anything go, do you ?”

“My job as a mother is to pry with love”

“Pry and love aren’t synonyms”

“They are when your son is single, thirty and allergic to weekends!”

Wonwoo shoots her a look but the corner of his mouth twitches in an amused smile, “I can’t believe I’m being interrogated in my own kitchen about my love life!”

“Well” Haewon says, folding her arms playfully, “Just so you know that if you ever decide to fall in love, I only have three conditions”

“Oh no” Wonwoo mutters, already regretting opening this door.

“First” she begins, holding up a finger like a teacher ticking off bullet points, “He needs to know how to cook. Properly. I refuse to let you survive on instant noodles and whatever sad sandwiches are left in the hospital vending machine for the rest of your life”

“That’s rich coming from someone who made me curry three nights a week for half my childhood”

Haewon’s eyes narrow in exaggerated offense and she brandishes her chopsticks at him like a tiny sword. “Don’t get cheeky with me, Jeon Wonwoo. I raised you beautifully while juggling two jobs and running on four hours of sleep. You turned out alright, didn’t you ?”

Wonwoo lifts both hands in surrender, grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Can’t say much about that. You win”

“Damn right I do” she says smugly, before dropping her voice into something softer. “Second, your partner must love you very much. Not just the ‘flowers on your birthday’ kind of love. I mean the kind that sees how exhausted you are before you even say a word and makes soup without asking”

Wonwoo’s teasing smile falters. His features settle into something quieter, more contemplative, touched by the weight of her words. He nods once, barely perceptible.

“And third…” she pauses, “He needs to be brave enough to pull you out of that hospital on weekends. Drag you out, if necessary. Because I know you, you’ll chain yourself to the operating room’s table if no one stops you”

“Not if he is a doctor like me” Wonwoo points out, putting this possibility on display. “That plan might backfire”

Haewon leans back, releasing a long exaggerated sigh as if mourning the tragedy of her son’s obstinacy. “You’re impossible, my son”

“And yet you raised me” Wonwoo replies with a smug smile.

She shakes her head, chuckling as she gathers their empty bowls and carries them to the sink. “God help that poor soul who will fall for you”

Wonwoo watches her from the table as the amusement still lingering in his expression, tinged now with something deeper, gratitude maybe, or something close to peace.

He had always knows, more or less, what love was supposed to feel like.

He had tasted the first hints in high school when it first bloomed inside him like a secret no one had told him he was allowed to keep, when his eyes kept gravitating toward a boy in his literature class with ink-stained fingers and a smile plastered on his face too easily. It had been something clumsy, childish even but Wonwoo remembered how his heart used to race whenever their shoulders brushed by accident, how the sound of his name from those lips used to leave his throat dry and his mind spinning.

He didn’t have the right word to name that feeling at time but it made his heart stammer in his chest like it didn’t quite know how to beat properly anymore. It was pure and terrifying, that first infatuation, unspoken and unreturned, but powerful enough to make him feel elated.

When college came, love suddenly lost its shyness taking on something bolder and more tactile. It slipped between sheets and little touches and Wonwoo had slowly learned to listen to his body, the taste of desire, the thrill of first kisses traded outside lecture halls and hands fumbling under layers of clothes in dim dorm rooms. Sex became a language he learned out of hunger for the illusion that closeness could somehow fill that empty sensation inside him. It had been messy, impulsive, sometimes selfish but it had been real in someway.

He dated. Briefly. Sometimes boys who made him laugh, sometimes ones who only knew how to talk about anatomy or whose gaze could make the world soften just for a moment, but most of those flings burned too fast because they were loud, sometimes joyful but there were no promises if not short moments of intimacy. No roots at all, only sparks that soon dissolved like fireworks.

Still Wonwoo told himself it was enough, that this was what love looked like in your twenties.

Fleeting, physical, fiercely alive but never deep enough to stay.

When his specialization in Japan began, in the lit corridors of the hospital, it was there that Wonwoo had known love in its most punishing and complicated form. It hadn’t announced itself with grand declarations or gestures, but crept into him quietly blossoming in the almost accidental brushing of hands while trading surgical tools, in shared silences during late-night chart reviews that spoke louder than any words. It was with a superior, someone absolutely brilliant, the kind of man who made everything seem a little more possible and a little more exciting.

Wonwoo had fallen for him in a way he hadn’t quite expected. It wasn’t loud like college, or dreamy like high school. It made him both hopeful and desperate. It was a feeling that lived in the seams of their routine, in eyes that lingered too long, in the subtle shift of tone when they said each other’s names. It was reckless in its quietness, and yet, despite the silence, it made Wonwoo feel things he hadn’t allowed himself to want in years. Desire, companionship, the impossible fantasy of being chosen for once.

But even that had come undone. Not in a dramatic collapse, but in the slow erosion that only two people in quiet denial can orchestrate. Their jobs grew heavier. The stolen moments became fewer. There were more missed calls than shared dinners, more clinical formality than intimacy. And one day, without ceremony or closure, they stopped meeting in stairwells and started walking past each other in hallways as if none of it had ever happened.

It broke Wonwoo. Not with rage, but with the slow, aching realization that sometimes love ends not with a goodbye, but with silence. That the most devastating heartbreaks are the ones where no one says a word where the warmth simply fades until all that’s left is distance in the shape of a person he used to know.

That kind of love had felt like it might be the kind that lasts. It had weight. It had made Wonwoo wonder what if he could have both an extraordinary career and simple moments of tenderness? Duty and desire? What if he didn’t have to choose between the life he built and the life he quietly longed for ?

But it hadn’t worked out. And now… Wonwoo wasn’t sure it ever could. Because despite the different faces and phases love had taken throughout his life, he had never found the kind of love that felt like coming home.

The kind that doesn’t just set him on fire or sweep him away with intensity but that actually stays. Silent. Faithful. A love that slips between his ribs like a warm blanket on a cold night. One that doesn’t need to be dramatic to be real. That sees through the clinical precision, the curated stillness and reaches the boy beneath it all. The kind of love that recognizes him not for what he does but for who he is, when the white coat is off and the silence is deafening.

Wonwoo didn’t know if that love truly existed.

Worse yet, he didn’t know if he would recognize it… if it ever came.

He exhales slowly, almost without realizing it, as the tide of memory begins to pull back. The weight of old emotions loosens its grip but not without leaving something behind like a soft ache, the kind that settles beneath the ribs like a phantom pain from wounds long healed yet never truly gone.

Still amidst the bittersweet residue of the past, there’s an unexpected comfort in the present, in the quiet ritual of his home. The clink of dishes in the sink, the warmth of barley tea still steeping in the pot, in the rise and fall of his mom’s voice as she recounts the latest trivial dramas from her neighbors, small inconsequential things that feel sacred in their ordinariness.

Wonwoo glances up and looks at her stacking the bowls with that same quiet precision he probably took after her. There’s grace in the way she moves, tenderness in her wrinkled hands, and Wonwoo feels it then, an ache pressing gently in his chest that tastes like another kind of love, gratitude towards that woman who had done everything for him.

When she finally turns back to him, drying her hands on a dish towel, Haewon launches into what she does best: a full briefing of motherly instructions before leaving.

“Don’t skip meals” she says, ticking points off on her fingers. “And don’t just drink coffee to survive. Your stomach’s not made of steel”

Wonwoo nods religiously at her recommendations, like he always does, a good soldier in the face of maternal concern. She steps forward to cup his face, her thumbs brushing gently over the tired lines near his eyes. “You always carry so much with you” she murmurs, voice barely above a whisper now, “But you’re still someone’s child. Don’t forget that”

Her words land deep, deeper than he would like to admit. Wonwoo swallows the sudden tightness in his throat and nods again, eyes closing briefly as he leans into her touch. He kisses her forehead, a quiet thank-you wrapped in a gesture, before stepping back and watching her picking up her shopping bags. Haewon walks towards the front door, her small frame waving softly at him under the threshold before disappearing behind it.

Suddenly silence returns in his apartment like fog but Wonwoo doesn’t linger for too long. He needs some rest, however fleeting, before returning to the hospital for the last night-shift of the week. He then proceeds going into his bedroom, closes the curtains and sets the alarm as he sinks onto the soft mattress with a tired sigh.

His body finally relaxes on the fresh sheets, taking what's so often denied, and for a good amount of sacred hours, the whole morning and afternoon, Wonwoo drifts into a deep dreamless sleep that feels less like escape and more like grace for the first time in a while.

When he wakes up, night has already settled again beyond the window. Wonwoo lies still for a moment, staring at the ceiling as the haze of sleep drapes over him like a second blanket. There’s a strange peace in that in-between space before the world demands anything of him again. Eventually he sits up slowly and rubs his eyes to check his phone, it’s just barely 9 p.m but time for him to move anyway.

He gathers his things to put in his backpack as he also munches some homemade-gimbap that his mom left for him in the kitchen. A fresh scrubs folded crisply, ID badge clip, white coat smoothed. A six-hour shift awaits for him with no surgeries on the horizon, not so long to leave him wrecked, but enough to blur the line between exhaustion and momentum. Still, the thought of the free weekend ahead gives him a little hope to hold onto, just a flicker of freedom to be able to rest properly.

The hospital at night is subdued, cloaked in a kind of silence that amplifies every small sound. The world inside seems to breathe differently after sunset and Wonwoo’s muscle memory guides him by instinct from one room to the next. He checks post-op patients, reads vitals glowing dimly from monitors, adjusts a chart here and a dosage there. The nurses greet him in hushed tones, soft smiles exchanged in the kind of camaraderie born from shared fatigue.

Familiar faces, familiar silences.

On the third floor, Wonwoo turns a corner into a quiet corridor of the east wing and there, by the wide hallway window, standing like a figure in a painting, is Myungsoo.

The man is leaning lightly against the wall wearing a soft blue open shirt, the pale tubing of a portable oxygen tank loops gently around his ears and trailing beside him in a sharp line snaking beneath his nose. He’s staring out into the night, perhaps at the moon or the space around him. The pale silver light paints his old features softening the sharpness of his cheekbones.

Wonwoo watches him for a moment before approaching him. “You’re up late” he says gently.

Myungsoo turns and a soft smile spreads across his face. “I could say the same for you, Dr. Jeon”

Wonwoo steps closer, hands tucked in the pockets of his coat. “Can’t you sleep ?”

The man gives a shrug and his eyes return to the window, where the moon hangs like a distant but delicate paper lantern. “Sleep comes in bits and pieces these days, I don’t wait for it anymore. I just rest when I can” he says slowly, pacing the rhythm of his breath. “My silent friend has been quite annoying today and it doesn’t help stopping my thoughts at all. They knock around in this old head of mine”

Wonwoo listens to him carefully, standing beside him as the stillness settles between them. Below the city glimmers in miniature, its lights flickering like restless stars, but up here, in the quiet cocoon of the hospital’s top floor, time slows.

“I’m just looking for a bit of inspiration” Myungsoo murmurs after a pause.

Wonwoo glances down and notices the worn book tucked under his arm. Its spine is creased, well-loved. “You chose a good place for it” he replies, “The moon is very generous tonight”

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it ?” Myungsoo smiles in relief, “It makes things feel less heavy and makes you remember how to be quiet, how to listen. Out there everything’s always rushing but here —” he pauses, fingers lightly tapping the book’s cover, “It’s like life is giving me the time to finally breathe again, even if just for a little”

Wonwoo watches the older man’s chest rise and fall with effort, the way each breath draws more from him than it should. Still, there’s peace in the way he stands as if he’s made amend with the weight he carries.

“Do you want to sit for a bit ?” Wonwoo offers, his voice gentle.

The man nods and together they walk slowly to the nearby bench beneath the window. There is no rush, no lingering worries, just two people, a quiet sky, and the soft gravity of a night that asks for nothing but their presence. Myungsoo sits down slowly, his body tired and his breath short as he runs a hand over his chest with a smile that is more ironic than exhausting.

“My heart decided to pack its bags right now” he says, almost amused. “What timing, uh ? After everything we’ve been through, it’s the one getting fed up. It should be me”

Wonwoo chuckles softly, not so much at the words but at the profound serenity with which Myungsoo spoke them. It’s a disarming calm, utterly devoid of fear, a surrender not to death but to the relentless march of time itself. “Your heart has come a long way” he replies, a quiet smile gracing his features. “But it still has the wisdom to say what it needs”

Myungsoo laughs, that low scratchy laugh that tastes like cigarettes worn down over the years. “Do you ever sleep, doctor ?” he asks him then with a sincere tone.

“Not regularly” Wonwoo admits, sitting down next to him. “A couple of hours every now and then. The body adapts, the mind a little less”

“You’re too young to be this tired”

“Sometimes I forget. And when I’m reminded, it stings more than it does good.”

Myungsoo nods as if he knows exactly what he means. A soft silence envelops them, made of oxygen that hisses softly, a still moon and the hush of held breaths.

“I’ve never had children, you know” he breaks the silence shortly after, “It’s not that I haven’t thought about it but… either life was wrong or I was, and now I think about it more often. When the body slows down, the mind starts taking inventory”

Wonwoo doesn’t look away, he really listens to him. “Do you have any regrets ?”

“Not regrets but shortcomings, yes. It’s a subtle difference but very real one” he pauses. “And you ? Do you have any regrets about the life you’ve built for yourself ?”

Wonwoo stiffens slightly, “Not regrets, but shortcomings” he echoes with a faint smile, “Sometimes I wonder if I let myself get too carried away. I always believed that saving lives was everything, but lately... I don't know. Maybe I missed something along the way, or perhaps I never stopped long enough to truly look at what I wanted”

Myungsoo turns slightly toward him and nods. His eyes sparkle with the clarity of his gaze. “You have an emptiness inside, Dr. Jeon. Pretty deep but you don’t hide it badly, you know”

Wonwoo lowers his gaze, offering him a smile. It’s a fragile one but almost grateful. “You think so ?”

“Loneliness has a scent” he says, “You can recognize it immediately like ink on your hands, but you carry it with you”

Wonwoo's heart beat slower, softer, yet undeniably present.

“Have you ever written love poems ?” Myungsoo asks after a moment, shifting the topic but not the underlying depth of their conversation.

“Me ?” Wonwoo shakes his head with a short laugh. “No, I've never had the bravery I guess. Words... they're for other people. I'm not good with them”

Myungsoo then takes his little book and opens it with delicate gestures. “Listen to this then. It’s by Do Jonghwan and it’s called “And when my heart calls out to You”. His voice gets hoarse, he coughs a little before starting reading, “And when my heart calls out to you, don’t answer too quickly. First, listen closely to hear if it’s a call of love or merely an echo of loneliness. Because even hearts, at times, get confused”

Wonwoo stays silent as the poem hits him in a place he thought inaccessible. The words seep into his being like a whisper heard too late. “It’s beautiful” he says, his voice lower than usual.

Myungsoo looks at him and seems to smile inside, more than out. “If my instincts aren’t deceiving me, Dr. Jeon, I’d say your heart is barricaded but it works just fine except when it comes to using it for yourself”

This time Wonwoo actually laughs, a short but almost shy sound. “You’re right, Myungsoo” he nods, defenseless. “Maybe that’s why it beats so hard when it does”

"Trust a man who's lived too much, son, use it more often" Myungsoo urges. "Unlike me, you haven't allowed yourself to truly live enough and life will demand its payment for that”

“I’ll try to do my best” Wonwoo nods, “I’m a heart doctor after all” 



The man laughs suddenly hit by his irony, “I like your spirit, Dr. Jeon”

Myungsoo shifts in his seat with a quiet grunt, the effort of standing up visible in the tremble of his arms, the oxygen tube tailing at his side like a tired companion. Wonwoo helps him as the man places one hand on the windowsill for balance, the other pressed briefly to Wonwoo’s arm as he straightens up.

“You know, you’ve wasted far too much of your valuable time sitting around with a dying man. Shouldn’t you be off saving someone by now ?”

Wonwoo stands as well, not rushing to end the moment. He studies Myungsoo’s face for a beat reading the lines carved by illness but also the humor etched into them. “I’m not in a rush” he replies quietly. “I came here actually to know how were you feeling”

“I’ll live” Myungsoo exhales a tired breath then chuckles hoarsely. “You’ll find me right here tomorrow morning, still annoying the nurses and refusing to eat hospital food. The Death lady doesn’t want me yet, I’ve still got too many bad jokes to tell to Dr. Wen”

Wonwoo nods, eyes softening. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow then ”

Myungsoo starts making his slow way down the hallway, his steps careful, his back slightly hunched, but with the quiet dignity of someone who’s not done fighting not just yet. “Sleep well, Dr. Jeon”

Wonwoo stays behind for a moment longer, watching the man’s figure retreat into the dimness. There’s something steady about it, like watching a candle flicker but not go out. “Goodnight, Myungsoo” he says waiting for him to close the door of his room and slipping back into the rhythm of the hospital, into the silence that greets him like an old friend.

Wonwoo feels quieter after that unexpected conversation as if a drawer in his chest had been opened and left ajar, its contents mixed together and breathing for the first time in a long time.

He walks slowly along the corridors, down the stairs, passes in front of the emergency room but it seems that his presence is not needed in any way. Wonwoo decides then to heads towards the doctors' room looking for something to keep him grounded, an energy drink, perhaps, or simply something to munch on from the pantry in a moment of boredom.

His steps are muffled by the pale linoleum and as soon as he rounds the corner, though, his gaze instinctively drops as something small lies in the middle of the hallway floor, almost lost in the neutral expanse of hospital white and sterile gray.

Wonwoo slows to a stop and crouches down to reach for what it is a doll, or more precisely, a plush toy.

The fabric is soft and worn, the shape immediately recognizable of a little tiger with its little limbs slightly floppy and an ear bent at an odd angle. One of the back seams is splitting open, pale stuffing just beginning to peek through. Wonwoo turns it over gently in his hands, his thumb brushing over the frayed thread, the thin fabric that has been touched and held and mended more than once.

It's familiar, of course it is. Wonwoo feels a slight pang in his chest that accompanies the recognition of that toy and there is no need to guess who it belongs to.

He already knows.

He closes his eyes for a brief second, exhales through his nose and turns that doll over and over in his hands, pondering carefully whether trying to have a civil conversation at that moment was a good idea despite the last discussion had left a bittersweet taste in his mouth. Wonwoo bites his lips, puts the toy in his pockets and turns on his heels without thinking twice.

The pediatric ward isn’t that far away, anyway.

Stepping into it feels like crossing a threshold into a whole new world, a place separated from the rest of the hospital both by choice and necessity. The air there is softer, less clinical, the lights are dim in a delicate gold, and colorful paper garlands hang across the ceiling like shooting stars in slow motion. The walls are painted in sun-warmed tones, scattered with hand-painted dinosaurs, sleepy smiling moons and tiny rockets poised for flight. The faint antiseptic scent is masked by something sweeter, plastic toys, perhaps, or lavender hand soap.

Wonwoo walks slowly through those fairy-tale corridors with the tiger toy cradled in his palm beneath the fabric of his coat. As he passes each room, he peers in gently to give just a glance where dim lamps cast pools of light over small shapes curled under cartoon blankets. Every now and then a nurse passes nodding at him and Wonwoo returns the greeting with the same silent respect, not wanting to interrupt the delicate rhythm of the place.

He passes nearly every room in the ward and he is about to give up in his mission when a voice reaches him, warm and animated, coming from a door ajar, cracked open like an invitation.

“…and then the bear said, ‘That’s not your honey!’” it says playfully, followed by a higher giggle.

Wonwoo title his head toward the sound and he moves closer, approaching it quietly to peer through the gap.

Inside the softly lit room, Mingyu is lying on the small hospital bed with his legs crossed at the ankles and a picture book balanced on his lap. Nestled against his chest is a little girl no older than four or five. Her small head rests comfortably over his heart as her tiny fist cling sleepily to a fold of his green scrubs, curled in a quite plea as if she’s afraid he will drift away if she might let go.

Mingyu’s voice slips effortlessly into a cartoonish falsetto as he reads aloud, now voicing an excitable squirrel character. His expression contorts with exaggerated surprise, eyebrows bouncing, lips pursed, and the little girl erupts into a fit of squeaky giggles snuggling even closer to him.

At the doorway, Wonwoo stays still. He doesn’t cross the threshold, not wanting to disturb the peace inside the room and their little world with even his breath. There’s a sanctity to the moment, a fragile bubble of joy he doesn't dare puncture, so he just watches, quietly, as his silhouette stays hidden in the edge of shadow and hallway light.

His gaze keeps lingering on Mingyu. In the way he instinctively leans down to meet the little girl’s eyes, adjusting his tone with each character he reads, in the way he smiles so softly, so warmly.

There’s something achingly beautiful in it, in the symmetry between them, that without a warning a smile touches Wonwoo’s lips too. Not the measured kind one he wears like armor during long shifts. This one is real and private, a secret blooming slow at the corners of his mouth, unnoticed by anyone but the tiger plush in his hand and the faint gleam of the corridor light.

Wonwoo glances down at the toy again, his fingers brushing its worn paw feeling its quiet history. And then, as if he had always known he was there, Mingyu lifts his head and their eyes meet through the narrow crack of the open door.

Mingyu doesn’t speak, doesn’t motion him to come in. He raises instead a hand and gives him a quiet gesture, a finger up, “Just a minute” he is saying, “I’ll be there in a moment”

Wonwoo nods and steps back, folding himself into the wall beside the door, still smiling but just a little bit. Inside the room, Mingyu’s voice begins to quiet, slipping into the hush of a lullaby that belongs to bedtime. He reads the final lines of the story, his tone low and almost tender now as he utter the fateful words “And they lived happily ever after”.

The little girl stirs against his chest and yawns wide as sleep tugs at her limbs like a soft tide. Mingyu closes the book and sets it quietly on the nightstand. Then, with a tenderness that doesn’t ask to be seen, he reaches out and brushes a stray wisp of hair from her face, tucking it gently behind her ear.

“Time to sleep now, little bug” he whispers.

“Will you still be here when I wake up ?” the girls asks in a tiny voice.

Mingyu smiles down at her, “I’ll come check your fever in the morning, okay ?”

She nods, the motion slow and drowsy as her cheek sinks deeper into the pillow. Her voice is muffled, close to a whisper. “You’re my superhero, Dr. Kim”

The little words land in the quiet like a gift and Mingyu doesn’t answer her right away. He just lets them settle, lets them warm the space between them. “Have good dreams, princess” he says tugging the blanket up over her shoulders and switches off the main light, leaving only the warm flicker of a battery-operated candle on her bedside table, a star-shaped flicker casting dancing shadows on the wall.

The door closes with a faint click behind his back and Mingyu steps into the hallway meeting Wonwoo waiting quietly for him against the wall. He offers him a small awkward smile as he rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment, his fingers brushing through the mess of waves in his hair trying to smooth nerves that don’t quite settle.

“Hey, hi” he says a bit embarrassed, “Sorry I made you wait. She doesn’t fall asleep without the bedtime story”

“It’s fine” Wonwoo replies with a chuckle, “You seemed pretty into the squirrel part”

That makes Mingyu huff a laugh, glancing away. “Yeah, well… the squirrel was interesting” he mutters, smiling despite himself.

After that, they both fall silent in an almost awkward silence. The hallway buzzes around them, distant monitors beeping, and something unsaid still hangs in the air between them — the words they vomited at the conference, the discussion they had in the operating room the day before — like an elephant in the room they’re trying their hardest to avoid.

Mingyu shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “So…” he begins, cautious, “Did something happen for you to be here ?”

Wonwoo blinks. “Mh ?”

"You don't usually come around, it looks like you were looking for something. I mean..." Mingyu waves a hand awkwardly, "...not that you can't come here. It's just, I don't know. Is everything okay ?”

Wonwoo hesitates a second too long, then nods. “Yeah… everything’s okay” he clears his throat and straightens slightly, “Relax yourself, I wasn’t sent to fire you”

“Can’t tell that, you’ve got your ‘disapproving consultant’ face on”

“This is just my face”

“Tragic” Mingyu smirks, crossing his arms. “If this isn’t a formal complaint then to what do I owe the honor ?”

Wonwoo hesitates a breath too long then he clears his throat and extends the small stuffed plush in his hand like a peace offering. “Actually, I came to give you this. I think it’s yours”

Mingyu’s eyebrows lift in surprise as he looks down at the toy, staring at it for a second before reaching for it. “Where did you find it ? I thought I lost it”

“It was on the floor outside the on-call room. Must’ve slipped from your pocket or your bag”

Mingyu takes it carefully, his fingers brush the worn plush with unconscious tenderness. He turns it over once, checking its seams, and his expression softens with a small exhale. “It’s hers but she lets me carry it during the day, she says it keeps me brave”

Wonwoo huffs a soft laugh, “Well, it seems like it works. No one would guess you’re scared of anything”

Mingyu arches an eyebrow, “Is that a compliment or another backhanded jab from you, Jeon Wonwoo ?”

“I haven’t decided yet”

Their eyes meet again and this time the glance lingers just enough to stir something in Wonwoo's stomach that feels more like tension than anything else. Mingyu the lowers his eyes back to the toy, “You didn’t have to bring it all the way here, anyway, you could have left it in the common room”

Wonwoo shrugs, trying to find a credible excuse. “Yeah, well… I figured if I left it, you would probably have filed a missing person report”

“I would have” Mingyu replies, mock serious. “And then made you fill out all the paperwork”

“I’d rather scrub in with you for five hours straight than do pediatrics paperwork”

“You say that like it’s a punishment”

“Working with kids and filling out forms ? You would be an excellent kindergarten teacher, Kim Mingyu”

“Careful” he warns, eyes gleaming with amusement. “That almost sounded like admiration”

Wonwoo says nothing to that but his lips twitch, barely.

“Anyway…” Mingyu turns the plush tiger over in his hands, “Thanks for bringing this back. Really”

“I figured… after yesterday…” Wonwoo tilts his head slightly, “Maybe we didn’t need another reason to avoid each other”

That earns him a raised eyebrow, “Is this your way of saying sorry ?”

Wonwoo scoffs lightly. “Don’t get ahead of yourself now”

“So... this a silent peace treaty then ?”

“Temporary” Wonwoo replies and Mingyu nods, lips pressed together in a grin that’s almost too pleased.

“Temporary” he echoes, “Until the next time you start a turf war over a shared operating room slot”

“Until you stop using glitter pens on post-op reports”

“They help me concentrate”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, “God, you’re insufferable”

“And you’re here” Mingyu shoots back with a sideways glance, “Which means you care. A little. Admit it”

Wonwoo doesn’t reply but he doesn’t leave either which, maybe, says enough. He bites the inside of his cheek, trying to stifle a smile that threatens to break out even though it’s already there, tucked away in the corners of his lips, too stubborn to hide completely. He shifts his weight slightly from one foot to the other, the sleeves of his coat swinging with the movement, then, with a look that’s on the verge of cuteness, he stuffs his hands in his pockets and takes a small step back.

“Goodnight, Kim Mingyu”

“Goodnight, Jeon Wonwoo” Mingyu replies, “Dream of me” he then calls, playfully teasing.

“You wish” the surgeon mutters loud enough to be heard.

Wonwoo walks away with a slow pace down the hallway. He doesn’t look back not even once, even though he can feel Mingyu’s gaze burning softly on his back, warm and impalpable, following him like a light that refuses to go out, to dim even as distance grows between them.

Mingyu lingers in the ward with a soft smile plastered on his lips, fingers absentmindedly twirling the plushie in his hands as he watches Wonwoo slowly walking and being swallowed by the hush of the hospital night step after step. He looks at him until the surgeon turns the corner and disappears, until the silence returns filled with something he hasn't named yet.

And even though Mingyu isn't there to see it, somewhere beyond that corridor, out of his sight, Wonwoo’s lips are curling too. Slowly, almost involuntarily. And it’s not the satisfied smile he wears after a surgery, not the polite one he offers to his patients. It’s smaller but warmer, that slips into place when no one is looking.

It’s a smile meant for no one at all.

And yet, in that fleeting moment, perhaps it belongs entirely to that infuriating, ridiculous guy who reads bedtime stories in silly voices and leaves warmth in places he shouldn’t.

Chapter Text

"Appeal seeps into my body like perfume
Even if I’m all covered up, they all turn to look again"

If an asteroid had decided to obliterate the Earth at that very moment, Jeon Wonwoo would’ve welcomed extinction very gratefully with his arms wide open, no regrets at all.

There had never been an apocalypse for which he felt more prepared. And really, what better way to go out than already half-dressed, a tie abandoned on the nightstand, a shirt still crisply ironed, and the faint expression of a man who had lived long enough to understand that real hell wasn’t always the emergency room but rather a party in a club in Gangnam with bass-heavy remixes pounding against your skull like a bad migraine.

His room already seems to have been hit by chaos. A war zone of cotton and leather victims in which his bed turns out to be the actual battlefield. Shirts are thrown away like fallen soldiers, pants folded and then abandoned, sweaters crumpled in silent disdain. In the center of it all, on the floor, two pairs of shoes face each other like silent witnesses at the scene of a crime.

The closet is open and its contents spew out with the violence of an explosion, as if the very act of dressing for the occasion had triggered an internal detonation.

Wonwoo stands in front of the mirror with the annoyance on the face of someone who, despite being able to stop a heart and start it working again, couldn’t find anything to wear for a night out.

The problem is brutally simple. He didn’t own anything that could convincingly pass as “casual.” Every article of clothing in his possession looked like it was tailored for formal conferences, high-stakes meetings, diplomatic receptions or, perhaps, the aftermath of nuclear fallout but definitely not for a night at the Neon Room, surrounded by strobe lights and strangers sipping colored cocktails.

The first shirt Wonwoo tried had the unmistakable aura of “primary care consultation”. The second screamed “funeral director on leave”. The third... is technically perfect but it seems like he is trying just too hard. It’s casual, yes, but with the suspicious energy of someone who had googled how to look chill at parties five minutes before arrival because actually nothing in his closet says, “I’m just here to have fun, not trying to diagnose you a systolic murmur while you’re drinking a gin tonic”.

The fourth attempt, currently hanging off his shoulders, is a black fitted tight shirt vaguely elegant but on him it almost looked like a joke. A cardiac surgeon playing dress-up as a thirty-years-old man of the world, accidentally leaving behind clues to his true identity such as the paged smartwatch on his wrist, the sterile aura, the unmistakable air of someone who’d rather be elbow-deep in a mitral valve than endure electronic music until 3 in the morning.

Wonwoo runs a hand through his hair then lets it fall limply.

Another defeated snort, another long tormented stare into the mirror.

Outfit number five isn’t faring any better. Dark slacks brand new, stiff as starch. A black blouse with a chest slit he doesn’t remember buying (when had he stooped to such vulgarity ?) and a leather jacket he isn’t sure he had ever actually bought of his own free will. Wonwoo looks at himself, twirls from one side and the other and yanks the jacket off with a dramatic flourish then, tossing it onto the growing pile of clothes on the bed.

“You’re allergic to weekends, son!”

His mom’s voice echoes in his head like a curse etched into his genetic code. And honestly, she wasn’t wrong. She never was.

The whole concept of “free time” had never really appealed to him, in fact it makes him so uncomfortable. The mere thought of parties, loud music, random small talk, gives him hives like sensory overload and social landmines. Every conversation with strangers starts always in the same way "So, what do you do for a living ?” and every time Wonwoo resists the urge to reply, "I save lives and ruin my own in the process" but apparently that isn’t a socially acceptable response.

He contemplates just for a moment the glorious idea of ​​staying home. Wonwoo imagines himself sipping a delicious green tea while reading that thriller book he started the other day, a soft blanket across his legs, the muted hum of life continuing somewhere far away as he nestles into silence.

To him, that’s paradise.

But tonight it’s Seungcheol’s birthday.

And when Seungcheol throws a party, not showing up was more or less similar to a declaration of war. Skipping is not an option and Wonwoo can’t afford any reputation other than that of “cold and unreachable heart surgeon” which is tolerable, sometimes even flattering, while “social hermit” instead isn’t a description he’d happily put on his resume.

He plops down on the edge of the bed with a pout on his lips, sighing bordering on theatrical like a man surrendering to his fate. The irony of the situation is not lost on him at all. In the operating room he is considered a god by his colleagues, sharp mind and unshakable, but if someone suddenly had asked him to wear a fancy shirt for a night outside of the hospital, Wonwoo suddenly finds himself with the awkwardness of a teenager getting ready for his first date.

Insecure, overly self-conscious, one wardrobe decision away from falling apart.

His gaze settles on the watch on his wrist. For a second he considers taking it off, perhaps abandoning the last symbol of duty, but before he can even make a move, Wonwoo get distracted by his phone buzzing loudly on the nightstand.

HANSOL: I'll pick you up in ten, if you try to hide I'll drag you by your ankles. Love xx

Chwe Hansol indeed bursts into his apartment almost twenty minutes later, as if being late were something carefully calculated just to give Wonwoo more time to wallow in his existential crisis. He opens the door unceremoniously by now, accustomed to his peculiar aura of cool serenity. The faint hum of a wistful guitar riff leaks from the earbuds in his ears, an obscure Japanese indie track, no doubt, probably from a band so underground that even Tokyo itself hasn’t noticed them yet.

“You’re late. You said ten minutes” Wonwoo points out, stepping aside to let him in “And why do you look like you just came out of a coffee shop in Kyoto ? You seem like missing a vintage film camera and a Netlog blog”

His attire is as casual as his entrance. A slightly worn vintage brown leather jacket that looks like it’s lived for decades, a soft white t-shirt, and baggy, low-rise jeans with rips at the knees that flirt with both rebellion and comfort. His sneakers are worn but perfect for the kind of urban style Hansol likes.

“I had one in 2016” he mutters as he slips into the apartment, closing the door a crack behind him and kicking off his shoes at the threshold. “Three people used to read it, my cousin, a student at the conservatory and a guy who thought it was a cooking website, but I shut it down when it got too personal. These days I prefer talking to bacteria and corpses more”

“You sure say that in the most disturbing way”

“It’s pathology, brother” Hansol says with a shrug “They choose us because we’re quietly weird, no one expect us to socialize. Truly, I’m living the dream”. He trails behind Wonwoo down the hallway, then halts at the bedroom doorway like he’s arrived at the epicenter of a very specific natural catastrophe. His eyebrows raise. “Wow… were you attacked by a group of angry stylists perhaps ?”

“Very funny” Wonwoo glares at him over his shoulder. “I'm just looking for something decent to wear that doesn't make me look like I'm about to give you a lecture”

“I’m assuming you're not the type to go wild on Saturday night” he smiles, “Got it”

Hansol enters his room with the mild curiosity of someone inspecting a piece of art. He shrugs off an earbud, almost reluctant to let go of the song entirely, bends over to pick up a crumpled t-shirt by the bed, holding it up between two fingers like forensic evidence.

“Did you pick this out yourself or did someone with the aesthetic sense of a nightstand recommend it to you ?”

“Hansol —” Wonwoo warns, running a hand through his hair with contained irritation. “This is already complicated enough”

“I’m just trying to save you from future public humiliation” he says, hands now on his hips as he scans the battlefield of cotton and denim. “Although, to be honest, you don’t look that bad right now. You look hot and vaguely like a tormented poet, a main character of a black-and-white movie”

“Don’t I look like a guy who just wants to stay home ?" Wonwoo deadpans.

“Not really, more like a man who's going to dominate the entire dance floor because people will be watching him anyway" he retorts, "Which is kind of your brand if you think about it"

"I don't want a trademark but survive an hour without a migraine and then leave"

“You say that every time” Hansol replies with a smile, the kind that says he’s long stopped being surprised by Wonwoo’s dramatics. “And every time, you end up staying longer than you meant to because, deep down, you actually enjoy yourself”

“That’s because people block the exits” Wonwoo groans, “Help me picking something since clearly the laws of fashion have evolved without informing me”

“Gladly” Hansol says, accepting the solemn duty. He returns to scan the chaos of the bed and floor, suddenly more focused. “Okay, here’s the thing… those black slacks are a yes. They fit you like you actually bought them for yourself and not as a punishment. That shirt, though… it’s a statement”

“I was about to wear this leather jacket on. Too bold ?”

“Very sexy, Dr. Jeon”

“Is it acceptable at least ?”

Hansol leans against the wall, arms crossed. “You look like someone who wants to ruin men’s life with a glance and then ghost them forever”

“Perfect I’d say” he blinks, “That’s exactly the energy I want to bring to a birthday party”

After a war of indecision, Wonwoo’s mental chaos slowly begins to settle into a sort of visual calm. The storm of half-buttons shirts and suits scattered across the bed, gradually disappears into drawers and back onto hangers, piece by piece folded with mere precision this time. He can feel his shoulders sag slightly as the order come to view again, releasing the tension claimed by that moment of small of initial repulsion. The mirror, once an adversary, now simply reflects his image that had resigned itself to the course of that night.

Wonwoo smoothes a crease in his tight black pants. He also wears his jacket and adjusts the collar with the kind of slow exhale that says, Fine. Let’s get this over with. A final flick of his look, a brush of his fingers through his hair, and he is ready to go.

Even the apartment breathes more easily, surface reclaimed from the mess, and the scent of his cologne lingers in the air. It’s subtle, clean, with something musky underneath, a reminder that after all Wonwoo hasn’t completely given up on the idea of ​​appearing composed.

He grabs his phone, wallet, then steps out into the hallway where Hansol awaits him, arms crossed and a smug half-smile tugging at his lips as if he has watched a private drama unfold from the sidelines. Outside, the night greets them with a chill that slips along the collarbones and kisses the skin with early-summer sharpness, the kind that makes Wonwoo grateful for sleeves.

They walk in easy sync toward Hansol’s car, a low-slung silver sedan that always seems to hum with the scent of coffee and something herbal, faintly medicinal. Perhaps it's incense, perhaps it's the ghost of whatever strange playlist last haunted its speakers.

Hansol unlocks the car with a lazy chirp and slides into the driver’s seat. Wonwoo follows, settling into the passenger side, dragging the seatbelt across his chest. He stares out the window as the engine turns over and the headlights spill forward into the dark like they’re not driving to a party but easing into the unknown.

The car slides out of the apartment complex and Hansol drives with the calm certainty of someone who has nowhere urgent to be, one hand steady on the wheel, the other draped across his lap, fingers occasionally tapping against the black denim of his jeans. The city folds around them in low pulses, signs flickering half-awake, traffic distant and smearing itself into ribbons of white and red across the asphalt.

But it isn’t the night scenery that immediately catches Wonwoo’s attention. It’s the music.

The stereo hums with the sort of delicate gloom that feels like it was born after a heartbreak under a flickering streetlamp. A soft guitar lays out a sparse melody like it’s afraid of waking something sleeping, then a voice enters barely a whisper, more breath than words, singing in Japanese.

Wonwoo rolls his eyes and lets his head fall back against the seat, his fingers come up to pinch the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

“When are you going to stop listening to this sad music ?”

Hansol doesn’t look away from the road, but a slow smile curves on his lips like he’s been waiting for the line. “It’s Jyocho’s fault” he says, mock-serious. “They dropped a new live session yesterday. Three chords, two whispered lines and the collective sadness of all Kanagawa packed into four minutes and sixteen seconds”

Wonwoo exhales with a soft scoff, masked in a quite laughter. “That sounds like something you’d get tattooed under your ribs.”

“Don’t tempt me” Hansol says, reaching over to lower the volume but without changing the track “You’re lucky I didn’t start the drive with their 2019 EP. That one sounds like someone crying into their pillow at midnight”

“Oh wow, what a blessing, truly!” Wonwoo jokes, just repeating an old habit between them. He’s said it before, he’ll say it again, and Hansol as always lets his complaint drop with a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth while his eyes stay fixed on the road. “Are you planning to drink tonight ?” he asks after a moment, adjusting his seatbelt absently.

They pull up to a red light. Hansol glances over as the city’s glow catches in his irises like flecks of gold. “Not much” he replies, “I’ve got to be in early tomorrow. There’re some biopsy samples to process. But you—” he says, nudging the wheel as the light prepares to change, “I heard you’re off this weekend so you’re absolutely allowed to drink and be mysterious”

“Mysterious ?”

“Yeah sipping your whisky at the counter like one of those people who write heartbreaking novellas and say things like “I only smoke on rooftops””

Wonwoo chuckles, “I don’t smoke and I don’t read Murakami”

“I know but no one has to know” Hansol winks at him, “Fake it till you make it”

They arrive at the venue after about ten minutes of driving and sure enough the Neon Room isn’t so much a club as it is a full-blown assault on the senses, a pulsating shrine to excess that starts vibrating through the car doors before they even open.

From the sidewalk, the place glows with the raw allure of an open wound. Nestled between towering corporate towers, fluorescent lights of magenta and teal throb behind thick, fogged-up glass like a heart beating out of rhythm. The bass line of the music inside is incessant, vibrating across the street until it resonates down his spine and ribs.

Wonwoo scans the line at the entrance and instinctively rolls his eyes, immediately regretting not faking a fever.

A bouncer dressed in black stands like a gargoyle under a flickering curtain, his arms are crossed over his chest unfazed by the chaos around him as he checks IDs one by one. Nearby, a small crowd shouts laughter into the night while waiting for their turn to enter, high heels clicking, cigarette smoke curling, phone screens displaying selfies. They all sway beneath a canopy of pink led strips which bath everyone in the same artificial blush.

Hansol steps out of the car and approaches Wonwoo, tugging at the collar of his leather jacket as if he’s ready for a cover shoot for an urban magazine. He glances at him and gives him a nudge, “No second thoughts” he smiles, “Let’s go”

Wonwoo exhales slowly and the moment they get inside, it’s a feverish nightmare.

The music isn’t just loud, it thumps through the walls in waves of sound that crash against them, shakes the ceiling, beats beneath the floor as if the entire building is breathing deeply.

The lights are blinding, strobing in frenetic sequences and tracing patterns across mirrored columns that cast kaleidoscopic shadows on the sweaty half-naked bodies swaying around the dance floor. It’s both so hypnotic and so suffocating as also the air around them is a saturated with everything imaginable — dry ice fog, smoke, overripe perfume, alcohol clinging to every breath, skin to skin — layers of scent that shouldn’t be in one place at the same time, building up in Wonwoo’s lungs and making them shudder in protest.

Wonwoo blinks as his eyes adjusted to the lights, dodging someone’s elbow in the hallway leading to the main floor, lowering when someone stumbles past him nearly bumping his shoulder with a glass of champagne.

“This is exactly what I imagine hell sounds like” he says to himself while ahead of him Hansol, weaves through the bodies with the same habit he probably does it very often.

They walk down a hallway with velvety walls, the ceiling above them is a surreal vault of blown-glass spheres that mimic constellations. On the already packed dance floor the crowd is electrified. People laugh and scream, dance and have fun, dressed in leather and succinct clothes as their limbs slide under the lights.

Wonwoo stands next to Hansol with his shoulders tense and his hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket. His eyes dart from one detail to the next, feeling like a scalpel in a shiny drawer.

Too sharp, too clean, maybe too still for that euphoric environment.

“It’s a party” the voice inside his head tells him. “Just a party, not an emergency room or trauma unit, calm down”

Yet, part of him wished it were the other way around.

They don’t need to look for the birthday boy because Choi Seungcheol finds them first, halfway through the crowd, flashing them a smile so wide it eclipses the lights behind him. His shirt clings to his chest in a way that said he’d been dancing like the night owed him something, his arms are wide open in what could only be described as a joyful welcome for them.

“Guys! You’re finally here!” he shouts over the music, “Hansol, expected. But you… Jeon, in a club ? Am I hallucinating ? Did I mix too many shots again ?”

“I could be your conscience or just a fever dream” Wonwoo deadpans, though his mouth twitches into a smile as Seungcheol pulls him into a crushing hug. “Happy birthday, hyung”

“Thanks, man. I’m very happy you came” Seungcheol says, voice dipping into something softer for just a moment before looping an arm around Hansol, pulling him in too with the force of a human magnet. Hansol makes a noise of mock protest but he doesn’t resist, not really. “Hansolie! God it feels like it’s been forever since we had a beer together! You still hide in the dungeon ?”

“Sometimes” he replies with a grimace, “Time works differently in pathology, you know. I only emerge on weekends to bless humanity with my presence and my moves”

“At least you don’t smell like that shit of formaldehyde” Seungcheol then slaps both of them on the back, “Come on, follow me! The rest of the misfits are over the bar. We’ve claimed a corner and made it ours by sheer force of personality”

Hansol smirks, “So, noise and spilled drinks ?”

“Definitely my night, you’re gonna love it!” Seungcheol says proudly.

He leads the way like a man born for chaos, weaving through the crowd with a smile that instinctively makes people turn away and fall into his gravity. His energy is unmistakable and magnetic, he moves with the swagger of someone who’s had three drinks and is already thriving, shoulders loose, head bobbing to the rhythm, one arm possessively wrapped around Hansol while the other waves grandly at anyone he vaguely recognizes.

Wonwoo follows them reluctantly, his senses bombarded by satin rubbing his arm one second, a glittery neon makeup coming into his view the next. He almost walks straight into a girl wearing fairy wings. She winks, he stares clueless but Hansol saves him with a tug of the jacket taking him away from there.

Seungcheol comes to a triumphant halt near the bar, the only part of the club that looks like it had survived something rather than exploded into glamour, and finally here come familiar faces.

Joshua stands, composed and effortless, a drink in his hand, as if he’s attending a diplomatic afterparty instead of a birthday rave. He’s dressed in impeccable white from collar to hem, his shirt pressed to perfection as elegant as ever. Jeonghan sits next to him with a martini glass dangling from his fingers, whispering in his ear and laughing. His silk shirt glistening in the amber light open just enough to reveal a gold necklace cascading down his delicate collarbones.

Jihoon sits on a slightly spaced bar stool with his legs crossed and one elbow on the counter. He sips his drink like a grudge, glaring at the glass while Jun doesn’t stop yapping and gesticulating at something that is probably too exciting to talk about.

“So the rumors were true!" Jeonghan calls as soon as he sees him, raising his glass without getting up. "Your legs really did carry you into a club!"

Wonwoo smiles. “I'm still trying to decide if it was a mistake”

"It depends on how long you last before you regret everything" Joshua gives him a small nod.

"I'll give him ten minutes" Hansol replies, ”Twelve at most if he likes the drink"

Seungcheol bursts into laughter and leans on them with his arms around their shoulders "Oh come on, he's even dressed in theme for the night, you look like you accidentally walked into a techno rave. It's perfect!”

“I changed my mind, I’m leaving right now" Wonwoo jokes, already turning slightly but Seungcheol keeps him in place.

"You leave when I say the party's over, Jeon, and not a second before!”

The group is soon approached by Nari and Hyerin, the beautiful emergency room nurses who out of scrubs and into nightlife mode, with their colorful shorts and tops, look almost unrecognizable like they have just stepped out of an indie music video.

“Hey guys we lost Joon” Nari says as she glides into the circle, the shimmer on her cheekbones catching every flash of pink and violet light. “He’s trying to choreograph half the floor and I’m pretty sure he pulled a calf mid-spin. No idea where the rest of them ended up”

“He took his shoes off to show them better his moves” Hyerin adds, handing Hansol a wobbling jelly shot with a wink, cheering with him in greeting before drinking up.

“That’s how legends are made” Jeonghan says, sipping from his glass “I bet tomorrow he is gonna bawl to us for all the day”

“God I love that crazy guy” Seungcheol laughs as he raises up a finger to call the bartender, “Hey man, can we get a tray of Dragon’s Kisses over here ?” he asks raising his voice above the music.

“Careful there, hospital elite is already wild drunk” Joshua says chuckling, “Like really wild drunk”

“I’m not drunk” Jihoon replies.
.
“Not yet” Wonwoo mutters.

The tray arrives moments later and the shots appear in a variety of bright pinks and violent greens, glowing like they were crafted in a radioactive lab. The liquid is thick and wobbling in the glasses, everyone grabs one shot and Seungcheol raises his one high. “Let’s have a toast to aging like fine wine”

“To Seungcheol!” Jun cheers.

“Cheers!”

The glasses clink messily and everyone drinks in one go as the liquor burns on the way down, leaving on the tongues some kind of citrus flavor chased by something sweet and sinister.

Wonwoo coughs once, frowns deeply as the music around him takes a new rhythm, the bass getting lower and the tempo slows into a low and dangerous beat. Without warning, Jeonghan sets his glass down and turns to Seungcheol reaching for his hand.

“Time for your gift, birthday boy” he says.

Seungcheol smirks but allowed himself to be dragged down, “You got me a present ?”

“I am the present” Jeonghan replies pulling him toward the dance floor.

The two of them vanish for a beat into the press of bodies, swallowed by strobes and sound, reappearing moments later under the center spotlight dancing and grinding against each other, catching a collective gasp from everyone around. Jeonghan’s hips rolls in fluid movements and sinuous control while Seungcheol matches him, meeting him as hips sway in dangerous sync.

“Are they… ?” Hansol tilts his head, watching the scene unfold.

“They are, definitely” Joshua replies with a chuckle, “There’s a dangerous amount of eye contact over there”

“Are we even allowed to watch ?” Hyerin asks, fanning herself with a cocktail napkin.

“I don’t think so. This is pornography” Nari replies.

“This is gross” Jihoon mutters but doesn’t stop watching.

A few cheers erupt from nearby, someone hoots, and soon one by one everyone gets dragged away to join the dance floor. Hyerin disappears into the crowd, Nari grabs Jun by the wrist and leads him toward the center and Hansol is intercepted by a tall woman in a sequined bodysuit who doesn’t even ask before pulling him into orbit.

Jun tries to coax Wonwoo in the fray too, his hand hovers near his wrist not quite grabbing, just enough to suggest “Just a move, please”. His voice is lost in the music but the invitation is clear in the tilt of his head and the subtle bounce of his shoulders already catching the beat.

Wonwoo smiles, small and apologetic. He shakes his head once and gestures toward the crowd with an open palm. “Go. Have fun. Don’t wait for me”.

Jun holds his gaze for a moment longer as if he might try again but he just nods, claps a hand lightly on Wonwoo’s shoulder, and vanishes into the tide of bodies without another word.

And just like that, Wonwoo is alone. Again.

He watches his friends dissolve into the sound, laughter mixes with the thrum of bass and the soft crash of bodies colliding. Wonwoo exhales slowly as his throat feels tight like he’s breathing through something thick. He turns to the bar as if it could offer refuge, his hand finds the edge of the counter as he lifts two fingers at the bartender who immediately notices him.

“Can I have a whisky ? Neat, please” he says into the man’s ear which nods and disappears on the other side of the counter to take him a glass.

Wonwoo straightens then his shoulders and runs a hand through his hair that falls back into place too easily. He lets his eyes settle on the glittering wall of bottles in front of him, each one could tell a story but he’s not sure he wants to hear any of them tonight.

The drink lands in front of him with a soft clink shortly after, the smooth amber liquid catching the club light in its depths. Wonwoo is about to reach for the cold glass, to indulge in the little drops of alcohol that would help numb his thoughts a little, but suddenly he feels a firm warm hand settle on his hip through the fabric of his jacket.

It’s not a brush, not an accidental push but a commanding possessive presence that imposes itself on him. Before his mind can recover, before he can turn and his brain can decide whether to retreat or surrender to that hold, Wonwoo feels the heat of a chest pressing against his back, a wall of body and breath wrapped in the smell of wood smoke, cologne and sweat barely masked by something sweet and chemical.

A soft breath brushes his ear close enough to make his skin crawl and a voice speaks over his head, not to him but past the bartender.

“Can I have what he’s having ?”

Wonwoo tenses, his fingers tightening around his glass as his breath catches in his troth. Every cell in his body recognizes that voice before his mind ever does, a sudden heat flares up in his cheeks creeping like a fire to the tips of his ears. He blames it on the alcohol he drank earlier, of course it’s the alcohol, it has to be or nothing else makes sense at all.

Wonwoo doesn’t need to turn around to guess who that voice belongs to. Departmental discussion and heating fights over the years had trained him enough to let him recognize Kim Mingyu anywhere by now. His body reacts before logic itself, his heart thumps by surprise against his ribs. Wonwoo forces himself to take a sip of the whiskey, letting it slide down almost as if to put himself an armor on. Only then, slowly, does he look up and catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of his eye.

Mingyu indeed is there, right next to him, with a faint smile carved into the corners of his mouth.

Under the harsh glare of the overhead lights, he looks unfair as if he’s forgotten what modesty means. His golden skin shines even more with the pearly sweat that covers his chest, visible beneath his loose black shirt, unbuttoned of three. The fabric sticks where it falls, catching on the sharp lines of his torso, the curve of his muscles where his neck meets his shoulders.

He wears a thin silver chain that gleams just above his sternum like something that shouldn’t be legal. His hair is tousled in a way that seems casual but probably isn’t. A bright smile plasters on his lips and that at that moment widens even more… for him.

But it’s defiant, as always.

And there’s something unreadable in his expression.

As always, once again

“I didn’t think I would see you here” Mingyu says with something teasing. “You hate places like this”

Wonwoo inhales slowly, lifting the whisky to his lips just to occupy his mouth with a grounding force. “I do” he replies after a moment, “But I had no choice”

“You make it sound like you’re being held hostage” Mingyu tilts his head, leaning an elbow on the bar, his body still slightly tilted toward Wonwoo’s space. “Let me guess, Cheol and Dr. Autopsy forced you, right ?”

Wonwoo glares at him, “Don’t you have anywhere else better to be ?”

“No, so bear with me now” Mingyu smiles, lazily reaching for the glass the bartender places in front of him. He swirls it once, takes a sip and pauses, humming and pretending to think. “…It’s a Macallan, right ?”

“And neat”

“Of course it’s neat” Mingyu mutters then wrinkles his nose slightly. “Oh my god, Jeon. Even your tastes in whiskey are tragic”

Wonwoo lets out a low, unimpressed sound that almost resembles a laugh. “Sorry me. I didn’t realize I was drinking for your approval or that I signed up for a critique session”

“You didn’t, indeed” Mingyu replies brightly. “That’s what makes it even funnier” he sips again, then grimaces with dramatic flair. “But seriously, you’re really enjoying this thing ?”

“Do I look like I’m enjoying anything else right now ?”

Mingyu chuckles, leaning in just slightly to brush his shoulder for a fraction of a second too long. “You look like you need saving. Maybe a crash course in how to drink something that doesn’t taste like regret in a glass”

Wonwoo exhales through his nose, the barest flicker of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You, teaching me something ? That’s a first”

“I think I’d like that, actually” Mingyu’s voice lowers just a touch, his smile tipping toward something slower and teasing. “It would be dangerously flattering for me having your full attention”

Wonwoo bites back the comment rising on his tongue, but Mingyu sees it anyway. He always does. And he grins like he’s just won a round of a game only he knows they’re playing. They fall into a strange rhythm. Mingyu stretches out on his stool like he owns it, legs long, fingers drumming lightly on the bar. Wonwoo stays taut beside him, composed, like he’s afraid too much motion will tip the balance. Still, he doesn’t leave. That’s the part that surprises them both, perhaps.

“So…” Mingyu begins, raising his glass again with a lazy flick of his wrist, “What are the rules of this fragile temporary peace we’ve got going on ? Do I get to enjoy your company without risking verbal decapitation and scalpel-related death threats ?”

“We’re on neutral ground. That’s the only treaty I’m willing to acknowledge tonight.”

“How generous” Mingyu muses, “Should I take advantage of this highlight of the week while it lasts ?”

“You are already doing that”

“Touché” he laughs, then swirls his whisky again, “I guess I don’t have to get used to. You’re lucky you’re pretty, Jeon. At least you make this bad drink taste tolerable”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “Please don’t tell me that was meant to be a compliment”

“Oh, it was. You just don’t know how to accept one without dissecting it first and writing a critical paper on the emotional implications of human flattery”

Wonwoo shakes his head, more amused than he wants to admit. His hand brushes his hair back with a weary sort of grace and Mingyu next to him watches the motion, transfixed for a moment. He always watches him like that, like he’s trying to map a pattern he hasn’t been able to crack.

“Wanna dance ?” then Mingyu suddenly asks, as if it costs him nothing.

Wonwoo turns to him, blinking once. “No”

“C’mon”

“No”

His voice dips into something coaxing. “Not even one song ?”

“I’d rather amputate my own leg”

He laughs, “You’re no fun”

“I’m aware” Wonwoo replies flatly, “And I don’t aspire to be”

“What a shame” Mingyu sighs, tipping his head slightly as if assessing him “All dressed up and not a single slow sway to your name. Such wasted potential"

“I’m not here to perform”

“You don’t have to” he says, leaning a little closer as his voice gets as soft as dangerous “Just existing… that’s already criminal”

Wonwoo tries not to react but he feels it, god, he feels that heat creeping up the back of his neck making the tips of his ears burning again. “You’re so drunk, Mingyu, go away” he mutters, lifting a hand to his chest to gently push him, “You flirt like you’re trying to get sued”

Mingyu smirks, not even bothering to step back. “Zero taste in whisky and zero flirting skills. You really have lots to learn, Jeon Wonwoo” he tells him as he pushes off his stool with an easy stretch. The silver chain glints at his chest as he stands up, “But don’t worry…” he calls, walking backwards into the crowd with that same damn teasing smirk on his face, “I’m a very patient teacher”

Wonwoo watches him slowly walk away. His eyes follow Mingyu against all logic, against every instinct that tells him not to but still he watches. He tracks the broad line of his shoulders, the lazy sway in his stride, the dark glint of his shirt clinging to sweat-damp skin. Mingyu moves through the crowd like he belongs to it. The bodies seem to shift around him rather than block him, parting briefly then swallowing him whole.

Wonwoo lets out a breath he hadn’t even realized he had been holding. He looks down at his glass, at the last measure of whisky glinting amber beneath the lights, and throws it back in a single bracing swallow. No hesitation, no pause for taste. Just the bite and burn sliding down his throat.

Something stirs in him. Nervousness, restlessness, he doesn't know exactly. But it's something warm and alive that nestles in his chest and that it won't let itself be silenced.

He sets the glass down harder than necessary and turns back to look at the dance floor again. His eyes sweep across head over head, scanning through moving shadows and flashing light until he finds Mingyu again but this time, he’s no longer alone.

A woman reaches him from the crowd, draping her arms around his neck with the kind of easy intimacy that needs no introduction. Her presence is seamless, natural like muscle memory, and Wonwoo recognizes her instantly. It’s Areum Park. Beautiful, golden-skinned, long legs and poised like she was born to stand out. She’s a nurse from Mingyu’s department whose smile lights up hallways and who owns the kind of confidence that always walks two steps ahead of expectation.

She’s stunning tonight in her satin and backless dress. Her fingers are already tangled in Mingyu’s hair as she leans in close, whispering something against the shell of his ear. Mingyu laughs at whatever she is saying and his hands settle naturally on her waist, drawing her close. They start moving together, instinctive and fluid, like they’ve done this before and like their bodies remember.

Areum turns in his arms, pressing her back flush against his chest. One hand slides into his hair, the other drapes down his arm, her fingers tracing the length of his bicep like she owns it. Mingyu’s hands flatten at her hips, guiding her with an easy confidence and pressing her into a rhythm that’s unhurried. They grind together in sync, hips aligning with the beat, then Mingyu leans down and his mouth hovers just above her shoulder before dipping into the curve of her neck. Areum tilts her head slightly offering more, smiling for his breath that probably tickles her skin.

It’s in that moment that Mingyu looks up.

Past the lights. Past the bodies. Past her.

Straight towards Wonwoo.

Their eyes lock through the crowd like a single thread pulled taut across the room. There’s no glimmer of surprise in Mingyu’s expression as he meets his gaze that’s already watching him back, rather he looks at Wonwoo like he knows exactly what he’s doing, like he meant for him to see that.

Wonwoo stands there staring at them with a sour taste of bile rising in his throat. His jaw tightens, his expression unreadable from the outside but inside him something is twisting. It’s not anger but a feeling of heat radiating in his chest that soon turns into something sour.

It’s an obscenity he doesn’t dare name, Wonwoo refuses to let it take shape. He smothers it before it can bloom into something recognizably dangerous, before it can press too hard against the wall he has spent years building around his composure and control. Emotions like this — sudden, uninvited, uncontainable — have no place in him. They’re just inconvenient and yet, what unsettles him most isn’t the sharp twist in his chest or the heat crawling up the back of his neck, it’s how natural it feels.

So involuntary, instinctive.

It speaks of a kind of caring that terrifies him because it slips past logic and training and lands squarely in the territory of vulnerability.

Wonwoo exhales slow through his nose as if he’s cooling down a fever he refuses to acknowledge. Then he turns away before the feeling can root deeper in his chest and become something permanent. He doesn’t look back ever again, not even a glance. He doesn’t need to as the fire already burning beneath his ribs is bright enough to leave its scorch marks and haunt him for the rest of the night.

Luckily his friends are far too drunk and too absorbed in their own whirlwind of music and fun to notice Wonwoo slipping away from the club. No one spares him a glance as he quietly edges out of the crowd, skirts around the dance floor, and disappears through the side exit like smoke. Not Seungcheol, deep in a toast and already slurring his words, not Hansol, lost in a dance with someone. Not even Jihoon, who’d taken to interrogating the bartender about the “toxicity levels” of jelly shots.

For once, the chaos works in his favor.

Outside the night air is sharp against his skin, cutting through the haze of heat and tension that had wrapped him. Wonwoo doesn’t stop walking until he’s home and when he steps through the front door, the silence greets him like a long-lost friend. His apartment is dim and still. The hum of the refrigerator, the faint tick of a wall clock, they are mundane sounds but somehow they steady him. This place, his curated solitude, is his bubble of salvation. It smells like clean linen and tea leaves. No neon, no bass, no distractions. Just air.

And yet, when he collapses on the bed, sleep doesn’t come either.

Wonwoo lies on his back with his eyes wide open, staring blankly at the ceiling as if it might offer him some clarity and peace of mind. But none comes. Minutes stretch into hours, rest doesn’t visit him and his body stays still while his mind spins restlessly through the rhythm of the night.

Eventually, in a quiet act of defeat, Wonwoo reaches for the remote on the nightstand and numbly flips through channels until he lands on some trashy late-night TV show. It’s loud, ridiculous, and exactly the kind of background noise he needs, just enough chaos to distract him from the one unraveling inside. And by the time morning comes, Wonwoo doesn’t try to give in to laziness. Even though it’s his day off — an unclaimed Sunday that he could have easily spent lying down reading a book in silence, maybe doing nothing at all — he finds himself reaching for his bag and white coat anyway.

It’s easier this way. Better to be useful in some way, to do drown the noise in something productive.

The corridors of the hospital greet him like muscle memory, indeed. Wonwoo walks though them with long strides, the fabric of his coat catching faint gusts as he turns the corners. It’s all so cold, so clinical and steady but it’s his environment, the only place for him that still makes sense.
The only place where he remembers exactly who he is.

Wonwoo pushes the door to the medical staff’s lounge open and the scent of burnt coffee, mixed with the unmistakable trace of exhaustion and regret, hits him right away.

Inside, Jeonghan is sprawled across the couch like a Renaissance painting gone rogue, one arm flung dramatically over the backrest, the other draped over his eyes though a pair of dark sunglasses already shields him from the oppressive brightness of the room lights. His head is tilted back, lips parted like he’s either seconds from sleep or mid-existential crisis. Joshua stands by the fridge, one hip leaned lazily against it, sipping from a pale ceramic mug that smells faintly of something lemony and vaguely medicinal, probably tea spiked with electrolytes.

They both look up as Wonwoo enters. Jeonghan doesn’t bother moving, just lowers his sunglasses a notch with one finger. “Why are you here ? Isn’t it your day off ?” he croaks in a rasp voice.

Wonwoo pauses just long enough to drop his bag onto the nearest chair. “It is” he replies, buttoning his coat without breaking stride. “I got bored at home”.

“Wanna take my shift while you’re at it ?” Jeonghan mutters, his head thudding back against the couch cushion “Trauma is a mess this morning. Some idiot crashed and e-scooter into a fountain to try to save his phone mid-air”

Joshua raises his eyebrows over the rim of his cup, “ER is kinda packed today, you’re gonna have fun down there”

“You look horrible" Wonwoo casts a glance at Jeonghan, “Shouldn’t you be the one in an ER bed ?”

“Code black and fabulous, say it louder” Jeonghan says, without an ounce of shame.

Joshua chuckles and turns to Wonwoo. “You left the party early yesterday ?”

Wonwoo hesitates just long enough to register the question then he offers his colleague a perfectly neutral nod. “Yeah… I had headache”

It’s not technically a lie, just not the whole truth.

“What a pity” Joshua hums, “You missed the second act”

Wonwoo quirks a brow. “That bad ?”

“Oh no” he says with a sly smile, nodding toward Jeonghan. “Ask him. He spent the night at Seungcheol’s”

Wonwoo’s eyes widen, his mouth opens. “You what ?”

Jeonghan doesn’t even flinch. He lifts a single hand and waves it vaguely through the air. “Don’t ask for details. Or rather do ask, but ask them quickly. I feel like I might throw up at any moment and once I do, I’m taking the truth with me to the grave”

“Didn’t you say you couldn’t stand him ?” Wonwoo asks, staring at him like he’s discovered a glitch in the universe. “Something about his personality being a public health hazard?”

“His body makes up for his slap-worthy face. Have you never heard of the enemies-to-lovers trope ? It’s all the rage on fanfiction sites, I’m just staying on trend”

“The… what ?” Wonwoo stares, unblinking. “What the hell, Han…”

Joshua laughs again, sipping his tea. “You can tell it’s been a weird weekend”

“My head is about to explode, I swear” Jeonghan lets out a sigh, tilting his sunglasses back down. “If I die today, make sure someone deletes my browser history and clears my AO3 bookmarks. I’m trusting you both with this”

“Absolutely not. I’m printing it out and taping it to the nurses’ station” Wonwoo laughs, heading to the counter to pour himself a mug of coffee.

“So the whole hospital can find out about your strength kink and how it’s, somehow, very specifically tied to Choi Seungcheol” Joshua winks as he raises his cup towards Wonwoo.

Jeonghan lets out an inhuman screech and grabs the nearest pillow, flinging it at Joshua with tragic flair. “I hate both of you! I swear, I’m never telling you anything again”

“Oh please” Wonwoo says over his shoulder, “You live to overshare”

“Did you at least kiss him good morning, or did you sneak out from his apartment like a coward ?” Joshua asks, still laughing.

“Excuse me ?!” Jeonghan gasps, “Do I look like I’m capable of such emotional cruelty ? I left him a very heartfelt post-it on the kitchen table with my number”

“And ?”

“He hasn’t texted me yet”

Wonwoo snorts. “Why would he ? He’s literally upstairs. You could just… go to him”

“You don’t understand anything, Wonwoo” Jeonghan whines, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead like a Jane Austen heroine in crisis. “I did all the work already. I made the move, I initiated the physical approach, I gave him stationery. The ball is in his court now!”

”You left a post-it note and called it emotional labor ?”

“Exactly!” Jeonghan points dramatically, “This is the maximum effort he will receive from me”

“God help that poor boy” Joshua shakes his head, taking another sip of his drink. “However, did you see how Hansol went wild on the dance floor last night ?”

“Hard to miss” Jeonghan says, stretching his legs out with a lazy sigh. “He climbed on top of a speaker and started shouting something about capitalist structures while dancing to a remix of Beyoncé”

“He had glitter in his hair. Like actual glitter”

“That guy is completely insane and honestly ? I respect it”

Wonwoo laughs and shakes his head as if to physically cast off the absurdity around him. His fingers wrap around the warm coffe mug like it’s a lifeline in that moment and before anyone can collect memories from the past night further more, both Joshua and Jeonghan’s pagers go off at the same time with that insistent beep they had known it by heart by now.

They instinctively glance down at it, “Multiple yellow code, ER triage. Possible pile-up” Joshua reads.

But before he can even move and reach for his stethoscope, Wonwoo is already placing his mug on the counter and grabbing a clipboard from the rack by the wall, heading toward the door with his usual brisk mechanical efficiency. “I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry” he says.

Joshua blinks. “You sure ? It’s your day off”

“I’m sure” Wonwoo calls back, buttoning his coat, “You two stay here and recover. Hydrate yourselves” he pauses just long enough to glance back, “And make sure Jeonghan doesn’t throw up in the trash can. Or flirt with anyone in scrubs”

“I only flirt with attending physicians. I have standards!” Jeonghan says from the couch.

“That’s the problem” Wonwoo chuckles just before the lounge door swings open and closes behind him.

He steps out into the hallway, the clacking of his shoes finding their rhythm as he heads toward the ER. It was his day off, sure, he should have taken it easy but Wonwoo was deep down enjoying being busy and volunteering where needed. The tension he had been carrying all night begins to fade away with every step letting in a little adrenaline, which was a feeling, at least, his body understands perfectly.

By the time he reaches the emergency department, the energy in the air is already shifting. The ER is heating up figuratively and literally as nurses in scrubs dart back and forth between beds with quiet urgency.

Triage calls echo from behind the double doors, alarms ping softly in timed intervals. A young man in his twenties, blood matting his eyebrow, is pacing at the front desk gesturing wildly as he argues with the receptionist about how long he has been waiting for his turn. A woman in her thirties sits in one of the chairs cradling her forearm against her chest, her lips pressed into a thin line of pain, stable but definitely fractured.

Across the room, a paramedic wheels in a middle-aged man with grit and blood streaked down his shin, his right leg torn open in a lattice of abrasions. The paramedic explains he slipped on a rain-slick crosswalk while biking, phone still clutched in his hand as he fell.

Wonwoo doesn’t hesitate to give his help.

He approaches a man in triage first, a hypertensive patient with a flushed face and stiff posture. Wonwoo checks his vitals, asks the right questions about his medical history as he presses his fingers lightly on the man’s wrist and adjusts the cuff of the sphygmomanometer. The man’s blood pressure is elevated but his symptoms are mild, no neurological signs, more panic than danger.

Wonwoo calms him with a few reassuring words, adjusts the dose of his medications and writes it down for follow-up with his primary care physician.

Then he moves to the woman with the arm injury. The pain is localized, her range of motion limited. His hands are sure and careful as he examines her, palpating gently her skin to check for distal pulse and sensation. “Distal radius” he mutters to himself. “Clean break. Not dislocated”

She looks at him, tense. “Is it bad ?”

“It’s simple” he says calmly. “Dr. Choi will set it and cast it. You’ll be back to normal in six weeks”

She breathes out, relieved. Wonwoo reassures her with a nod then instructs the nurse to prep her for reduction under mild sedation and begins writing out the treatment plan.

Then he approaches the cyclist. The man’s abrasions stretch from his shin to his knee, raw and embedded with flecks of gravel and torn fibers of pant leg. Wonwoo doesn’t delegate the work, he sits down on the low stool beside the gurney, rolls up his sleeves and begins cleaning the wounds himself. His touch is firm but not rough, his voice low and steady as he asks about medications, pain levels, tetanus shots. As he works, the man’s shoulders loosen slightly, posture relaxing under the quiet assurance of someone who knows exactly what he’s doing.

Wonwoo moves through the emergency room precisely and efficiently, trying not get overwhelmed by the growing chaos that surrounds him. Between cases he signs prescriptions without pausing, updates medical records quickly and speaks to patients and family members with the same kindness and composed tone, never rushed, never uncertain.

But all of that equilibrium so carefully maintained is shattered the moment the ER doors slide open and the atmosphere shifts with a current too subtle to name but too potent to ignore.

At first, it’s nothing out of the ordinary. Just another pair of colleagues arriving for their shift, another rotation sliding into place, nothing that should tug his attention and unsettle his balance. But then Wonwoo sees her, Areum Park, stepping into the ward in her blue scrubs and cheeks so blushed pink that suggests she has either been laughing a bit too much or rushed to get there. Her long ponytail falls over one shoulder and with practiced ease, she gathers it up, twists it high and secures it with a tie in a smooth motion that seems somehow captivating in its simplicity.

She throws a playful look over her shoulder, lips curled in a grin and eyes sparkling with amusement as she is laughing at Mingyu that follows her in so casually. His scrubs is a little wrinkled, his red stethoscope already slung around his neck and his dark hair pushed back with the sort of half-done attention that suggests he doesn’t need to try harder to look good. His gaze drifts lazily across the ER but Mingyu looks rested, like someone who hadn’t lost a single second of sleep, completely untouched from the night before.

Wonwoo looks at them both and his expression instantly darkens as, the same time Areum was fixing her hair, Mingyu has his hands dropped to the waistband of his pants. His thumbs hook into the elastic, fingers tugging at the drawstrings to tightened the knot as if it had been loosened before, tying the laces with an ease so unconscious it was almost intimate.

It shouldn’t carry much of a weight but something about it catches.

The gesture, on any other day, in any other context, would have gone unnoticed. But something in her mischief, in her closeness to Areum, tightens something in Wonwoo’s chest. Maybe it’s the memory of her hands sliding across his chest the night before, of her hips brushing against his on a crowded dance floor, whatever it is that makes his stomach twist. He knows it’s irrational, that it means nothing, but it still takes him by surprise. A hot sharp tingle rises sharply behind his ribs, painting everything red at sight and projecting a lewd image in his head that Wonwoo simply can’t shake.

His breath catches in his throat and when Mingyu lifts a hand to wave a teasing fly kiss to Areum, who smiles and rolls her eyes before heading towards the nurses’ station, that’s the moment Wonwoo fucks up his composure and feels his legs already moving by their own. One moment he was in the middle of the emergency room with a clipboard in his hand and the next one he is striding across the floor in long purposeful strides, heading straight for Mingyu without knowing exactly what he intended to do.

There is no logic left, only instinct. Something raw and unfiltered that drives him forward.

Wonwoo grabs Mingyu with a grip that’s too tight, squeezing his arm without much preamble. Mingyu flinches caught off guard, his head turns toward him with surprise etched into every line of his face. He’s about to speak, confusion rising to the surface but he doesn’t get the chance to even breath because Wonwoo simply doesn’t let him. He tugs him roughly, leading Mingyu away from there through the row of stretchers, past two confused interns who stare at them with wide eyes, throwing open the door of the nearest empty guard before shoving Mingyu inside

Wonwoo steps in after him, jaw tight and breath shallow, shutting the door with a thud that echoes like a warning through the quiet room.

Mingyu staggers to a stop, barely avoiding the edge of the desk. He turns around with disbelief painted across his face, “Wow Jeon” he says, voice thick with sarcasm, “If you wanted a private good morning, you could’ve just asked. Dragging me into a room like that ? Bold of you”

“What the fuck are you doing ?” Wonwoo snaps, his chest rising and falling with the remnants of adrenaline. His fists clench and unclench at his sides as he tries to find a version of himself that wouldn’t sound like madness. “We’re in a damn hospital! Do you not have the slightest concept of professionalism ? Of basic decency ?”

“I have no idea what are you talking about” Mingyu says, not sarcastically this time but defensive and genuinely confused.

That makes it even worse.

Because Mingyu doesn’t know, he really doesn’t. He’s standing there like he has done absolutely nothing, like he hasn’t just walked in with the same easy confidence and magnetic warmth that makes people orbit him like it’s effortless. Like he didn’t just walk beside Areum like he belonged there, he hadn’t even considered that someone might be watching him.

That Wonwoo might be watching him.

“You really don’t get it” Wonwoo mutters under his breath, a bitter laugh escaping before he can stop it. “Unbelievable”

“Apparently not” Mingyu snaps back, tone sharpening, “Since you just manhandled me through a ward full of people like a lunatic, you wanna tell me what the hell’s going on, or are we just going to keep playing hangman until I figure it out ?”

Wonwoo steps forward, barely noticing that he’s closing the distance. His shoulders are squared, his voice sharper now, rising in frustration but not volume. “What you do outside of here must not touch the threshold of this building. Your private life must stay out of our job, do you understand ?”

Mingyu’s brow furrows, defensive tension rising across his frame. “Are you seriously lecturing me about this now ?”

“Yes, I am” Wonwoo splits, “Because apparently no one else has. And don’t think you’re immune to criticism just because people like you. ”

“You’re out of your mind. If your ego is that fragile —“

“This isn’t about me” Wonwoo cuts in sharply, eyes flaring. “This is about you, about appearances and perception! I don't care about your little escapades —” he says, “But the second you walk through those doors, that shit stays out there. You don’t get to bring it in with you, you don’t get to make this place your runway. We’re not here to look like we just rolled out of someone’s bed”

There’s a beat of silence and what follows next is loud. Wonwoo’s eyes lock on his and that’s the moment Mingyu really sees it, not the anger, but what’s underneath. The flush in his face, the tight line of his mouth, the refusal to speak the truth aloud. It clicks into place like puzzle pieces snapping shut. Then, slowly, he lets out a dry, almost humorless laugh.

“So that’s what this is” he says, nodding. “You saw me dance with Areum yesterday, walk in with her before and now you’ve built a whole moral crisis around it”

Wonwoo’s jaw clenches so tight the muscle twitches. “I didn’t say anything about her”

“You didn’t have to” Mingyu tilts his head and steps in just slightly, “And you know, for someone who claims this isn’t personal, you’re doing a terrible job hiding how very personal it feels”

Wonwoo’s eyes flash. He takes a breath, but it sounds more like a warning than a sigh. “This is none of my business —”

“Exactly, it’s not”

“ — but it sure as hell that whatever the fuck you’re into it, it shouldn’t be happening on this grounds” Wonwoo finishes.

Mingyu lets out a breathy laugh, shaking his head slowly. “Then maybe next time” he says almost gentle now, “Think about it twice before dragging me into a room like you own me, Dr. Jeon”

The silence stretches between them like a held breath, heavy and dangerously still. Wonwoo doesn’t take a step back but he sees Mingyu walking toward him, not quite closing that distance that vibrates between them with something dense and electric. Too much heat, too little space. It’s not just closeness anymore, it’s pressure, a push that neither of them recognizes but that they both feel pressing against the fragile shell of professionalism they still pretend to possess.

Wonwoo’s heartbeat is audible in his ears, his jaw clenched so hard it hurts. Mingyu’s eyes are fixed on him with silent intent and his expression is no longer defiant, no longer defensive, just focused and damn present.

The weight of that gaze is almost unbearable and for a fleeting moment, the rest of the world fades away. The fight, the emergency room, the rules. Even the reasons for that stupid argument dissolve into something more primal that creeps in between clenched fists and held breath.

Wonwoo doesn’t know what he’ll do if Mingyu gets any closer.

He doesn’t know what he’ll do if he doesn’t.

But then the tension between them gets suddenly shattered by the ringing of the guard phone. Sharp and strident, the metallic sound shakes the silence like a scalpel dropped on a tile. Mingyu blinks and darts toward it, wordlessly moving away from Wonwoo and across the room to the receiver. He holds it to his ear, his back stiff, his voice tense as he speaks.

“Yes ? Dr. Kim speaking here” he says, sharp and clear. There’s a short pause but enough to make him shift posture, to make his shoulders freeze. His face hardens not from anger but from concentration this time.

He nods once, then again more slowly.

And then suddenly, his expression changes entirely.

His eyes widen not in surprise but in alarm and without any further words he hangs up and turns on his heels, already leaning toward the door with an urgency evident in every his movement.

“I have to go” he says, not looking at Wonwoo but already halfway out of the room. “A school bus overturned. Dozens of patients are arriving, some of them red code”

His words hit with the weight of a stopped heartbeat. For a moment, everything freezes in Wonwoo’s chest. The fight, the bitterness, the fire… none of it matters anymore. He straightens immediately, his mind already shifting gears pushing the emotions back to the depths where they belong.

There is no room for confusion anymore. No time for anger.

Only duty.

Mingyu opens the door but pauses briefly at the threshold. For the briefest moment he seems to hesitate as if something lingers on his lips, unspoken teetering at the edge of breath, but he doesn’t say it.

Whatever it is, he lets it go.

He walks out without looking back, his professional gaze already fixed on the hallway beyond. And Wonwoo doesn’t wait further more as he follows him without a word, leaving the silence and everything it held behind him.

Chapter Text

"Your blades are sharpened with precision
Flashing your favorite point of view
I know you're waiting in the distance
Just like you always do"

Multiple red codes.

Mingyu throws open the on-call room door with a forceful swing, his body already in motion before his thoughts have fully caught up. His heart is pounding with a rhythm that feels ahead of time, a thud-thud-thud that presses against his ribs as if trying to lead the way out of his chest. The corridor greets him with a slap of sterile air, thick with the sting of disinfectant but beneath it lies something rawer that clings to his skin like the kind of charged stillness that only exists just before a disaster breaks loose.

The ghost of fear he doesn’t have time to acknowledge.

Above him a metallic voice crackles to life over the intercom, unmistakably urgent. “Trauma incoming. Pediatric red codes, priority A. Mass casualty protocol active”

Those words don’t just echo down the hallway, they stab into his stomach one by one like dropped weights. The scene assembles itself in his mind, pieced together from the few details he has heard on the phone earlier.

A bus carrying a group of Chinese students was on its way to a temple nestled near Namyangju. It was supposed to be a simple field trip, a day of peace and learning, but somewhere along the winding mountain roads that serpent up the slopes of Mount Bulamsan, the route turned deadly. The bus, due to one too many reckless turn, lost control and it skidded through one of the sharp curves tumbling off the edge into a ravine below.

Mingyu doesn’t need the full report. He knows what that scene looks like.

He sees it already in his mind. Metal folding like paper, the sickening crunch of glass exploding outward as the windows give, fragments embedding in soft skin. He imagines the lurch of momentum, the way small bodies would have slammed into each other, into seats, into anything in their path. Some would have been crushed in the collapse, others might have been thrown straight through the shattered panes.

He imagines the silence after that impact, the shock. The screaming. The ones who couldn’t scream at all. They were children most likely between seven and twelve years old, maybe twenty of them in total plus teachers or chaperones. The thought sinks heavy and cold into his gut, a lead weight that won’t settle. This was meant to be a memory they would carry forever, not a trauma that will follow them for life.

Mingyu clenches his jaw against the wave of nausea rising in his throat.

Some of them will be critical, fighting to breathe, even to stay.

Some might already be past saving.

Some might already be gone

In that instant, everything that makes him human — fear, hesitation, the habit of asking “why” — drops away and Mingyu doesn’t think anymore as he gets into action like his mind is no longer a place for thoughts but a command center.

As he walks down the corridor, he becomes aware of the buzz under his skin. It vibrates along his spine and settles like a hot wire between his shoulder blades. He knows this sensation very well. It’s his adrenaline speaking, surging just ahead of the panic shielding him from it.

Mingyu moves into the emergency corridor in long strides while around him the whole ward is already trembling with motion. Voices clash in the air overlapping commands, pages being called, clipped exchanges between nurses and residents. It’s not chaos, not yet, but it’s on the verge, straining under the weight of anticipation.

There’s a rhythm erratic but functional, the heartbeat of a hospital bracing for impact.

In the triage zone, beds are being rolled into formation like soldiers lining up before battle. Trauma kits lie open on every surface, wrappers torn, sterile tools catching the light. Mingyu passes a nurse wearing gloves on her hands and another who’s already preparing syringes quickly. A resident hurries past him, his unbuttoned coat flaps behind him as the wide-eyed panic on his face gives away how new he is to this level of emergency.

“Estimated time of arrival of the ambulances ?” Mingyu asks to a nurse.

“Five minutes, Dr. Kim! First unit is already nearby with pediatric red codes and polytrauma”

Mingyu nods, eyes flicking across his mental map of the department like a chessboard in motion. “Open trauma in room 3. Isolate room 5 for intubated patients only. I want two ventilator stations ready and IV access for every case that comes through that door. Get pediatric doses of epinephrine, midazolam, and page cardiology unit. We might need —“

“I’m here”

A voice so grounded and clear cuts through the noises behind his back. Mingyu turns instinctively to see Wonwoo standing there slightly out of breath as if he had jogged perhaps to reach him, chest rising and his white coat swinging as he slows to a halt. Behind his round glasses, Wonwoo’s eyes are sharply focused on the emergency. There’s no sign of hesitation in his black irises, not the old edge of his usual arrogance and judgement but just the intent of a steady and professional presence this time.

For the briefest second, everything stalls between them. Mingyu takes a long deep breath that makes him remember the weight of unresolved rivalries never fully buried, the shared stories at night between the hospital hallways. A moment long enough to bring to the surface everything they haven’t said, but that is not the right moment to indulge. The air is too thick with blood to entertain the ghosts of the past, they can wait their turn.

“There could be chest trauma with cardiac complications” Wonwoo says, “I know this is not my field but if necessary, I’ll stay”

Mingyu meets his eyes and holds his gaze recognizing in Wonwoo the same readiness that burns in himself, a kind of surgical instinct that has nothing to do with pride.

“Yes, please. Stay” he simply murmurs.

Wonwoo nods, “Alright”

No more words are needed, no further ego performances. Wonwoo steps in closer not as a rival now but as a fellow surgeon who knows what it means to show up when the worst begins, ready to follow his lead and orders if necessary. Mingyu feels him at his back, a solid presence not demanding attention this time but offering momentum, so steady and firm almost as if he could anchor himself to him.

The sirens are no longer distant screams but their high-pitched wails pierce the hospital walls straining every nerve, so shrill an incessant like knives scraped across the glass. Mingyu doesn’t wait for the adrenaline to settle as he feels his body already in motion, operating ahead before his thoughts even reach him.

He catches sight of the ambulances one by one as they swerve into the rear bay of the emergency department. The vehicles lurch into position, tires screeching against slick asphalt as headlights slash through the early morning and red and blue lights paint the scene in shifting hues. The first set of rear doors swing open hard, almost violently, revealing the first glimpse of disaster. Paramedics don’t wait for protocol as they yank stretchers out with a brutal kind of grace born from necessity and too much experience.

Mingyu walks into it without hesitation. His gloves are already sealed tight around his wrists as his back is straight and his feet planted firmly on the ground, refusing to be moved by anything but duty. One stretcher rolls out, then another, and another. The children look impossibly small on adult gurneys. Arms tucked in tight, knees drawn up, school uniforms torn and smeared with blood and soil. The belts that should hold them tight cut into their torsos in ways that are inadequate and unsuitable. Mingyu's gaze skims over each child who passes by as he allows no pause, no panic.

Just observation and action.

Scrutinize. Assess. Direct and Move.

That’s what his protocols stated and what he was ready to put into action the moment a pair of innocent eyes finds him.

The first child he meets is nine, maybe ten at most. He stares up at him through the fogging pane of an oxygen mask. His skin is bloodless beneath the emergency lights, pale and lips tinged blue. His eyes are too wide, too glassy, fluttering like a bird trapped in a room too small. Blood has soaked into the collar of his school shirt, the stain blooming across the white fabric like spilled ink. His uniform is a mess. Buttons torn, sleeves dirtied with ash, mud, and what looks like motor oil but the worst is the stillness in his limbs, the way fear has frozen him stiff.

For a heartbeat, Mingyu’s composure catches as something inside him tightens.

"Dreams are useless, Mingyu. Wake up”

How many times had he heard that ? How many times had he believed it ?

In his life maybe too many, but today was not the day to wallow in those old memories.

“This is my dream. And today it matters”

He takes a deep breath and with it, the voice inside his head retreats fading like a shadow retreating from the sun. Mingyu tightens his jaw, “Code red!” he shouts, "Rapid breathing, suspected internal bleeding. Take him to Trauma 3, go! Keep him stable in transit!”

The team jumps into motion, the stretcher rattles away down the corridor. Mingyu doesn’t linger to watch them disappear as he is already turning to the next patient rolling toward him.

Another gurney approaches and it’s a girl this time, maybe eight, maybe younger. Her face is scraped raw on one side, skin torn and mottled with bruises blooming across her cheekbone. Her breathing is shallow, rattling from her throat in uneven bursts. One leg is twisted at a grotesque angle, probably an open femur fracture, exposed and very dangerous.

Mingyu doesn’t flinch. “Open fracture, left femur. Conscious but pale, borderline pressure” he calls, already reaching for the chart clutched in the paramedic’s hand. “Start IV analgesia now. Page ortho-pediatrics unit, she needs priority imaging and preparation for operating room as soon as possible”

He turns around again and another gurney is coming on his way, this one slower as the boy on the stretcher isn’t moving. He’s around nine years old, his eyes are closed and mouth slightly open. There’s blood leaking from his ear, a faint ominous thread trailing into the pillow beneath his head. His arms lie limp at his sides. The monitor beside him flashes erratically and unstable vitals.

His body is still, too still.

The line between life and loss is thinner than paper.

“Closed head trauma” Mingyu states, “Glasgow-Come-Scale on nine. He needs a CT scan immediately. Neuro has been paged ?”

“They’re en route!” a resident hurries past, flushed and breathless.

“Good” Mingyu murmurs, “Not fast enough, but good”

The next emergency that comes forward the triage is a different one. The wheels groan under the weight, paramedics rush alongside the stretcher with sweat glistening on their brows and hands stained with half-dried blood. The straps hold tight a man that looks to be in his early thirties, body slumped but tensed in pain. His shirt has been shredded open at the chest, soaked in both blood and dust, exposing a ribcage marred by blunt impact. There’s gauze pressed against his forehead but fresh blood leaks from beneath it, threading into his dark hair.

He groans, a low garbled sound of pain and effort, of someone trying to stay tethered to consciousness.

“Male, thirty-two” one of the paramedics reports quickly. “His name is Xu Minghao, Chinese national, one of the teacher presents on the bus. Glasgow-Come-Scale fourteen on site. He is alert but disoriented, blunt force trauma to the head and chest. Suspected rib fractures. His vitals are unstable, blood pressure dropping fast. We’re worried about a cardiac tamponade —”

Mingyu’s head jerks toward the stretcher as he steps closer the teacher to get a clearer picture. Dust streaks down the man’s cheeks, a purple bruise blooms under his right eye, lips are cracked and bleeding. He’s breathing in shallow gasps, each inhale more uneven than the last, while one hand clenches weakly at the sheet as if that alone anchors him.

Mingyu scans his vitals and glances toward the heart monitor flashing irregularly, then he twists sharply on his heel. “Wonwoo!” he calls.

From across the bay, Wonwoo pushes past a group of interns with gloves already put half-on. His eyes meet Mingyu’s reading everything in a second, no further words are exchanged between them if not the immediate and clinical recognition. Mingyu doesn’t explain the case, he just steps aside and let Wonwoo takes his place at the patient’s side without hesitation.

“Pupils equal and reactive” Wonwoo starts examining him, eyes scanning the patient’s face as his fingers glide down his sternum. “Left side bruising, no crepitus. Breath sounds diminished, left side especially. No subcutaneous emphysema. Jugular vein distension present…” he lifts his head glancing at Mingyu. “Could be a hemothorax with effusion. Possible tamponade, like they said, but I’ll confirm it only with a FAST”

“Here, Dr. Jeon” a nurse says, already handing over the portable ultrasound.

The tension between them escalates into pure clinical momentum as they work in sync, each gesture feeding into the next. Mingyu adjusts the patient’s IV access and glances at the monitor while Wonwoo works quickly and applies the probe, shifting the angle to get a substernal view. The screen lights up with the grainy interior landscape of a chest cavity, the blood pressure is 82/50, too low, and even his skin is growing pale beneath the grime.

“There —” Wonwoo points at the monitor with a finger, “There’s a moderate pericardial effusion, it’s compressing the right ventricle”

Mingyu steps in, peering at the shifting grain of the scan. “Is the fluid echo-dense?”

Wonwoo adjusts the probe slightly, the black halo around the heart shifts with the image. “Mixed” he confirms. “Darker in parts but there’s density likely blood. This tamponade will arrest him if we wait. We need to relieve the pressure as soon as possible”

“Okay” Mingyu nods once, “If you feel like it’s necessary then prepare for the ultrasound-guided needle. I will assist you”

There’s no clash of authority and no second-guessing between them, no time wasted in the tug-of-war that usually accompanies their shared responsibility, neither fights for control. There’s only instinct sharpened by urgency and a rare fleeting alignment that leave behind the dominance of their roles. The moment demands teamwork and they both rise to meet it.

Like a current that straightens out midstream, their movements begin to mirror one another, guided not by competition but by the quiet choreography of two minds tuned to the same frequency. There is no discussion of who leads as the rhythm settles into place, as Mingyu and Wonwoo move like trained hands over a single instrument, one adjusting, the other delivering.

Mingyu steadies the patient’s arm, fingers anchoring a body that trembles just beneath the skin. Across from him, Wonwoo calls for lidocaine and a spinal needle, his voice steady while his eyes never leave the screen. Around them, triage blurs to the periphery, the space around them narrows fades to a muffled buzz as the two doctors anchor themselves around a heart trapped in its own blood.

As soon as Wonwoo draws the local anesthetic to apply on his chest, beneath their hands teacher Minghao stirs faintly. It’s barely more than a tremble, a flick of muscle, then his eyes open in slow movements. He tries to speak but what comes out is a dry rasp, barely more than a breath. Soft syllables tumble from his lips in faint chinese, Wonwoo leans closer but neither he nor Mingyu understand.

The man licks his lips, struggling with pain, “Are… the children okay ?” this time he whispers in halting Korean.

His voice fractures on the last word and that kind of selflessness guts Mingyu more than he expects because Xu Minghao — bloodied, bruised, unable to sit or breathe properly without pain — doesn’t even ask about himself, not about his injuries or if he’s going to live. He only asks about the kids, as if their protection and well-being is his only duty and concern on earth.

Something too deep to brace for. Too honest to ignore.

“Please…” he keeps whispering, forcing himself. “Are— are they…”

“They’re in good hands” Mingyu leans in, “We’re doing everything we can. We’ll keep doing that, I promise”

Minghao nods faintly and his gaze steadies on him just for a moment. It’s glassy, aching but grateful enough as the line between pain and relief softens around his eyes. His shoulders finally ease, just a little, and he exhales a shaky breath as he lets himself falling back into the stretcher.

Mingyu keeps one hand on his wrist, feeling the faint pulse under his fingers, then he looks up meeting Wonwoo’s eyes. Something quieter than duty passes between them, heavier than fatigue. A mutual understanding about what it means to be responsible for others, to bear living weight in their own hands.

“Take him inside” Mingyu says softly, “Stay with him, please. Do what is necessary and make sure he gets his breath back at least. I’ll reach to you as soon as I can”

They hold each other’s gaze for a breath longer than necessary, locked in a moment that has nothing to do with monitors or medical protocol but with trust and maybe something deeper still unnamed.

“I will” Wonwoo just says and somehow those words for Mingyu feel more like a promise than a reply. He then turns to a nurse, “We’re taking him in the emergency room, notify Neuro and my Cardio team. He has a head concussion, FAST confirmed also a tamponade with possible hemothorax. I want sterile trays on standby for an immediate pericardiocentesis procedure”

The stretcher begins to roll inside, pushed gently toward the corridor. The wheels click softly against the floor, a muted rhythm that seems almost too quiet for the urgency trailing behind it. Minghao lies still beneath the sheets, his breathing shallow, the flutter of his eyelids faint but restless. His head turns slightly, tilted in the direction of the voice that had steadied him just moments before, as if reaching for it one last time before the hallway swallows him whole.

Wonwoo walks beside him, one hand rests lightly on the side rail of the gurney to get it steady. Mingyu watches them disappear past the triage threshold, the white coats fading into the pale wash of hospital light. His body doesn’t move but something in his chest shifts unexpectedly. It’s his heart skipping a beat, stuttering a little before getting back into a regular rhythm. It's just the adrenaline of his job, he thinks, the fear of failing in the face of such a massive emergency. It's perhaps something else, more subtle, and Mingyu only realizes it when it happens, that slight internal shaking as if something inside him is moved by a sudden force that he often can't predict.

Wonwoo had made a promise and Mingyu knows, with absolute certainty, that he will keep it. There’s something solid and grounding in the trust he places in Wonwoo, like gravity that keeps him centered. It settles in Mingyu’s chest like an assurance, anchoring him without burdening, almost making the whole chaos around him feeling manageable.

Mingyu moves through his tasks efficiently, eyes scanning the incoming medical records of every small patient arriving in triage. He checks vitals, flags abnormalities, inputs updates, and each movement are precise, his mind sharp despite the fatigue. Luckily for him, additional doctors have begun to filter in. The residents are responsive and capable, woking magnificently to the demands of the shift and for a brief moment things feel almost manageable, until the urgent voice of a nurse breaks Mingyu’s concentration.

“Dr. Kim!” she calls him, breathless and eyes wide, “There’s an emergency in operating room 2. Pediatric thoracic trauma with unstable vitals. Surgery team needs you now!”

Mingyu leaves no room for further questions. There’s no hesitation in his movement as his instincts kick in before the whole case is even fully processed, straightening with the urgency that slams into his chest like muscle memory. He pivots mid-strides, his footsteps fall fast and clipped against the floor, echoing in rhythm with the chaos around him. Voices crackle over pagers, surgical teams maneuver through double doors, the hospital speaks in a language of speed and necessity and Mingyu is fluent in every syllable of it.

By the time he reaches the scrub station outside the operating room, his pulse is racing and adrenaline is blooming quietly beneath his skin. He washes quickly but never careless. Every movement is well calibrated, every second shaved without compromising precision as his fingers are ready to cut and correct.

Inside the room, the lights blaze white across the field and the surgical team instinctively parts as he enters. On the table lies a motionless girl, too small, too stiff, her limbs are pale against the sterile drapes, skin in a fragile contrast of pallor and iodine-stained gold. Her chest rises irregularly under the ventilator’s rhythm, an unmistakable sign of lung collapse, her lips are tinged faintly blue and electrodes are scattered across her arms and clavicle as the monitor above her beeps in an irregular rhythm.

“She came in with shallow respirations” the anesthesiologist reports quickly, eyes never leaving the monitors. “Blunt thoracic trauma. We’re seeing rib fractures, minimum two, one may have perforated the lung. Oxygenation compromised and dropped to 86%. We placed a chest tube during transport but air leakage persisted. No signs of improvement by now”

“Blood pressure ?” Mingyu asks as he steps closer, already assessing the field.

“82 over 48, sir.”

“Too low. For how long has she been like this ?”

“Estimated fifteen minutes”

It’s worse than he expected but Mingyu doesn’t flinch of an inch. His voice stays calm, cutting through the tension. “Let’s not make it sixteen, then” he says. “We’re opening”

Mingyu wears double pair of gloves, the familiar snap of latex marking the threshold between preparation and action, and approaches the operating table with his gaze sharp and focused while the rest of the room fades into a peripheral blur. Around him only the humming of sterile machinery — the suction pump, the rhythmic hiss of the ventilator, the whisper of the filtration system above his head — but none of it particularly moves him.

His world and field of vision narrows to the small body struggling for survival in front of him and the urgent precision needed to save it.

“Scalpel” he says, commanding.

The blade is pressed into his palm and Mingyu draws a clean incision along the left lateral chest wall, just beneath the child’s armpit and following the intercostal space. The skin parts under the sharp familiar weight, followed swiftly by the subcutaneous fat, then fascia, each layer of skin surrendering in practiced succession.

A thin welling of blood rises but it’s not excessive and not alarmingly, the fractured rib is easy to find. It juts sharply into the pleural cavity, a jagged spearhead of bone stained dark with blood where it pierced tissue was never meant to touch. It has no place here, intruding where it shouldn’t. Beneath it, the lung is bruised and deflated like a balloon. Blood has already begun to collect in the pleural space, pooling in a dark mirror under the surgical lights.

“Suction” Mingyu calls, already anticipating the next step. “Retractor”

His assistant responds instantly. The rib spreader is placed with care as the field widens. Instruments arrive in his hands as if summoned from thought and Mingyu works quickly, each movement a product of deeply ingrained instinct. The hiss and gurgle of the suction wand fills the air as he clears the space, revealing the glistening pink-grey tissue of the lung, deflating slightly with each attempt to expand.

“Two broken ribs” he mutters, “Fourth and fifth, compound fracture. One has pierced the upper lobe of the left lung, the other’s pressing close against the heart but there’s no penetration” Mingyu inspects the segment closely, “The vascular compromise is minimal. We can save the lobe since the injury is localized”

“She is bleeding into the cavity, Dr. Kim” one of the assistance notices.

“Yes, the lung has partially collapsed and the ventilation is insufficient” he confirms, “We need to suture the parenchyma immediately before she tips into full hypoxia”

Even as he speaks, Mingyu’s hands are already moving reaching for the needle driver. Every second for him is oxygen, every movement is borrowed time.

His hands are firm as he ties each stitch with a confidence and precision gained only from years spent in the operating room. The lung tissue is fragile beneath his fingers, wet and stretchy like trying to suture wet silk without tearing it. Each pass of the needle risks doing more harm than good but Mingyu’s touch is patient and delicate. He’s not just closing a wound but preserving breathing, restoring a child’s ability to live.

Once the bleeding is contained and the lobe starts to regain form, Mingyu shifts focus to the fractured rib which the second one is dangerously close to the pericardium, its jagged tip hovers the proximity without contact.

“Clamp it at the base” he gives instructions, “If it shifts during extraction, we risk breaching the sac”

The assistant complies instantly and the clamp bites down at the rib’s root, stabilizing it. Mingyu takes hold of the splintered fragment with forceps, easing it out inch by inch. He pulls along the fracture’s axis, guiding the bone free without letting it graze the tissue beneath.

His voice is composed as he guides his team but beneath it there is a subtle tension, the kind that comes from holding a life still with threads and seconds. Mingyu returns to the lung repair, first doing a row of absorbable stitches to anchor the torn, then a second thinner layer to reinforce the outer edge. The organ trembles in his hands but is starting to hold its shape.

Halfway through the procedure, the monitor stutters, a flat beep followed by a drop in pressure.

"Volume status ?" Mingyu asks, never taking his eyes off the field.

"Low" the anesthesiologist replies. "Second transfusion just started, fluids are running. Vasopressors on standby”

"She'll come back stronger" he murmurs, not as a hope but as a certainty. "We're almost there”

He ties the last stitch and leans back slightly, scanning the whole field. The bleeding has slowed to a dull flow, controlled and expected, the lung now rises with less resistance as well as the chest tube sucks cleanly with no more air bubbles.

Finally a small and crucial victory.

"Let's reassess" he says.

Mingyu irrigates thoroughly, checking for hemostasis one last time before beginning to close. Each layer is returned with reverent care — intercostal muscles, fascia, subcutis, skin — even though the vision emotionally hurts him and he just can’t bear the fact that such a small body might already know the taste of trauma.

When even the final suture is tied, Mingyu steps back stripping off his gloves slowly. His fingers ache with the quiet tension he hadn’t allowed himself to feel until now as the heart monitor ticks steadily behind him, regular waves pulsing in clean green lines. Her vitals hover just above the danger line. The girl’s chest rises more easily now beneath the ventilator like her body is finally agreeing to fight again.

“She’s stable. Oxygen sats are rising and no signs of fluid in the cavity” Mingyu reports after a final glance, checking once more for residual bleeding before giving a short nod to his team, “She’ll need pediatric intensive care monitoring, serial imaging and keep the chest drain in place for now. I’ll come checking on her tonight”

“Yes, Dr. Kim” the attending nurse replies, already noting his instructions.

Mingyu pulls his mask down for the first time since entering and wipes a bead of sweat from his brow with the crook of one elbow. He peels off his surgical gown next, tugging the ties at the nape of his neck and waist. The fabric falls away in a soft rustle, revealing scrubs soaked through along the spine. The front is speckled with smears, blood, antiseptic, a line of iodine across his forearm where the brush had missed. He shrugs it off in one motion, folds it by habit then discards it into the linen bin.

He’s been in the operating theater for close to three hours now. He hasn’t eaten, hasn’t sat, but it’s not exhaustion that follows him out the door rather a much heavier concerning. Mingyu steps out into the hallway of the hospital after scrubbing out and changing his clothes, then he reaches the nurses’ station resting his forearm on the tall desk, his posture sagging just enough to betray the day’s toll.

“Morning Dr. Kim” Nari looks up as he approaches, “That was yours in there ? Tough surgery ?”

“Complicated but manageable” Mingyu smiles faintly, “Any update on Xu Minghao’s conditions ? The teacher from the bus accident ?”

Nari looks up him but her expression tightens before she flicks the chart in front of her.

“Right… about him” she hesitates a little, “So uhm… during his initial assessments, his oxygenation and vitals suddenly dropped and he had a cardiac failure. The cardio team managed to bring him back in time but the follow-up scans weren’t encouraging. There’s significant damage they didn’t catch before, like a massive pneumothorax and some cardiac valvular involvement as well”

In Mingyu’s mind, the anatomy assembles itself without effort. Lungs flooded with air where air doesn’t belong, pressure around the heart, shearing trauma to the delicate valves. It’s like a time bomb ticking in the dark, a silent catastrophe hidden beneath skin and bones.

“They rushed him to the operating room around a hour and half ago. He’s still inside”

Mingyu exhales sharply through his nose, one hand bracing against the counter. “Who’s leading ?”

“Dr. Jeon” she replies.

His name hits harder than it should and Mingyu’s breath catches before his mind can even form a real reason. Something cold and coiled slips beneath his ribs, slides up along his spine and settles there almost refusing to let go.

“Okay, thanks” he barely manages to say before turning on his heel and rushing straight to the operating room.

His instinct screams at him to push through the double doors but by the time he rounds the corner, the red light above room 4 signals him that the entry is locked and sterile sealed.

His pulse pounds louder in his ears as Mingyu takes the stairs two at a time with a burn in his chest grown from something restless and unspoken, too wide to name and far too deep to ignore. He shoves open the doors to the observation gallery and stops short on the railing. The room below is a world of harsh light and stark contrast, clean whites and clinical silvers, gleaming tools and red-streaked drapes.

The team surrounding Wonwoo works in wordless coordination, each member attuned to the rhythm he sets. The scrub nurse places instruments into his hands as nearby the anesthesiologist monitors vitals with furrowed brows, eyes flicking between screens to keep the situation under control. Another resident stands shoulder-to-shoulder with Wonwoo, arms locked in place as they retract tissue, muscles taut with the quiet knowledge of what’s at stake, of what failure feels like when it takes on a human face.

At the center of it all, head of the operating table, Wonwoo stays unnervingly composed. His posture is taut, his shoulders are tense, every part of him is focused and anchored as he is deep inside the sternum cavity now. One hand carefully guiding the pericardium aside, the other navigating the maze of vessels and valves with the precision that can only be earned through countless hours spent among those sterile walls.

Behind the gallery glass, Mingyu presses his forearm against the railing as his eyes lock onto the scene below and Wonwoo’s silhouette framed beneath the surgical lights. Every detail is clear, every movement is unmistakable. There’s no sign of haste and indecision on Wonwoo’s face, he is not fumbling for time nor chasing it, rather he is shaping it and sculpting every second with his practiced hands.

Nothing he does is wasted. No gesture is too much or too little. Mingyu looks at him adjusting the suction tube, then shifting the forceps in the same smooth motion. His face is half-hidden behind the surgical mask but Mingyu knows that expression by heart. It’s the one forged in high-stakes moments, the one he’s worn himself when he has control under pressure.

Wonwoo isn’t just leading the surgery in that moment. He’s orchestrating the entire room with an authority that binds the team around him tighter than any formal command could. No one interrupts or questions him, they follow his lead because they trust him not just for his academic title rather of what his hands have proven capable of, what his judgment has earned in the hardest moments.

And looking at him now, Mingyu sees it all.

The control. The clarity. The quiet weight that Wonwoo bears without faltering, as if the chaos of the world bends around him and not the other way around.

Something stirs in him. It’s small at first, almost imperceptible but it pierces through the fog of clinical detachment like light through water. A sharp glint of something he hasn’t allowed himself to feel in a long time. Admiration, someone else might have called it. Pride, he realizes instead even though he tries to reframe it as nothing more than professional respect for a colleague in his element. But that feeling doesn’t fade easily, it grows even more rooting deeply and refusing to go away.

Mingyu stays where he is, caught in the hush of the gallery above, watching the maestro conducting his orchestra.

Then it happens fast, too fast for words.

One second the surgical field is well controlled, the next one blood erupt across the drapes in a violent surge, dark and arterial. Alarms shriek to life piercing the stillness with urgency, a nurse stumbles back, her eyes wide with panic as she fumbles for more gauze. The suction line can’t keep up and fluid floods the entire cavity. The monitors spike chaotically then flatline hits in a single unbroken tone.

The heart has stopped.

For a breathless moment, the entire room seems to freeze. Instruments hang in midair, gazes dart between the team members stunned and scrutinizing. It’s not a hesitation born of ignorance but of the weight of watching a life unfold in real time without warning. From above, Mingyu holds his breath as the sound of the flat line pierces his skull. His hands tighten even more around the railing until his knuckles are turning white.

“Shit, shit…” he mutters through clenched teeth. “Come on"

Through the chaos he sees Wonwoo moving in an immediate control. He doesn’t shout but his instructions are clear enough to cut through the noise. His hands are already in action, one applying direct pressure to the bleed while the other guides the suction tube into the flooded cavity.

The field begins to clear even though blood still wells around his fingers. Wonwoo reaches into the open chest to start the internal cardiac massage with a firm rhythm, as he also calls out directives to his team.

“Draw one milligram epinephrine, keep compressions and monitor vitals. I want that area clear!”

Around him the scrub nurse steadies her hands, the anesthesiologist snaps into motion, relaying vitals and preparing the bolus. Retractors shift as the panic dissipates not because the crisis is over but because Wonwoo has anchored them all. Mingyu stares down with his breath caught somewhere between his chest and throat. His heart pounds harder than the flatline below, a drumming echo that makes it hard to even think.

Without meaning to, a memory slips in as if drawn up from some quiet corner of Mingyu’s mind by all the tension. He sees Wonwoo years ago, younger and quieter, sitting slouched on a stiff bench in the on-call room. His surgical cap was still on, his fingers absently twisting it in his lap while he stared at the floor.

His voice had been uncertain, “I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle it when it’s about life or death. What if I make the wrong call ?” there’d been a long pause but Mingyu hadn’t moved from where he leaned against the far wall, arms folded across his chest. “The pressure is never going to go away, Wonwoo but that’s what keeps us sharp. And when the moment comes, you won’t freeze…you’ll rise to meet it”

Wonwoo hadn’t answered at times but when he finally looked up, a flicker of something new had taken root beneath the fear.

That version of him now, nervous and doubtful, is gone and the man standing in the operating room has become exactly what Mingyu always believed he would be.

Wonwoo leads the resuscitation like he’s done it a hundred times but with a presence that makes this feel different. His movements are fast, his instructions decisive. He leans into the pressure without breaking, sculpting chaos into order as around him the team syncs to his rhythm.

The seconds stretch into something endless and the monitor jumps from sound to sound.

The tone suddenly changes, it fades and resolves into the intermittent but soft beep of a heart trying to beat again. Wonwoo doesn’t relax, not yet, he keeps going on with the compressions for a few more beats as his eyes are fixed on the monitor wait for the rhythm to stabilize. It happens, at last, and finally after whole two minutes a sinus rhythm flares to life on the screen.

The heart speaks of survival and starts resuming its work in a fragile heartbeat back again.

The tension in the room eases, melting like ice under sunlight. The collective breath held by the entire team releases all at once in a silent exhale that softens shoulders and steadies hands. The scrub nurse, who had frozen just moments before, swipes at her cheek with the back of her gloved hand, the anesthesiologist glances toward the heart monitor and gives a single nod.

No words are needed because everyone sees it.

The worst is over.

Up above, Mingyu exhales a breath that feels like it’s being dragged out from somewhere deep inside his ribs. He hadn’t realized how tightly he’d been holding it, how long the pressure had been building in his chest, but now it leaves him in a quiet rush, taking the edge off the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. His hands fall from the railing touching the glass and for a moment he forgets that there’s a barrier between them because everything Mingyu feels is too close, too real to be separated by anything.

Wonwoo doesn’t look up at first. He stays composed and entirely focused on the last stages of the surgery. His fingers work carefully, closing the chest layer by layer with no hint of rush, and when the final stitch is secured, when the bleeding is controlled and the heart beneath his hands continues to beat, he pauses to make sure everything is on place.

Only in that moment he lifts his head.

His gaze finds the observation gallery without searching as if he is drawn by something instinctive, an invisible thread that makes his eyes meeting Mingyu’s through the glass. Wonwoo looks at him for a few seconds then he lifts one gloved hand, still stained and trembling from effort, and offers him a simple thumb up. Just a wordless message passed between surgeons who know exactly what that final moment means.

He made it, he is alive.

Mingyu watches him and quietly nods.

He lingers only a moment longer in the gallery, eyes still fixed on the white-lit operating theater below as if it might reveal something more but nothing actually moves and Mingyu turns away as soon as the red light above the room has faded. Outside the hospital hallways feels oddly distant, each footsteps lands soft on the floor echoing down the stairs and corridor as he lets his body lead the way toward the locker room like muscle memory.

The little space is quiet when he enters, it greets him with silence, as the cold blue-white glow of the fluorescents casts harsh shadows across the lockers and benches. Mingyu lowers himself onto one of those, elbows braced against his knees and hands clasped loosely between them.

The tension hasn’t left his body, it mixes with adrenaline, and Mingyu tries to shake the phantom weight off his shoulders. Then after few long minutes, the door creaks open and he glances up to see Wonwoo stepping in.

He is still in his green scrub, the surgical cap is balled up in one hand as the other presses against the doorframe as if to steady himself before letting it fall shut behind him. He doesn't speak at first and Mingyu doesn't need him to. It's all written in the slump of his shoulders, the pallor in his face, the dark hollows beneath his eyes.

He looks like someone who went to war and came back with just enough breath left to say they survived.

“How did it go ?” Mingyu asks after a moment, “I saw… something happened in there. What was it ?”

Wonwoo’s gaze lifts to him and he slowly walks over to sit down, not beside Mingyu exactly but close enough. “He had… an anterior leaflet rupture” he explains, “The impact must have been devastating, it tore the chordae tendineae and the mitral valve just gave out. Left ventricle couldn’t compensate, we stopped the bleeding and stabilized him temporarily but he is going to need another surgery once he’s strong enough to take it”

Mingyu listens but his eyes are on him more than the words. He has watched Wonwoo in countless operations during his career, at his sharpest, his coldest, his most combative, but never like this.

Mingyu has never seen the cracks over the surface, not the real demons hunting him.

Wonwoo’s hands tremble faintly in his lap, knuckles scraped beneath the edges of his gloves. His shoulders are tight, posture curled inward like he’s still bracing for something to go wrong. He has always been a fortress, calculating, ruthless in his precision but right now, he looks like someone holding rubble together with his bare hands.

Without warning Wonwoo leans forward and for a second Mingyu thinks he is just adjusting, maybe trying to stand up properly but instead, slowly, he shifts his weight and angles closer, letting his forehead resting against his shoulder.

The contact is featherlight, barely there, but it slams into Mingyu like a thunderclap deep in his core.

For a heartbeat, he forgets how to move as his whole body locks.

This is a completely uncharted territory, not the way they usually exist. They’re meant to trade barbs across scrub sinks, challenge each other’s every move, burn at opposite ends of the same fire. Instead Wonwoo, the same man who used to challenge him in the OR like every scalpel was a sword, is now breathing against his shoulder close enough to feel the warmth through the fabric.

The same man who once said, “Try to keep up with me” with that infuriating smirk, is now folded in on himself beside Mingyu like the air’s been knocked out of him.

“I thought I was going to lose him” he says, voice barely more than a whisper. “I’ve never felt it like that before, the fear… not like this at least”

Here Wonwoo is.

Not the cold surgeon, not the arrogant name scrawled beside his in competitive silence on the OR board. Just a man unraveling at the edges, exhausted and afraid, trusting Mingyu with the soft part of himself that never shows. His throat tightens as the confession lands heavy, they have spent years circling each other like rivals but here now the war feels far away, what’s left is raw, and Mingyu — who had once wanted to beat him, outshine him, undo him — is suddenly afraid to breathe too loud next to him.

His shoulder tingles beneath the weight of that small surrender, the scent of antiseptic still clings to Wonwoo’s skin but underneath it, Mingyu catches something more familiar and human. He slowly raises a hand, cautiously as if the moment might shatter if he moves too fast, his fingers hovering behind Wonwoo’s neck for a moment before finally making contact. His palm settles against the damp nape as Mingyu starts to rub slow gentle circles into the tension knotted deep into his muscle.

Wonwoo doesn’t flinch from the contact, he just breathes shallow.

“You were incredible in there” Mingyu murmurs and he means it. There’s no performance in the praise, no habit or duty. The words come out firmer than he expects but they carry more admiration than he means to show. He’s not just talking about the technique but about the composure, the resolve, the terrifying beauty of watching someone he cares for stand on the edge and not fall.

Wonwoo doesn’t reply right away, he just exhales and stays there breathing against Mingyu’s shoulder letting the moment be what it is. He doesn’t even say thank you but Mingyu knows he doesn’t need to. The way he leans in just a little more says enough for him already.

Mingyu feels his heart pounding crazily against his ribcage, not from adrenaline this time but from proximity, the sheer dissonance of this moment, from how close they’ve always been and yet never like this with the walls down.

Never with him leaning in, not leaning away.

Eventually Mingyu lets his hand fall away, his thumb dragging lightly across the back of Wonwoo’s neck one last time before retreating.

“You should shower” he murmurs gently, “Go home and rest while you can”

Wonwoo nods slowly, “Yeah” he says barely above a whisper, “Yeah… I should do that”

“I’m staying the night” Mingyu adds, “I’ll keep an eye on him and update you if anything changes”

“Okay. Thank you”

A brief silence stretches as the ghost of contact still hovers between them in the space where their bodies touched, in the heat that hasn’t yet faded from Mingyu’s shoulder. Wonwoo straightens and stands, walks toward the showers without looking back and Mingyu watches him with a tight heart and a dry throat until the door closes and the sound of his footsteps disappears behind it.

Only then, when he is finally alone, Mingyu lets the weight of the moment wash over him. He sits there for a long time staring into the void, trying not to picture again the precise shape of Wonwoo’s tiredness, not to chase his warmth that still clings to his shirt. But for a heartbeat, ​​just a brief one long enough to be dangerous, he lets his barriers drop and the mask slip.

Mingyu set all down, the practiced detachment, the professionalism, the competitive pride that has always defined the space between them, and lets himself remember what it felt like to trust in the unspoken plea to be held up without asking, the flicker of something soft breaking through all the steel and fire they had always wrapped themselves in.

He wonders what the hell just happened for him to give in. And worse, what it means that he doesn’t want to pretend it was meaningless. Because it’s nothing, it has always been nothing.

That’s the story he has told themselves a hundred times but the truth stirs somewhere and it doesn’t feel like anything he knows how to carry, either.

So Mingyu just sits there, caught in the ghost of something he isn’t ready to name but decides anyway to leave behind.

The locker room grows distant behind him, its quiet intensity is replaced by the more familiar rhythm of the hospital’s daytime pulse. He doesn’t look back as he walks the corridors with practiced ease, and though a flicker of something nameless and unresolved lingers in his chest, he sets it down with the same determination he applies to moving forward and throwing himself into everything else.

There’s work to be done. And work, at least, he knows how to hold it.

The pediatric wing hums with life by mid-morning.

Laughter echoes faintly from one room, punctuated by the occasional newborns’ sharp cry of discomfort. The nurses greet Mingyu with smiles and clipped updates which he listens to intently, jotting notes on his tablet as he moves from one room to another. There are new arrivals in the ward, children from the early bus accident, others from overnight emergencies and usual long-term patients waiting for check-ins whose eyes light up the moment they see the amazing Dr. Kim, as if he is their hospital super-hero.

Mingyu crouches down next to a boy with a broken arm, gently lifting the cast to check the circulation. The child’s face scrunches up in pain but Mingyu distracts him with a casual joke, telling him that if he stays strong enough to fully heal in a few weeks, he might just join the next Avengers. The boy sniffles, a hiccup of laughter escapes him, and there in that little sound Mingyu is able to find his whole existence.

The reason why he keeps giving hope to these kids.

In the next room, he balances a chart in one hand while a toddler in footie pajamas pulls at the lanyard around his neck like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. Mingyu lets her tug it for a while, never breaking concentration even when she drools on his coat while he listens to her little back and bronchitis breath through the stethoscope.

Later, in the dim quiet of early evening, he lets a teen recovering from abdominal surgery beat him at Go Fish even though he’s holding the winning card. Mingyu also goes visiting a young girl who can’t sleep because her nebulizer makes too much noise. He makes shadow puppets on the wall, telling her a story with his hands about a cat who lost the moon and had to chase it through the sky. The girl giggles under her oxygen mask when he makes playful voices, her little body relaxing as the story continues until her eyelids feel heavy and she eventually falls asleep.

Mingyu is happy to know that hours later her stats slowly begin to raise back again.

Every interaction, every laugh, and every relieved parent who finds a glimmer of safety in his presence, brings him back down to earth. It reminds him that this life is worth everything he gave up to get there, the real reason he has always given his all for those children who give him back a duplicate by saving him without even knowing it.

Mingyu never cared for his name on plaques or whispered accolades in the hallway. He is not a man for praises, not even for recognition, but he can see good in those sweet eyes that look up at him from hospital beds, in the fingers that wrap around his, trusting without question. And that kind of goodness is what makes him believe in something bigger than himself, something better than the world he came from.

Because through their innocence, Mingyu sees a version of the world he never had the chance to know and every time he saves a little soul, it's like he's saving a little part of himself too.

Nothing has been easy for him. Mingyu has never been given anything in return in his life.

He grew up in an environment of pure discipline with his parents strict and strongly devoted to tradition and heritage, and as a child, the concept of love wasn’t something that was given freely but it had to be earned with honor. There were rules in his house, countless, unyielding, and expectations heavier than any textbook he had ever carried.

His father had built a business from the ground up, brick by brick, and he expected Mingyu to follow in his footsteps without hesitation. Medicine ? It wasn’t part of the plan. It was too emotional, too uncertain, and Mingyu still remembers his voice cold and as hard as steel, “This path isn’t for people like you. You’re too weak, you won’t survive in a field like that”

The family business had a place for him.

It was neat, safe, predictable. Stable.

But it wasn’t his at all.

His parents had expected Mingyu to give up his dream as growing up and when he refused to back down from his admission to college, the consequences came swift and cold.

No support. No money. No guidance.

Mingyu remembers the long late nights spent working in the back room of a restaurant where he washed dishes until his hands were raw and the smell of grease clung to his clothes like a second layer, the stiffness in his spine from standing too long, the ache in his shoulders, the exhaustion so deep it blurred the edges of his vision by the time he got to his dorm only to open his textbook and study until dawn.

He remembers when during the day, he babysat for strangers, bouncing toddlers on his knee while reviewing flashcards of muscle groups or whispering cardiac rhythms under his breath as he rocked a baby to sleep. His voice learned to soothe tantrums, all while memorizing lectures recorded on his phone during their naps. The grind was relentless, sleep became a luxury, hot meals a memory. He missed birthdays, campus parties, simple dinners with classmates.

He barely let himself hope for anything beyond passing the next exam.

He paid for tuition bit by bit, hoarding paychecks like treasure and saving enough to keep himself afloat without asking a single dime from his parents. Pride wouldn’t allow it, not after the fights, the disappointment in his father's voice. Not after being told that he was too impulsive, too headstrong “You’ll burn out” his father kept saying like it was a certainty. “You don’t have the discipline. You want too much just too fast”

Mingyu had walked away from that conversation without a word. But he never forgot it.

He studied on crowded subway rides, pages of handwritten notes balanced on his knees. He skipped meals so he could buy secondhand textbooks, dog-eared and marked by others who had come before him. Professors looked at him like he was just too brash, classmates dismissed him as the loud one in the back row all brawn and no brains. And sometimes, when he sat alone in the library at 2 a.m. surrounded by silence and fatigue, he even wondered if they were right.

But Mingyu kept going.

Through failures, through insecurity, through a tiredness that emptied his chest and left his bones aching. He never stopped.

And yet... now, here he is.

Walking through the pediatric ward with a stethoscope draped around his neck, an amazing academic career spent in the United States, and little voices calling his name with the kind of trust that pierces straight through the armor he built.

Every fever he brings down, every child he takes care of, every steady heartbeat he hears through his scope for Mingyu is important. It grounds him because these children, fragile and strong in the same breath, remind him why he clawed his way here. They remind him that there is good in the world, that healing isn't just for the body but it’s also for the soul.

It has never been easy, Mingyu knows that, and despite everything he has never received a letter from home. Never heard his parents say “We’re proud of you” as the silence from that part of his life is deafening but he has learned to live with it by now.

He doesn’t expect applause anymore, he simply doesn’t need it.

Because the moment a tiny hand slips into his and trusts him to make things better, that’s enough for him.

More than enough.

And now, with the first light of dawn painting faint gold across the pale hospital walls, Mingyu sits in the stillness of the ward’s small guard room. The chaos of the night has passed but the echo of it lingers somewhere into his bones. Outside the hospital begins to stir back to life, machines humming, nurses changing shifts, light footsteps in the hallway but here, for a rare moment, there is quiet.

He leans back in the armchair, mind both buzzing and heavy with the weight of the past hours. In his lap he holds a small bloodstained origami swan, creased a little unevenly, fragile at the wings. The paper is stiff where dried blood clings to its edges but Mingyu cradles it with something like reverence. It had been pressed into his hand by a girl no older than eleven, while she was waiting for him to visit her in the back of the trauma unit. She had clutched his sleeve after he checked her pulse and whispered, “You’re like a hero, Dr. Kim” her voice barely rising above the beeping monitors.

Mingyu isn’t a hero. Not really.

He’s not the kind of man who saves the world. He’s not flawless or fearless or even whole but he is someone who never gave up, not when he had every reason to, not when the world tried to grind him down. And somehow, some way, that’s been enough. Enough to hold that child’s hand to keep her breathing. Enough to be here, still standing.

He turns the swan slowly in his hands, fingers tracing its soft folds, when the door creaks open with a gentle groan.

“Still awake ?” comes a familiar voice.

Areum steps in without waiting for a response with two steaming cups in her hands. Her hair is pulled up in a loose bun, her navy scrubs rumpled. She crosses the room in a few soft steps, setting one of the cups down beside him on the small side table. Then, with practiced ease, she bends down and presses a light affectionate kiss to the top of his head.

“I brought you coffee. Double shot of espresso with way too much sugar, just the way you like it” she says, “Thought it would help you survive the night”

Mingyu lets out a soft breath that’s almost a laugh, leaning into her affection hold just enough to let her know it’s welcome. “Thanks” he says, voice rough from disuse, emotion still raw beneath the surface.

Areum doesn’t ask questions, she never does, not until he’s ready. She just sits in front of him, taking a sip of her own drink and follows his gaze to the little paper swan cradled in his hand.

“A little gift from pediatrics ?” she nods toward the delicate creation cradled in Mingyu’s palm.

“Yeah” he smiles, fingers gently turning it over. “A thank-you from a very brave girl”

“I heard it was a rough day, emergency room was a mess”

Mingyu nods slowly. “There was a pileup of pediatric trauma on the expressway. We stabilized four... one had to go straight into surgery. Her blood pressure was tanking, severe abdominal bleed. It took me three hours but she’s okay now”

Areum takes a sip of her drink, watching him over the rim of the cup. “You managed it so well” she says without hesitation. “It could have been a complete catastrophe”

Mingyu shrugs, almost sheepish. “I just did what had to be done”

“That’s what makes you even greater”

He doesn't answer right away. He’s quiet, reflective as he takes a sip of that too-much sweet coffee too. “I also saw part of Wonwoo’s surgery today. His patient coded mid-operation, full-blown rupture in the mitral valve”

“Oh I heard that” she nods, “They said it was quite intense”

“It was more than intense” Mingyu agrees, shaking his head with something close to awe. “He was incredible. Controlled, efficient. He didn’t even blink once”

Areum lets out a little grin, “Jeon Wonwoo could do backflips in the hallway and you would still say he was perfect”

“Shut up…” Mingyu scoffs, “That’s not true”

“Whatever makes you sleep at night, boy” she says having a sip behind a smirk, “I’m just saying that you’ve got that look in your eye”

“What look ?”

“The look of a man who has it so bad he is starting to romanticize cardiopulmonary resuscitation”

Mingyu rolls his eyes but laughs, the sound easing something tense in his chest. “He leaned on me today” he suddenly blurts, the words slipping out before he can stop them.

Areum’s teasing fades a little. “He what ?”

“Yeah” Mingyu smiles, “After the surgery, in the locker room. He looked… wrecked and he just... leaned on my shoulder for some comfort. Like… he didn’t even think about it”

“And you didn’t combust on the spot ?” she teases him.

Mingyu snorts, looking away. “Felt like it”

They laugh together for a moment but slowly the smile fades from Mingyu’s lips. His gaze drifts off again, toward nothing in particular, and the weight settles back onto his shoulders visible this time. Areum watches him closely, noticing that something is wrong in him, as if Mingyu in front of her had an urgent need to vent.

“I see you’re deeply lost in thought” she says, quieter now. “Is everything okay ? Despite the surgeries”

Mingyu hesitates, then exhales hard through his nose. “I don’t know” he admits, “It has been a very rough day and sometimes everything just feels… heavy. Like I’m carrying too much and I don’t even know what would happen if I dropped any of it. Expectations and responsibility are all on me and sometimes I’m scared I’ll miss something, that I might fail someone”

Areum nods trying to understand his turmoil and after a moment she puts down her coffee and shifts closer to him, moving to his side and curling an arm gently around his buff shoulders. Mingyu lets himself lean in, just a little, resting against her like someone trying to catch his breath.

She rubs slow circles over his back. “You once told me that dreams weren’t enough” she says softly. “That they don’t get you through the sleepless nights or the things you lose along the way”

“I remember” Mingyu whispers.

“Well” she chuckles slightly, “You’re fucking wrong about that, you know ?”

“I don’t think so”

“Yes, you do” she contests him, “I’ve seen you, Mingyu. I’ve watched you walk into rooms with no energy left and still fight like hell for every kid in there. I’ve seen you stay up through three shifts just to make sure a single mother doesn’t have to wait on her son’s chart. You say dreams aren’t enough but you’re out here breathing life into them every single day”

Mingyu swallows, his throat suddenly tight. “I just — Sometimes I wonder if it’s going to be worth it”

“It already is” she replies, “Even if no one ever gives you a medal or a thank-you note, it’s already worth it because of who you’ve become. Because you're still trying to be the best for these kids”

He nods barely and she leans her head lightly against his forehead. “You’re allowed to be tired, Mingyu. You’re allowed to doubt about a therapeutic plan or a diagnosis but don’t ever think for a second that you’re not doing enough here. Or worse, that you're alone in this because you’re not”

“I don’t know… Maybe it does. Maybe it’s just…” he exhales shakily. “Sometimes I think I’m trying to fix things I’ll never be able to fix properly”

“You can’t fix everything” she whispers softly, “But you are giving people something that no one ever gave you” he stills but she adds words more gently, “You’re giving them hope”

The silence that follows is tender, stretching out comfortably between them and full of things that don’t need to be said. Mingyu snuggles into her for comfort, “Thanks” he says, barely audible. “That helps”

“I know” Areum smiles softly, brushing a thumb along his cheek “What are best friends for, if not reminding you when you’re being an idiot ?”

Mingyu lets out a quiet laugh, the kind that doesn't quite reach his eyes but loosens something tight in his chest all the same. They sit there like that for a while, just two people holding space for one another in the soft wreckage of an exhausting day.

No drama. No pretense. No urgency at all. Just coffee, quiet affection and the ache of trying to do good in a world that never stops asking for more.

In that little corner of the hospital, between weight and warmth, between everything he gives and everything he still carries, Mingyu lets himself breathe.

And for now, for him, that’s enough.

Chapter Text

"Every time I'm ready to make a change
You turn around and fuck out all my brains
I ain't tryna fight fate, it's too late to save face"

The first sound Mingyu registers, as soon as he wakes up, is the quiet protest of his own bones.

A dull pop escapes his back when he rolls onto his side, his shoulder tingles with a warning when he moves too fast. Every joint creaks in resistance after a night spent twisted awkwardly on the narrow bed of the on-call room, too short for his tall frame, with a blanket that barely reached past his knees and a pillow as thin as sheet of paper.

He blinks groggily, sleep still clinging stubbornly to his limbs and maybe, looking closely, Mingyu does feel a little as if he had been sleeping curled up in a tuna can, a little crumpled, a little compressed and slightly salted by that prickly air.

The guard room around him is wrapped in a peculiar early morning hush. Only a faint hum coming from the neon overhead and a few distant murmurs that bounce down the hall to make him company. The night shift has just ended but the hospital, as always, never sleeps completely.

Mingyu sits on the edge of the bed and slowly stretches, emitting a guttural sound halfway between a yawn and a grumble, feeling every vertebrae clicking back into place. His hand scrapes through his hair sticking up at odd angles as he blinks around the dim room looking for his phone among the papers on a cluttered side table. He finds it under a chart, taps the screen noticing it’s barely 6 in the morning. He had nearly four hours of uninterrupted sleep and his pager hasn’t gone off even once which, by hospital standards, might as well be the equivalent of a luxurious holiday in the Maldives.

He gets up slowly, shaking off the muscles-ache as he stands. His face is puffy from the good nap, jaw shadowed with stubble, but he still has enough in the tank for one last quiet round through pediatrics before heading home to a proper shower and, if he’s lucky, a few more hours of sleep without the wail of sirens or the echo of screams of the day before.

On the counter of the small kitchenette, a wrapped chocolate muffin for breakfast awaits him sitting next to a paper cup and a post-it note scribbled in a familiar scrawl.

“Be gentle to yourself today — A”

Mingyu breathes a soft laugh through his nose, the corners of his mouth lifting faintly, “Yeah… be gentle” he murmurs, peeling the note free and staring at it for a moment too long before folding it neatly into his pocket like something worth keeping.

He eats with full-cheeks leaning against the counter, sipping also the warm coffee that warms him up from the inside out. The first few bites of the muffin taste sweeter than expected, probably because Areum picked it out knowing his weak spot for chocolate and his borderline obsession with Seungkwan’s cafeteria cakes. Afterward, Mingyu splashes cold water on his face chasing away the last wisps of sleep. He pats his cheeks dry with a paper towel, rakes a hand through his hair again and check the pocket of his scrub with ID badge, pens and pager, before heading out the guard room with his stethoscope slipped around his neck.

Outside the guard room, the soft chaos of the morning welcomes him even though the sweet and indulgent light of first dawn gives the appearance of a very peaceful day. Mingyu takes a deep breath before stepping into his hectic routine. It’s not exactly his kind of peace but it’s something close for him to have a good day. He is tired yes, his back is acting up but somehow he is ready to start a new round with a big smile plastered on his face.

In the corridor two bleary-eyed interns shuffle past each other with hollow nods, the silence between them is full with shared exhaustion; nurses move with quiet efficiency, steering breakfast trolleys down the corridors, the gentle clink of cutlery and the aroma of steamed rice and soup weaving through the sterile scent of disinfectant. Mingyu walks at a steady pace, eyes flicking between his iPad and the doors, reviewing overnight updates and adjusting treatment plans with the ease of someone used to balancing weariness with responsibility by now.

He stops in room 209 first, where a young boy with a gauze bandage wrapped snugly around his head is already awake. His brow are furrowed in deep concentration, a clipboard is propped against his knees with a paper beneath it and he is drawing in messy strokes, his tongue poking out slightly with effort.

Mingyu steps in quietly, the corners of his lips lifting into a gentle smile.

“Dr. Kim, you’re here!” the boy exclaims the moment he notices him, eyes lighting up with excitement. His bandaged head bobs slightly as he sits up straighter still clutching his pencil.

“Hey little champ” Mingyu says warmly, offering a high-five which the boy smacks with exaggerated enthusiasm. “I see you’re full of energy today, did you sleep well ?”

“I slept good!” He replies proudly, eyes still glued on his paper. “I’m drawing my comic book now! Wanna see ?”

“A comic book ?! Woah” Mingyu's brows rise with interest as he crouches beside the bed, reaching gently for the boy’s hand to check his circulation. “Now that’s serious business, buddy! What’s it about ? No wait, let me guess… Is it about a spaceship perhaps ?”

“It’s the story of a dinosaur-rocket!” the boy grins, holding the drawing a little higher. “It flies through space and fights bad aliens”

“A dino-rocket ?” Mingyu lets out a low whistle, clearly impressed. “That’s brilliant! So it’s like a space guardian with claws and jet engines ?”

“Yes!” he nods again, eyes wide and animated now. “And it gets summoned by the masters of space to carry out a mission to Venus because evil alien bunnies have taken over!”

“Evil alien bunnies, okay…” Mingyu chuckles, noting on his iPad that the child's vital values ​​are absolutely optimal, “I actually love it. You’ve got a whole galaxy up there, huh ?” he says then ruffling the boy’s hair gently.

The little boy beams, “If you come visit me tonight I'll tell you about his next mission!”

“I’m holding you to that” Mingyu replies with a smile as he rises to his feet, “I claim a front-row seat for the next chapter of the dino-rocket saga. Does it have a name, by the way ?”

“Just Dino”

“Fine… just Dino” he repeats laughing softly, “A legend in the making already”

Mingyu checks that everything is in order, that his bandage is well-done and that the wound is properly disinfected, before leaving. Further down, in room 213, a little girl with tangled hair and a faded butterfly painted on her cheek blinks sleepily at the ceiling. Her stuffed purple fox has fallen to the floor during the night, Mingyu retrieves it with gentle fingers and places it back in the crook of his arm. She chirps a little thanks and wraps herself around the toy back again like a lifeline.

Mingyu pauses in her room just long enough to check her medical records and make sure the treatment for that nasty lung inflammation is working well on her before leaving the child to her sweet dreams.

The hospital is so calm after the immense chaos of the past days and Mingyu feels like he can finally take a breath for the first time in what seems like ages, moving through it and reacquainting himself with gravity after moments suspended in constant adrenaline. The pediatric ward now stretches out in front of him in sunlit stillness and Mingyu takes barely a dozen steps before a voice rings out from the nurses’ station, affectionately but with still the right amount of mischief.

“Handsome, tall and still uncommitted” the playful voice of head-nurse catches him, “It’s amazing how you look like a prince even when you first wake up”

Mingyu lifts his head, lips already tugging into a grin as he looks at the lovely middle-aged woman, “Good morning, Nurse Choi” he says approaching her, mimicking a princely bow.

She stands with her hands on her hips, gray hair pulled back into her signature bun even though a few strands have gone rogue near her temple. There’s something fierce and familiar in the way she looks at him — part exasperation, part deep unshakable fondness — as she’s been here long enough to have seen Mingyu as a shy, lanky intern who ran on caffeine, stumbling his way through his earliest shifts, all wide eyes and too-long limbs, with his nervous energy spilling from every pore.

“Come here, boy” she mutters, already pulling him into a half-embrace that smells faintly of hand sanitizer and lavender lotion, “You’re big enough to intimidate half the ward and yet here you are looking like a startled hedgehog” she says reaching up to flatten a wild tuft of hair at his crown.

Mingyu laughs and leans slightly into her touch, “I slept, I swear. Four whole hours”

“Four ?” she tsks shaking her head, “Should’ve been five at least but you never listen to me when I tell you to go home and have a proper rest. You didn’t when you were just an intern and clearly don’t do that now”

“Old habits” he smiles, “Hard to break”

The head-nurse clicks her tongue but pats his cheek with tenderness, “Look at you, you’ve still got bed creases on your face and I’m absolutely sure that your socks don’t match even this morning”

Mingyu snorts, glancing down to his feet poking out of the slippers. “Damn, you’re right…”

“I know you as if you were my son, Mingyu” she says smugly, then she pulls something from the pocket of her scrub top and presses it into his palm, an old-fashioned lemon drop wrapped in crinkling cellophane. “Here, take this for energy. You need sugar and vitamins”

Mingyu closes his fingers around the candies like it’s a treasure, “You spoil me too much, Mrs. Choi”

“Someone has to” she retorts, already shooing him down the hallway with a wave of her hand. “And now go check on your little ones before I start mothering you in public and embarrassing you in front of the new interns. You have always been my favorite troublemaker”

“Yes, ma’am” he says with a grin of someone who has been shooed off by her more times than he can count. He turns to go, already walking backward down, “Wait —” he pauses, glancing back “Do you know where they have placed Xu Minghao ?”

“Room 432, fourth floor. Are you going to check on him ?”

“Yeah” Mingyu nods, backing away already moving “I told Dr. Jeon I would stop by while he is off shift”

“Okay” She gives him a soft hum of approval, “Have a good day, Mingyu”

“You too Mrs. Choi, stay legendary!”

She shakes her head with a fond sigh, muttering to another nurse something about Mingyu being her favorite person here in the ward as he disappears into the turning light of the hallway, candy still in hand and his heart just a little lighter than it was moments ago.

On the fourth floor, the general surgery wing is quieter and more restrained. Mingyu steps out of the elevator into the polished corridor and scans the room numbers until he finds what he is looking for. He knocks gently before pushing the door open and inside Xu Minghao is awake, propped up by two pillows with a soft blanket draped over his lap. His chest is covered in bandages and his long fingers cradle a warm cup of green tea, steam curling faintly upward as he stares out of the window.

On the tray table beside him sits a neat row of dry biscuits, mostly untouched. Mingyu lingers in the threshold for a beat before clearing his throat softly. “Good morning Mr. Xu” he says politely, “I hope I’m not interrupting your rest”

Minghao turns at the sound, surprised but not startled. His eyes land on Mingyu and his expression shifts from curiosity to something more welcoming, “Not at all” he replies offering a tired but gentle smile as he tries to straighten up on the bed. “Please, come in”

“Thank you” Mingyu steps fully into the room, approaching with a quiet ease, “I’m Dr. Kim from Pediatrics. I was part of the emergency response team yesterday”

A flicker of recognition blooms in his face. “Ah” Minghao nods, a little breathless, “You’re the one who— They told me. You were with the children, you saved them”

“I did what I could” Mingyu dips his head modestly, “How are you feeling this morning ?”

“Not great, to be honest” Minghao exhales, “The bed is stiff and the sutures pull making it hard to breathe deeply. I’ve got a bit of tightness in the chest, it’s normal I suppose after what they had to do… they told me I almost passed during surgery” he glances toward the window then back at Mingyu with an apologetic smile. “But I can’t complain. I’m just… grateful to be here. To have woken up at all”

Mingyu nods, softening as he approaches the bed. “This isn’t my specialty but from what I’ve seen on your chart, you’re recovering well, your heart is responding positively to the medications. No signs of further complication and that’s a very good sign” he explains, “It’ll take time to heal but you’re in good hands here. The team that operated on you yesterday is the best we have”

Minghao’s gaze drifts toward the biscuits, then returns to Mingyu with a hum of reflection. “I remember the crash, you know” he says, “It happened so fast, one moment I was writing something on the board, the next, the bus was turned and… we were upside down, the windows shattered. I couldn’t do much, just held the kids until help arrived. I’ve never felt so powerless”

“You did more than most would have” Mingyu replies gently, “You stayed with them and gave them strength. That matters, a lot”

There’s a pause and in that silence something tender passes between them, an unspoken understanding of what it means to witness pain and carry the guilt of helplessness.

Minghao leans back against the pillows, “Thank you” he mutters, quieter now “For everything you did yesterday for my students. I heard that Sanghee had a delicate surgery…”

“She did” he nods, “I followed her personally but she is fine now. She will get better soon”

A flicker of relief crosses Minghao’s face. He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, then lifts a hand in a faint gesture to his own body. “I teach poetry” he says, a wry smile just beginning to surface, “And now here I am, cut open and stitched back together like one of my own metaphors”

Mingyu huffs a quiet laugh. “Then maybe you’ll appreciate the irony. Healing isn’t always poetic but it’s usually messy and undignified”

“But it still matters” Minghao finishes, a touch of wonder in his tone.

“Yeah. It does” he smiles, stepping back slightly “I’ll let Dr. Jeon know you’re doing well, he’ll be glad to hear it. He mentioned would stop by later in his shift”

“You work closely with him?”

A subtle shift flicks in Mingyu’s expression. “Kind of” he simply replies, “We’re involved in a… joint project or something… like that. Just hospital boring stuff”

Minghao nods slowly, filing that answer away without pushing.

Mingyu gestures toward the call button. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to press the button. I’m usually around and our nurses are very efficient”

“I’ll remember that” Minghao says, a faint smile finally tugging at the corner of his lips. “Thank you”

With a final nod, Mingyu steps back allowing the door to close quietly behind him. The soft click of it shutting feels like a small period at the end of a long sentence and for the first time in hours, something like peace stirs inside him, or maybe it’s just the giddy relief of knowing he can finally go home.

He moves through the ward in silence, offering faint smiles to the few nurses already starting their morning shifts as he instead heads towards the locker room. The exhaustion he had pushed aside till now slowly returns in his body waves after waves, settling into his joints like cement. Mingyu peels off his scrubs and trades it for a pair of worn denim jeans and a black t-shirt that clings to the lean lines of his back and arms. His stethoscope is tucked away in its case, his ID badge clipped to his backpack, swinging slightly as he hoists it over one shoulder.

He runs a hand through his hair already imaging the hot shower that awaits him at home. He could already picture his apartment dim with morning light, his kitchen a little messy but filled with the smell of fresh eggs cracking in a bowl while kimchi sizzles in a hot pan. That stupid breakfast playlist he never updates would play softly from his phone, the quiet joy of eating in his underwear while the wooden floor cools the soles of his bare feet, the mere thought almost makes him moan with desire.

The hallway is bathed in the hazy golden wash of early morning, sunlight spilling in slivers through narrow hospital windows. His footsteps echo dully as he heads for the exit, each one heavier than the last. His bag hangs limply on one shoulder, a little askew from having been packed in a hurry. Mingyu can feel the weight of the last twenty-four hours in his back, in the corners of his eyes, in the way his breath comes out in a finally relaxed sigh.

Just a few more steps and he would be free. He could almost feel the air shift, could almost break into a run to get out of there. But fate, as always, had its own timing to show up.

“Mingyu!”

The sound of his name, sharp and urgent, almost breathless, bounces off the tiled walls of the hallway just as he rounds a corner. Mingyu turns and sees Areum sprinting toward him in her sneakers, a loose ponytail swinging behind her and concern etched across her face. She skids slightly to a stop, barely catching her breath.

“Thank goodness you’re still here—”

“If it’s not about my ward kids then whatever it is, I don't want to know. Just erase me from your memory, pretend you never saw me. I was so close —“ he says, pointing with his thumb and forefinger, “I swear, so close to reaching culinary nirvana in my head”

"Please we need your help, it's about the elevator”

Mingyu blinks when he notices that Areum isn't joking with him as her usual but she's rather damn serious. "What's going on ?”

“It’s stuck on the third floor. There's a pregnant woman inside, full term. She has started having contractions” she explains so concerned.

Mingyu straightens instantly, the fog of sleep and hunger blown away by the sharp snap of urgency. "Is she alone ?"

"No, her husband is in there too but he is on the verge of losing his mind. He is not helping”

“Shit —“ Mingyu sighs, throwing his bag on his shoulder. ”Okay. Come on, let’s go. We can’t waist any more time”

They take the stairs two at a time, Areum speaking quickly between breaths. “The technicians have already tried to reboot the panel but the fault looks serious. Seungcheol and Joshua are there, they’ve been attempting to pry the doors open manually since the contractions are coming faster”

“Did you notify the Ob/Gyn ?” Mingyu asks as they reach the landing. “Call Dr. Park, we need her to be ready to handle the labor in case we can’t get the woman out there in time”

“Already done, they’re coming”

They round the corner and the scene comes into view unfolding in front of them. A knot of hospital staff are gathered near the stuck elevator, red warning lights blinking on the control panel. Seungcheol is crouched by the doors, the sleeves of his fresh-ironed shirt are rolled up and his jaw set in frustration. Joshua kneels beside him, steady hands pressed against the metal.

“Mingyu, thank god” Seungcheol grunts, sweat beadings at his temple. “The doors won’t budge, maybe with your help we can get some leverage”

“The car’s stuck just above the floor” Joshua says, “The emergency brake is engaged and everything is locked tight”

Mingyu steps close to the door, pressing his ear against the cool metal.

A low, strained voice echoes from the inside, thin and trembling through the narrow gap. “Hello ? Please — Can… can anyone hear me ?”

“Yes!” Mingyu answers, raising his voice just enough to be heard without sounding alarming. “Ma’am, we’re right outside. My name is Kim Mingyu, I’m a doctor from Pediatrics! We’re working on getting you out. Are you okay ?”

“I—I think so” she replies in a strained voice. “My water broke, I think the baby’s coming. Oh God—”

“Don’t worry, we’ve got you. Help is on the way!” Mingyu nods, “ Can you tell me your name ? And how far apart your contractions are ?”

“My name is Jiyeon and they’re… they’re getting faster, I’m not sure, maybe less than five minutes ? I don’t know— Dr. Kim please help me!”

“All right” Mingyu responds, crouching down so his voice can be clearer through the lower seam of the doors. “Jiyeon, you’re doing great. We’re right here, okay ? Don’t push yet just focus on your breathing. In through your nose, out through your mouth! Slow and steady!”

From inside, Jiyeon moans through another contraction, her voice muffled but full of strain.

“We’ve got maybe ten minutes before this becomes critical” Joshua mutters under his breath, shifting his stance as he examines the emergency panel again. “If her labor progresses any faster, she could deliver right there and it would be a risk for the baby”

“Let’s try opening the doors one more time” Mingyu says, turning to Seungcheol. “Let’s brace and push all together, maybe we can shift the alignment and even a few centimeters might help the techs do the rest”

“Let’s try it” Seungcheol says, setting his jaw.

The three of them — Mingyu, Joshua, and Seungcheol — line up at the elevator, digging their fingers into the narrow crack between the panels. Every muscle tightens as they brace themselves.

“On three” Seungcheol pants. “One—two—three—!”

They heave as one, their bodies straining as their breaths catch in their throats. The doors creak slightly under the pressure of their strength, budging only the smallest amount in a frustrating resistance.

“Come on—!” Mingyu growls but after a long second, they stumble back breathless as the doors hold firm.

“Fuck—“ Joshua mutters, chest heaving as he puts his hands on his hips, sweat beginning to bead at his temple. “It’s jammed tight”

“WE’RE GONNA DIE IN HERE!” another voice, this time louder and far less composed, rings out from within the metal doors.

Mingyu blinks, “Ma’am, please keep calm!”

“I’M SERIOUS— SHE’S GONNA HAVE THE BABY AND I’M GONNA PASS OUT, AND THEN WE’LL BOTH DIE, AND YOU GUYS WILL HAVE TO RAISE THE CHILD!”

“Who—” Mingyu shakes his head, then realizes, “Is that the husband ?!”

“Told you he is freaking out” Areum replies.

“Sir, please” Joshua says through the little gap. “Take a breath”

“I TOOK A BREATH AND IT ONLY MADE IT WORSE! I DON’T WANT TO DIE IN A METAL BOX”

“Sir” Mingyu calls the man, pressing his forehead to the cool metal, “For the love of everything sacred, please sit down and let your wife do the actual labor!”

“I’m trying okay ?!” he complains loudly, “But she yelled at me to even stop breathing too loud! She’s pinching me every time she contracts! OUCH JIYEON-AH!”

Outside the elevator, Mingyu can’t help to break into a helpless laugh. Even Joshua chuckles, rubbing a hand over his face while Seungcheol just shakes his head.

“I swear” Mingyu mutters under his breath, “This hospital doesn’t need drama series. We’re living in one”

“I told him not to take the elevator!” the woman’s rage voice shouts from inside. “But no, ‘Let’s not take the stairs, babe, your ankles are the size of bowling balls, babe!’ Now look where we are, you idiot, and your child could be born at any moment in a fucking elevator!”

“Don’t blame me for being considerate!” the husband replies “I was trying to be supportive!”

“You’re hyperventilating and pacing like a chicken on fire, Soonyoung!”

“I PANIC WHEN YOU’RE IN PAIN!”

“I’M IN LABOR! OF COURSE I’M IN PAIN!”

“Mrs. Jiyeon, we’re getting you help!” Seungcheol tries to reassure her, “I promise we’re doing our best, Dr. Park from Gynecology is on her way!”

“What about my mental help ?!” Soonyoung cries.

“You don’t need mental help” his wife snaps, “You need to sit down and shut the fuck up! I’m the one birthing a human here!”

Mingyu leans his forehead against the door. “Sir, I need you to take a deep breath and focus on your wife. You’re not dying! You’re not delivering the baby! You’re here to support her, okay ?”

A little pause comes from the other side. “...Can I at least scream into my hands ?”

“That’s perfectly acceptable” Mingyu replies, nodding. “Just don’t faint! We don’t have room for two patients in there”

Behind them the sharp rhythmic click of heels slices through the commotion. Dr. Park finally strides into the hallway like a force of nature, her sleek white coat trailing behind her and her blonde hair pulled into a pristine twist. She surveys the scene calmly, her expression unreadable beneath perfectly winged eyeliner.

“What do we have, guys ?” she asks authoritative, already stepping toward the elevator.

“A woman in active labor and a husband one contraction away from a full mental breakdown” Joshua replies.

Dr. Park exhales a long-suffering sigh. “God, you men are always so dramatic. Move—” she edges her way to the panel, heels clicking decisively. “How long until the elevator’s back online ?” she asks, directing her question at the nearest technician.

“Maybe twenty minutes, Dr. Park. We’re almost through bypassing the brake system” the technician wipes sweat from his forehead, wires tangled around his gloved hands.

Areum steps up quickly. “Contractions are about every four minutes now”

“That’s good” Dr. Park nods once, brisk and calculating. “That gives us a small window. If we can keep her from pushing, we can still get her out safely. Gentlemen, get ready to open the doors” she crouches by the seam, raising her voice slightly. “Jiyeon, can you hear me ? I’m Dr. Park, your Ob/Gyn and I’m right outside. If you’re feeling stable, I want to start preparing you”

From inside, the husband suddenly barks, voice thick with panic. “Are you seriously planning to deliver my child in an elevator ?!?”

“Not unless I have to” she says coolly, flinching not even a bit “But your wife and I have the same priority, getting that baby here safely. Now please, stay calm everyone in there!”

Mingyu steps beside her, brows drawn. “Dr. Park, is it safe to wait ? What if she starts pushing ?”

She glances at him, serious now. “If we can keep her breathing through the contractions and stall pushing until the elevator’s open, we move her. But if the contractions accelerate, we’re doing this right here” she looks back toward the door. “Jiyeon, sweetheart, I need you to focus on me. Deep breaths. Do not push, okay ? I know it’s hard, but we can do this together”

A strangled cry comes from inside. “I—I can’t—I think I need to push—!”

“No, no— breathe through it, Jiyeon!” Dr. Park crouches lower, her calm tone edged with urgency now. “I need just a few more minutes from you, okay ? Fight it, I know it’s hard—”

Another contraction hits, stronger and closer, and Jiyeon screams unrestrained. The sound reverberates through the hallway, freezing everyone in place for a beat.

Dr. Park’s eyes narrow, her professional mask cracks just slightly. “Damn it. The baby is coming faster than expected” she stands in one sharp movement and spins toward the others. “We’re out of time, we need to get that door open now”

Seungcheol and Joshua are already in position. Mingyu steps beside them, “We got it”

“On three again, guys!” Seungcheol says, bracing. “One—two—three!”

They push with everything they have, their muscles shaking, their jaws clenched, sweat pouring down their forehead as the elevator groans slightly, the doors shifting an inch then two but it’s still not enough.

“We’re almost there!” one of the technicians calls, frantically turning a wrench. “Brake’s nearly disengaged!”

“Hold it just a few more seconds!” Dr. Park yells, now unzipping her emergency kit and pulling on gloves. “Jiyeon, listen to me dear! Don’t push yet, I need you to pant just like we practiced! You are doing so well please stay with me!”

From inside, Jiyeon’s voice breaks with another cry. “It’s coming—I can’t stop it!”

Mingyu grits his teeth, fingers digging into the cold metal edge. “One more time guys!” he shouts.

“All together! Push!”

This time with a metallic shriek, the doors finally jolt opening just enough for them to step inside. Jiyeon is on the floor, her back propped against the wall as her husband is pale and evidentially panicking beside her. Her face is flushed, drenched in sweat and her legs are trembling.

“Clear a path!” Dr. Park barks, already sliding through the narrow gap. “Dr. Kim, get the gurney! Dr. Hong please, disinfect the area! I’m delivering this baby now!”

Within half an hour, in the narrow metal walls of the elevator, hot and surrounded by tension thick enough to choke on, a baby is born.

The moment unfolds sudden and raw like a breaking storm, and after different strong pushes, Jiyeon's final cries reverberate off loud as Dr. Park kneels between her legs, barking encouragements and precise instructions. Mingyu hovers behind her with a towel in his hands, eyes wide with awe and nerves. Soonyoung, the husband next to her, is as pale as linen, gripping his wife’s hand until his knuckles go white.

And then, just like that, the miracle of life happens.

A sharp slick cry pierces the elevator. The baby emerges red and squirming as his limbs flail and his mouth opens in a furious wail. A moment of stunned silence falls around them, like the whole hospital holds its breath, then a rush of motion hits everyone present. Gasps, applause, even some tears fall from the crowd's faces gathered there outside the doors.

The newborn cries with indignant volume, lungs so strong and so full of life and protest. Dr. Park lifts the baby carefully, checks quickly for vitals and then wraps the tiny body in a clean emergency blanket handed off by Joshua. Jiyeon sobs, not just from exhaustion but from something deeper that mixes of disbelief, overwhelming love, relief that it’s over and her baby is breathing safe and sound.

She reaches out weakly with trembling fingers and her husband sways next to her, his mouth moving like he wants to say something but no words come. His knees buckle under the weight of the moment and he collapses sideways in a heap next to his wife. A nurse gasps, rushing to his side to pat his face and help him regaining his senses little by little.

Emotional laughter breaks through the tension, Mingyu snorts softly, breathless and dazed, watching as mother and baby are loaded carefully onto a gurney. Jiyeon whispers thanks over and over through her tears, Mingyu walks beside her as the team rolls them down the hallway toward the elevators — the working ones — heading for Pediatrics for full checks. Staff step back to let them pass, some wiping tears from their eyes.

Mingyu just stands there. Sweaty, sore, and utterly still with his hands on his hips. His chest rises and falls in heavy breaths but a proud grin tugs at his lips. He’s exhausted to the marrow but something inside him feels lit up, like he’s just watched the universe blink open right in front of him.

At the far end of the corridor, beyond the cluster of voices and bustling bodies, Dr. Jeon Wonwoo steps out of the elevator freshly arrived from home. His clothes are immaculate this time, shirt tucked neatly into tailored slacks, the crisp cotton still warm from the dryer, carrying the faint scent of clean linen, talcum powder and a trace of soft florals. His dark hair is neatly styled, gelled back and in one hand he cradles a travel mug, the coffee inside still steaming faintly.

As he rounds the corner, his pace slows as he feels immediately something off in the air, a buzzing energy that coils in the space between words and glances. Nurses stand idly in small groups, interns whisper behind hands with astonished eyes. A few staff linger against the walls, the adrenaline not yet worn off.

It’s the kind of electricity that only follows an extraordinary event, something big happened here and it’s not over yet.

Wonwoo’s sharp eyes scan the crowd, his expression unreadable, his movements calm but attentive as he walks through the corridor taking measured sips of his coffee. A senior nurse spots him and beams, her excitement almost tangible as she gestures him over.

“Dr. Jeon, you just missed the show of the year!” she says excitedly, “They delivered a baby in the broken elevator! Right behind the automatic doors! Pediatrics, OB, ER... it was crazy!”

Wonwoo blinks once, his head tilted slightly as his brows lift in mild surprise, enough to acknowledge the absurdity of it all.

Then as his gaze drifts past her, Wonwoo catches sight of the aftermath, the slowly dispersing staff, the murmur of laughter and disbelief, and Kim Mingyu leaning back against the wall grinning like someone who has just run a marathon and is still riding the high of having finished it.

Wonwoo stares at his face for a moment, flushed and radiant with post-adrenaline exhaustion, and something flashes in his eyes, something not entirely professional, a sweetness and amusement mixed perhaps with a touch of silent admiration.

“Theatrical as always” he thinks as the corners of his mouth tug up in that smile that never quite reaches both sides.

Wonwoo raises his mug again, sips his coffee once more and turns away from that scene without a word. His steps are measured as he walks down, the distant sounds of celebration still echoing down the hall behind him fading like the aftershocks of a chaotic miracle.

By the time he reaches the internal medicine wing, the buzz of drama has been replaced with the gentle hum of normalcy like rolling carts and the distant beep of monitors. He slips into his white coat in one smooth motion, buttons it with calm precision and checks the patient list on his personal iPad. His morning is blissfully uneventful, just one post-op check and two consults already reviewed overnight by a third-year nurse who updates him with textbook efficiency.

He finishes his coffee and throws the cup in the bin just as he reaches the room where the intern group is waiting for him. They stands pressed near the wall like recruits awaiting inspection, their coats too pristine and backs too straight, expressions a blend of dread and forced optimism. Wonwoo lets his gaze sweep over them, already recognizing several faces from previous rotations, some are bright and eager, other even terrified by his presence.

"Good morning, Dr. Jeon" one of the girls politely greets him.

Wonwoo gives a curt nod as he walks in, "Morning everyone" he replies without fanfare, dropping his files onto the nearby desk, "Let’s start today with something simple like the post-appendectomy in room 315. Shouldn’t be too painful for you guys to assist”

The group nods and files out behind him like ducklings after a wary parent. As they walk, Wonwoo recognizes Lee Chan among them, the sweet curious guy that last time asked him lots of question regarding the right method to measure blood pressure. His eyes are alert as he scans everything around him, his surroundings, the monitors, the patient, even his own fellow interns and as soon as they reach room 315, Wonwoo steps aside gesturing toward the patient’s bed.

“Vitals are stable” he begins listing, “No new complaints overnight. What are we monitoring for at this stage ?”

The silence is immediate and absolute. One intern coughs into her elbow, another flips his notepad open with a shaky hand. Wonwoo waits patiently for a reply, giving them enough rope to either climb or hang themselves.

Then, finally, Chan’s voice cuts through the silence. “Risk of post-op ileus” he says, meeting Wonwoo’s eyes briefly before turning his attention to the patient. “Infection, fever, early signs of peritonitis if complications spread. We’re watching white count, bowel sounds and drainage output”

Wonwoo tilts his head, “Correct. Go on”

“Early ambulation protocol should be maintained” he keeps saying without rushing. “If oral intake continues without issue, I’d recommend tapering IV fluids within the next twelve hours”

Wonwoo nods, barely perceptibly, but he notices the quick flash of surprise on Chan's face, the quiet pride in having said something right, and the restraint in not letting it show too much. This kind of attitude takes maturity, and Wonwoo respects it.

Before he can pivot to the next question, the door behind them swings open with theatrical flair.

Jeonghan strides in like he owns the ward, or at least the spotlight in it, his white coat is unbuttoned and swishing behind him as if caught in a breeze. A manila folder is tucked under one arm, even though it looks more like a prop than a necessity. His hair, of course, is impeccable, not a strand out of place, and the smile on his face is the kind that suggests he knows exactly how annoying he is going to be.

“Apologies” Jeonghan announces, clearly not sorry at all. “I heard someone needed scaring”

Wonwoo exhales a long-suffering sigh, eyes still fixed on the patient chart in front of him. “Dr. Yoon”

Jeonghan ignores his warning tone, breezing in further. “Don’t mind me” he says, waving his hand. “I’m just here for the atmosphere”

The interns shuffle nervously, thrown off by the sudden shift in energy. One of them straightens her coat reflexively, another grips his notepad tighter.

Jeonghan turns to the group with a glint in his eye. “Alright, kids. Fun pop quiz time. Name one non-cardiac condition that can present like a heart attack”

A pause, then blank stares. One girl’s mouth opens, then closes.

“No guesses ?” Jeonghan prompts, cocking a brow. “Not even a wild one ? What about a sneaky little peptic ulcer ? Maybe a panic attack in the middle of a subway ride ? Or my personal favorite, one too many pieces of spicy pork belly at 2 a.m. that your soul mistakes for death itself ?”

An interns chuckle nervously. “Spicy pork belly?” as if writing it down might save him later.

“Relax guys” Jeonghan drawls with a smirk. “It’s only your futures at stake”

Wonwoo finally looks up, deadpan. “You’re not helping them”

“I’m not trying to” Jeonghan replies cheerfully, sidling up beside him. “They look too comfortable, a little existential dread builds character”

Wonwoo shakes his head and turns back to the patient. “If you’re going to stay here, stand back and be quiet.”

Jeonghan clasps his hands behind his back like an innocent child, “I would, but I need to talk to you about something urgent” he says, his tone suddenly sing-song. “Seungcheol invited me to dinner this weekend. Wants it to be casual, just a few people. You know, intimate”

There’s a beat of silence then, three of the interns blink hard. One outright gasps murmuring something like “Dr. Choi and Dr. Yoon are…” as their eyes widen in perfect synchrony, catching scandal on live.

Wonwoo closes his eyes for a moment, deeply regretting every life decision that has led to this.

Jeonghan turns to the stunned interns with the charm and subtle menace of someone who absolutely will ruin your week. “Don’t let this leave the room, understood ?” he says, smile razor-sharp. “If it slips out, if I even hear a whisper of it in a stairwell or a supply closet, I will become your living nightmare. The kind that audits your patient charts and asks why you missed a potassium check at 2 a.m.”

The interns all nod, horrified. “Good” Jeonghan says brightly, clapping once as though wrapping up a magic trick. “Now go back to being nervous and forget I ever existed”

Wonwoo shoots him a flat look. “You’re infuriating.”

“Can’t argue with facts” Jeonghan shrugs, backing away with a wink. “Anyway what do you suggest ?”

“You should go to the dinner”

“Oh ?”

Wonwoo doesn’t even look at him, flipping a page in the chart he’s holding. “And while you’re at it, convince him to cancel the group and make it just the two of you”

That earns him a genuine laugh. “Oh, I see. You’re trying to set me up”

“I’m trying to make you stop being annoying”

“Rude but valid” Jeonghan leans casually against a locker. “So just me and Cheol, huh ? Wine, candles, unresolved emotional tension ?”

Wonwoo finally looks up at him, “Don’t oversell it. You’ll scare him”

“I scare everyone” Jeonghan says with a wink then he turns to the interns, still frozen in place like deer caught in a dramatic soap opera. “Relax kids, this isn’t a Grey’s Anatomy subplot. We’re just functional adults with trauma”

One intern chokes on her own breath. Chan, standing slightly apart, is the only one not visibly shaken as he just watches the interaction with an unreadable, maybe slightly amused expression.

“Can I continue now ?” Wonwoo says, raising an eyebrow.

“Far be it from me to interrupt such thrilling academic progress” Jeonghan replies, hands in the air as he strolls toward the back of the group. “I’ll be quiet like a ghost. A very attractive, tragically underappreciated ghost”

Wonwoo doesn’t even dignify that with a response. He just turns back to the patient, refocusing the group. “Alright” he says briskly, “Someone can tell me why this patient isn’t being transitioned off IV antibiotics yet ?”

As the interns scramble to answer, the mood shifts back toward professionalism even though the air still crackles faintly with the aftershock of Jeonghan’s presence who, behind them, in the back of the room, smiles to himself, already texting Seungcheol.

[12:31 PM] JEONGHAN: wonwoo told me to seduce you over pasta. you free saturday? 😇

After their rounds, the group disperses in a disorderly knot toward the break room for lunch time, muttering about cases and scolding each other over their mistakes in hushed tones. Jeonghan walks away patting Wonwoo’s shoulder, "Don't be too hard on them, Dad" he says before disappearing down another corridor.

Wonwoo lets out a short laugh, a reluctant smile curling at the corners of his mouth, as he rolls his eyes in false annoyance. For once, since his day isn’t that packed, he’s actually looking forward to his lunch break but a few steps later, he senses someone lingering behind him.

"Dr. Jeon ?"

Wonwoo turns to find Chan standing a few meters away, shifting his weight slightly but meeting his gaze.

"If there's a chance..." he begins, then falters catching himself. "I mean, if it's allowed, would it be okay if I assist in on one of his consultations sometimes ? I'd love to see how he handles the patient dynamic and the direct approach"

Wonwoo looks at him and his pause lasts just long enough for Chan to doubt whether he's overstepped his bounds, for his confidence to waver just slightly. "Next Wednesday at eleven" he then replies with a hint of a smile, "Don't be late, okay ?”

The flicker of pride and relief on Chan’s face is immediate and not subtle in the least. His whole expression lights up, his eyes wide, mouth breaking into a bright grateful smile. "Yes, sir. Thank you, thank you so much!”

He bows quickly, more than once, before jogging to catch up with the tail end of the intern group, his energy so visible and palpable. Within seconds, he’s blended seamlessly back into the sea of white coats ahead. Wonwoo watches him go with a smile that softens his edges, then he turns and keeps walking down the hallway.

The doctors' break room, at that early afternoon hour when the hospital teems with chaos, is unusually quiet when Wonwoo enters. He pushes open the door with his elbow, ready to unwrap the last protein bar from the vending machine or the last tuna sandwich from the fridge, but stops short at the scene unfolding right in front of him. He expects the usual scattered leftovers, a few residents dozing on the couch, cups of coffee piled up on the counters but instead, Wonwoo, is greeted by the smell of fried food and the sight of Kim Mingyu occupying the central table like a man who had reclaimed his kingdom.

Two large fast-food bags, greasy and overstuffed, are sprawled open in front of him like a battlefield. The fries spill out from a package, a drink is half-sipped and a second burger is wrapped in branded paper waiting to be eaten. Beside the food, a scattered mess of ultrasound prints and lab reports cover most of the surface, some already marked up in red pen.

Mingyu is hunched over a report with a burger in one hand, chewing distractedly while frowning at the scan. The black t-shirt is too tight on him, his biceps flawlessly exposed and his hair pushed back hastily like he'd run his hand through it one too many times.

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow, then walks in as if he's stumbled upon a crime scene. "Are you going to feed the whole hospital ?" he asks, nodding toward the junk food.

“I’m trying to interpret this liver ultrasound, concentration requires sustenance” Mingyu replies, glancing up mid-chew, “Are you going to stand there judging my lunch choices, instead ?”

“I probably will. You eat like a bear”

“Let me guess…” he finishes munching before speaking “You’re one of those people who only eats boiled chicken and raw vegetables to stay in shape”

“Not wrong at all” Wonwoo replies, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. “I’m just selective with my daily protein intake”

“Selective” Mingyu echoes with an incredulous snort, “You probably haven’t had a deep-fried anything in years”

“My arteries say thank you, indeed” Wonwoo says, cool as ever. He leans against the counter sipping his water like a man standing firm in his principles but his gaze eventually betrays him. It drifts, ever so subtly, to the fries spilling out of Mingyu’s open bag. So crispy and tempting.

Mingyu, naturally, catches the look. “Come on, Dr. Fit” he smirks, holding out the carton of fries like a peace offering, “Sit down and have lunch, one fry won’t kill you and your six-pack can survive a little potato”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue, rather he struggles to keep a smile from escaping his lips. He walks over and sits down beside him and Mingyu seems to be incredibly pleased as soon as he watches him reaching for a french fry from the package. Then without saying a word, he nudges one of the wrapped burgers across the table, sliding it in front of Wonwoo like it’s no big deal, like he knew he would sit down all along.

Wonwoo glances at it, then at him, and says nothing but smile. For a few minutes, they sit in a companionable quiet and the only sounds between them are the rustling of paper reports and the occasional soft crunch of fries. The strange rhythm of comfortable silence settled in and Wonwoo found himself watching Mingyu’s concentration more than the food itself.

“You didn’t go home yet ?” he then casually asks as he opens a little packet of ketchup with a flick.

Mingyu shakes his head and finishes the last bite of his burger, licking a smudge of sauce off his thumb before replying. “Had an emergency in the ER. A teenage girl came in with fever, headache, nausea and photophobia. Jihoon said to keep her in neurology for more imaging so I’m just waiting on a few more labs before writing down a diagnosis”

He flips to a lab sheet and hands it to Wonwoo who leans back slightly, chewing thoughtfully. “Meningitis ?”

“That’s what I thought too” Mingyu replies, sliding another lab report across the table, “But she’s missing a few things. No neck stiffness, no rash. CT is clean and the lumbar puncture’s still pending”

“What about viral encephalitis ?”

“Negative travel history, no altered mental state either, no seizure. It just doesn’t match”

Wonwoo hums, chewing on another fry. “Autoimmune ? Lupus maybe ?”

“Already flagged for Anti-Nuclear Antibodies” Mingyu says, tapping a sticky note where the result is still pending, “It’s weird. The symptoms line up but something’s not fitting cleanly”

Wonwoo narrows his eyes, gaze slipping over the paper, “You know I only came in here for lunch, right ?”

“Not your lucky day, Jeon Wonwoo, you’re going to help me anyway” Mingyu says with a grin, pushing a cold can of Coke toward him.

“You’re bribing me with soda now ?”

“High-quality bargaining” he replies with mock seriousness. “Besides, you’ve already eaten half my fries. You’re in too deep to back out”

Wonwoo casts him a side glance, then opens the can with a quiet click. “So dramatic”

“Accurate” Mingyu says, resting his chin in his hand as he watches Wonwoo skim the lab sheets. “You like puzzles, don’t pretend you don’t. I saw the way your eyes lit up at ‘photophobia’ word”

Wonwoo doesn’t dignify that with a response but his fingers pause slightly on one of the CBC values. He taps it, “White count’s low”

“Exactly and that’s way too low for meningitis” Mingyu says with a sigh, a bit frustrated, “This kid is going to give me lots of troubles…”

They sit in silence for a while, the crumpled wrappers sit between them like a temporary truce and the leftover fries cool slowly in their carton. Mingyu is scribbling something onto a notepad now, brow furrowed, lower lip slightly caught between his teeth in concentration. The way his hair falls messily across his forehead, the shadows under his eyes makes him look extremely tired, and yet alive in the way that only people who care too much ever do.

Wonwoo watches him without meaning to. His eyes trace the lines of Mingyu’s profile, the way his long fingers drum unconsciously against the side of his cup, how his gaze shifts over the reports like he’s trying to read between the words rather than on them. There’s something stubborn and steady about him, so much energy that it feels like he’s too big for the room but so much control that it’s all kept neatly boxed inside.

Wonwoo doesn’t look away. For once, he doesn’t want to.

“Why did you choose pediatrics for your career ?” he asks suddenly,

Mingyu blinks, caught mid-sip of his drink. He swallows, a little slower than usual, then sets the cup down like a weight he has held for a long time by now. “Want the bold answer or the dramatic one ?”

“What suits you better” Wonwoo replies, and he means it.

“Fair enough” Mingyu chuckles under his breath then leans back, gaze drifting upward toward the tiled ceiling like he’s looking through it. “I had this friend in elementary school, his name was Jiwoo and he had leukemia, diagnosed when we were in first grade”

Wonwoo’s face stills, expression unreadable but attentive.

“We were inseparable. He was the kind of kid who never let you feel sorry for him, you know. Ran the fastest at recess with an IV pole dragging behind him, pranked our homeroom teacher with fake bugs, laughed until he had hiccups every time someone said the word ‘fart’” Mingyu smiles faintly, voice almost fond now. “We were seven. He was sicker than anyone I’d ever seen but he smiled more than anyone I’d ever met”

He pauses, swallowing once. “When he passed away… I remember just standing at the funeral thinking that if I ever got to grow up, I wanted to do something that made it even a little easier for kids like him. Just… to help them have one good day. Even if I couldn’t give them a lifetime.”

The silence that follows is quiet, like the air between two held breaths. Wonwoo’s chest feels tight, the kind of tight that comes with being witness to something unexpectedly personal.

“You’ve never told anyone that before” he says.

Mingyu tilts his head slightly and smiles, “No. But you asked”

They sit in silence again but this one feels heavier and closer, like something unseen just shifted between them. Then Mingyu looks over him, “What about you ?”

Wonwoo blinks. “What about me ?”

“Why cardio ? You’ve got that quiet genius thing going for you, could’ve done neurosurgery or climbed into a lab and never come out. What deep and mysterious backstory do you have hidden under all those hearts ?”

Wonwoo doesn’t answer right away. His gaze drops to the to the medical report they had been reading. “I think…” he starts, carefully, “It’s because I don’t understand it”

Mingyu raises a brow, “The human heart ?”

“Yeah…” Wonwoo exhales, “It’s precise but unpredictable, rhythmic but fragile. One skipped beat and everything changes. You can’t reason with it, can’t control it. You can study it forever and still not understand why it fails or why it races when it shouldn’t” he finally looks back at Mingyu. “Maybe I just wanted to get closer to understanding mine”

Mingyu stares at him. There’s something quiet and reverent in his eyes, something that feels like it might be the start of understanding. “You know” he says softly, “That might be the most poetic answer I’ve ever heard.”

“Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to keep”

“I’ll protect your secret” Mingyu grins, eyes crinkling, “Maybe using it for future blackmail”

Wonwoo shakes his head, smiling despite himself. He reaches for the last fry in the package and ends up with ketchup smeared accidentally at the corner of his mouth.

Mingyu notices right away. “Wait— hold on”

Wonwoo frowns his eyebrows clueless, “What ?”

“You’ve got something” Mingyu leans in without hesitation, hand reaching up with an ease that makes it feel like second nature.

Wonwoo freezes as Mingyu’s fingertips brush the edge of his cheek, thumb gliding gently across the corner of his mouth to wipe the small smear of ketchup. It’s a small gesture but the intimacy of it short-circuits something in his brain, even more when he notices that Mingyu doesn’t pull away immediately.

His thumb lingers a moment too long on the contour of his lips and he’s closer now, close enough for Wonwoo to feel the warmth of his breath, to catch the faint scent of soap and fried food and something else uniquely him. Their eyes meet for a brief second before Mingyu’s gaze drops to his mouth, flicking back to his eyes. There’s a quiet tension stretched between them, thin as crystal but impossible to ignore, and Wonwoo doesn’t dare to push him away, doesn’t even dare to breath properly.

Instead his eyes slide shut, lashes lowering in surrender as his heart beats so furiously it feels like crashing out of his chest. He can feel the slight shift of Mingyu leaning in, getting closer like gravity itself has begun tugging them into each other’s orbit, pulling tight the invisible thread strung taut between their bodies. Wonwoo can feel his breath on his mouth, the subtle inhale that gives him away, and he tilts his head almost imperceptibly as if under spell.

Their lips part, almost touching, the contact is there almost imperceptible but then the door bursts open abruptly shattering the moment like glass. Both of them jolt apart like they’ve been burned, hearts leaping into their throats.

Doctor Wen Junhui stands in the doorway, chest heaving and breathless as if he has run across the entire floor. “Wonwoo —” he gasps, eyes wide with panic, “You have to come, right now”

Wonwoo is on his feet before he even registers it, all heat and closeness replaced by sharp adrenaline. “What’s going on ?” he demands, voice shifting into clipped precision.

“It’s about Myungsoo” Jun swallows, breathing hard. “He collapsed”

Chapter Text

"Sometimes I think that it's better
To never ask why"

The moment the emergency call comes through, Wonwoo doesn't hesitate, his feet are already out the door.

The hospital stretches out in front of him in an endless tunnel of sterile white walls, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead as the soles of his shoes slap the floor like a war drum while running. His footsteps echo sharply through the corridors, the white coat flares behind him in a trailing banner of urgency with every stride. The ward feels colder than it should be or maybe it’s just his hands feeling numb from adrenaline. Wonwoo doesn’t notice how tightly his fists are clenched at his sides, how in his ear Jun’s voice muffled crackles.

“He’s crashing. Oxygen saturation has dropped below seventy!”

There’s no time for response, Wonwoo doesn’t waste breath on one as he can feel his body moving before his mind can catch up. The red emergency light above the frame flickers like a siren, he barrels through the door of the room hitting them with a force that sends a jolt through the hinges. A nurse by the monitors startles at his entrance but Wonwoo is already inside, moving among the immediate chaos.

The heart monitor is shrieking its disapproval in ragged high-pitched beeps while, around the bed, two nurses move frantically checking vitals, working with practiced desperation even though their eyes betray a little edge of panic. At the centre of it all, lying motionless beneath a tangle of wires and tubing, is Myungsoo, barely conscious with his eyes glassy and mouth opening and closing in shallow gasps.

Each breath is a losing battle, a drowning man clinging to air.

Myungsoo looks worse than ever. His skin has taken on a pallid ashen hue, the edges of his lips and fingers are stained an ominous blue. His chest rises in shuddering jerks, convulsive movements and uneven breaths that sound like he’s trying to suck oxygen through water. His body shakes with the effort of staying alive, every shiver of effort looks like it might be his last.

Jun meets Wonwoo at the bedside, “Blood pressure is 90 over 52. His pulse is thready, he is going into respiratory failure”

The ECG flashes erratic lines of warning while the pulse oximeter dips even lower into the sixties now. “Bag him, now!” Wonwoo barks, his voice snapping like a whip as he yanks gloves from the dispenser and snaps them on. “Get the non-rebreather on at 15 liters per minute! We’re not tubing him unless absolutely necessary. And I want a crash cart in here, stat!”

A nurse is already tearing open the oxygen mask packaging, Wonwoo steps beside her, helping to secure it over Myungsoo’s face. His fingers work fast, tightening the strap, but his eyes never leave the man’s suffering features. His chest is still fighting to catch some breath, the rales in his lungs are loud now, wet and rattling, in the unmistakable sound of fluid pooling where air should be.

“Give me IV access” Wonwoo orders, “18 gauge, left antecubital. One amp of epinephrine, IV push. Let’s move!”

He steps closer, reaching out to place two fingers to the side of the man’s neck to check the carotid pulse. It’s weak, irregular, barely there and Wonwoo sees his lashes flutter for a moment, meeting his gaze. There’s no fear behind those irises, no pain but a strange eerie calm as if he had already let go.

“Don’t you dare” Wonwoo whispers, almost inaudible beneath the alarms. “Not yet”

The nurse to his right starts preparing the IV line, her movements sharp and hands steady despite the urgency. Another one fumbles with a tray of meds, drawing up the clear liquid with a quick twist of the syringe. Wonwoo’s mind is a torrent of calculations and cold assessments. This isn’t just respiratory distress but an acute pulmonary edema, probably secondary to a sudden decompensation in heart function, a failure in the left ventricle.

His lungs are flooding, the man is drowning from the inside, and Wonwoo leans over to check his pulse once again but nearly gone.

“Give the epinephrine!” he commands as soon as the ECG stutters.

The syringe pushes in seconds later, emptying into the IV line. The heart monitor screams again, louder than before. Wonwoo watches as the erratic pulse line dips, then spikes, then climbs stubbornly searching for rhythm.

“Come on” he murmurs tightening his jaw. “We need to drain the fluid from his lungs” he says then, turning sharply to Jun. “Furosemide 40 milligrams in IV, Nitroglycerin drip, start at 10 micrograms per minute! Titrate every five if there’s no response”

“Already pulling it” Jun says, moving to set the pump. “Morphine dose ?”

“Two milligrams, slow push” Wonwoo replies, “It will ease the preload”

A nurse assists him handing him a dose of Lasix, Wonwoo takes the syringe himself as he connects it to the port. The clear solution flows through the IV tubing, into Myungsoo’s vein, like hope in liquid form. Wonwoo counts under his breath, three seconds… four… five… then he watches his chest, the mask fog with each breath, the stillness threaten to overtake him.

“Come on, old man” he murmurs in a quiet plea, “Breathe”

But Myungsoo doesn’t claw at the mask, not in the way patients usually do. He doesn’t flail or gasps for air, his body fights and spasm in the mechanical rhythm of survival but the man himself seems distant as if his mind had already made peace. His gaze finds Wonwoo again, through the fog of the oxygen and failing consciousness, and it holds. His eyes are calm, no trace of panic, no fear in the way his chest rises and falls.

“Don’t look at me like that” Wonwoo breaths, “You’re not leaving like this, you still owe me your stories”

The monitor spikes, then dips again, and suddenly a shrill tone pierces the air as the oxygen monitor flatlines for a moment, suffocating a beat before sputtering back to life into a slow rhythm.

“He’s bradying” Jun calls out, “Heart rate is dropping to 40s”

Wonwoo doesn’t hesitate further more, “0.5 milligrams of atropine, IV push. Now”

The nurse on his side moves instantly, plunging the dose into the line quickly. Wonwoo leans in, close enough to see the subtle rise of Myungsoo’s chest. The wet gurgling in his lungs still echoes with every breath but something has shifted, slightly less violent and raw. Maybe the diuretic was kicking in, maybe the tide was finally starting to turn.

Wonwoo waits silently until the monitor respond with a faint uptick. The pulse starts to go upward, forty-five then forty-three, slowly climbing.

“The blood pressure is improving” Jun exhales, “98 over 64, saturation is 86 and still rising”

Wonwoo lets out a slow breath but not one of relief, he isn’t ready to trust it yet. He stays where he is, still staring down at Myungsoo’s whose breaths remains shallow but no so longer desperate. His fingers, once curled into tight fists against the blanket, have relaxed slightly now and the serenity in his gaze stays even as his eyelids begins to drift closed.

“He’s stabilizing” the nurse murmurs, quieter now that the alarms were subsiding.

Wonwoo doesn’t answer nor give more directives, his focus stays on Myungsoo and on his strange peaceful features. The older man looks impossibly tired, like he has swum too far out and was just letting the current carrying him back. Wonwoo adjusted the oxygen mask on his face, brushing his fingers over his damp forehead and noticing that his skin is still cool to the touch but no longer icy.

The contact grounds him but also settles a deep realization in his chest.

Myungsoo didn’t fight, not like others did. He didn’t ask for rescue. He didn’t plea for more time.

That thought starts to haunt Wonwoo’s mind. He was used to patients fearing death, begging for air, clawing at the IVs with eyes wide in panic. But Myungsoo had just looked at him and offered Wonwoo the weight of his responsibility. His whole trust like an invisible burden passed from patient to doctor with no ceremony, no words, only a look.

The machines had quieted, blinking in soft amber now instead of flashing dangerous crimson. Another nurse moves to draw labs as Jun by her side keeps charting, dictating vitals into the recorder. Wonwoo stands still for a moment longer, unwilling to move just yet, as he watches the room returning to order little by little. The ECG monitor settles into a lull, the frantic beeping sound slowly fades into a steadier pulse now less threatening. All the numbers are climbing, oxygen, saturation, heart rate hovering just above seventy.

Myungsoo is breathing again, not well, not fully but enough to stay.

Wonwoo stays by the bed for a long moment, legs rooted as something doesn’t let him walk away. His fingers still hover near the IV line, the tension not yet fully drained from his shoulder. A few more seconds pass before he finally lets out a breath and turns towards Jun who’s finishing charting the crash of what just happened.

“I’ll stay with him” he announces.

“Are you sure ?” Jun asks watching him nods, “I’ll keep monitoring him from the outside, if you need anything just page us”

Wonwoo nods again, “Thanks”

One by one, the room begins to empty. The nurses finish their checks, murmuring quietly to each other as they slip out. The respiratory tech unhooks the portable monitor, then gives Wonwoo a respectful nod and follows them out. Jun lingers for a moment longer, scribbling a final note on the chart before glancing back at the bed, then at Wonwoo. Something unspoken passes between them, exhaustion maybe, or the weight of near-loss. He doesn’t say anything, he just nods once and steps out, letting the door close behind him with a soft hiss.

Silence settles like dust in the room, outside life goes on, inside time slows down. Wonwoo stays anchored in place for a moment, then he walks to the far corner of the room and drags a chair closer to the bedside. The scrape of metal against tile is barely audible beneath the soft mechanical sounds that surround him. He lowers himself into the seat, his white coat settling around him like a curtain, and leans forward with his elbows on his knees.

He doesn't speak. Doesn't move.

He just sits there quietly and watches Myungsoo sleeping, listening to the gentle hush of breath and the steady blink of monitors that, for once, aren’t screaming. His face is serene in contrast with his skin that is still tinged with the after shadow of a crisis. His chest rises in small intervals, the kind of breathing that doesn’t ask for anything but just accepts its fate, as the oxygen mask fogs slightly with each exhale.

Wonwoo glances at the screens once again. The heart rate is stable, blood pressure holding well, he should probably go at this point, should check other patients but he doesn’t. Instead, he leans forward folding his hands and resting his elbows on the bed.

Every now and then, he looks up to check the numbers as if the reassurance of something written confirms better what’s laying and breathing just inches from him.

He doesn’t know how much time passes in that room. Half an hour ? Two ? Eventually the exhaustion he’s been ignoring for days by now seeps into his muscles and the adrenaline lets go, leaving in its place only the echo of what almost was. Wonwoo rests his head on his folded arms, just for a moment, just to breathe and he must have been dozing for a while because the next thing he feels is a hand in his hair.

Fingers light and trembling brush gently over his head, a gesture so rare and human that makes Wonwoo sits bolt upright. He lifts his head at once, blinking blearily, and meets the watery gaze of Myungsoo now awake.

“Son” the man rasps, his voice is hoarse but impossibly tender.

Wonwoo straightens instantly, guilt prickling at the back of his neck for having drifted off. “You're awake. How are you feeling ?” he says calmly, trying to appear clinical but something else slips into his voice softening its edges, relief maybe, a kind of disbelief that Myungsoo is still here looking at him like that. “We’ve got you by the hair” he adds with a soft smile. “You almost slipped”

Myungsoo’s eyes crinkle at the corners. There’s a small smile pulling at his mouth now, “I was nearly on the other side” he whispers with humor. “I saw death but I told them to wait. I still have got unfinished business here”

Wonwoo exhales a quiet breath that catches halfway between a laugh and a sigh. There’s a tightness in his chest he doesn’t name and the silence that follows between them isn’t uncomfortable, rather it blooms in his fullness carrying meaning and not emptiness at all. Myungsoo breaks it shortly after lifting one trembling hand toward the table beside the bed. His fingers gesture toward a worn book resting there, its spine is cracked from years of thumbing, the title nearly rubbed clean.

“Would you…” he breathes in carefully, “Would you mind reading me a poem ?”

Wonwoo follows the movement of his eyes then reaches for the book. It’s heavier than he expects, the leather is soft, the pages delicate between his fingers, feather-thin and touched by time.

Myungsoo’s eyes are already closed, not in sleep but as if listening for something far away. “Page one-twenty-three” he whispers like he’s remembering it by touch.

Wonwoo turns the pages carefully one by one, thumbing the edges with care as the numbers pass until he reaches the indicated number. There, nestled in the center of the page, is a short simple poem yet something about the words presses against his ribs like a hand placed gently on the heart.

“It’s by Ko Un” Wonwoo says quietly, more to himself than to the man beside him.

“Yes” Myungsoo breathes, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

Wonwoo takes himself a moment, then he clears his throat and reads quietly: “Asking the Way… You ask the way to my heart ? There is no way you make it. Because each step you take becomes the path. But if you hesitate… If you hesitate, the path disappears”

The words hang in the air soft as breath. Wonwoo lets the final line settle on his tongue before silence folds gently back around them. He glances at the bed with the book still open in his hands, Myungsoo’s eyes are still closed but there’s a faint smile curving at the corners of his mouth as if the poem isn’t just familiar but lived.

“You know what it means ?” he asks with a murmur.

Wonwoo looks down at the page again. “I’m not sure” he admits.

“It means… That you don’t get to wait for certainty when it comes to love. There’s no map drawn ahead of time, you only find the way by walking it step by step” Myungsoo stops a moment to take a shallow breath, “But if you pause too long, son… if you hesitate… the moment is gone and it disappears like it was never there”

Wonwoo listens motionless as the words settle somewhere beneath his ribs. The machines murmur steadily beside them, unbothered by the weight that is suddenly filling the air.

“That’s a good lesson” he says after a while, quieter than he intends. “Brutal but beautiful”

Myungsoo’s smile deepens, “Truth is usually both”

Wonwoo’s eyes drift back to the poem and the lines start to echo in his mind persistently. He thinks about last week’s panic attack, about the emergency surgery he managed to perform under pressure just few days ago, he thinks about Mingyu, about his unexpected closeness and his own control, about how every instinct to reach for something is balanced by the instinct to withdraw.

“Have you ever taken a risk, Wonwoo ?” Myungsoo asks suddenly, “I just took one. What about you, instead ?”

The question catches him off guard. Wonwoo lifts his gaze from the book and for the first time in minutes, he sees that Myungsoo’s eyes are open again.

He parts his lips to answer but words falter. “Not really” he says eventually, “I’m not… that kind of person.”

Myungsoo’s brow lifts in the smallest tilt of curiosity. “What kind is that ?”

“Impulsive, I guess. The kind of person who trusts their gut, people who leap first and think later”

“And you don’t ?”

“I try not to” Wonwoo replies even though something shifts under the words, “Instinct makes me panic. I prefer structure and control. Knowing what to expect, what comes next, it’s... safer”

Myungsoo hums thoughtfully shifting slightly on the pillow, “Control…” he says, “…is a kind of armor” Wonwoo doesn’t respond right away. “But armor…” he continues in a whisper, “…keeps everything out, even the good”

Wonwoo leans back in the chair, the worn leather creaking under the shift of his weight, as Myungsoo’s words land in his mind harder than her expected, like a quiet truth settling into place. He stares down at his own hands, fingers loosely interlaced over the closed book in his laps, finding himself unable to know what to say. He has been in operating rooms where seconds meant life or death, called shots in the middle of chaos with only half a heartbeat to spare, but this simple conversation in the hush of a hospital room feels more fragile than any of them, something harder to navigate.

“It’s not that I don’t want to take risks” he says at last, “It’s just... every time I think about it, I see what could go wrong first, what I might lose and what might change”

“And what if something better waits on the other side of that change ?”

Wonwoo looks at him and he almost gets lost in that gaze so calm and patient, weathered by age and regret in equal measure.

“I don’t know” he admits.

“That poem —” Myungsoo says, after a moment “It saved me from wasting my life. Not entirely but enough” his voice cracks around the edges but it doesn’t waver, “There was someone a long time ago” he recalls, looking in the middle distance as if searching for a presence just beyond the walls, “I didn’t step forward… but I waited. Thought there would be a better moment… a safer one” his lips press together, “But it never came and eventually… neither did she”

Wonwoo watches the way the older man’s hand curls slowly into itself, the tremble in his fingers betraying something deeper than physical frailty. A story still lodged in the muscles, never told aloud.

“I’ve lived a long time” Myungsoo says softly, “But part of me is still there, still stuck on that moment I didn’t move. I built a whole life out of everything except what I wanted most” he gestures weakly toward the book resting in Wonwoo’s lap. “That life… it was steady, respectable, but it wasn’t mine. Not really”

Wonwoo closes the book gently, his fingers lingering for a second on its frayed cover before he lowers it to his lap. “And what if you try… and it doesn’t work ?” he asks. “What if you lose something important anyway ?”

Myungsoo doesn’t open his eyes but he breathes in slowly, “Then you lose something” he replies, “But at least you know. At least it’s yours to lose” there’s a long pause from his side, his voice barely carries over the rhythmic hiss of air. “Sometimes… risk is the only honest way to live. Don’t let your heart pass you by while you’re too busy protecting it”

Wonwoo tries to keep his expression clinical and composed, not to let it show how deeply Myungsoo’s words were actually cutting through his chest, sinking beneath those spaces of his heart that he is very careful to keep them closed. He nods gently, offering the older man a half smile, trying so hard to keep his posture and breathing steady as inside something more personal stirs.

He studies Myungsoo’s face illuminated by grace and feels a chill running down his spine because in the gentleness of his features, the way age has softened rather than eroded him, in the stillness of his voice, like someone who has seen enough to know what truly matters, Wonwoo sees something layered beneath the present.

His grandfather’s face flickers there, imposed over the man lying the bed. Wonwoo was still a child when he passed, but the imprint he left didn’t fade with time rather it was indelible. He remembers the late summer afternoon spent with him, the heat mellowed by the shade of their backyard garden, the air thick with the scent of soil and sun-warmed leaves, his grandfather sat cross legged beside a row of wildflowers, pruning them with weathered patient fingers.

And now, decades later, it lives again in Myungsoo.

The same wisdom, unforced. The same quiet strength disguised as tenderness.

Wonwoo recalls that time when he was sitting on the edge of the porch steps at dusk with dirt-streaked legs and scraped knees that sting. He remembers the frustration of tears he didn’t want to cry and the overwhelming ache of embarrassment as his grandfather crouched beside him carefully wiping the blood away.

“Look at how you react when something sudden happens” he whispered softly. “All children get hurt, Wonwoo, even adults do. It’s normal. You can’t protect yourself forever, you know”

At the time, Wonwoo hadn’t truly understood what his grandfather was trying to say. He had nodded like he did just few minutes ago, wanting to be brave, wanting to stop crying but the words had lingered in some unlit hallway of his mind, coming back to him now with a strange familiarity as if Myungsoo had borrowed them from time immemorial.

As if time weren’t linear after all, but circular.

A loop of wisdom passed from one pair of tired eyes to another.

Wonwoo lets out a long breath, eyes fluttering shut just for a second trying to ground himself. He doesn’t want to leave, doesn’t want to break that moment so meaningful, but Myungsoo, sharp even in weariness, notices his sudden desire for isolation.

“You’ve got work to get back to, Son” he says gently, just like a grandfather would do. There's humor in his tone but affection too. “Can’t have the hospital falling apart without you”

Wonwoo manages to show him a soft smile, the ache in his chest warming and tightening at once. “Right…” he murmurs, standing reluctantly. He adjusts the blanket up over the old man chest, “I’ll be back tomorrow. That’s a promise”

“You’ll find me here, my time hasn’t come yet” Myungsoo rasps, eyes already drifting shut again. “But don’t come empty-handed, Dr. Jeon. Bring me something of yourself next time”

Wonwoo doesn’t quite know what that means but he nods like he always does, with that hint of lump in his throat that makes it hard to speak. He turns around and steps out of the room, letting the door clicking softly shut behind him but the quiet inside him presses up against his ribs anyway.

The corridor outside feels bright now, too bright Wonwoo feels like the sunlight is going to pierce his skull. His steps falter as he walks down but he doesn’t go back to the nurses’ station asking if there were patients who needed a check-up under his jurisdiction, doesn’t check his pager to see if his presence was required somewhere. Wonwoo needs a second, just one, to gather himself and break room is dim and quiet by now, almost reverent in contrast to the fluorescent world outside the door.

He pours a cup of coffee from the half-empty pot, watching the dark liquid swirl into the paper cup like it might offer some kind of clarity but it doesn’t. As he takes a sip, his hand trembles, spilling a few drops onto the rim of the cup. Wonwoo sets it down with a quiet clatter and stares at his hands. They are still trembling, not violently as they used to do, but enough to betray him. The adrenaline and stress from the emergency are still in him, coiled in his muscles and buzzing in his bones. Wonwoo sighs deeply, flexing his fingers just to see the tremor moving his hand as if it had a life of its own.

He stares down at them and lets out a sigh.

It's not just the emergency. Wonwoo knows that very well.

He sips his coffee leaning on the counter and his gaze wanders from one side of the room to the other, stopping at the table in front of him free of any documents or fast food papers this time. As if his thoughts have been circling it all along, the image of Mingyu rises sudden and vivid in his mind. Wonwoo feels heat blooming under his cheeks as that little intimate moment between them plays back in his memory. The closeness, the way their hands had brushed, the way Mingyu’s eyes had searched his face, the subtle but unmistakable magnetism that pulled them in.

What was about to happen, what almost did.

Wonwoo’s breath had hitched when Mingyu had caressed his lips, when he started leaning in slowly offering him a chance to retreat. But what had frightened him most wasn’t his inability to pull away, it was the aching truth that he hadn’t wanted to. That, for a fleeting heartbeat, he had craved that contact with a quiet desperation he hadn’t known lived inside him till now.

He feels a knot of confusion tighten in his chest, throbbing with each breath, because his instincts weren’t holding him back anymore but rather betraying him. Or perhaps it wasn’t betrayal at all, perhaps Wonwoo had simply stopped listening those voices inside his head that had been trying to speak fo a long time, ignoring everything he had worked so hard to structure over the years. What he felt in that moment hadn't been analyzed, weighed or rationalized through the sieve of logic. It simply existed, and in its simplicity it had terrified him.

Wonwoo exhales slowly and closes his eyes letting the memory wash over him again, trying to trace it backward the shape of that early feeling. When had it first begun, this unsettling awareness ? Had it always been there, buried under habit and professionalism, camouflaged by routine and the safety of boundaries ? Was there a part of him that had always admired Mingyu not just for his skills and his empathy, but for something more ineffable ? Something warmer ? Brighter ?

His thoughts drift further back, unexpectedly, to his early college days. Wonwoo remembers how he once felt a small passing crush on a boy in his anatomy study group, someone that made him laugh during a dissection session narrating the entire process like a cooking show. He had liked that, he had felt a passing warmth, a fondness that made his stomach flutter for reasons he had never dared to explore. He remembered borrowing the boy’s sweatshirt once, how it smelled like citrus detergent and ink. He remembered how safe it felt and how quickly he buried it.

Back then, he hadn’t had the words for it. He hadn’t wanted the words because naming it would have made it real, would have asked him to make space for a version of himself he didn’t yet know how to be. So Wonwoo folded it up and tucked it away, told himself it didn’t matter.

But now, years later, he realizes that same warmth had returned in glimpses every time Mingyu smiles at him for too long, every time he has a teasing-joke ready for him, every time their hands brush during a procedure or the younger man’s presence settles into the room like sunlight through gauze. It was loud, annoying and it bothers Wonwoo so damn much. Because Mingyu had no concept of safeguard, which often meant control, and control meant never being vulnerable.

Efficient safely, he would have said but the heart doesn’t care for safety at all. It never has. So Wonwoo is starting to realize, with a kind of reluctant awe, that whatever is stirring between them, it doesn’t fit neatly into the life he has crafted around predictability.

It spills out. It resists categorization. It wants to be felt, not managed.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s what makes it real.

What scares him the most.

Wonwoo stares down at the coffee in his hand, watching the ripples tremble slightly with his breath. Then, without knowing quite why, he pulls the small pad of yellow post-its closer, clicks his pen open and begins to scratches fast some words across the paper. It’s something instinctive, something he might regret or treasure later. Wonwoo folds the note once and tucks it quietly into his coat pocket, letting the silence linger around him like a held breath.

Then the sharp beep of his pager snaps the moment in half and whatever thoughts had been gathering quietly in Wonwoo’s chest, it dissolve into the sterile white noise of hospital routine.

He heads back into the rhythm of the ward, jumping from one room to other as he has some rounds to do and patients to check.

His first stop is a post-operative young man, barely thirty, recovering from surgery after relapsing due to a congenital malformation. The boy hints a polite bow with his head as soon as he sees him and Wonwoo pulls on a fresh pair of gloves as he lifts the edge of the patient’s gown to inspect the sutures that run like a tidy seam down the center of his chest. They’re clean. No redness, no swelling, no discharge. The vitals charted on the monitor stay stable, all within expected ranges.

“You’re healing very well” Wonwoo says, reassuring him. “No signs of infection. We’ll keep monitoring your markers but for now everything looks good”

He forces a small smile, something practiced and professional, but there’s no warmth behind it today. The young man nods and mutters a soft thank-you. Wonwoo nods back in a mechanical exchange and jots a few notes before stepping out without too much words.

The next room holds an older woman, Mrs. Baek, in a cotton pajama set patterned with tiny roses. She’s waiting for a coronary diagnostic exam, her shoulders hunched, her expression tight with barely masked fear. Her fingers worry the hem of her top, twisting and untwisting the fabric like a lifeline.

As soon as he enters, she reaches for him. “Doctor Jeon” she whispers, eyes wide and glistening. “I’ve never done well with these tests. I— What if something’s wrong ?”

Wonwoo hesitates, not because he doesn’t know what to say, but because the usual words feel strange in his mouth now, too light for the weight in her eyes. Still, he forces gently them out, “Everything is going to be okay, Mrs. Baek” he replies. “You’re in good hands”

She nods slowly and he offers her a reassuring squeeze before turning to make a note at the foot of her bed. But as he moves the pen across the page, his mind slips. He forgets to write the time, if he already recorded her next ECG appointment. His eyes blur over the chart as if Wonwoo is reading a different language on those papers and not something he has dealt with for all his life.

In the corridor, a nurse calls his name once and Wonwoo turns belatedly as if surfacing from underwater. “Doctor Jeon” she says, holding up the iPad. “Did you mean 5 milligrams or 50 for the enoxaparin ?”

Wonwoo stares at her but his mind goes blank. He doesn’t remember writing down that order or either reviewing it, “Five” he says automatically, then he frowns. “Wait— no. Ten. Ten milligrams”

The nurse isn’t so convinced, “Are you sure ?”

Wonwoo swallows, “Give me a second, I’ll… double-check the chart and notifying it in the system right away” he says as he just keeps walking heading to the next task.

In the next examination room, Wonwoo moves on autopilot. He checks the patient’s temperature, listens to lung sounds, nods through a set of vitals but when he reaches to the desk to update the chart, his hand meets the void. No persona iPad, no folder. Wonwoo freezes, eyes flicking around the room until they land on the counter by the blood pressure monitor, now glaringly empty. A sharp pulse of irritation rises in his chest.

He exhales through his nose, turns on his heel, and strides back down the corridor. It takes him almost a full lap of the ward before he realizes he's forgotten his personal items in the previous room, the one next to where he was. He stops abruptly, curses under his breath, and turns back, retracing his steps as his coat rustles behind him.

Everything feels off today.

Not catastrophically wrong as nothing’s crashed, no codes have been called, but it’s all just slightly... tilted. The kind of misalignment that throws off his whole equilibrium like a button done up in the wrong hole or a shoe on the wrong foot. The lights overhead are too bright, each fluorescent hum needling into his temples. The hum of nurses’ voices feels unusually loud, fraying at his nerves. His name echoes in the air continuously, threaded through conversations he isn’t part of, and it clings to him in a way that makes his skin itch.

Wonwoo doesn’t know if it’s real or imagined but it gnaws at him, that sense of being observed, of being somehow out of sync.

He is standing at the nurses' station now, one hand bracing the edge of the counter, the other flipping through a patient file. A dosage, one he’s written a hundred times before, stares blankly up at him from the page like a foreign language. His brow furrows as he turns a page back, then forward again. Still nothing, his mind feels sluggish but Wonwoo knows the right dosage to write.

Why can’t he summon it ?

He is on the verge of screaming in the middle of the ward but a warm hand clasps his shoulder, grounding him in an instant.

“Hey Dr. Jeon, is your heart out of order today ?” Seokmin’s bright voice come to his ear. Wonwoo startles slightly at his presence, he must look completely lost because Seokmin’s teasing fades right away into eyes crinkling with concern, “You okay, man ?”

“Yeah, just tired” Wonwoo mutters, dragging a hand through his hair and shaking his head, as if that could reset something inside him. “Didn’t sleep much”

Seokmin replies to him with something sympathetic, possibly even a joke to lighten the mood but the words dissolve into background noise like a conversation heard from underwater because Wonwoo’s gaze has drifted somewhere else, precisely just past Seokmin’s shoulder, down the long spine of the corridor where Mingyu is standing there and having a conversation with a doctor Wonwoo vaguely recognizes.

His body language is relaxed but focused, his hands are gesturing subtly as he speaks, his face turned slightly in profile sharp, composed, unreadable, until he pauses as if sensing something and his gaze lifts to meet Wonwoo’s.

It happens in an instant but the moment feels suspended like a single note held too long on a violin string. Across the distance, their eyes just lock and there’s no expression on Mingyu’s face that Wonwoo can name, not surprise, not warmth, not even tension but something passes between them as always quiet and loaded.

Wonwoo’s breath catches in his throat. It’s ridiculous, there’s nothing overt in that look, but his pulse jumps anyway like a string pulled too tight. Just like that the world narrows, the buzzes fade, the chatter of his colleagues, the scuff of shoes, the rustle of paper, all of it recedes to a distant hush. All that remains is that look and a charged pause. That invisible thread still strung between them from hours ago, still taut, still unanswered.

“I need a break” Wonwoo mutters more to himself than to anyone else. He doesn’t wait for an answer, he pivots on his heel and walks away from there with brisk steps. Seokmin calls something after him but Wonwoo barely registers as the world feels suddenly too loud, too demanding around the noise in his own head.

He moves like muscle memory is guiding him, through the maze of corridors past signs pointing toward diagnostics and imaging, past patients in wheelchairs and doctors mid-conversation. The din of beeping monitors and echoing intercoms fades with each hallway he puts behind him. His footsteps grow louder in his ears, the tap of his shoes against polished tiles is the only thing grounding him.

Eventually Wonwoo reaches the older part of the hospital, the wing that unbearably smells of sterilization and formaldehyde. The lights here are a little dimmer, the air always so damn cooler. Most people avoid these floors unless they have a reason to be here, Wonwoo does because there is where silence lives.

The signs on the massive doors are small, the lettering slightly worn with age, “Pathology, Authorized Staff Only” they say and beyond them a narrow hallway stretches out in front of him flanked by thick reinforced doors, many of which lead to temperature-controlled rooms and morgue storage. The atmosphere is quiet in a way that borders on unsettling, there are no stretchers rolling down these halls, no voices paging overhead, no rush of urgency. Just a subdued, clinical stillness broken only by the low drone of industrial air vents and the occasional creak of something shifting behind the walls.

Wonwoo exhales, his shoulders slumping a little as he steps into familiar isolation. The farther he gets from the hospital’s living heartbeat, the more his own erratic rhythm starts to slow. He turns a corner and stops in front of a lab which sign marks "Histopathology — Dr. Chwe", Wonwoo pushes the door open without much ceremony, no knock, no announcement.

There’s no need to, Hansol wouldn’t have heard him anyway.

Inside the white lights cast a clean sterile glow over stainless steel counters and stacked sample trays. The air smells faintly of ethanol and wax and in the far corner, hunched over a microscope like he’s part of the furniture himself, sits Hansol.

He’s in his element, his white coat is wrinkled at the sleeves, his buzzed hair slightly mussed from where he’s run his hands through it. One hand is adjusting the slide beneath the lens, the other taps absently against the desk in rhythm to whatever song pulses through the headphones snug in his ears. The wires trail into his lab coat’s front pocket, vanishing like veins into a quiet system of his own.

He doesn’t hear the door opening, doesn’t flinch at the footsteps or the figure now leaning against the doorframe with an exasperated sigh.

Wonwoo watches him for a second. There’s something about Hansol’s hyperfocus, his complete detachment from the chaos upstairs, that’s oddly grounding like watching someone live in a different tempo. Then Hansol turns and he flinches so hard he nearly knocks over a tray of prepared slides. One hand jerks up to his chest as he gasps, pulling the headphones out so fast they snap against his coat.

“Christ” he breathes, yanking the headphones out. “You gave me a damn heart attack”

“Well, bless you I’m here” Wonwoo mutters, stepping into the room and clicking the door shut behind him. “Could be your lucky day”

The silence in that room isn’t just physical, it’s something atmospheric and sacred, the kind that settles into the bones. Here everything is reduced to structure, to biology, and life and death aren’t so tragic but they are clean and quantifiable. Wonwoo is sure that the mess of his own emotions can’t follow him there, so he takes a seat on a stool, crossing his legs and leaning with one elbow on the counter. For a moment he just stays there, listening to the soft hum of the lab’s machinery, letting the weight in his chest rest.

Hansol watches him with a knowing look, already sensing this is more than just a social visit.

“Bad day ?” he asks.

Wonwoo doesn’t lift his head. “Bad everything” he replies, “What are you doing ?”

Hansol straightens a little in his chair, flicking his eyes back to the slide under the lens. “Analyzing cellular architecture from a fine-needle aspirate, thyroid nodule precisely” Wonwoo nods faintly, the terminology is familiar and easy to follow. Hansol keeps speaking eventually, “The patient is 34 and had multi-nodular goiter but this particular nodule was isolated during the total thyroidectomy. Irregular borders and calcifications on imaging, I’m just confirming cytological atypia and nuclear features”

“Benign ?” Wonwoo asks, already suspecting the answer.

“Malignant, unfortunately” Hansol exhales quietly through his nose. “Papillary carcinoma, it looks like a tall cell variant. She’s going to need radioactive iodine post-op, maybe TSH suppression therapy too”

Wonwoo leans back slightly, letting the information wash over him. He doesn’t know the patient, probably never will but the weight of the diagnosis still lands. Thirty-four… she is so young.

Hansol finally swivels toward him, raising an eyebrow. “What are you doing here, by the way ? Haunting my lab like the spirit of burnout past ?”

“I just needed some silence” Wonwoo says after a pause, folding his arms. “And somewhere to not be found. No one ever comes down here, anyway, unless they have to”

Hansol huffs a laugh. “Why do you all come here when you’re having a bad day ? What is it about pathology that screams 'emotional refuge' to the rest of the hospital ?”

“Because it’s quiet and no one bothers you”

He tilts his head in agreement, “You’re not wrong, though”

A slow silent beat passes between them, filled only by the low buzz of the overhead lights and the muted sound of centrifuges working in the next room. Wonwoo then looks up, the question escaping before he actually has fully decided to ask. “Who else came here ?”

“Mh ?”

“You said ‘why do you all come here during a bad day’, who else came ?”

“Mingyu” Hansol replies, not looking away from his microscope.

Wonwoo blinks. “Mingyu was here ?”

“Yeah, earlier today. He came to pick up some pathology reports, renal biopsy I think. He stayed longer than he needed” he says, perhaps scribbling some data in a notebook, “Didn’t talk much but his face was not a happy one”

“What did he look like to you ?”

“I don’t know” Hansol thinks about it, “Sad, a little bitter, maybe. Like he was trying not to show he was upset but it bled through anyway. Why do you care ? Did you two fight or something ?”

Wonwoo breathes out slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose under the glasses. “If by ‘fought,’ you mean we almost kissed... then yeah. Maybe.”

Hansol freezes mid-scroll and his chair creaks as he turns fully toward him, “Are you kidding me ?” Wonwoo doesn’t respond immediately to that question but the way he was biting his lips in frustration and the silence that follows, it’s enough to give him a proper answer.

“You’re not kidding!” Hansol’s voice lifts with disbelief, “Jesus Christ, Wonwoo, are you having an affair with Kim Mingyu ?!”

“I’m not having an affair with anyone!” Wonwoo nearly leaps to his own defense, his voice pitches higher than intended and echoes awkwardly in the room. “God, this sounds awful. Don’t say it like that”

Hansol raises both hands, feigning innocence but clearly amused. “I didn’t say it like anything. You said ‘almost kissed’. That’s not nothing”

“I don’t even know what it is” Wonwoo sighs, “I don’t think he does either”

“Okay but do you ?” Hansol asks and Wonwoo looks down at the floor, jaw tight, thoughts swirling too loud to untangle. “That’s what I thought, indeed” he says gently, “You’re unraveling”

“I’m fine”

Hansol looks at him sideways, “You’re hiding in a morgue-adjacent lab like it’s a monastery. That’s not ‘being fine’, Wonwoo”

Wonwoo lets out a breath and rubs the back of his neck, fingers digging slightly into the tense muscle there. “It’s not just the kiss” he says hesitant, “It’s… him. Mingyu. He—he confuses me. One minute he's cracking some dumb joke, the next he’s looking at me like he sees through all my walls. And it’s…”

Hansol watches him carefully, resting his chin in one hand, slides forgotten and elbow propped on the counter. “It’s what, exactly ?”

“Infuriating” Wonwoo mutters, “Yes, it’s infuriating! I don’t know what he wants and when I think I do, I… I second guess all of it, the whole damn situation”

“So, what happened exactly ? You said you almost kissed. How almost are we talking here ? Like, emotionally almost ? Or lips-were-breaths-away almost ?”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes “We were… close, okay ? He leaned in, I didn’t pull away. I think— I was going to meet him halfway but then an emergency call went off and everything just—” he snaps his fingers, “— collapsed”

Hansol grins slowly, a gleam of mischief in his eyes. “So you wanted to kiss him”

Wonwoo freezes. He opens his mouth, then closes it. “I didn’t not want to”

“That’s not the same as saying it out loud”

“Because saying it out loud is stupid” he shoots back, “It’s childish and I’m a grown man. I’m not—” he pauses, looking vaguely horrified by his own internal confession, “—I’m not going to stand around pining like this is a high school drama!”

Hansol snorts. “First of all, everyone deserves a good high school drama. Second, you are kind of standing around pining. Third… Mingyu isn’t married. So, what’s the actual problem here ?”

Wonwoo glares at him. “The problem is that I work with him. We share patients, mere competition and also the same operating room sometimes. It’s already awkward enough with all this weird leftover tension from college I don’t even know how to name. If something happens and it goes badly, and it will, I can’t just avoid him”

Hansol raises an eyebrow. “Why do you assume it’ll go badly ?”

Wonwoo doesn’t answer, he stares at the tile floor instead and Hansol watches him considering what to say for a beat. “Okay, let’s backtrack. What do you want ?”

“I want to not be thinking about this” Wonwoo replies, “I want to stop feeling like my brain is short-circuiting every time he walks into a room. I want my composure back”

Hansol huffs a laugh, “Sorry, man. That sounds suspiciously like attraction.”

“I’m tired, that’s all” Wonwoo says flatly, “I’m overworked, stressed, one blood test away from clinical burnout and my brain needs a proper reset rather than fabricating romantic delusions with a person I work closest with. It’s probably stress-hallucinations. Hormonal whiplash. Whatever, it will pass”

“Sure, blame the sleep deprivation. It’s a classic defense mechanism but for the record, I think you should go for it”

Wonwoo groans loudly.

“Hey, worst-case scenario ?” Hansol continues, shrugging. “It’s a disaster, you break his heart, or he breaks yours, and then you awkwardly run into each other over gallbladder resections for the rest of your careers. That’s medicine!”

“You’re absolutely not helping.”

“I’m just saying… if you do want him, he probably already knows. And you’re not imagining that moment, Wonwoo, people don’t almost kiss their coworkers by accident”

Wonwoo twists his lips into a tight, frustrated line, but this time he doesn’t argue or fire back with his usual sarcasm and denial. The tension still sits under his skin, restless and burning, but Hansol’s matter-of-fact way of cutting through him has left him quiet, too full of thoughts he doesn’t want really to unpack.

The silence between them stretches for a moment until Wonwoo’s pager buzzes again, the sharp mechanical beep slicing through the quiet of the lab, making him exhaling audibly and rolling his eyes with his head tilting toward the ceiling as if asking the universe for just a moment of peace.

Hansol smirks, pulling his headphones back over one ear. “Ah, the sweet music of responsibility,” he drawls, leaning back in his chair. “Meanwhile, I’ll be here, continuing to enjoy the wonders of dead cells and tissue slides. No emotional crises, no awkward almost-kisses, just cancer markers and coffee”

Wonwoo stands, “Remind me why I didn’t go into pathology”

“Because you’re a masochist with a god complex. Like all surgeons”

He rolls his eyes again but the corner of his mouth lifts slightly. As he starts toward the door, Hansol calls out casually, “Hey, by the way… have you seen Seungkwan at the cafeteria today ?”

Wonwoo pauses, turning around with a slow, suspicious squint. “Why do you ask me that ?”

"No reasons” he gives a shrug that’s far too nonchalant to be innocent. “Just suddenly craving one of his cakes, that Earl Grey chiffon thing was life-changing”

Wonwoo arches a brow. “You hate sweets”

“Not true. I hate bad cakes and Seungkwan’s are basically a religious experience”

Wonwoo shakes his head, almost laughing despite himself. The pager buzzes again, more insistent this time. “I have to go” he says, already moving toward the door but just before disappearing down the hall, he glances back over his shoulder, “But this conversation isn’t over! It’s just postponed!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be here!” the other replies, “In my quiet, emotionally stable lab!”

Wonwoo disappears down the corridor with the echo of his footsteps fading fast but the flicker of vulnerability in his eyes still lingers behind.

The rest of his shift passes in a blur of autopilot efficiency, his body moving while his mind floats just slightly detached. He had a few minor emergencies to manage in the ward, nothing dramatic that he hasn’t handled a hundred times before. He navigates each case with his usual quiet grace, voice low and reassuring, hands steady as he listens, checks vitals, adjusts IV lines. Room after room, patient after patient, he offers a polite smile that doesn’t ever quite reach his eyes.

In the operating room, Wonwoo is called in for a quick consult on a compromised arterial vessel. It’s something delicate but not urgent enough to flood his bloodstream with adrenaline. A junior resident stands across from him, too eager and talkative, stumbling over terminology and overcompensating with volume. Wonwoo corrects him gently, his voice cool and composed even as the weight of the day drags heavier through his limbs. He nods at the attending, offers a few final observations, and when he realizes that everything was going smoothly he slips out quietly from the room leaving them enough space to work.

Outside, the sun begins its descent into gold, streaks of warm amber light stretch through the high windows, falling across the linoleum like some soft benediction. The hospital’s rhythm slows as shift change hums low in the background. Carts roll quieter, voices soften, monitors glow a little dimmer. It’s nearing 6 in the afternoon and Wonwoo feels every second of it in his vertebrae.

He glances at the clock on the wall. Almost there, almost home.

In his mind, he’s already halfway through placing an order for Chinese takeout. Crispy beef, pork dumplings, that garlic eggplant dish he always orders when he’s pretending exhaustion is self-care. He can already taste the heat of it, the slick glaze on his tongue, the way the flavors anchor him after days like this.

His pager buzzes one last time, but a single-line message appears on the screen. “All clear”

His shift was finally and officially over.

Wonwoo makes his way down the locker rooms, feet dragging slightly now that the adrenaline has worn off. He’s already unfastening the top buttons of his coat as he walks, rolling his shoulders to ease the tightness carved into them since dawn. The corridor is empty, quiet save for the faint hum of overhead lights and the occasional muted voice echoing down from around a corner.

His fingers reach for the door handle once he gets there and when he pushes it open, his steps falter slightly.

Inside, Mingyu is standing shirtless in front of his locker. He’s halfway through changing, scrubs peeled down around his hips, one hand tugging at the waistband, the other braced lightly on the metal door. The lights above cast a cold sterile wash across the room but they catch on the glow of his tanned skin, the sweat-dampened slope of his shoulders, the lines of his back flexing subtly with every movement.

The sight slams into Wonwoo like a held breath he forgot to take and Mingyu turns slowly, as if sensing his presence before even hearing it.

Their eyes meet and for a heartbeat neither says anything. The stillness between them hums low and quiet, charged with the weight of what almost happened hours ago and everything they haven't said since. Wonwoo’s pulse stirs under his skin like a second hand ticking somewhere too close to his throat.

He swallows and clears his throat as he steps further into the room. “Hi…” he says, aiming for casual.

“Hi” Mingyu echoes softly. He doesn’t look away, he shifts enough to let the light catch his face but his eyes flicker in a way that betrays some internal pause. He reaches for a clean shirt from his bag but holds it in his hand instead of pulling it over his head.

Wonwoo walks to his locker and opens it, keeping his gaze carefully trained on neutral objects like his bag, the inside of the door, the folded sweatshirt he had shoved in that morning, anything that won’t pull him back toward the heat that radiates quietly from a few feet away. He undresses of his coat and changes in cozy clothes as the silence between them grows and fills its spaces with small sounds of fabric rustling where instead conversations should be.

“You clocking out ?” Wonwoo asks, glancing over his shoulder as he pulls on a hoodie.

“Yeah…” Mingyu replies, his fingers smoothing out his folded scrubs. “You too ?”

“Mm-mh” he nods, “I’m not staying for the night”

Wonwoo zips up his bag and slings it over his shoulder. He feels it again, the tension that lives behind his back in the pauses between the lockers and Mingyu’s every movements, the subtle stiffness in his posture, like there’s something waiting behind his tongue too careful to come out on its own. He is about to go out the room, Wonwoo has already his hand on the handle when words finally come out from Mingyu’s mouth.

“You came by car ?”

Wonwoo turns halfway back towards him, “Yeah”

“Me too…” Mingyu nods, gaze dipping for a second before it lifts again. “If you’re not in a rush…” he trails off for the briefest moment. “Wait for me ? We can head down to the parking lot together”

It’s not the question itself that catches Wonwoo off guard, it’s the tone, the way Mingyu says it so gently and careful, for the first time so absent of bravado.

Wonwoo’s brows lift just slightly and then something in him softens. The tight line of his mouth eases, “Sure…” he says, after a small pause. “I’ll wait for you outside”

He lets the door of the locker room close behind him again with a muted click, giving Mingyu the necessary time to change in his usual clothes. Wonwoo leans back against the cool tile wall, his arms folding loosely across his chest as he waits for him.

Something tells him the walk to the parking lot will stretch longer than it should. They probably would have addressed that conversation Wonwoo just didn't want to touch on or they might skip over it entirely, pretending none of it ever mattered, that the ‘almost' wasn’t real at all and all the tension in that room hadn’t curled tight around their lungs. They would have indulged in simple chat along the road, two colleagues walking out the hospital side by side after a stressful shift and nothing more.

Wonwoo stares blankly ahead, with his jaw tight and heart steady but not calm at all.

Whatever Mingyu decides to say, or not say, he’ll take it.

He just hopes he’s ready for either version.

Few minutes pass before the locker room door creaks open behind him and Mingyu steps out changed back into his usual clothes, a simple black t-shirt over denim jeans, and hair slightly damp from a quick rinse at the sink. There’s a hesitant ease to the way he moves, like he’s rehearsed this exit in his head but still isn’t quite sure how to land it. His gaze lifts immediately, searching for Wonwoo, and their eyes meet again both offering the same awkward little smile.

Nothing is said but something is understood and soon they fall into step without a word, walking through the floor as they make their way down toward the hospital’s main exit. The silence between them is tight but not uncomfortable exactly, every few steps Wonwoo’s fingers twitch inside the deep pocket of his sweatshirt while Mingyu keeps his hands stuffed in his jeans, his thumb absently rubbing the edge of his phone.

Despite the tension there’s something oddly peaceful about walking beside each other. Maybe it’s the fatigue from the day, or maybe it’s that strange comfort that comes from not needing to fill every silence as just being near each other seems to soften the sharper edges of what went unsaid.

The automatic doors slide open, and a soft chill greets them on the other side. The late summer air has started to shift, losing its heaviness as a breeze stirs the edges of Mingyu’s shirt and brushes past Wonwoo’s cheeks.

Mingyu breathes in and glances sideways. “Feels like the weather is slowly turning” he says.

“It seems so” Wonwoo hums, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “The best season is almost here”

Mingyu snorts gently, “Autumn ? Really ?”

“It… relaxes me” he shrugs.

“You like bare branches and gloomy gray skies ? That’s what relaxes you ?”

Wonwoo’s mouth twitches, then he lets out a quiet laugh. “No, I can’t stand the cold” he admits, a bit more playful now. “But I like the vibe, you know… the Halloween decorations, the warm drinks, the excuse to wear stupid sweaters”

“Okay, I’ll give you that” he laughs, “I can get behind the stupid sweaters. You probably have a collection.”

“I have one with tiny ghosts on it” Wonwoo recalls, “Jeonghan gave it to me as a joke last year but I actually wear it”

“Dr. Jeon in a haunted sweater” Mingyu chuckles again, “I need to see this with my own eyes”

They both laugh as they reach the edge of the lot, the space between them no longer so tight. The tension doesn’t disappear entirely but it settles less like a storm cloud and more like the quiet before rain. Then, as the laughter fades, Mingyu glances over him, “How’s the patient of the emergency ?” he asks, ‘the one that interrupted us’, “Has he stabilized ?”

Wonwoo nods, gaze steady on the road ahead. “He had a respiratory crisis, his heart was giving out but we managed to save him just in time” he pauses, exhaling slowly. “It took a bit but he’s okay now”

“That’s good…” Mingyu says with genuine relief. “You handled it well”

Wonwoo doesn’t reply right away, he just lets the words sit between them, strangely soothing “Thank you” he murmurs, the tips of his ears flushing. “How was your day ?” he then asks, seeking for neutral ground “Did you find the diagnosis for that girl in the emergency room ?”

Mingyu nods, “It was hard but… Aseptic Meningitis”

“Ah that’s very insidious” Wonwoo’s eyebrows raise, “Easy to miss on a first sweep”

“Her bacterial cultures were negative but cerebrospinal fluid showed lymphocytic predominance. I started antivirals just in case and called for infectious disease. She’s already doing better”

Wonwoo listens with quiet appreciation as the corners of his mouth tug upward. There’s something undeniably satisfying about hearing Mingyu talking so measured and thoughtful. It reminds him of old study sessions where he always managed to explain things in a way that made them feel simple.

“You have always been good at getting to the root of things after all” Wonwoo recalls in his memory.

Mingyu glances over modestly, lips twitching like he’s debating whether to deflect or accept. He says nothing, only shrugs like the compliment barely grazes him but the flush that colors his cheeks gives him away. Wonwoo notices it and something gentle settles in his chest. He smiles faintly to himself, quietly proud to have caused that reaction.

“Also—” he adds, as if the thought just surfaced. “I heard about the baby born in the elevator”

Mingyu’s face brightens immediately. “Did you ?”

“Couldn’t not” he chuckles, “The hot news was running through all the wards. Congratulations, by the way, it must have been very emotional”

“It was epic, you should have been there” he looks at him meaningfully, “You would’ve loved it”

Wonwoo snorts, “It would have been… very unusual for me”

“There’s always a first time” he grins.

They’re slowing down their pace now, steps naturally tapering off as Mingyu stops in front of a sleek black car parked at the edge of the lot, sitting beneath the soft amber spill of the overhead lamp. “This is mine” he simply says.

And just like that, the walk is over.

Wonwoo blinks, surprised by how brief and natural it felt. A part of him — an honest, deep and very quiet part of him — feels a small sting of disappointment. He hadn’t even realized he wanted the moment to last longer until it ended. There’d been no awkward jokes, no prodding questions, no rehashing of that almost-kiss. Mingyu had been kind, very respectful and gentle in a way that wasn’t dismissive.

Maybe that was all it would be. Another fleeting thing buried under the weight of a long shifts and the armor they both wore so well. A moment that could have been more but simply wasn’t.

“So…” Mingyu says, a little hesitant now. “Hope you have a goodnight and a good rest”

Wonwoo nods. “Yeah… you too. Drive safe, okay ?”

Their eyes meet for a beat too long, a breath too deep, but the echo of everything unsaid lingers between them. No quiet words catch, neither of them moves to say it, and Wonwoo exchanges him a little nod before turning away. He takes a few step, walks slowly as his hands are buried deep in his pockets, his shoulders getting smaller and smaller beneath the fabric.

The distance widens among them and he’s halfway across the lot when sudden words comes to him, rising in his mind like a flash so stubborn an clear.

“If you hesitate for too long, son, the moment is gone and it disappears like it was never there”

Wonwoo stops in the middle of the street, beneath the open stretch of evening sky, as Myungsoo’s voice creeps in his head. His fists are clenched inside his sleeves, the breeze tugs gently at the hem of his hoodie, and his chest aches with the weight of knowing what he has always been too careful to admit.

Because the truth is that he has always been cautious. Always waiting for the moment to feel right, for the heart to be safe, for the risk to look like a promise instead of a threat. But if he waits any longer, if he lets this pass by again, what if there is no next time ?

“You can’t keep building walls and then aching for someone to climb them”

Wonwoo stands still a second longer, caught at the crossroads between comfort and risk. The familiar urge is to turn away, to bury everything under another silent goodbye, but this time he doesn’t.

Before he can think better of it, before his fear catches up to him, he spins on his heel and calls out.

“Mingyu!”

His name rips through the air breathless, more like a plea than a call. Mingyu turns immediately, startled. His hand was just reaching for the car door handle but now he freezes mid-motion, his brows furrowing as he watches Wonwoo running toward him. There’s a look of something close to disbelief crossing his face, like his brain is still catching up to what his eyes are seeing.

“Did you forget— ?” he was about to say confused but the words don’t get the chance to land because Wonwoo doesn’t slow down, doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even let the fear settle back in.

He reaches him in a few quick strides, breath catching in his throat, heart pounding so loudly it drowns out the crunch of his sneakers against the pavement. Wonwoo closes the distance between them, his hands come up cupping his face, palms warm against the curve of his jaw, and before Mingyu can say another word, Wonwoo leans in and kisses him.

Everything else falls away.

The world, the hospital lot, the hours of exhaustion, everything dissolves the moment their lips meet swallowed by the sudden heat blooming between them. Wonwoo presses his mouth to Mingyu’s with something like relief, a desperation, as if he had been holding it in too long and the truth finally found its way out. It isn’t tentative, it isn’t testing. It’s urgent the way he kisses him, in the way only something long held back can be.

Wonwoo’s heart hammers against his ribs, so loud he can barely hear his own breath as their mouths press into the kiss. His lips part against Mingyu’s, soft and seeking, tasting the warmth of his tongue, the quiet gasp Mingyu exhales into his mouth like he wasn’t ready for this, but wants it anyway.

Mingyu stiffens for just a second but then his gym bag slips from his fingers, thudding against the pavement in surrender. His arms are around Wonwoo now, strong hands gripping his hips like he’s afraid he might vanish. He pulls him close, closer than they have ever been, until there’s no space between them, until Wonwoo is pressed fully into him and everything feels too much and not enough all at once. Mingyu kisses him back just as hard and hungry, his mouth chasing his lips like they might be the source of his breaths.

Wonwoo rises on the tips of his feet, his body drawn toward Mingyu like a tide. One arm winds around his neck, the other threading into his hair, tugging softly. The kiss deepens, their lips parting messily, breath shared and a low sound catches in Mingyu’s throat as Wonwoo’s hand slides down the back of his neck.

Their mouths find each other again and again, like neither of them can get enough, like they have been waiting for this for ages. Wonwoo’s pulse is racing, his chest rising sharply with each breath as the panic is gone replaced with something fierce and warm and alive. His fingers tighten just slightly in Mingyu’s hair and Mingyu responds by gripping his waist harder grounding them both.

Wonwoo makes a soft involuntary sound against his lips, not even a word, but it goes straight to Mingyu’s chest, tightening everything.

They’re no longer just two colleagues saying goodnight.

They have never been.

And when they finally pull apart, they do it slowly like the world outside them doesn’t matter yet, like the pause between heartbeats could hold them there forever. Their lips part reluctantly, brushing one last time in a soft breathless afterthought, as if neither of them really wants to let go. Their foreheads meet gently, resting together in the quiet aftermath, their breathing uneven but synced. Eyes closed, they stand in the hush that follows caught in the golden space where something new has just begun.

Wonwoo’s hands are still curled behind Mingyu’s neck, his fingers trembling slightly, his chest tight with everything that hasn’t been said but no longer needs to be. He could stay like this, right here, for a long time letting the silence speak for them, letting the warmth between them say what words can’t.

And then something shifts in his memory, a soft tug in the back of his mind.

Because on that tiny piece of paper he folded in his coat, Wonwoo had written a sentence that Myungsoo had said it to him half-asleep and that had particularly struck him, not even knowing what it actually would come to mean.

“Sometimes, the heart knows how to swim long before the brain learns not to drown.”

Wonwoo feels it in his chest now. The way some things aren’t meant to be calculated, planned, or protected. Some things have to be felt, dared, risked even if the heart breaks the surface gasping, at least it had the courage to dive. Maybe some choices don’t need to be perfect or timed right or safe, maybe they just need to be real.

Wonwoo looks up at Mingyu who’s watching him quietly, who keeps sweetly pecking his lips, and feels the truth settle in him like light finally touching the bottom of a deep pool.

Now he finally understands that not every feeling has to be locked away.

Chapter Text

"Oh, to see without my eyes
The first time that you kissed me
Boundless by the time I cried
I built your walls around me"

After their first kiss, neither of them pulled away.

They lingered, breathless and wide-eyed, caught in a moment that felt too significant to break. Their foreheads nearly touched as they gazed at each other, as if confirming that it wasn’t just a dream. Then, as if by silent agreement, they reached out again like two people who had been waiting their whole lives for this exact moment to find them.

There was no urgency in the way their lips met the second time, only a deep aching need. A hunger and desire that wasn’t rushed but sweetly reverent as each movement was drawn out as if they were learning to know each other through the act. The world around them faded into stillness, there were no footsteps, no distant horns, just the soft rhythmic sound of their breathing tangled together in the quiet darkness of the parking lot.

Mingyu had grabbed Wonwoo by the waist with a firmness that surprised even himself, pulling him in and gently pressed him back against the cold metal of his car.

The muffled thud of his body meeting the door was swallowed by the silence of the night and surprisingly Wonwoo — quiet, careful Wonwoo — didn’t flinch either protested to his eagerness, rather he let it happen, responding with a growing fervor and slow-burning intensity of his own. His fingers curled into the fabric of Mingyu’s shirt, holding him close as if trying to anchor him there against his chest.

Their mouths chased each other without pauses, moving together with growing urgency and parting only to reconnect again in a fervent rhythm. Mingyu kissed him slowly at first, then deeper, his tongue tracing paths against Wonwoo’s as if memorizing the sweet taste of him. He could feel it, the subtle tremble in his frame, a shiver running just beneath the surface that made his head spin.

All sense of reason had fallen away, there was no logic left in their gestures. No hospital schedules, no professional boundaries, no white coats or unspoken rules to act as a barrier. For once, there was nothing left to hide behind but just the two of them finally crossing a line they had danced around for far too long.

Wonwoo’s hand slipped beneath his shirt, fingertips brushing against the bare skin of his side. The touch was cold but it lit a fire in him. Mingyu cupped his face with both hands, gently starting to slowing down the kiss. He pressed their foreheads together, letting the heat of their breaths mix in the small space between them, their lips brushing again in something softer now close to worship.

“I don’t want this to end here…” Mingyu had whispered, his tone low and unsteady against his mouth.

Wonwoo didn’t answer right away. His eyes closed briefly as if grounding himself, before fluttering open again as if he were wrestling with some mixed feelings inside, his expression clouded with thoughts he hadn’t found the courage to voice. Still catching his breath, he raised a hand and placed it on Mingyu’s chest, letting it rest there. Then he leaned in, giving him one last kiss.

“Go home, Gyu” he murmured gently. His voice wasn’t harsh, it was soft like a request rather than a dismissal. Like a bookmark placed in the middle of a story rather than the closing of a chapter. There was no coldness in it, only that quiet restraint that always surrounded Wonwoo, an eloquent silence that spoke louder than anything he could say. “We’ll talk. Just… not tonight”

Mingyu hesitated, caught between a dozen things he wanted to say and the simple urge to hold on for just a little longer. He searched for his eyes, for a sign that would convince him to stay but he didn’t push. He nodded slowly with his eyes lingering, his heart heavy and stepped back letting him go.

He watched him the entire time, the way he turned around and walked briskly, how he slipped into his car and started the engine, only to drove off from the parking lot as his taillights disappeared into the night. He should have gone home with a lightness of heart because of that overwhelming kiss, but instead Mingyu had a weight that just wouldn't let him go, a thousand questions that were already there but that now, confused, were buzzing around in his head even more than before.

And now, lying awake in the quiet solitude of his bed, Mingyu watches the first fragile light of dawn creeping through the curtains to caress his face. His sleep had been restless that night, haunted by the memory of the imprint of those lips still lingered on his own, of Wonwoo’s ghostly warmth against his skin. He can still feel the weight of his hands touching his face and his heart hammers fiercely in his chest as each beat echoes the moment again and again like a vivid replay on a loop in his mind.

Mingyu brings a hand up to cover his face as if trying to hold back the flood of emotions threatening to spill over. A shaky breath escapes him, caught somewhere between confusion and fear. Wonwoo had kissed him, had touched him in a way that set off fireworks inside his chest, igniting something fierce, new and terrifying all at once. But for him... what had it truly meant ? Was it as overwhelming ? Or was it just a fleeting moment, a fragile spark soon to be snuffed out by the weight of everything they had yet to face ?

Mingyu doesn’t know exactly what last night means, not entirely, but he knows how it feels and that feeling is enough to keep him lying still, eyes fixed on the ceiling as if the answer might be etched into the plaster above him. His chest rises and falls too fast for this early in the morning, but he doesn’t try to slow it as the memory is alive, flashing vivid in his mind and pulsing through his body with the weight of something unfinished.

Wonwoo hadn’t kissed him passively, it hadn’t been a slip or a moment of confusion. He had held him tight, had clung to him like someone who desperately needed him in that moment, who would finally let something crack open. His hands had trembled, his lips had been sure and that kiss hadn’t been messy or misguided, it had been everything he had ever wished for.

Electric, slow, painful.

A confession, years too late, made without a single word.

So why does Mingyu feel like a door slammed shut the moment it opened ?

There was no rejection in Wonwoo’s voice, no chill in his tone, just that familiar silence and that carefully built calm he always wears like armor. The moment their lips stopped moving, it was as if the spell between them had ended and Wonwoo had quietly closed the latch behind it, replacing the lock right after letting Mingyu glimpse what lived behind it.

They’ll talk. Wonwoo said they would and Mingyu doesn’t know when but he’ll wait. Of course he will. He always waits for the things that matter, for the people who are special to him, but even as he tells himself that, something inside him coils tight because now that Mingyu has tasted and brushed against the truth of what a direct contact with Wonwoo could be, he doesn’t want to go back to stolen glances and quiet pretending.

He wants more than a look. More than the memory of warm arms holding him.

Mingyu wants to understand.

Not just the surface, not just the calm indecipherable mask that Wonwoo wears so well.

He wants to go beyond the walls, step past the fortress of silence and into the parts that no one else sees. He wants to knock on the heavy doors and be let inside to see what’s really there in the quiet rooms where Wonwoo hides the parts of himself he doesn’t offer easily. Because last night, something had opened and bloomed between them and even though Wonwoo closed it right away, Mingyu had seen his light just for a second and he can’t unsee it now.

What’s holding Wonwoo back ? Is it fear ? Shame ? Some story Mingyu hasn’t been told ? Is it the hospital ? Their jobs ? The terrifying idea of them ?

Or is it something simpler, something that hurts more ?

What if Wonwoo just doesn’t feel the same way ? Not completely, not enough.

The thought makes Mingyu’s chest constrict like something is pressing down on his ribs from the inside. He can survive waiting, he can survive the silence. He can even survive the distance, he has done it before, but the uncertainty ? That unbearable space between hope and doubt, that’s what makes him really hard to even breathe.

Mingyu rolls onto his side, draping an arm across the pillow beside him that would’ve held Wonwoo if things had gone differently that night. His fingers twist into the sheets without thinking, gripping them like it might anchor him. “What are you thinking, hyung ?”

He closes his eyes but all he can see is Wonwoo’s face hunting him. His cheeks flushed, lips red from kissing, beautiful eyes looking at him like maybe, just maybe, he wanted him too.

But yet... he had still decided to walk away.

And that painful realization settling inside his chest makes Mingyu exhaling a low tired breath, the kind that doesn’t come from the lungs but from somewhere deeper carved out by hope and the fragile ache of ‘almosts’. With Wonwoo nothing is easy, it never has been, probably never will be but it's real and Mingyu has waited his whole life for something like this, something concrete that isn't fast or convenient or performed for someone else’s expectations.

He has learned that true feelings are never simple. They don’t arrive neatly packaged or perfectly timed, they are messy, sometimes quiet and difficult to name but always real. And the real ones, the ones that matter, demand more than just desire. They ask for time, patience and lots of care.

Mingyu understands that now and so he chooses to clothe himself in respect, in the kind of waiting that isn’t passive but intentional. He’s willing to hold space for something still unfolding, to offer his heart without rushing the answer because he believes this could be something beautiful and if there’s even the smallest chance it could grow into something true then it’s worth everything. Even the waiting.

After a long steadying sighs, Mingyu finally rolls out of bed.

His arms reach high over his head, fingers stretching toward the ceiling as his back arches in a full-body pull. A soft pop echoes from his spine pulling a low groan from his throat, muscles flex beneath golden skin still warm from sleep. Morning light filters through the windows, casting a cool dim light on the room. Mingyu can see the neat surfaces of the furniture, the books stacked on his desk, his bottle of water perfectly lined up on the nightstand next to his still-off phone. Everything is in its place.

He stands there for a moment barefoot on the wooden floor, just breathing, then he slips into his morning routine like muscle memory.

The warm spray of the shower soothes all the tension still coiled in his shoulders. He leans into it as the water stream down his back in steady ribbons and steam curls up around his body like fog. For a few minutes, Mingyu lets the sound of the running water drown out his racing thoughts, the dull ache in his muscles, and when he finally steps out, he wraps a towel around his waist and wipes the condensation from the mirror. His reflection stares back at him, wet hair plastered to his forehead, eyes faintly swollen from too little sleep. He looks tired but not so bad after all.

He brushes his teeth, shaves his cheeks and stubble chin and heads to the kitchen shortly after where the scent of toasted sesame oil and soy sauce soon fills the air. Mingyu moves so natural in his space, he chops green onion, cracks eggs into a bowl and tosses steamed rice into a pan.

The kimchi fried rice sizzles in the wok as from the speaker his Spotify playlist hums in the background with some upbeat songs playing low, a little too bright for his mood but grounding all the same. He plates the dish neatly, tops it with a fried egg and sits at the counter as he eats slowly but finishes every bite.

Afterward Mingyu rinses the dishes and changes in his workout gear. A fitted black t-shirt that hugs the broad lines of his chest and shoulders and black athletic shorts that end mid-thigh revealing his toned athletic legs. He pulls on crisp white crew socks, laces up his trainers and last he grabs a black baseball cap, tugging it low over his still-damp hair. He also packs his bag for his shift that afternoon and slings it over one shoulder, stepping out the door shortly after to head to the gym.

The place pulses with energy the moment Mingyu pushes the doors open and walks in. The air there is thick with bass and the rhythm of motion, sweat clings to the space like a second skin. The machines hiss, weight clanks in steady beats and bodies move in well-calculated movements driven by the need to push a little further than the day before.

Light motivating music plays in the background, it’s upbeat but unobtrusive as it blends seamlessly into the environment. Everyone there is locked in their own world of effort and focus, and there's a quiet respect for that solitude. No shouting, no loud chatting, just movements, breath and control. Familiar faces pass by, some nodding at him and Mingyu greets them with a polite smile and a subtle lift of his chin without engaging in any particular conversation.

He slips easily into the rhythm, stows his gym bag in a nearby locker, then scans the room until he spots Areum at the squat rack. She's just finishing a heavy set, unloading the last plate from a barbell. Her turquoise leggings contour her defined legs and her black sports bra leaves her back bare, muscles shifting beneath a sheen of sweat that glistens under the slanted sunlight pouring through the windows. Her hair is tied up in a voluminous bun that sways slightly with every movement.

Mingyu walks over and her lips curve into a knowing smile as she catches sight of him. She hooks her thumbs under the band of her headphones and pulls them down around her neck, breath still a little uneven from her last set.

“Hey sleepyhead! I texted you on Kakao to see if you were coming” she says over the music, “But I only got one tick. Did you turn your phone off again ?”

“Yeah” Mingyu replies, leaning in to press a quick brotherly kiss to her forehead, “I needed to work out without distractions and didn’t want to risk any calls that would pull me back in”

“Emergency radio silence, got it” she nods, giving him a knowing look. “That bad, huh ?”

Mingyu shows a quiet half-smile but doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he adjusts his cap flipping it backwards and looks toward the nearest mat. “Can you help me warming up ?”

“Of course, but only if you tell me why you look like someone vacuumed your soul out through your nose” Areum says, grabbing a resistance band from the wall that she tosses it to him as they move toward the open stretch area.

That actually makes him laugh. “Did you even sleep ?” she keeps asking, crouching down beside him as he lowers himself onto the mat.

“I slept” Mingyu replies, bracing his forearms behind him as Areum starts looping the band around his thighs. “Just… not well. It was one of those nights where your brain won’t shut up, you know ?”

Areum looks up at him, brow furrowing slightly. She guides his leg into a stretch, pushing gently at his knee, “Hospital thoughts or Wonwoo thoughts ?”

Mingyu exhales sharply through his nose, his gaze drifting to the ceiling. “Both” he admits, “But mostly him”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“I’m not even sure what to talk about”

"Just try. At least it'll make you feel lighter, even though not much changes”

Mingyu glances down at her and sits with that for a moment, “Yesterday night we kissed in the parking lot”

Areum’s hands pauses just above his kneecap, her eyebrows lift slightly but she doesn’t look surprised more like something just clicked into place. “Well, finally” she smiles.

“It wasn’t planned” he continues, “It just… happened or maybe it didn’t just happen. Maybe it’s been building all this time and last night was just the moment it all cracked open”

She shifts her weight and guides him into another stretch, “And how did it feel ?”

Mingyu doesn’t even hesitate, “Fucking amazing” he breathes out, “Like everything else faded out. No hospital, no expectations, just… me and him and something that felt more honest than anything we’ve said to each other in weeks”

Areum nods slowly, helping him to switch to the other leg. “Then why do you look like your heart got run over ?”

“Because after —” Mingyu says, grimacing slightly as the words leave him, “He pulled back, not like he regretted it, just… like he needed space. He told me to go home, said we would talk later”

“Did he sound like he meant it ?” she asks careful.

He nods, “Yeah, he did. But I’ve been sitting in that silence ever since and I don’t know what it means. I’m not sure if he’s scared or if he’s just not ready… or if he kissed me and still doesn’t feel the same way”

Areum sits back on her heels and studies him for a moment. “Mingyu, you’re one of the most emotionally intelligent men I know. If it felt real to you, it probably was. But real doesn’t mean easy, especially not with someone like Wonwoo”

“I know” Mingyu murmurs, looking at her with his tired eyes. “I’m trying not to push. I really am. I just… wish I understood what he needs but I also don’t want to go crazy trying to read between the lines of every silence. We’re on the same shift today, I’ll see him after lunch”

Areum makes a sympathetic sound in her throat, tugging gently on his ankle “Do you think it’s gonna be awkward ?”

“I don’t know… I was actually hoping you’d be at the hospital today" he admits, “I could’ve used some moral support”

“Sorry, no shifts today” she smirks and massages his knee. “I’m gloriously free until tomorrow”

“Of course you are” Mingyu mutters, lips tugging into the faintest pout. “You always vanish on the days I need you most”

“That’s not true” she replies smoothly, giving his thigh a firm pat, “I’m here now. Making sure your massive legs don’t snap any ligaments from emotional tension”

Mingyu rises from the mat, stretching his long frame upward with a low groan until his joints crack with relief. His spine is very grateful for that stretch and around him the gym’s energy seems to intensify as something electronic with a summer groove plays from the speakers, vibrating through the whole floor. He rolls his shoulders once then he grabs a kettlebell off the nearby rack to start his circuit. As he moves, his eyes flick up to the mirrored wall lining the gym. It’s a habit, checking the form, keeping rhythm, staying aligned. But this time, something else catches Mingyu’s attention.

In the far corner, leaning casually against the bench press, is Jungkook. The personal trainer.

His black compression shirt clings to his ever muscle letting his tattoos showing half-visible beneath the sleeves. He’s not training anyone at the moment, just resting against the wall with an effortless maybe too-casual posture. His gaze is outward but he’s actually watching them, not at them exactly but Areum.

Mingyu lifts the kettlebell once, twice, then sets it down and angles himself slightly toward her. “You know he has been staring at you for the last five minutes, right ?”

Areum glances over mid-bicep curl, “Who?”

Mingyu tilts his chin subtly toward the mirror. “Jungkook. Far wall, black shirt, very subtle”

She shifts her eyes to the mirror and, sure enough, catches Jungkook in the act. The moment their gazes meet, he flashes a small smile like he’s been caught red-handed and quickly looks down, fumbling with his water bottle.

Areum groans under her breath and returns to her curls. “Oh, come on. Don’t start with that”

“He literally just smiled at you like you’re the main character of a romance drama”

She laughs, trying to shake it off, but a faint pink is rising on her cheeks. “Mingyu”

“I’m serious,” he says, his tone shifting from playful to gently insistent. “He has been checking you out for weeks, Areum. You really haven’t noticed ?”

“Of course I noticed” she mutters, setting the dumbbells down with a little more force than necessary. “It’s a gym, not a blindfolded meditation retreat. I just… don’t read into it”

“Why not ?” Mingyu asks, genuinely curious now. “He seems a decent guy. Funny, kind, hot in a kind of annoyingly perfect way and you’re into that kind of thing—”

“I’m not” she snaps, though her tone softens around the edges. She picks up a smaller set of dumbbells now, moving into triceps. “And I’m done with men”

Mingyu blinks. “Done with men ? As in… forever ?”

“Forever might be optimistic” she says, shrugging. “Let’s say… indefinitely”

He watches her carefully, concern flickering in his expression. “Why ?”

“Because I’m not built for that stuff” Areum exhales slowly, setting down the weights and wiping the sweat from her brow with a towel. “Love, relationships... it’s all messy and it costs too much and gives too little”

“That’s not true” Mingyu says gently.

She gives him a sharp look. “Says the man who kissed Wonwoo last night and then spiraled into a thirty-hour anxiety coma”

“Touché” he snorts, caught off guard by the accuracy. “But seriously… I think you’re selling yourself short”

Areum doesn’t answer right away. Her eyes flick to the mirror again and Jungkook is still there, this time pretending to stretch his shoulder, but clearly sneaking another glance her way. The second their eyes meet again, his composure slips and his face flushes slightly. He quickly checks his watch like it suddenly demanded urgent attention and turns away.

Mingyu elbows her. “See ?! He likes you!”

“Mingyu stop! Don’t do this!” she groans and lightly swats him with her towel.

“Come on!” he grins, “You’re beautiful, smart, scary charming and —“

“I’m also a single mom of a seven-year-old boy!” she says bluntly, cutting him off. Her voice gets suddenly quieter as something vulnerable flickers at the edge. “And let’s face the truth, Gyu, no one wants to date someone like me”

Mingyu’s expression softens, humor draining out of him in an instant. He steps a little closer, folding his arms in a way that makes him seem less like a teasing friend and more like someone who’s really listening. “That’s bullshit and you know that” he says, “You’re a catch and Jungkook doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who gets intimidated easily. You don’t know what he would think unless you actually let someone in even just a little”

She stares at the floor for a beat, then shakes her head lips twitching. “You sound like my mother”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. She likes me more than you do, anyway”

Areum huffs a quiet laugh, the weight in her chest easing just a little. Then her expression softens further and her voice turns gentler. “When are you going to visit Haru, by the way ? He has been saying ‘Uncle Mingyu’ this, ‘Uncle Mingyu’ that, every time I come home”

Mingyu chuckles under his breath, catching the subtle pivot in the conversation for what it is. “You’re changing the subject”

“I know”

“Tell him Uncle Mingyu is coming to visit him soon. I promise”

“Just do me one favor, no more toys, please. Our apartment already looks like a plastic apocalypse”

“I can’t guarantee that” Mingyu replies with a smile, “I’m weak for children”

Areum laughs and lifts her water bottle to clink it lightly against his in an unspoken toast to shared chaos. They exchange a few carefree laughs, the kind only old-best-friends can share, and for a moment the earlier tension seems far away. In the mirror, Jungkook glances up at her again, just in time for their eyes to meet once more, but his phone slips in his hand and he fumbles with it awkwardly trying to recover both the grip and his dignity.

Areum watches him, half-exasperated, half-amused. “He’s so bad at pretending he isn’t looking…”

“Told you” Mingyu says with a smug grin, “He likes you, you should ask him out on a date”

“I won’t do that”

“Yes, you will”

She rolls her eyes and swats him again with her towel. “You’re insufferable, you know it ?”

“And yet, here you are” he says, smirking, “Warming me up at 11am like my unpaid emotional support trainer!”

Areum shakes her head but the smile she has been resisting finally breaks through. “Come on dummy, you still have a lot of sets to go”

They fall into the workout rhythm as they always do, gritty and efficient, with bursts of encouragement that teeter between deadpan provocation and genuine care. They alternate between weights and resistance training, each round laced with cardio that leaves their pulses pounding in their ears. Areum shadows Mingyu during his barbell squats, eyes sharp and analytical, correcting his posture with a subtle tap on his shoulder blade. Mingyu, in return, narrates her push-ups in the voice of a dramatic game show host, barely suppressed grin from the girl.

They sweat, they laugh and don’t speak about their tragic love-lives anymore but the heaviness that hovered earlier has completely vanished, dispersed somewhere between the breathless rounds and shared effort. There’s a healing in that post-workout afterglow, in the hum of sore muscles and the quiet ache beneath the skin as they towel off to head back into the midday sun.

After the workout they pick up lunch at the family-run diner tucked in the same quiet corner of the neighborhood, cradled between a hair salon and a stationery store. The faded sign above the door is barely legible but the aroma spilling out is unmistakable and totally the best in town. The woman at the counter greets and recognizes them, packing up their usual order in tidy containers without them needing to tell her out loud.

They carry their food a few blocks down to the riverside park, feet crunching over gravel and cicadas buzzing lazily from the trees. A bench under a ginkgo tree waits for them, wide branches stretching like arms overhead. The Han River glimmers in the distance, reflecting sunlight in soft flashes. Nearby, joggers pass with steady rhythm, a cyclist rings a bell as he weaves through the path, a mother’s voice floats through the breeze calling out to a laughing child.

Mingyu opens the containers and spreads them out between them like a well-practiced ritual. Kimchi jjigae still steaming, japchae slick with sesame oil, rolled omelets and spicy radish on the side. The smell makes his stomach growl and Areum laughs at the sound. They eat slowly and their movements mirror one another as they reach for the same banchan, scooping rice with the same rhythm, chewing in sync. To an onlooker, they might seem like siblings or longtime lovers but they fall into a rarer category, two people bound by something forged through loyalty, laughter, and years of holding each other up with no expectations in return.

Areum takes a long sip from her tea bottle, eyes fixed ahead on a mother chasing her toddler across the grass. “You think I should really do it ?” she asks, edged with something uncertain. “Try again ? Throw myself back into the mess ?”

Mingyu glances over, caught off guard not by the question but by the ease with which she lets it out. She rarely speaks like this, not unless it matters. Her lips indeed twitch with a half-smile, “I don’t know…” she shrugs before he can even reply, “Maybe I’m just tired of pretending that I don’t care being alone. I act like it’s a choice and sometimes it is. But other times…it just feels like I’ve been benched from the rest of the world”

There’s no sarcasm in her voice now and no shield of humor. Just quiet vulnerability, like she’s cracked the door open and is still deciding whether to let the light in. Mingyu still looks at her, heart tugging a little bit more this time.

“I think you deserve to try again” he says finally, “Not because you need someone by your side to fulfill yourself, you don’t, but because you’re really amazing. You deserve to feel wanted, to be happy even if it’s messy”

“It’s not just about me” Areum says after a moment, “It’s for Haru too. My whole life revolves around him and I don’t regret that for a second but it means I don’t get to date like everyone else. I can’t ‘see where it goes’, I don’t have the luxury to figure things out slowly. People say they understand but then they realize a kid isn’t a weekend accessory. He’s a person, my priority, and not everyone wants to come second”

“I know” Mingyu says gently, “But not everyone is like your ex. Not everyone will disappear the second things get complicated. The right person won’t just tolerate Haru’s presence in your life, they’ll want to be part of it. And someone who truly sees you ? They’ll make time, Aru. No excuses, you won’t have to beg for it”

Areum glances at him, eyes just a little shinier than before. “I don’t want Haru to grow up thinking love looks like settling for less, that you only get pieces of someone”

“Then show him what real love looks like” Mingyu says. “Even if it takes time to find, even if it’s just showing up for yourself first”

She breathes in, deep and slow, then she huffs out a soft laugh wiping the side of her nose with the back of her hand. “Fuck, you’re so annoyingly good at pep talks” she mutters.

Mingyu offers her a grin. “I charge emotional labor in the form of lunch and the occasional surprise coffee”

Areum elbows him lightly, the smile finally tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Well, good thing I fed you today. That should cover at least three therapy sessions”

“Only two. You still owe me for that time you cried in my car and ate all my fries”

She lets out a genuine laugh this time, shaking her head. “God, I hate how much better I felt better that day”

“Yeah” he says, nudging her knee with his. “Disgusting, isn’t it ? This thing where talking actually helps ?”

Areum elbows him again but there’s warmth in her eyes now, a new clarity softening her expression. She falls quiet for a few seconds, then glances at him out of the corner of her eye, “Okay, I’ll ask Jungkook out” she says at last, “But not today! Maybe this week, I mean… I think he’s been waiting for a green light. Might as well stop pretending I don’t see him blushing every time I walk past”

A slow, proud smile spreads across Mingyu’s face. He lifts his fist, Areum bumps it with her own like a promise made with knuckles instead of words. They don’t say anything for a while after that, just sitting shoulder to shoulder in comfortable silence, watching a group of kids chase a soccer ball across the sun-dappled grass. The sounds of laughter, distant bicycle bells and rustling leaves form a kind of melodic hush around them.

“Thanks, Gyu” Areum murmurs eventually, leaning her head gently onto his shoulder.

Mingyu turns and presses a kiss to the top of her head, “Anytime”

They sit there for another minute, soaking in the moment and in the kind of silence that holds more love than most conversations ever could. Then, with the rustle of plastic containers and the creak of the bench beneath them, Areum brushes off her lap as Mingyu folds the bags and stacks the empty boxes. They walk back toward the street side by side and their paths split soon after. Areum heading to pick up Haru from school and Mingyu turning toward the hospital, already bracing himself for the long afternoon shift ahead.

By the time he arrives there, his expression shifts in what his colleagues call his ‘game face’. Gaze focused, jaw clenched, so ready to sharpen the instinct of his clinical eyes wherever it was needed. The automatic doors slide open as he steps into the familiar chaos of the afternoon shift, the lobby is alive with the shuffle of rubber soles against the polished floors, the soft dings of elevators and pagers chirping in staccato sounds. Nurses behind the reception desk hand off clipped patient files, a group of orderlies pushes a tall cart stacked with freshly laundered linens, the antiseptic tang in the air laced with hints of warm detergent.

“Good afternoon, Dr. Kim!” a voice calls from somewhere to his left.

Mingyu turns, automatic charm flickering to life. “Hello there” he greets the morning-shift nurses with a polite smile and a small bow.

“Hope you’ve got a calm one today”

“I’ll take that as a curse” Mingyu mutters, lips curving into a dry smile.

He walks further in, his eyes move instinctively, sweeping the halls with the ease of someone who knows this place like the back of his hand but there’s a subtle urgency in the way his gaze lingers on this walls, not searching outright but rather waiting. His attention flits toward the cardiology wing, finding it empty. He glances past the break room, just as quiet. No rustling of papers, no half-drunk coffee on the table. It’s not disappointment he feels exactly but something heavier, as if he can feel his presence and absence at the same time.

In the locker room, Mingyu strips off his gym clothes to pulls on his navy-blue scrubs and the white coat over his shoulders. His ID badge clicks into place high on his chest, the stethoscope settles around his neck as his fingers automatically check the pockets for a penlight and gloves.

He’s tightening the drawstring at his waist, mind already shifting toward the shift ahead, when a voice cuts through the hallway.

“Dr. Kim!”

Mingyu turns swiftly to see a nurse with a clipboard clutched tight to her chest, hurrying down the corridor with a breath caught halfway between a jog and a sprint. “Pediatrics needs you now in emergency room” she says urgently, “A code yellow has just upgraded to red”

His expression sharpens instantly, “Details ?”

“Fourteen-year-old male” she begins, walking alongside him now as they move fast down the corridor. “Collapsed during gym class at school. Unconscious on arrival, cyanotic, labored breathing. Oxygen saturation dropped to 82%, irregular pulse, borderline hypotensive. Blood pressure is 84 over 52 and Heart rhythm is very unstable. The ECG is showing variable arrhythmias, possibly multifocal”

Mingyu’s jaw tenses as his stride lengthens. “Is he responsive ?”

“Barely, diminished responsiveness on arrival with GCS 11. We’ve got him on high-flow oxygen and he’s receiving IV fluids but his perfusion’s still poor”

“Any relevant medical history?”

“Parents deny any congenital cardiac issues or chronic respiratory conditions. No asthma, no seizure history, no medications. Just a healthy teenage boy, until he dropped”

Mingyu runs all the possibilities through his mind. Arrhythmic storm, early myocarditis, pericardial effusion, hidden congenital defect or even a structural anomaly like hypertrophic cardiomyopathy.

“This doesn’t sound viral” he mutters, “Get full labs exams. Complete blood count, full metabolic panel, lactate, antibiogram, brain peptide, troponin, blood cultures. Request an thorax echo immediately”

“Already done” she confirms, glancing at the clipboard “Also Cardiology was alerted per protocol”

“Good” Mingyu nods. “We’ll need a consultation for that —”

“Dr. Jeon is already with the patient”

Mingyu swears he can feel his heart skipping a beat hearing his name. Of course Wonwoo is already there, already in motion where Mingyu is supposed to be first. He doesn’t need to see him to picture the whole scene, Mingyu knows exactly how Wonwoo must look, with his sleeves rolled to the elbows, brow drawn in concentration as he studies the echocardiogram or calmly wraps his fingers around the boy’s wrist to count the pulse himself.

So clinical, so composed and completely in control.

The very version of him that had dismantled Mingyu piece by piece in the first place and for which he had fallen before he could even name what was happening. Mingyu flashes the image of his warm skin in his mind, their wet mouths touching, the kiss that probably shouldn’t have happened and the silence that followed where truth trembled at the back of their throats but neither could speak it. He shakes his head, cursing himself for being so unable to gather the piece of himself left scattered from the night before when there’s a fourteen-year-old boy barely holding on.

This isn’t the right time for him to think about it, not with a child’s life in the balance.

He inhales sharply through his nose, drawing the oxygen deep and steady into his lungs. “Alright, let’s move quickly”

As Mingyu pushes through the swinging double doors of the pediatric emergency room, the air thickens charged with urgency and the unmistakable hum of focused chaos. The lights above wash everything in white and nurses move efficiently around a gurney parked near the center of the room, where a teenage boy lies pale and breathing fast, the high-flow oxygen mask fogging lightly with each shallow inhale.

Mingyu’s eyes move to the monitors first, the oxygen saturation is hovering at 84%, heart rate is erratic in the 160s, blood pressure barely holding. Then, almost against his will, his gaze shifts and there standing just to the left of the bed, is Dr. Jeon Wonwoo already auscultating the boy’s chest with such calm in his eyes of the storm. His expression is focused and Mingyu feels something coil tightly in his stomach at the sight.

Wonwoo doesn’t look up, not even a flick of his eyes towards him. Still Mingyu approaches him, his voice clipped and all business. “Give me the chart”

Wonwoo hands it over without a word. Their fingers don’t touch but Mingyu feels the absence like a cold breeze between them.

“Cardiac monitor ?” he asks, scanning the vitals.

“Hooked up” Wonwoo replies flatly, “QRS diagram is wide, rhythm is irregular. No distinct P waves, possible multifocal atrial tachycardia but I’m leaning toward supraventricular tachycardia with aberrant conduction. Could be a reentrant pathway”

Mingyu glances at the ECG tracing. “Could also be myocarditis. He’s hypotensive and febrile, not technically a fever but it could be masked”

Wonwoo finally looks up at him, just for a second but his expression doesn’t soften. “I agree” he says, “His BNP levels are elevated and his troponin is borderline high too. There are signs of strain on his heart, some ST segment depression on the ECG mostly in the lower and side leads. My guess is early-stage myocarditis, possibly viral in origin”

Mingyu frowns, “What about echo findings?”

Wonwoo steps aside just slightly to gesture toward the screen beside the bed, where a paused image lingers. “Mildly reduced left ventricular ejection fraction. The pericardial effusion is small but visible and there are no gross structural anomalies, no valvular regurgitation either so it’s not congenital”

“That supports myocarditis” Mingyu nods, his voice slower now as the diagnosis settles into place. “Could be Coxsackievirus, Parvovirus B19. I requested a full viral panel anyway. Any recent upper respiratory symptoms ?”

“Parents said he had a cold last week” Wonwoo explains, “Mild cough, some fatigue but nothing dramatic”

Silence falls for a beat too long as they both stare at the boy on the bed. His chest continues to heave against the oxygen mask, eyes fluttering behind closed lids.

“How long have you been with him ?” Mingyu asks.

“Twenty minutes” Wonwoo replies. “I got here just after the medical technician handoff.”

His tone is clinical and measured to perfection, like he’s reading from a chart. It’s detached and infuriatingly neutral and somehow, that restraint hits Mingyu harder than any outright anger could.
There’s a wall between them now, the kind of distance built after something shared when the only way to keep standing is to pretend none of it ever happened.

Wonwoo avoids his eyes entirely, he doesn’t look at him not even once.

Mingyu clenches his jaw, forcing focus. “We need to admit him to the pediatric intensive care unit. He’s decompensating and if his cardiac output drops any further, we’re heading toward an early cardiogenic shock”

“I’ve already contacted the intensive care, they’re prepping a bed now” Wonwoo anticipates him.“I’ll stay on the case until transition”

“You don’t have to”

“I know” Wonwoo replies, still watching the monitors, still not meeting his gaze. “But I want to”

That lands differently. ‘I want to’ like professionally ? Personally ? Mingyu doesn’t ask as the moment doesn’t allow it. The room is filled with too much noises, the boy’s ragged breathing, the high-pitched alarm of the pulse oximeter, and beneath all of it, that silence stretches taut between the two of them tense and unspoken like a second emergency neither can triage.

A nurse steps in to interrupt, eyes bouncing between them like she can feel the chill. “His blood pressure is dipping. 78 over 48 now”

“Start dopamine at 5 micrograms per minute” Mingyu says immediately, already moving toward the IV. “If the arterial pressure stays under sixty, escalate vasopressors”

“Let’s draw another troponin in two hours, we need to see if the cardiac injury is progressing. I’ll handle the fluid balance. He’s too fragile for overload if there’s a pericardial effusion” Wonwoo says.

Mingyu nods sharply and just like that, they fall into sync. It’s maddening how well they still work together, how instinctively their skills mesh, how one picks up where the other leaves off, no words wasted, no second guessing as if everything that’s not being said is being translated through vitals and protocols. This is the rhythm they know even though the silence between them now feels louder than the alarms.

The boy’s stats being to steady after a while and the oxygen saturation inches up. The beeping evens out as the pressure climbs not by much but enough. The crisis softens to leave space and in that breath of stillness, Mingyu turns his head again.

“Wonwoo” he says quietly this time.

Not a question and not even a demand. Just his name weighted with everything he hasn’t been able to say.

But Wonwoo doesn’t lift his eyes, instead, he scribbles something into the chart steady and focused. “Not now, Mingyu” he replies and that is a final. “I’ll go speaking with the parents” he then adds without another glance, walking out of the room with his coat trailing behind him like the closing line of a conversation left unfinished.

Mingyu stands still watching him go with the hum of the monitor behind him and something heavier in his chest that isn’t just from the adrenaline. Throughout the day, he tries to wear his usual smile like armor, bright at the edges and easy to offer but not quite wide on his face. It’s the same grin he gives to his colleagues who crack a joke during rounds, the same calm nod he offers to his patients’ anxious parents to reassure them.

Mingyu moves like really nothing is wrong in his life, charting, assessing and updating files with that usual steady rhythm even though beneath it all, there’s a thrum in his chest like a pulled muscle refusing to ease. He doesn’t understand why Wonwoo is avoiding him, why his shoulders stiffen when he walks into a room, why his mouth stays sealed shut unless there’s a medical consult to give or a therapy to suggest.

They’re professionals, sure, but they weren’t that yesterday.

They weren’t just that last night.

His sudden cold behavior doesn’t make any sense and Mingyu really hates things that don’t make sense at all.

He sees him a few times during the day. Down the hallway of the cardiology ward, next to the nurses’ station looking for some charts, walking briskly out of the staff lounge with a coffee in hand, standing outside the ICU speaking quietly with a consultant. Each time, Mingyu’s eyes find him instinctively and each time, Wonwoo glances up at him to look away just as fast. His face remains unreadable even when they hold eye-contact for half a breath too long, breaking it again like glass shattering without sound.

Mingyu bites the inside of his cheek, jaw tense in frustration as it’s like chasing the shadow of something that was real only hours ago. He feels the kiss like it just happened, remembers the heat of it, the truth in it, and now all he’s left with is the vacuum of what followed.

The bare silence, a distance so painful it burns.

By the end of his shift late in the evening, the weight of the day has settled behind his eyes and between his shoulders. Mingyu makes his way to the locker room with slow steps, more tired than he wants to admit, and as soon as he opens the door, the place is quiet, mostly empty, save for one figure near the far corner.

Wonwoo is standing by his open locker with his back half-turned. His green scrubs are folded on the bench and he’s now in nothing but a pale gray bathrobe, loosely tied at the waist. The muscles in his back shift as he moves, so elegant and efficient, and yet everything about his posture is guarded. Mingyu stops in the doorway for a second too long. The air seems to warp between them, heavy and humming with whatever it is they haven’t said. He watches the way Wonwoo doesn’t react to his presence, doesn’t turn, doesn’t speak, like Mingyu is just another echo in the room.

That’s when it finally snaps. The mask slips, frustration rising up like a spark to dry tinder.

“Can we talk now ?” his voice is edged but clear enough to make the silence jolt.

Wonwoo freezes with the smallest stiffening of his shoulders as if the question had hit exactly where it was meant to. The tension between them doesn’t move, the distance is still there, but Mingyu stands firm this time, not ready to let it stretch any further without a reason. Not anymore.

Wonwoo doesn’t turn fully around but just slightly to show the side of his face shadowed beneath the locker room’s harsh overhead light. His jaw is clenched, his mouth tight, and when he finally speaks, his voice is cold like steel dragged across stone.

“We have nothing to talk about”

His words land like a slap and Mingyu blinks, stunned not by the dismissal itself but by how final it sounds.

“Nothing?” he echoes, his voice sharper now stepping forward across the cold tile. “Really? After what happened last night, that’s your takeaway?”

Wonwoo exhales, grabbing a towel from the bench never once looking at him. “You’re reading too much into it, Mingyu”

“You kissed me”

“And you kissed me back”

“Because you wanted it as much as I did. Don’t fucking lie to me” Mingyu fires louder now.

Wonwoo turns sharply at that. His robe shifts slightly at his shoulders, eyes finally meeting Mingyu’s so dark and defensive. “It was a mistake” he grits out, “It shouldn't have happened”

“You keep saying that as if it undoes the way you looked at me, the way you touched me. You think if you call it a mistake enough times, it makes it disappear ?”

“I’m saying it because it has to disappear”

“Bullshits” Mingyu spits, taking another step forward, anger blooming hot and fast in his chest. “You felt it, I know you did. And now you’re just acting like I imagined the whole thing, like I’m some fucking idiot who misread you because you’re too much of a coward to deal with your own feelings”

“This is fucking ridiculous, I don’t want to waste my time with you” Wonwoo scoffs bitterly and turns his back again, moving toward the shower stalls like the conversation is beneath him by now but Mingyu is not done.

“Don’t walk away from me, Wonwoo!” he shouts. “You don’t get to fucking do this to me. To come close like that then pretend it didn’t happen, like none of it really mattered!”

“Because it can’t matter, that’s the point” Wonwoo yells suddenly, spinning around with a rawness that finally cracks through.

Mingyu stares at him, chest rising and falling with fury. “Why ?” he demands, “Tell me why it has to be always so damn complicated for you”

“You want the whole list ?” Wonwoo bites, anger flashing in his eyes, “Fine. We work in the same hospital, the same departments. Our jobs already eat us alive, there’s barely anything left of us at the end of the day, and you think I have space in that mess for something as consuming as this ? This place already devours everything I am. Every time I pause to feel anything, it costs me, Mingyu. I’m not the man this system was designed to reward, I’ve spent years walking a straight line in the exact way they want me to be. And you think I can survive letting them see me unravel over something they wouldn’t even pretend to understand ?”

“So that’s what this is about?” Mingyu’s voice lifts, incredulous. “Your fucking reputation ? It matters more than you actually feel ?”

“It’s about survival” Wonwoo hisses. “It’s about keeping my head down and staying functional. It’s about getting through the goddamn day without handing people another reason to question my professionalism because I had a moment of weakness in a damn parking lot”

Mingyu’s mouth goes dry. His voice is quieter now, but no less charged. “What we had last night was weakness for you ? Is that really what you believe ?”

“It was dangerous” Wonwoo takes a breath, “I can’t afford to feel things like that. I’ve spent too long burying that part of me—“

“So you’re punishing me for wanting you ?!”

“I’m not punishing you” Wonwoo yells, “I’m trying to protect myself!”

“From what, exactly ?” Mingyu demands. “From something real ? From the possibility that someone might actually give a damn about you even when you’re impossible to love?”

“Don’t —” Wonwoo warns.

“You think I’m reckless ? Fine. Maybe I am! But at least I’m honest about it. I’m not hiding behind some sterile idea of what life is supposed to look like. You pretend like you don’t feel anything, like you’re untouchable, but the truth is that you’re a fucking coward because I’ve seen what it means if you let yourself want something. If you let someone get close to you! I saw the way you looked at me every time we were alone. You think I’m making this up ?”

Wonwoo’s eyes snap open, filled with something bright and furious. “You don’t know me”

“I know you better than anyone,” Mingyu bites. “I’ve seen you at your best as well as at your worst. I know your heart better than you think, Wonwoo”

Wonwoo’s breath is shallow, fists clenched again

“And I know you want me —”

His mouth tightens. “Don’t say that”

“— You want me and it terrifies you!” Mingyu insists, “You hate that I make you feel things. But I do. I know I do and if you gave me half the chance, I would give you anything because I still fucking want you even when you treat me like I’m some toy you get easily bored of”

Wonwoo shakes his head, “You don’t know what you’re asking of me”

“The truth” Mingyu says simple, leaning in close enough to feel the heat between them.

“The truth ?” Wonwoo’s voice lifts, mocking now. “The truth is I don’t want to see you every time I close my eyes. I don’t want to feel like I can’t breathe when you walk into a room. I don’t want to wake up thinking about how your mouth tasted. I don’t want any of it.”

Mingyu’s throat tightens. “Well, I guess that’s too fucking late, isn’t it?” he says quietly.

Wonwoo’s fists clench at his sides, every tendon in his forearm drawn tight like a wire about to snap. His mouth twists and when he finally speaks, it’s like it rips through him. “Go fuck yourself, Mingyu”

He turns abruptly and storms towards the shower, slamming the door shut behind him, making the distance between even more deafening. He reaches the far end of the shower stalls and yanks the partition open with more force than necessary. The metal groans on its hinges, echoing in the damp air. Wonwoo drops his robe in a heap on the bench without a second glance, standing completely bare now. His back is rigid, spine pulled taut as a bowstring as he steps under the hot spray and wrenches the water on to full blast.

It crashes down on him in a torrent, boiling heat that stings his skin and makes the air around him instantly bloom with steam. The water hits him like punishment, like confession, like maybe if it burns hard enough, it will sear the memory of this day off his flesh. Wonwoo stands motionless for a few seconds, head bowed under the water as it pours down over his neck and his shoulders, his chest, slipping along the curve of his spine to pool around his feet.

He’s breathing hard, his jaw is clenched, his eyes are squeezed shut.

He hates this damn feeling so fucking much. The ache in his throat, the tremble under his ribs, the heat of someone else’s name still smoldering beneath his skin.

Wonwoo runs a shaky hand through his hair slicking it back, as if that simple gesture could rinse all the thoughts from his head, but it doesn’t work because he still feels him, he still hears him.

Then, as if he had summoned his presence, Wonwoo feels a breeze of motion at his back that doesn’t come from water or wind, and two strong arms circles around him from behind catching him off guard. He inhales sharply, his breath hitching in his throat, because the sensation of bare skin against bare skin is unmistakable and makes his legs tremble. Mingyu’s broad chest presses flush against his back, soaked already from the steam, his cheek rests near the space between Wonwoo’s shoulder blades.

Wonwoo’s entire body goes still. His hands had been braced on the wall but now hover in mid-air, uncertain, caught between resisting and collapsing. His fingers reach up and lands softly atop that hand that has found his waist. His palm rests over Mingyu’s, trembling where they overlap. Wonwoo doesn’t push it away, he doesn’t lean in either. He just stands there, caught in the middle of a storm more powerful than the water crashing over them.

Mingyu’s voice comes softly from behind him, “Don’t avoid me” he whispers, lips brushing his wet skin. “Please stop doing that”

It’s not a command. It’s a plea.

Something fragile in those words claws at Wonwoo’s ribs, curling hot and aching around his lungs. He exhales shakily, the breath catching in his chest, and he turns slowly until he is facing Mingyu fully.

Steam coils around them like breath, water drips from Mingyu’s lashes. His hair is wet and flat against his forehead, cheeks flushed from heat and something deeper maybe the embarrassment of being naked there in front of him for the very first time. Wonwoo cups his face with both hands, gently brushing his thumbs brushing over the slope of his cheekbones, and leans in to kiss him hot and messy, like he is starving for it.

Lips slide against lips, their tongues brush sensually keeping in that contact everything they hadn’t said and everything they tried so desperately to bury under protocol and professionalism. The water pours down around them like nothing else could ever matter but this moment. Mingyu’s hands roam all over his body, pulling Wonwoo closer by the waist until there’s no space left between them. Wonwoo parts his lips wider when their hard intimacies brush against each other, gasping in his mouth and kissing him deeper and deeper.

Mingyu slides his hand between them to wrap it around Wonwoo’s cock with such aching reverence. He strokes it gently, letting his fingers memorize the length, the heat, the pulse that jumps beneath his palm. Wonwoo moans aloud, startled by the sound that escapes his throat, and his head tips back slightly, mouth parting as he bites down on his lip to silence himself.

“Don’t hold back” Mingyu whispers against his jaw, “I want to hear you”

His thumb brushes the head of him, passing through his sensitive slit, coaxing more sounds from his mouth until the silence is filled with it breath and water and the rhythm of skin against skin. Wonwoo’s hands hover, uncertain and trembling, but Mingyu takes it to thread their fingers together and gently guides it to his own chest, down his torso, across the ridge of his toned abdomen until he reaches the heat between his legs, until Wonwoo’s fingers brush against the hard outline of his cock.

“This is what you do to me” Mingyu breathes, “This is how much I want you”

Wonwoo gasps, his palm flattening over him as if trying to comprehend the weight of Mingyu’s desire, the permission, the feeling of being wanted like this that crashes over him harder than the water ever could. And slowly, as if a dam finally breaks, Wonwoo lets their hands move in synch and chases him with his lips, kissing him like he is drowning and this is the only air he needs to survive.

The water flows like a veil over them, steam curling around their tangled limbs. Neither speaks at first, they don’t need to as their mouths are so busy and desperate to touch each other. Every kiss is a claim, a delayed ignition finally catching flame. Mingyu moans into Wonwoo’s mouth, hands roaming and clutching to drag him impossibly closer. His palms slide down Wonwoo’s broad back then lower gripping his ass with rough greedy fingers, kneading like he’s afraid to let go.

Wonwoo grunts, almost a growl, as he drives Mingyu backward until his spine hits the tiled wall. He pins him there, breathing hard as their lips part just enough to taste the gasp between them.

“Fuck—” Mingyu chokes out, head tipping back against the wall as Wonwoo’s mouth trails down his jaw, his throat, biting and kissing his collarbones as if carving a path he’s dreamed about a hundred times but never dared to touch.

He slides his hand between them again, finding Mingyu’s cock hard and leaking under his grip. His touch is confident now, fist going up and down his length in a sinuous rhythm, dragging another helpless moan out of him that echoes into the shower’s hiss.

Wonwoo would kiss him and watch him crumble under his touch for hours but then Mingyu surprises him, because Mingyu was not capable of not leaving him speechless every time, and turns around with chest pressing to the tiles and water streaming over the broad muscles of his back. He arches for him, shoulders trembling slightly, like even this surrender, is edged with need too long held in.

Wonwoo goes still for half a second, just looking at his back curving into him so naturally.

His gaze wanders along the powerful line of his muscles, over his broad shoulders that tense and relax with every breath. He is perfect, sculpted by gods, his beauty leaves him breathless and Wonwoo can’t resist to the urge of worship every inch of him, exhaling a guttural breath he didn’t know he was holding. His lips find the hollow of his blades, his fingers rising uncertainly for just a second before slowly sliding down his spine to his hips and beyond as if committing it to a memory.

Mingyu closes his eyes and throws his head back against him.

He surrenders. He is ready.

Wonwoo presses a trail of soft kisses along his nape, his hands glide over Mingyu’s chest as his fingertips trace teasing paths across his golden skin before finding his sensitive nipples, so hard under his touch. A soft gasp escapes his pretty lips, his back arching even more with his hips pushing backward in instinctive response. Mingyu lifts one arm behind him, fingers threading through Wonwoo’s wet hair to pull him closer.

Every breath feels like a spark, every touch a flame. Wonwoo is feeling feverish, almost on the verge of combust. He spits on his hand, running his own saliva over his cock, and he doesn’t hesitate to slide his aching hardness then between his asscheeks making for Mingyu impossible to hold back more. He moans as soon as his tip pushes through his hole without much resistance, the stretch stings like a bitter first bite but chased quickly by warmth, by sweetness, by the deep ache of something he’s been craving. Mingyu lowers himself onto his elbows, his legs tremble as he tries to find balance beneath the rush of sensation.

“I touched myself last night” he confesses, “Thinking about you”

Wonwoo’s breath hitches in his chest as his cock pushes inside him further more.

“I couldn’t sleep… I kept seeing you” Mingyu keeps babbling, “The way you looked at me, the way you kissed me… I couldn’t get it out of my head. I didn’t want to”

The honesty in his voice strikes something deep and Wonwoo leans over him to thrust a bit more with his pelvis and brush his lips against his nape. “You should’ve called me” he murmurs.

Mingyu lets out a breath of laughter, “Would you have come ?”

“I would’ve run”

Their bodies slide together perfectly and at first Wonwoo’s rhythm is like the roll of soft waves, so measured and controlled for him, fitting in a rhythm so natural it’s maddening. But the sweetness of their movements doesn’t last longer as Wonwoo feels an increasing fire down his abdomen, suddenly starting moving with such raw intensity with his hips slamming against Mingyu’s ass in raw pounds that see his cock singing deeper inside him.

Skin against skin, the press of their bodies slick with heat and water, they move like they’re chasing something unnamed, something burning just beneath the surface. Wonwoo’s hands roam with intention, gripping firm muscle, sliding over wet curves, grounding himself in the way Mingyu feels beneath him too real, too beautiful, too much.

It’s not gentle, it’s not careful but it’s not careless either. It’s just them.

Wonwoo’s fingers dig deep into Mingyu’s hips, bruising and tender all at once, pulling him closer, deeper, until there’s nothing between them but rhythm and need. The angle is sharp, the water is hot, and Mingyu gasps hit after hit arching his spine to push back into every thrust, moaning unabashedly, giving himself fully to Wonwoo.

Each sound he makes is a reward, each gasp a lovely sound meant for him only. Inside he can feel Mingyu clench around him, tight and welcoming, and it makes him shudder. His own breath falters, becomes broken and uneven, the way Mingyu takes him, the way he wants him, like being wanted for the first time in his life.

Not as an idea or a version.

But as he is.

Every pulse of pleasure sings through Mingyu’s body until his moans become one trembling sound, a wave rising and crashing, drawn out and dizzying. With his mouth pressed to the curve of Mingyu’s shoulder, feeling his own name fall from his lips like a prayer, Wonwoo groans from behind, suddenly feeling on edge at how hot the sight of him is. His cock is swollen, aching all over at the very limit, and he hold Mingyu’s hips as if anchoring himself to something sacred.

He wants to leave a mark, not just on his skin, but on something deeper but Mingyu is lost to the weight of pleasure, so drunk of the way his cock pounds into him.

Wonwoo turns him over and lifts his leg to penetrate him again and their mouths find each other between gasps and groans, hungry kisses that border on feral, breath exchanged like oxygen, like neither can quite bear to be apart for more than a second. It’s all so raw and desperate, the kind of closeness that strips everything else away. Bare and breathless.

Mingyu’s voice breaks their music made of moans. “Don’t stop, don’t—please please”

There’s no room for anything else but this. No room for doubt or shame. Just skin and breath and pressure building like a storm behind the ribs.

Mingyu nods and moans, taking all he can from him. Wonwoo increases his animalistic thrusts as if he knows he’s close to come. His mouth crashes into his, their hands intertwined strongly against the tiles, Mingyu can feel Wonwoo’s heartbeat fully mirroring his own, enough to make him lose control completely. Wonwoo moves against him with a desperate tenderness, his body telling the story his words can’t fully capture. This moment, this passion, is his offering to Mingyu.

When Mingyu comes, it’s with a broken moan against his mouth. His whole body shudders with release, eyes squeezed shut as the heat crests and crashes over him. Water washes over his flushed skin, mingling the tears he doesn’t even realize are there. Wonwoo follows right after, his hips stuttering and forehead pressed to Mingyu’s shoulder as he loses himself completely into him, a groan ripped from his chest like it’s been trapped there for years.

For a moment, neither of them speaks, only the sound of their breath and the water falling around them fills the space. Then, gently, like it’s a privilege, Wonwoo wraps his arms around Mingyu’s middle again, kissing his mouth and damp shoulder, his cheeks, wherever his mouth can reach.

They still say nothing.

And Mingyu doesn’t want to because saying anything might break the fragile thread that’s still holding this moment together. So he keeps still, lets the heat of Wonwoo’s body soak into his one, lets his eyes flutter closed.

He wants to believe this closeness means more than it does, he wants to believe it’s a start, but the ache in his chest is already growing.

Because Mingyu knows Wonwoo, knows the way he pulls back after giving too much. And this… this was too much. They crossed the invisible line neither of them dared name. Stripped everything away, let themselves feel all of it too fully.

Mingyu knows what comes next. As soon as they step out of the shower and towel off, as soon as their skin cools and the steam fades, Wonwoo will disappear into silence again, will armor himself back up with professionalism and neutrality.

He’ll pretend it didn’t happen again, pretend he didn’t look at Mingyu like that.

Touch him like that.

Love him like that, even if he’ll never call it that out loud.

Mingyu doesn’t fight it. Not yet. He doesn’t have the strength for that.

He just stands there, breathing in the last few seconds of warmth, pretending that if he stays still long enough, maybe it won’t end and Wonwoo won’t pull away.

But the silence is already beginning to shift, the weight of reality pressing at the edges, and in the quiet between heartbeats, Mingyu can feel the shape of that hole starting to open in his chest, the one he knows will be waiting for him once the water stops.

That same void shaped exactly like the man that is holding him now.

Chapter Text

"Is it better to speak or to die ?"

The coffee had long gone cold but Wonwoo cradles the paper cup between his palms as if he could still warm it up.

The gentle chill of the morning air settles into his skin as he sits quietly on one of the old wrought-iron benches nestled in the corner of the hospital courtyard, half-hidden beneath the thin canopy of trees that filter the light as the Seoul sky slowly brightens overhead. The muted colors of the flowerbeds catch his eye now and then — vivid reds, soft pinks, the persistent yellow of late-blooming marigolds — but his gaze remains mostly unfocused with his mind wandering instead among the drawers of his memory.

He isn’t thinking about any one thing, not really, or maybe he was thinking about everything all at once. The night before, the days before that, the years that had led him to his exact bench, to this lukewarm silence. Somewhere in the tangle of his thoughts, one single question kept rising to the surface like a buoy refusing to sink: “How love can become love ?"

What a complicated and infuriating concept that was.

Slippery, even when he thought he had a grip on it.

Some people throw themselves into love like a leap from a cliff into the sea. They don't look down, they just dive in. Wonwoo had always envied them, in the discreet way one envies what one believes one can never have, because for him, love, had always been something to dose carefully, like a measured amount of morphine just enough to soothe, never enough to overdose.

Wonwoo had never trusted that feeling, and more importantly, he had never trusted himself to hold onto it properly.

He lets out a breath through his nose, soft and almost amused by the irony of it all. He hasn't ever been unloved, in fact he probably just felt things too deeply, but he had learned early that feeling and expressing were two different beasts, and that love, if not caged and disciplined, could wreck him before he even knew it had arrived.

He had trained himself over years to keep it at bay and tame it like a dog taught not to bite, even when it was starving, because he had been hurt, not in the dramatic way where hearts shattered loudly and tears spilled down cheeks rather his wounds were quieter and more insidious.

People in his life simply left. They changed, loved him in ways he couldn’t recognize until it was too late, and time after time, he was left staring at the puzzle of it all, at the space where something should’ve fit, wondering if it had ever belonged there at all.

Love, to Wonwoo, had never been the romantic organ poets wrote about. His heart didn’t beat for passion but it ticked like a faulty clock, always a little out of sync or maybe more like a Rubik’s Cube that never quite lined up.

Fix one color but ruin the others, twist one feeling into place and something else fell apart.

But now those same feelings in him were shifting and maybe that was what frightened him the most.

In the stillness of that quiet morning, Wonwoo wonders if Mingyu had ever truly understood him, if he had already understood all this beforehand. Not just the moments they shared or the silence they often sank into, but the layers beneath, the chaos he never let slip, the fear that shrouded every tender impulse.

Had Mingyu ever seen the truth ? The uneasiness behind the calm, the discomfort behind the lingering gaze, the restraint behind every touch that should have meant more ? And if he had, what did it mean that he stayed ? That he hadn't turned away when others might have, even when the cracks in Wonwoo were beginning to show ?

Wonwoo closes his eyes, letting the quiet sounds of the courtyard fade into the background.

The image of the past day looms behind his eyelids as if conjured by memory. The haze of thick steam clinging to the tiles of the locker room shower and fogging the walls, dimming the light, making the whole room seem cut off from the rest of the world. Their bodies had moved instinctively, out of hunger perhaps even desire, but beneath all that heat, there was also something fragile and uncertain.

When it was over, when their breathing calmed and the water cooled, there was no warmth left in the air.

Everything was gone.

Wonwoo remembers how Mingyu had stepped out the shower and dried himself in such detached way making everything a little more painful. He hadn't spoken when their intimacy ended, he hadn't looked him back. There was no frustration in him, no bitterness, just a silent composed detachment that seemed more intimate than anger. Wonwoo stayed behind still dripping with his back pressed against the cold wall and his muscles contracted from guilt, perhaps shame, or even a pain he wasn't ready to name.

He wanted to speak in that moment. The words trembled on the edge of his breath, somewhere between apology and explanation, but they never made it past his throat. He simply couldn’t move, couldn’t reach for Mingyu.

In that hesitation, something slipped in the guise of wet footsteps moving across the tile and then the click of the door closing gentle but that was final. It wasn’t a slam, not a protest, not even an act of punishment. It was silence, granted without question.

And somehow that quiet departure hurt Wonwoo far more than any outburst ever could because Mingyu, in his own way, had been kind. Painfully so. He hadn’t cornered Wonwoo with questions or demanded to know what their silence meant. He had simply given him what he thought he needed. Space. Distance. Respect. The kind of retreat that didn’t come from resentment but from care, from knowing not to push a fragile thing too hard.

It was precisely that gentleness, that restraint, that had split something open in Wonwoo.

Because it meant Mingyu had understood far more than he had ever said aloud.

Wonwoo knew, even then, that he had hurt him through that indecision that always followed him like a shadow, the instinct to pull back just when something began to feel real. And Mingyu, who had only offered him softness, had defended himself in the only way he knew.

By walking away quietly.

Respectfully, but undeniably hurt.

And now, sitting there with cold coffee in his hands and morning breaking over the hospital, all Wonwoo could do was sit in that memory made of consequences and wonder whether it was already too late to fix something so deeply broken. For the first time the thought of apologizing doesn't seem like a weak gesture made of wasted words but something extremely necessary.

He takes the last sip of his coffee, grimacing slightly at the bitter cold taste, and exhales slowly as if his breath might carry some of the weight sitting on his chest away with it. Glancing at his watch, he checks the time realizing that it hadn’t stopped with him. The hospital ticks on, relentless as always, its rhythm indifferent to his inner turmoil. People still bleed in the emergency room, still heal in the wards, still wait for answers and Wonwoo, no matter how emotionally adrift he is, still has his role into that world.

He straightens slightly, brushing off the sleeves of his coat, and is about to rise from the bench when his gaze falls on Dr. Wen Junhui who’s walking across the cobbled courtyard path guiding a familiar wheelchair towards him. Myungsoo sits bundled in it, dressed in soft light-blue hospital pajamas, a gray cardigan draped over his curled narrow shoulders. His skin looks pallid under the morning light but he is smiling wide, his bright eyes defy the fragility of his frame.

“Good morning, Dr. Jeon!” Jun calls out, voice clear and upbeat despite the early hour.

Wonwoo lifts his gaze and the corners of his lips tug into the ghost of a smile as he gently smooths the lingering melancholy from his expression. “Good morning to you too” he replies, his eyes drifting toward Myungsoo with a familiar fondness. “Enjoying an early morning walk ?”

“I made this poor doctor wheel me out” Myungsoo replies, grinning mischievously under his salt-and-pepper mustache. “The air in those rooms was starting to rot my mood. I felt like I was already halfway to the afterlife.”

Jun laughs, patting the handles of the wheelchair, “I didn’t have much of a choice. He gave me the guilt-trip of a lifetime but hey, who can say no to fresh air and a little D vitamin ? Though I’ve got to say, the real tragedy this morning was breakfast. Isn’t it true, Mr. Han ?”

“My boy, I’m caffeine-deprived, nicotine-starved, and I can’t even get a decent cup of tea and some cookies without a doctor’s note. Tell me honestly, is that living ?”

“I can probably arrange an infusion of Earl Grey for you” Wonwoo replies, his smile a little wider now. “Seungkwan hides the good stuff behind the counter like it's gold but I can pull some strings, I have my ways”

“See ?” Myungsoo points a finger in mock-seriousness. “That’s the kind of medical care I signed up for. None of that saline drip nonsense, give me Lapsang Souchong tea infusion and I might just live for another week”

Jun rolls his eyes in amusement, “You’re not going anywhere, Mr.Han”

Wonwoo chuckles at the little interaction, Myungsoo could have a chat with everyone in that hospital. “You look very well today” in fact he says, his voice tilting gently toward clinical attitude but the tenderness in his eyes doesn’t fade. “How were the latest test results ?”

“White blood cell count has dropped due to therapy but overall stable” Jun replies, “No new respiratory seizure overnight, the oxygen saturation is holding steady and he is strong as a rock as you can see”

“Which is doctor-speak for ‘not dying today’” Myungsoo cuts in dryly, “It’s fine, I’ll take it. Could have been much worse!”

His voice is light and even teasing but something like acceptance moves beneath the words. Myungsoo sounds like a man who has long since shaken hands with his mortality, who now simply lives with it beside him like an old acquaintance with nothing left to fear, just time left to observe. Wonwoo’s chest tightens around something unspoken that looks like reverence maybe, a reminder of the fragility they all live beside but rarely look at directly. His hand rests on the wheelchair handle for a brief second, not for pity or comfort but just for presence.

Jun watches them for a beat, then checks his pager as it shrills. His shoulders tightens, expression shifting from warmth to duty like someone flipping a switch. “I’ve to check on a patient” he says, apologetic. “Would you mind keeping him company for a bit ? I won’t be long, I promise”

“Sure, I’ve got some time before starting my shift” Wonwoo waves him off with a nod, already settling down onto the bench again. “And I’ve also been told that I’m a passable company”

“He is a very poetic man, Dr. Wen” Myungsoo adds.

“Great” Jun chuckles, tossing him a thumbs up as he starts down the path “I’ll be right back!”

His footsteps fade quickly, swallowed by the quiet of the courtyard and leaving behind something softer like the rhythmic rustle of leaves stirred by the warm breeze, birds chirping in scattered bursts and the faint distant wail of an ambulance pulling into the emergency room. Wonwoo shifts slightly on the bench and when he glances to the side, he finds Myungsoo already watching him, eyes alert and perceptive beneath the tired folds of age.

"Did you know that those wrinkles on your forehead come from thinking too much ?”

His words come out light and ironic but there's something gentle in the way he says them, like he’s walking barefoot across the edge of something delicate.

Wonwoo lets out a laugh, the kind that bubbles up from somewhere real. It slices gently through the stillness between them, makes the air feel warmer. “Is that your clinical examination approach ?” he replies, amusement curling at the edges of his voice as he tilts his face upward toward the tree canopy.

“I’ve learned that you doctors have a word for this kind of thing” Myungsoo says, settling deeper into his chair. “Semiotics, isn’t it ? Reading signs from the body. Symptoms, expressions, posture”

Wonwoo’s brows lift in amused surprise. “I’m impressed”

“I’ve had more than enough of you people poking and prodding me so I picked up a thing or two. And if inspection is the first step —” he continues, “I’d say that the tiredness behind your eyes has nothing to do with sleep”

“I guess your diagnosis is right” Wonwoo replies with a smile lingering on his lips. “Again”

“Want to sit a while longer with an old man and pretend the world isn’t racing past us ?” he offers, folding his hands in his lap. “Time moves differently when no one expects anything from you, you know, but I guess that’s one of the secret blessing of old age. Everything is slow, people stop rushing you, and if you’re lucky you get to sit still and watch the day unfold like it’s got nowhere better to be”

“That actually sounds pretty good” Wonwoo chuckles, leaning back on the bench to let his shoulder relax just a little. Then he turns his head slightly, studying the older man for a while with something close to reverence. “You asked me to bring a piece of myself next time we would talk”

“I remember” Myungsoo replies, calm and unhurried.

Wonwoo hesitates, his fingers twitch ever so slightly in his lap. “I’m not sure what part to give you” he admits, eyes on the ground now. “It’s all… still a little tangled”

“Then sit with it” Myungsoo says gently, not needing more than that, “You don’t have to say anything if you’re not ready but if something’s rattling around in that head of yours that wants to be heard, I’ve got ears and time and no judgments left in me”

Wonwoo watches a leaf detach from the highest branch, twirling through the still air in no rush to meet the ground. Its descent is lazy, almost hesitant, like it doesn’t quite know where it belongs. For a long while he says nothing. He just breathes, just listens to the wind threading through the trees.

“There’s someone” he says at last, his voice barely audible like a secret he’s not sure he’s ready to say aloud. “I don’t think I meant for it to happen, I don’t think I even noticed it at first but… somehow he just found his way in”

Myungsoo doesn’t say anything but something in his posture shifts in the quiet gentle attention and deep stillness that don’t demand but invites. He waits, letting Wonwoo goes on with his words and he exhales slowly as he puts in order his own thoughts.

“It’s strange being near him, it’s like everything becomes louder. My thoughts, my heart… It’s like I can feel the world again, colors feel more vivid, sounds are sharper, even the silence feels... heavier. And sometimes, it’s beautiful” he pauses, “But other times it’s just too much. Like I’m constantly one breath away from flying or falling and it’s… terrifying”

Myungsoo nods slowly. “Love tends to be”

Wonwoo’s lips press into a thin line, gaze fixed somewhere distant. “I don’t even know if it’s love, if this is how it’s supposed to feel like, I’ve never been good at naming feelings. All I know is that it makes me feel... exposed. Like the things I’ve spent years keeping buried just start showing on the surface when he is around”

“That sounds like love to me” Myungsoo replies, “Or at least something close enough to ruin you a little”

“It feels more like it’s already ruining me”

“Then you’re probably doing it right”

Wonwoo turns his head slowly, studying Myungsoo’s profile. “You speak like someone who’s been through it”

“I have” the older man nods. “More than once actually and each time, it left a mark. Some people believe love should fix you, I think that’s a fantasy. Real love just cracks you open in the right places so something softer can grow”

Wonwoo swallows. His voice comes quieter now, almost like a confession. “It’s not easy for me letting someone see that part of me. I always end up thinking it’s safer to keep a distance, that if they don’t get too close, they won’t have the chance to leave and take something of me with them”

“Ah” Myungsoo hums low, “But they still leave, don’t they ? Even when you build the tallest walls”

Wonwoo nods slowly, “They do”

“I used to believe —” he continues after a little cough, “That if I kept my heart locked away, I would be safe, that loneliness was just a small price to pay for security. But over time, my boy, I realized that a locked heart isn’t safe but starving. And love… love can feed something in us that we don’t always understand”

There’s a pause between them and a breeze stirs the trees again, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and blossoms from somewhere out of sight.

“You’re scared that if you let yourself fall, there won’t be anyone to catch you” Myungsoo says softly now and Wonwoo doesn’t answer him, he is right and he knows that. “But falling in love, Wonwoo, is never supposed to come with guarantees. It was only ever meant to be real”

Wonwoo’s throat works as he swallows again, the truth of it settling into his bones. “What if he doesn’t feel the same way ?” he asks, the words barely more than a breath, but weighted like a confession.

Myungsoo shrugs, “Then it will hurt. Maybe more than you think you can handle but you’ll survive and what’s more, you’ll have lived in the feeling, in the possibility something could have happened. Most people go through life too scared to even risk that and loving someone... it’s not always about what they give you back. Sometimes it’s about who you become when you let yourself feel”

Wonwoo looks down at his hands in his lap, “And if he does feel the same ?”

“Then you’re a lucky boy” Myungsoo’s smile is slow but sure. “Maybe still a little terrified but the beauty is that you wont’t be alone in the falling anymore, and that changes everything”

Wonwoo closes his eyes briefly letting the warmth of the sun brushes his cheek, soft and golden, and for the first time in what feels like forever he lets it in. He doesn’t shy away, doesn’t retreat into the shadow of his thoughts, but that same warmth also makes him think about Mingyu and guilt starts tightening low in his chest, regret curling right beneath his ribs.

“I hurt him” he confesses, barely above a whisper. “More than I meant to. I pushed him away and —“ Wonwoo exhales shakily, eyes cast down at his lap. “I don’t know how to fix what I did. I just know that he deserved more than this but there’s something in me that won’t move, like I’m stuck behind glass, watching it all from the other side”

Myungsoo turns his head slightly, listening. “Do you care about this boy?”

Wonwoo hesitates, his lips part then close again. He looks down at the ground, as if the answer might be written in the scattered petals beneath their bench. “It’s hard to say” he murmurs, brows pulling together. “I don’t even know what caring is supposed to look like anymore. My version of love has always been… quiet distant”

“That’s not the question I asked” Myungsoo says gently. “Do you care about him ?”

Wonwoo’s throat tightens. His heart stutters beneath his sternum, like it’s trying to beat its way out. “I think so” he says finally as the words leave him like a breath he’s been holding too long.

Myungsoo nods, slow and thoughtful, “Then listen to that part of you that feels. That’s your heart speaking, the one you’ve kept locked away”

“But what if I mess it up again? What if I open that door and everything I’ve kept hidden makes him walk away?”

“You might mess it up” he says simply. “You might falter, you might say the wrong thing, but if this person really means something to you then you have to try to just be honest with him and yourself first. People worth loving, they’ll give you the space to try again but only if you let yourself step into it. This guy —” Myungsoo continues, “You said you hurt him… but that doesn’t mean it ends there, he makes you want to feel real things and maybe that’s where you have to start. Just with the truth, even if it’s messy”

Wonwoo finally looks up but his gaze is hesitant as if daring himself to contain the vulnerability blossoming in his chest. He has a whirlwind in his head but before he can speak, a sudden high-pitched chirp cuts through the silent air. His pager, clipped to the hem of his slacks, goes off with its insistent buzz bringing him back to the present like a snapping thread.

He flinches slightly, blinking as if awakened from a dream. The emotional haze that had softened his features flickers and fades replaced by a sigh as he reaches for the device. His eyes scan the glowing code on the screen, it’s the emergency room calling and urgently requiring his presence.

Wonwoo doesn't groan or curse, he just accepts the weight of his job as people like him are trained to do. However, his shoulders slump slightly as he stands, the heaviness of the conversation lingering like something he simply can't shake off. He dusts his pants absentmindedly with his fingers, even though there's nothing to clean, while Myungsoo watches him without judgment, his eyes marked by a grimace somewhere between affection and quiet humor.

"Duty calls, my boy" he says, warmly.

Wonwoo turns to him and a faint flicker of apology crossing his face. Apologies for leaving, for not getting any more answers from him, for everything he didn't say, but Myungsoo simply raises a hand in a gentle gesture of dismissal, waving it like a passing breeze.

"Go on. There's someone out there who needs saving" he pauses, then his expression softens, "Start with the world, then maybe go back and save yourself too"

Those words make Wonwoo breathe a sigh, not quite a laugh, but close enough to be counted.

His lips curve slightly, "I'll page Jun and tell him to come get you"

Myungsoo leans back in his wheelchair, the sunlight illuminating his cheeks and for a moment he seems almost years younger. "Let me enjoy the sun a little longer, son" he murmurs with his eyes half-closed.

Wonwoo chuckles, “Fine” he says.

He then he turns away from the bench and starts walking towards the main ward where the emergency room is located. His white coat flutters faintly, his brisk footsteps crunch on the gravel path and behind him, Myungsoo watches him in silence with his gaze carrying the kind of calm that comes from having witnessed love in all its forms, rise and fall, break and rebuild, sending him off with unspoken hope.

As soon as Wonwoo walks through the sliding glass doors of the emergency room, the shift in energy is immediate, like stepping directly into the eye of a storm.

The sterile cold of the air conditioning touches his skin and clings to him like static while all around, the controlled chaos of the emergency room unfolds in an incessant rhythm with the low hum of the white lights overhead and the nurses exchanging clipped words over the hiss of the oxygen tanks. Intercom pages crackle from the speakers, names and codes insinuating themselves into the din as the constant beeping of the heart monitors rises and falls in a syncopated rhythm, sometimes steady, sometimes frenetic.

There's movement everywhere, a constant flow of bodies and voices, a barely contained urgency and amidst it all, Wonwoo takes a deep breath, letting the noise bring him back to the version of himself he knows well how to behave.

“Dr. Jeon!” a nurse calls out, flagging him down the moment he steps into the room, “I paged you for room 3, a male patient in his mid-sixties needs you now!”

“What’s the presenting condition ?” Wonwoo asks, already moving.

“Came in about ten minutes ago, he shows ST-segment for elevation myocardial infarction but he’s very agitated and refusing examination”

“Shit —“

Wonwoo’s stride lengthens, eyes sharpen immediately as he weaves swiftly through the traffic of white coats and rolling stretchers, pushing through the privacy curtain into room 3 where the atmosphere cracks with barely contained tension and adrenaline.

The man on the gurney is sitting up, his chest rising and falling in uneven pulls beneath the thin hospital gown. Sweat beads along his brow and temples despite the cool temperature of the room, his face is ruddy and flushed, the kind of deep red that warns of something beyond mere anger. Beside him, a nurse is crouched attempting to wrap a blood pressure cuff around his arm, only for the man to yank it away with a snap of his wrist.

“I said don’t touch me!” he barks, his voice gravelly and commanding as every word is laced with a dismissive scorn.

Wonwoo steps forward without further hesitation, his eyes already flicking to the monitors behind the bed. His mind parses the data in seconds, heart rate is irregular and climbing, ST elevation blaring across the electrocardiogram, oxygen saturation dipping into the high 80s.

A very textbook anterior myocardial infarction.

Only this one is far from cooperative.

“Sir” Wonwoo says firmly, “I’m Dr. Jeon, cardiac surgeon. I need to examine and assess you immediately. I’ll explain everything as I go, but first I need you to breathe and try to stay calm”

“Another one of you with your little machines and rehearsed speeches!” the man grumbles, squinting at him, “My daughter dragged me here because I passed out for a minute, that’s all! Probably low sugar, you people always overreact for nothing!”

Behind him, a nurse leans in and speaks quietly to Wonwoo. “His daughter said he collapsed at home, no warning. Lost consciousness for over three minutes and he only woke up once they were already in the car”

Wonwoo nods tightly, eyes flicking to the telemetry screen again. “Sir, you’re having an acute heart attack. Your ECG shows significant ST elevation and you’re in a precarious rhythm. This isn’t low sugar, it’s myocardial ischemia. Your heart muscle is starving for oxygen and if we don’t act now, you’re at risk of full cardiac arrest”

The patient waves him off with a grunt. “I’ve had chest pain before. Comes and goes, I’ve lived through worse! What I don’t need is a bunch of interns sticking needles in me”

“You’re not fine, please let me help you” Wonwoo replies in a low tone but steel-edged now. “This isn’t about discomfort, it’s about irreversible damage to your heart. Every minute you delay, the risk of fatal complications increases”

“I know how hospitals work! You people are just looking for an excuse to poke and prod. My son works in this dump, I hope he is at least a chief physician by now and not wasting away doing grunt work like you all”

Wonwoo blinks, mildly stunned by the arrogance, but his hand doesn’t falter as he gently presses his stethoscope to the man’s chest to auscultate his heart. The rhythm he hears is erratic and faintly galloping, no doubt a dangerous ventricular strain beneath.

“He better be someone important by now” the man keeps talking in the meantime. “I didn’t raise him to be average and I paid too much money for his damn medical school entrance just to have him end up playing nursemaid to hypochondriacs”

Wonwoo bites back a sigh mid-auscultation, he recognizes right away a developing infarct in progress even though there weren’t murmurs yet, but it was enough for him to know this won’t be solved with medication alone as the muscle is already struggling by itself.

“Try to breathe normally, please” Wonwoo instructs before straightens up.

The ECG spikes again, the patient winces as the pain must be getting worse but he still refuses to show it, hiding it behind another scoff. His pride is doing all the talking, but his body is already betraying him in ways he refuses to acknowledge, falling apart every seconds more.

“He needs an emergency coronary angiography” Wonwoo says aloud, directing the order to the nurse beside him. “Prepare him for IV nitro, morphine and oxygen. Get my team ready and tell them we’re not waiting for stabilization”

“Yes, doctor” the nurse nods, glancing at the patient who’s now muttering something bitter about how “young doctors think they know everything”.

Wonwoo leaves the room momentarily and as the nurse moves to carry out his instructions, he turns slightly to catch her eyes. “Has he been evaluated before for cardiac disease ? Anything on the reports ?”

The nurse hesitates. “No prior record. He’s never been treated here before”

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow in surprise but before he can reply, the nurse lowers her voice, “Actually… Dr. Jeon, I think there’s something you should to know” she whispers, “While I was admitting him… his daughter, the one who brought him in, asked me if his brother was on shift today. She said he might be working internal medicine”

Wonwoo blinks. “His brother ?”

“She meant Dr. Kim” the nurse sighs, as if she knows she was dropping a weight neither of them is ready for. “Dr. Kim Mingyu from Pediatrics”

The words don’t land all at once but they slowly echo and settle in through his body freezing, his stomach dropping, his fingers tightening around the edge of the chart he’s holding. Wonwoo turns his head and stares at the man on the gurney, red-faced and sneering about “incompetent staff” and how "no one here knows what the hell they’re doing”.

He is still fuming, still dismissive, waving off every nurses’ help like a man swatting away flies. So contemptuous of doctors and the environment he finds himself in. “If he’s not a goddamn chief by now —“

Wonwoo stares at him and suddenly it all clicks.

That’s Mingyu’s father.

And from the hostile way he is behaving, Wonwoo understood, their relationship must not have been this idyllic.

His throat goes dry and that familiar ache at the center of his chest returns now tangled with something bitter and protective. Wonwoo keeps his face impassive but his eyes harden as the man continues speaking about him with such arrogant contempt, so unknowing and uncaring.

He glances back at the nurse, finally meeting her eyes. “Does Mingyu know ?” he asks, though the answer feels obvious already.

“I don’t think so” she replies, “The girl didn’t ask for him directly, just wondered aloud if he might be around. She said she was hoping to run into him”

Wonwoo presses his lips together and nods faintly, though it feels more like a reflex than a choice. He thinks about what to do for a moment as his gaze shifts back from the chart to the patient, that man who keeps talking about Mingyu without even realizing the person he’s degrading might be standing just down the hallway, healing children with a tenderness he probably never received.

How someone so rude could’ve raised someone like Mingyu ?

How many more times Mingyu must’ve been told he wasn’t enough ?

Wonwoo’s hand loosens at last from the edge of the patient’s chart, his knuckles pale from how tightly he had gripped it. A long breath filters through his nose as he steadies himself and gets mentally ready for what he had to face.

Then, he turns to the nurse next to him, “I’ll take care of it” he says firmly, “But first, prepare him for the angiography. Sedation, local anesthetic and full sterile setup”

“Yes, Dr. Jeon” she nods and moves swiftly, already calling out instructions to the others on shift.

Wonwoo watches her disappear into the hallway, then gives one last look to the monitors. There's no room for delay, not with the patient’s ECG still showing signs of unstable angina and irregular ST elevations. His heart is screaming for relief and time is bleeding fast. Minutes later, indeed, inside the catheterization lab, the sterile quiet is interrupted only by the rhythmic beep of the cardiac monitor and the rustle of latex gloves and surgical drapes. The overhead lights glare cold and white against the silver instruments, casting sharp reflections on the polished trays.

Wonwoo stands at the head of the table with a surgical mask secured on his face, gloved hands held just about waist level in readiness. His eyes are locked on the now sedated patient lying in front of him under the blue drapes, fentanyl and midazolam have dulled the edge of his consciousness, leaving him drowsy but stable for the procedure.

“Vitals are holding, blood pressure 90 over 65. His heart rate is irregular but within range” the anesthesiologist announce from behind the monitor while a nurse applies a final swipe of disinfectant over the patient’s right groin.

“Local anesthetic” Wonwoo instructs. He takes the syringe and carefully infiltrates the area around the femoral artery with lidocaine. After allowing a few seconds for the numbness to set in, he makes a small incision and inserts the introducer sheath with swift precision.

“Femoral access achieved” one of the assisting nurses confirms, eyes on the ultrasound as Wonwoo threads the guide-wire upward through the iliac artery.

“Advancing catheter” Wonwoo murmurs, hands steady as he navigates the fine tubing toward the ascending aorta. The wire moves like a slender thread through a maze, guided by years of muscle memory and clinical instinct. “Engaging left coronary artery. Inject contrast”

The fluoroscopy monitor flares to life and the first injection sends a bloom of radiopaque dye through the coronary tree, illuminating the arteries in branching silhouettes. Wonwoo’s gaze sharpens as the images render in real-time. “Damn...” he breathes, almost under his breath.

The left anterior descending artery is nearly fully occluded, a thread-thin trickle where there should be a river. The circumflex artery shows moderate-to-severe stenosis and the right coronary artery is heavily calcified and critically narrowed.

“Severe triple-vessel disease” he mutters grimly. “The descending artery is the most compromised. No stent placement can keep the vessels alive in this condition”

Wonwoo leans closer, eyes fixed on the screen as he completes the contrast runs to confirm collateral flow and left ventricular function. There’s barely any and his lips press into a worried line behind the mask.

“Complete the final imaging” he says to the nurse. “Then administer IV heparin, start nitroglycerin drip at five micrograms per minute, and give a loading dose of aspirin. We'll need to stabilize him before surgical referral”

The staff around him moves efficiently anticipating his rhythm. As the final images save to the system, Wonwoo slowly withdraws the catheter and sheath, applying pressure over the access site before sealing it with a femoral closure device.

“Cover him up” he instructs, voice softening slightly as he places a warm blanket over the patient’s legs. “Keep him under observation and start cardiac monitoring. Transfer him to insensitive care unit once stable. I’m going to speak with the family”

Wonwoo strips off his gloves and surgical gown, tossing both into the biohazard bin. The sharp scent of antiseptic still clings to his skin the moment he steps out the cath lab, the gravity of what comes next tightens like a fist around his chest.

In the waiting room, Mingyu’s sister sits alone in a row of stiff vinyl chairs, her leg going up and down from nervousness as her hands are knotted tightly around her denim jacket folded in her lap as if she doesn’t expect to stay long or perhaps doesn’t know how long she will have to. The moment she sees a doctor emerge from the hallway, the girl rises halfway from her seat, caught between the urge to hope and the fear of confirmation.

She resembles Mingyu so much, same height, same sweet soft eyes. She looks to be in her late twenties, possibly younger than her brother. Wonwoo approaches her gently, “You’re Mr. Kim’s daughter ?” he asks, already knowing the answer but it’s procedure for him to follow.

“Yes, I am” she replies immediately in a thin whisper, “Is he… is he okay ?”

Wonwoo nods slowly, allowing himself a pause to shape the words with care. “He’s stable for now but the coronary angiography showed severe disease. Three major vessels are critically narrowed, it’s not something we can manage with medication or stents. He’ll need coronary artery bypass surgery”

Her lips part slightly in stunned disbelief, her eyes darting across his face as if trying to read something more hopeful between the lines. “Surgery?” she echoes, voice thin with shock.

“Yes” Wonwoo confirms, giving her time to process the information. “He needs an open-heart surgery. We’ll harvest a vein from his leg or an artery from the chest wall and use it to bypass the blockages. It’s a complex operation but it’s the best way to restore blood flow to his heart and prevent another infarction”

She inhales sharply and presses a hand to her sternum, as if trying to ground herself. “I… I didn’t know it was that serious. He said he just fainted, he didn’t want me to panic…”

“He might not have known” Wonwoo replies gently. “These kinds of blockages can develop silently over time. He’s been lucky so far but now that we’ve identified the problem, we have a clear path forward. If he stays stable through the night, I recommend to schedule the surgery for tomorrow morning. I’ll be leading it myself”

She takes a deep breath as if the reassurance of Wonwoo being there is the only thing she needed to hear. “Okay…” she nods, "Okay yes, please. If you think it’ll help him, do whatever you need to do to save him”

“Great, I’ll go inform my team” Wonwoo dips his head in acknowledgment but just as he takes a step back, the girl’s voice calls him again, smaller this time, a bit uncertain.

“Doctor Jeon ?”

Wonwoo stops mid-step and turns back to face her, “Yes ?”

The girl bites her lips as something softer stirs beneath the panic, “My brother is Kim Mingyu… I know he works here somewhere” she says, “He doesn’t know I brought our father in… we’re not in very good terms and I don’t know if I should call him or —“

Wonwoo holds her gaze for a beat longer as something flickering behind his own, understanding, maybe even something protective. “He’s a surgeon in Pediatrics” he says gently, watching how a glimpse of surprise flicks in her eyes, “I can inform him, if you want”

Her shoulders sink slightly as a visible wave of relief passes through her, her hands relaxing in her lap for the first time since he arrived. “Yes, thank you” she whispers, “Thank you so much”

Wonwoo gives her a small respectful nod before turning away, walking through the corridor with his mind already spiraling toward the next task ahead. His though don’t linger on the procedure he just performed or the charts awaiting his signature, rather they circle along the other kind of heart he needs to face that day, the one that might be even harder for him to reach than the one he just tried to save.

He heads back to the locker room and strips off his surgical clothes. The scent of antiseptic and soap cling to his skin as he scrubs his hands and arms clean into the sink, changing into a fresh green scrub shortly after before wearing his glasses back again and heading out without giving himself time to second-guess where he needs to go to.

The urgency presses against his ribs like a second heartbeat and the moment he enters the pediatric ward, Wonwoo is surprised at how much those corridors are capable of making him feel almost like he's in another world. The walls are a patchwork of soft pastels and animals painted with a combination of stars and rockets, colorful balloons and cotton clouds are suspended from the ceilings. It’s warmer here and Wonwoo walks discreetly as he peers gently into each open doors of exam rooms and side offices.

In one room a little girl is dozing with a teddy bear against her cheek, in another, a nurse is checking a child's IV. In none of them, though, is there any sign of the person Wonwoo is looking for. He then slowly approaches the frosted glass door of the office labeled “Dr. Kim Mingyu”, Wonwoo raises his hand and knocks twice with his knuckles soft against the frame.

There’s no answer on the other side although Wonwoo keeps waiting.

“He is not here today” a voice calls gently from behind.

Wonwoo turns and finds Areum standing at the end of the corridor with her arms crossed loosely around a clipboard held against her chest, her long silky hair are tied neatly into a soft braid giving her a calm composed presence. “He took the day off” she adds as she approaches him.

“Oh” Wonwoo replies too quickly letting that quiet note of disappointment slipping through his mouth before he has the chance to catch it. “I… didn’t know”

“He called this morning saying he didn’t feel so well but I guess he just needed to catch on some sleep. He sounded tired”

Wonwoo presses his lips together, jaw tightening just slightly. He hesitates, gaze dropping to the polished hospital floor for half a second. He didn’t come because of me, he thinks. After yesterday... he didn’t want to face me. The thought doesn’t surprise him but it stings more than he expected.

Areum must sense the shift in his posture because she tilts her head slightly, “You were looking for him ?”

Wonwoo lifts his head again, startled out of his thoughts. “Yeah I needed to talk to him about… a case, something important” he pauses, unsure how much he is allowed to ask. “Do… do you know where I can find him ?”

She doesn’t respond immediately, instead, she studies him for a long moment. There’s something protective in her gaze, older sister energy wrapped in nurse's intuition, but Areum sees enough in his face to soften her. She reaches into the pocket of her pink scrubs and pulls out a black pen, then she gently takes his wrist and stars writing an address across the skin of his open palm.

“He might not answer the door right away, especially if he’s sleeping” she says, recapping the pen, "Just… be patient”

Wonwoo looks down at the writing, the fresh ink standing out against the pale lines of his skin. When he lifts his head again, there’s a slight breathlessness in his voice. “Thank you”

Areum gives him a faint smile, her eyes linger on him a bit more. She seems to hesitate whether to speak further more or make her own business, but those same words calls after him just as he starts to turn away, “Wonwoo” she says, waiting for him to glance back at her. “Cheese pizza is his favorite” she grins, “Just in case you’re planning on being forgiven”

A blush drastically creeps on Wonwoo’s face before a smile can. His ears redden first, then the flush runs along his cheeks and neck, “Noted” he murmurs with a nod.

Areum’s grin widens and she gives him a nod of approval before heading down the corridor in the opposite direction. Wonwoo watches her go for a moment, then turns towards the exit with her words echoing in her chest and that address inked on his palm that he keeps care not to let it fade during the day.

As the sky darkens and the hospital's pace begins to calm, Wonwoo finally shrugs off his scrubs and swaps them for his usual everyday clothes of simple baggy jeans and a gray polo shirt. He also changes his glasses to his favorite, horn-rimmed black frame, and sighs in front of his locker, checking the address on his arm once more. The faint pen marks are now slightly smudged in the crease of his palm, but Areum's handwriting lingers like a small boost of courage.

Wonwoo goes to the parking lot to get his car, and before heading to Mingyu's house, he makes a detour to the pizza place at the end of the street, where the smell of toasted bread and cooked tomato sauce wafts from meters away. He orders a large cheese pizza, nothing special, and smiles slightly, perhaps imagining the face of Mingyu, a true food enthusiast, when he sees it. It's a simple and honest peace offering, perhaps even a little silly, but silliness, as they say, is sometimes the only thing left when pride has run out.

The drive is short, less than twenty minutes, but it feels longer as the weight on his chest grows heavier with each turn. Wonwoo passes through the jumble of traffic lights and storefronts until the landscape shifts from the busy city center to quieter residential streets, lined with clean sidewalks and well-tended trees.

The address leads him to a modest yet elegant apartment complex nestled between two corner cafes, with soft golden lights pouring in from the glass entrance. Wonwoo parks the car and sits there for a moment longer, clutching the hot box on the passenger seat as if it were some kind of lifeline. He looks at his palm again, noticing that Areum had written not only the address but also the building's access code and the floor number.

Thoughtful of her... or just conspiring. Maybe both.

Inside the building, the elevator hums gently as it ascends to the fifth floor. Wonwoo feels his heart beating too fast, his palms clammy around the cardboard pizza box and his breath catching as the floor numbers blink one by one in steady succession. By the time the elevator slows and the metal doors part with a quiet chime, a coil of anxiety tightens low in his stomach.

Wonwoo steps into a hushed hallway, the carpet muffles his footsteps as he moves forward, eyes scanning the matching apartment doors all evenly spaced and painted the same muted shade. Name tags are neatly placed next to each bells and it doesn’t take him long to find the one that says “Kim” as the black letters glow under the soft light of the wall applique.

Wonwoo stops in front of it, pulse fluttering like a trapped bird in his chest.

And then... nothing. A complete blankness takes over in his head.

He stands still in front of that door breathing hard as if the simple act of being there turns into a whole personal battle for him. Wonwoo thinks about what he might say, the possibility of rejection as a thousand voices clamor for attention, “what if he doesn’t want to see you, what if you ruin everything, what if it’s already too late”. He lifts a hand to ring the bell but stops short lowering it again, runs the other hand through his hair, takes a step forward then paces back, caught in a loop of hesitation and spiraling thoughts.

His nerves scream to just get it over with and press that damn button, his pride tells him to go home instead. Five minutes pass, maybe ten, and finally, exasperated with himself, Wonwoo exhales sharply and mutters a “Coward” under his breath before ringing the doorbell.

The moment the sound echoes from inside, a wave of regret slams into him. “What the fuck are you doing ?” his mind shouts and panic surges through his body. Wonwoo steps back from the door, ready to run back to the elevator and pretend none of this ever happened but then, just as he's about to move, the door in front of him opens.

Mingyu is standing there on the threshold, barefoot and dressed in a black tank top and a pair of worn gray sweatpants. His eyes are watching Wonwoo unblinkingly, one hand still raised to the edge of the doorframe as if unsure whether to throw it open or slam it shut. His hair is disheveled, his face a little puffy, as if he's just woken up or hasn't slept at all, and for a whole second he doesn't breathe, just stares at him frozen in place.

The silence between them stretches until Wonwoo finally draws in a breath, “Hi…”

Mingyu blinks slowly, tilting his head slightly, “What are you doing here ?”

Wonwoo opens his mouth then shuts it again. His brain scrambles for words, something coherent, something less pathetic than the truth. He lifts the box in his hands a little awkwardly. “I… brought pizza. I was hoping we could… talk ?”

Mingyu doesn’t answer right away. His expression narrows as his gaze flicks between Wonwoo’s face and the box. “Who told you where I live ?”

“Areum” he admits like he’s confessing something shameful.

“Of course” Mingyu lets out a dry little laugh, “I should have guessed”

Wonwoo shifts his weight awkwardly, biting his lower lip. “Did I bother you ? I’m sorry… God —” he mutters, rubbing the bridge of his nose with a hand. “I’m so stupid, I should’ve… called first or something…”

“No, it’s fine. Sorry I didn’t want to sound harsh…” Mingyu says after a beat, though his voice doesn’t bother hiding the trace of nervousness simmering beneath it. “Please, come in” he welcomes him opening the door wider.

Wonwoo nods without a word and trails quietly behind Mingyu into the apartment, carefully slipping out of his shoes at the entrance. The soles of his socks make the faintest whisper against the wooden floor as he tiptoes in, eyes scanning the space with quiet curiosity.

The apartment is exactly what he imagined and yet somehow still surprises him. It's tidy, almost painfully so, the furniture is minimal and modern chosen with intention rather than trend. Neutral tones dominate the palette, soft grays, warm beiges, touches of matte black. There are little hints of personality, a framed print on the wall, a neat row of vinyls by the shelf, a sleepy houseplant by the window that somehow manages to survive.

It feels curated and lived-in. Everything has its place, everything is so Mingyu.

“You have a beautiful house” Wonwoo says as they pass through the open-plan living room toward the kitchen.

Mingyu glances back with a small smile. “Thanks. I imagine yours is just as organized”

“Not really” Wonwoo lets out a quiet laugh. “I’m barely home enough to make the mess worth cleaning”

That earns a chuckle from Mingyu, who steps aside to let Wonwoo set the pizza down on the dining table. As the cardboard box opens with a soft rustle, the smell of warm cheese fills the space, curling around them like a temporary comfort. Mingyu inhales instinctively and the tender smile that crosses his face is impossible to hide.

“I heard it’s your favorite” Wonwoo murmurs, glancing at him with a cautious kind of pride, like he’s not sure he should be pleased with himself but he actually is.

Mingyu pauses, eyes holding on Wonwoo’s for a second longer than necessary. “Yeah…” he murmurs smiling. “It is. Thank you”

He looks away quickly, brushing a hand through his messy hair, suddenly too aware of how disheveled he must look. The silence that settles next is soft and a little awkward, “Please, have a sit” he says gently, “I’ll grab us a couple glasses. Beer is fine for you ?”

“It’s great” Wonwoo nods, already lowering himself into one of the chairs, his knees brushing the table as he folds his hands in his lap. “Thank you”

In the kitchen, Mingyu opens the fridge and pulls out two cold bottles that clink gently in his hands. He removes the corks with expert skills and pours the amber liquid into two tall glasses. Wonwoo watches him from the dining table, chin resting lightly on one hand as his eyes trace the frame of his broad shoulders, wondering what words they’ll find once the pizza is sliced and the silence breaks for good.

Mingyu returns with the drinks, placing one in front of Wonwoo before sinking into the chair in front of him. They take a slice from the box and as soon as Mingyu takes the first bite, his face brightens with a kind of uncomplicated joy, eyes closing for a brief second in sheer satisfaction.

“Oh my god—” he mutters around a mouthful, chewing slowly. “This tastes like heaven”

Wonwoo lets out a small laugh, his nerves easing just a bit. “You look like you needed it”

Mingyu nods and wipes his mouth with a napkin. They eat in silence for a while, comfortable but careful being around each other. Wonwoo picks at the crust of his slice, eyes flicking toward Mingyu and lingering there for a heartbeat before settling on his plate again.

“You didn’t come to work today” he speaks, tentative.

Mingyu swallows and leans back in his chair, “No, I didn’t”

“No surgeries scheduled ?”

“Nothing on the board” he replies, “My morning was open so I just asked to have the rest of the day off”

Wonwoo nods faintly but the words push past his lips before he can stop them. “Was it because of me ?”

Mingyu meets his gaze, just direct and achingly honest, “No, it wasn’t. Even though I think we both needed a little space after… what happened yesterday”

“Right” Wonwoo nods, feeling his throat tightening.

He fidgets with the edge of his napkin, folding and unfolding it between his fingers as he tries to organize the words inside his head. There are too many, maybe not enough. He wants to say everything and nothing at once. Mingyu seems to notice his whirlwind of overthinking, the tension in his posture, the way his anxiety is showing through that little tremble.

“How was your day ?” he asks gently, trying to keep the weight of the moment from sinking too quickly.

Wonwoo’s lips press into a thin line, “It was hard” he replies.

“Why ? Did something happen ?”

Wonwoo looks up and holds his gaze as he takes a deep breath. “Yeah… and… that’s also one of the reasons why I am here” he says, “There’s something I need to tell you and I don’t really know how to say it in a way that won’t sound like I’m dropping a bomb on you tonight”

Mingyu’s expression shifts in something worrying and alarming, “What is it ?”

“It’s about your father” he says and the air between them stills like something has just been knocked out of orbit.

Mingyu blinks, confused. “My father ?”

Wonwoo nods and the warm comfort of the pizza now turns suddenly heavy in his stomach. He sits straighter in his chair, palms resting flat against his thighs beneath the table to ground himself. “He was brought into the ER this morning for the onset of heart attack” he starts explaining carefully. “He had severe chest pain, high blood pressure. He was noncompliant and aggressive, his ECG was abnormal so I ordered an angiogram”

Wonwoo watches how Mingyu’s lips part as if to speak but no words actually come out from his mouth. His face doesn’t betray much but his eyes have gone a little distant, like he’s trying to catch up to the moment.

“There were two blockages” he then presses forward gently. “One particularly concerning. I stabilized him and I spoke to your sister—“

His eyes brightens as soon as she is mentioned, “Minseo was there ?”

“Yes, she came in with him” Wonwoo replies giving him a moment to collect the informations, “I recommended them a bypass surgery, it’s scheduled for tomorrow morning”

Silence falls again, and in it, Mingyu stares at the table unmoving. The tick of the wall clock in the next room suddenly feels too loud. Wonwoo watches him, tense, unsure whether to keep going or shut up.

“Are you okay ?” he then asks softly, “I’m sorry, I should have —“

“No, no… I’m fine” Mingyu replies, a bit uncertain, “It might seems like I don’t care but actually it’s just… weird to know all of this all of a sudden. I haven’t seen him, them, in years”

“Your sister was actually looking for you there” Wonwoo explains, “I didn’t know who your father was. He didn’t mention you either, not by name I mean, he just… barked about his son working here and said that if you weren’t chief by now, you weren’t worth the money he spent raising you”

Mingyu lets out a bitter snort and leans back in his chair. “He didn’t spend a single won on me. Every cent I’ve used to build my life, I earned on my own. Scholarships, night shifts, freelance gigs, he never lifted a finger for me”

Wonwoo studies him closely. There’s tension in his jaw, the flicker of old wounds flaring beneath the surface. “When I saw how he treated the staff… how he spoke to me...” he hesitates, “I started to understand why you never talk about him”

Something in Mingyu’s expression hardens, like a door slamming shut behind his eyes. “What did he say ?”

“Enough to make it clear he doesn’t see you for who you are. Enough for me to want to punch him in the middle of the emergency room, honestly, but I didn’t come here to complain about it but because… it’s your family after all and I thought you should know”

Mingyu exhales, dragging a palm down his face. “God… I thought I had more time before I had to deal with him again”

Wonwoo watches him carefully. “How long has it been since you saw him ? Your family ?”

“Since I started college.”

“What ? Really ?”

“It’s... complicated” Mingyu shifts in his seat, shoulders curling inward slightly. “He never wanted me to pursue med school, he had this whole plan like I was supposed to take over his business, carry on the legacy or whatever. But I said no and he told me I was no longer part of the family, that I was throwing my life away and that my dreams were useless”

Wonwoo’s throat tightens.

“They didn’t even come to my graduation” Mingyu continues, “Didn’t call, didn’t send a text. I stopped trying after that. I told myself I didn’t need them and for a while… I believed that” he falls silent for a moment, “My sister… she was young, too young to understand. She didn’t know any of it and she only started reaching out again once she got into high school. She’s the only one I still talk to sometimes”

“She cares about you” Wonwoo says gently.

“I know” Mingyu nods, “And I care about her too. She’s the only reason I didn’t cut the cord completely”

Wonwoo nods slowly letting it all sink in, the years of silence, the severed bond, the pressure of becoming something just to earn love that should have been unconditional.

“You don’t have to see him if you’re not ready” he says softly. “But you should know… he’s stable now and your sister made the decision to move forward with the surgery. She trusts me to do it”

“You’re the one who’s going to operate him ?”

“Yes, I am” Wonwoo nods. “I’ll be leading the surgery tomorrow morning”

Mingyu’s eyes lift and something fragile flickers across his face, something that cracks open all the walls he’s built up. It’s not quite relief, not quite gratitude, more like resignation and trust wrapped in hope.

“Then I’m glad it’s you” Mingyu murmurs, “I know he will be in good hands”

Wonwoo feels the breath leave his lungs as a knot in his chest unravels at those words. “I’ll do my best”

“I know you will” he replies and this time he even manages to hint him a little smile.

For a second, silence wraps around them again but it no longer feels distant. There’s a subtle shift as the air grows heavier, charged not with tension but with something tender. Wonwoo’s hand moves slowly across the table until his fingers find Mingyu’s. He brushes the back of his knuckles in a tentative caress, just enough contact to say “I’m here” without needing to speak.

Mingyu doesn’t pull away from the contact, instead, he turns his hand to intertwine their fingers into a sweet hold. His thumb traces along Wonwoo’s hand back as if he’s memorizing the shape of him then, with a silent tug, Mingyu pulls him a little closer as if to say “I need more than air between us”

Wonwoo slowly stands up, his chair scraping gently against the floor, and then, wordlessly, he moves around the table and straddles Mingyu’s lap. His arms circling his shoulders as he sinks into him in a quiet full-bodied embrace. Mingyu exhales a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, his forehead pressing into Wonwoo’s shoulder like it’s the only place he can breathe.

His arms wrap around his waist tightly, grounding himself in the warmth, in the safety of his hug.

Wonwoo holds him close, one hand moving up to stroke his hair slow and soothing, his other one cradles the back of his neck while he presses a soft kiss to his temple so delicate and reassuring

“Thank you” Mingyu whispers barely audible, like something sacred between them.

“It’s nothing” Wonwoo murmurs, “Really”

They pull back just enough to look at each other, their eyes meet, their foreheads brush. Wonwoo rests his own gently against Mingyu’s, his nose nudging his in a quiet affection. “I see you now. All of you”

Mingyu closes his eyes for a moment, “Do you… want to stay here a little longer ?”

Wonwoo smiles. “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere”

Mingyu’s lips part slightly, as if he might say something, then close again in a quiet nod. His hand stays curled around Wonwoo’s and without letting go, he rises from there and tugs him gently, wordlessly asking him to follow into the other room. Wonwoo does and the living room welcomes him dimly lit, washed in a gentle amber glow from a standing lamp near the window. The cozy blue couch, broad and low-slung, blends clean modern lines with the inviting plushness of a space meant to be lived in.

They move without speaking and everything feels natural like gravity is guiding them into one another. Mingyu sinks into the cushions first, reclining slightly as Wonwoo joins him shortly after. It’s not choreographed, not even conscious, how perfectly they fit. Wonwoo nestles into his chest, folding his limbs in around him like he’s done it a hundred times in dreams. Mingyu responds by wrapping an arm firmly around his back, the other hand coming up to rest lightly against his spine.

Their legs tangle, one of them crosses a knee, the other shifts to make space and suddenly they’re no longer two people trying to figure out where to stand but one shape breathing in rhythm. Their foreheads come together again, skin brushing skin, and this time it’s intentional as they don’t rush it, they don’t fill the silence, they just spend their time matching their breaths and looking into each other’s eyes.

The distance that had stretched so unbearably between them, feels like it never existed.

Not here. Not now. Not anymore.

“Yesterday…” Mingyu speaks, voice just a thin murmur, “When you said it was a mistake… did you mean it ? That all of this… we… was really something you regretted ?”

Wonwoo doesn’t answer right away. He shifts slightly as the hand resting on Mingyu’s chest rises to trace a barely-there line across his collarbone. He swallows hard, his throat tight with everything he’s held back for too long.

“No…” he whispers, almost too quietly. “No, I didn’t mean that. Not really”

“Then why did you say it ?”

“I just…” his brow furrowing as he tries to find the right words. “It’s not easy for me to feel everything all at once. To want something and not know how to carry it without breaking it”

“You think we’ll break ?” Mingyu asks.

“I think I might” Wonwoo admits, “I’m just… very scared”

“Of what ?”

Wonwoo lifts his gaze, “Of the effect you have on me”

Mingyu tilts his head just slightly, his nose brushing against Wonwoo’s in the smallest gesture of closeness. “What kind of effect do I have on you ?”

Wonwoo swallows, he closes his eyes for a second as if to gather the courage to finally speak freely. “You make me feel… like I’m not just existing anymore” he says, “Like… like I’ve been asleep for years and then suddenly someone walks into the room and turns the light on”

Mingyu watches him quietly, the corners of his mouth softening.

“I wake up thinking about you” Wonwoo goes on, “I look for you in every corridor, I listen for your laugh without even realizing it. You drive me crazy when you tease me and then undo me with a single look. And… when I’m with you, everything feels… louder, brighter. It’s terrifying”

Mingyu’s breath catches in his throat. His hand slips to the back of Wonwoo’s neck, fingers stroking the soft hairs there. “That sounds like something more than fear” he whispers.

“It is…” he murmurs looking at him in the eyes, “I think I’m falling in love with you”

Mingyu stops breathing for a moment, like the words themselves settle in his chest with such weight and warmth. “You think ?” he teases but his voice cracks just slightly and Wonwoo smiles.

“I know…” he amends. “I just… don’t know what to do with it yet”

Mingyu’s hand cups his jaw now, thumb brushing along his cheek. “You don’t have to do anything with it. Just let it exist, let us exist”

Wonwoo leans into the touch as their foreheads rest against each other and their breaths mingle in the narrow space between. Mingyu’s gaze lowers to his full lips, then lifts again to his eyes searching for a sign but he actually doesn't need one because the moment already exists.

So he moves, so slow and sweet, and his lips brush against Wonwoo’s like a question, a trembling “may I ?” that he answers by tilting forward. Mingyu shortens the little distance and meet his lips in a kiss that deepens shortly into something tender.

It’s not hurried, not possessive like the one before, but it’s soft and it unfolds like a secret, a promise whispered into skin. Wonwoo sighs into it as his heart is pounding against his chest, feeling like every part of him being unwound and remade all at once. Mingyu’s hand cups the side of his face, steadying him as if trying to keep this fragile moment from drifting away. His lips are warm and soft, moving slowly as if to memorize the shape of Wonwoo’s who parts his mouth slightly in a silent invitation.

Their tongues meet tentative at first, just the lightest flicker that sends a shiver through Wonwoo’s spine. Mingyu tastes like beer and something sweeter, like shared breath and unspoken truths. The kiss grows deeper, more exploratory, their mouths moving in a rhythm now. Wonwoo sighs into him, tilting his head to give more of himself. The brush of their tongues becomes a slow and intimate dance, nothing rushed, nothing showy, just the pure electricity of closeness finally allowed.

Mingyu’s hand finds his waist, holding him gently as if afraid he might disappear. Wonwoo arches towards him even more, feeling the need to be closer as their bodies aligning guided by instincts only.

When they finally part, it’s only by inches because their lips still brushing in the afterglow. Their foreheads rest together again, breath merging in the warm silence.

Mingyu’s voice is barely a whisper when he speaks. “I’m sorry I ran away yesterday” he says, his thumb stroking Wonwoo’s soft cheek now. “I thought you needed space”

“I don’t need space” Wonwoo replies softly, “I need you to ground me down”

There’s a stillness between them, a charged quiet that feels like the world just paused to listen to their hearts. Mingyu leans in as pulled by gravity and kisses him again, slower this time, lazier, so obsessed with those lips he had worked so hard to have, with the taste of him that he never wanted to forget. He kisses Wonwoo like he’s wanted to for years, like now that he finally can, he won’t take a single moment of it for granted.

“You didn’t ask me if I’m in love with you” Mingyu whispers once they part, his voice threading gently into the quiet.

Wonwoo plays a quiet smile on his lips. “Are you?”

“I always have been”

“Since when ?” he asks, his voice barely above a murmur.

Mingyu’s gaze softens, his thumb brushing along the curve of Wonwoo’s jaw. “Since the first anatomy class…” he confesses with a small exhale, almost embarrassed. “You probably didn’t even notice”

“I just noticed how annoying you were” Wonwoo says with a flicker of humor dancing in his eyes.

“That was me trying to flirt, if you can believe it” he laughs, “Do you remember when I used to copy your notes ?”

Wonwoo huffs a breath of laughter, his smile laced with nostalgia. “You mean when you’d lean over my shoulder and pretend you didn’t understand biochem, even though you were acing every quiz?”

Mingyu chuckles too, the sound low and fond. “Yeah… that” he hesitates a second, then leans in, gently brushing their noses together, “That was my way of telling you I loved you even then, through your notes, in the only language I thought you’d understand” he pauses, breathing him in. “You were always the missing piece of my theory, Jeon Wonwoo”

Wonwoo closes his eyes for a beat, overwhelmed by the intimacy of it. He lets the confession wrap around the places in him that used to be cold and untouched with so much warmth and safety, like something he never thought he could have in his life. For a long moment, he just lets himself feel the quiet miracle of being chosen, of being known.

“I’m sorry for making you wait” he whispers, “For pushing you away every time you got too close”

Mingyu’s smile blooms softly against the quiet. “You were worth it” he murmurs with a small laugh, equal parts tease and truth. “I would’ve waited longer if I had to”

“You shouldn’t have had to” Wonwoo lets out a shaky breath, “I’m complicated, I don’t always know how to be soft or open. I get scared, I run away —”

“But I wanted to wait for you” Mingyu interrupts gently, pressing a kiss to his forehead, “And perseverance pays off, now you’re here”

Wonwoo’s chest tightens at the truth of it. “Yeah…” he breathes, “I’m here”

They fall quiet again, letting their bodies speak where words can’t. Where once there had been tension and confusion, now there’s only the unspoken presence, and outside the city may keep pulsing with its cars passing, distant voices echoing, but inside Mingyu’s apartment, time folds in on itself suspended in the warmth of skin pressed to skin.

They stay there wrapped in each other’s arms, their bodies curled like parentheses around a sentence they’re finally ready to finish. Wonwoo shifts closer with each breath, until he’s nestled fully into the curve of Mingyu’s chest. He closes his eyes to listen to the soft rhythm of his heart that doesn’t race, doesn’t falter but that just beats strongly for him only.

A rhythm different from the others, synchronized by two organs, two people, connected not by logic but by something more elusive. Not just anatomy, not just physiology, but that inexplicable fusion of mind and heart that no textbook has ever been able to fully define. Maybe this was the formula of love, the equation behind the mystery of the human heart Wonwoo had been searching for all along.

Something free, wild, that doesn’t always need an explanation.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, Wonwoo lets himself believe that maybe he’s allowed to have this, to be happy. Maybe love isn’t a threat to brace against but a shelter he could find once finally stop running. Because he’s not running anymore or at very least he wants to try not to escape from what he feels.

Because in Mingyu’s arms, in the quiet wonder of that moment, he knows with aching clarity that he isn’t alone.

Not tonight. Not again.

Maybe not ever.

Chapter Text

“And I’d give up forever to touch you,
’cause I know that you feel me somehow”

Water cascades steadily over Wonwoo's hands as he cleans himself with precise and ritualistic movements. His fingers scrub over one another, palms glide in a practiced choreography with his wrists slowly rotating beneath the hot stream. The neutral scent soap clings briefly to his skin before slipping away in the sink, taking with it the sweat, the tension and, for a fleeting moment, even the restless spinning of his thoughts.

The polished steel counter in the pre-operative room gleams under the cold white lights. Around him, everything feels sharpened by stillness. In the far corner a resident is wrestling with a pair of sterile gloves, the strained creak of elastic cutting through the hush. Every sound is magnified, every minute passed in silence seems deeper than it actually should be.

But silence, inside Wonwoo, was a foreign concept by now.

Memories of last night still lingers in his chest, playing in his mind and looping the intimate moments in uneven fragments like a movie that refuses to fade. He can still feels Mingyu’s warm body pressed against his one on the couch, the calm rhythm of his breathing tickling his collarbones, the softness of those words whispered in the dim light, “You make me feel things I don’t even understand”, and then that slow devastating sweet kiss that had meant everything and held every words Wonwoo couldn’t yet say but knew Mingyu could already feel.

His hand had traced gently along his burning cheek as if mapping something forgotten, “You’ve always been the missing piece of my theory” Mingyu had murmured making Wonwoo trembled, not from fear but from the staggering unfamiliarity of being seen as something precious for the first time in his life. No one had ever taught him how to love without destroying himself in the process, and now that love had knocked on his door and is standing there in front of him, alive and full of light, Wonwoo feels like looking at the sun for too long.

Blinding, beautiful but also absolutely dangerous.

If in the past he used to run away at the mere hint of feelings, this time Wonwoo stayed and allowed himself for the first time to believe that it was okay to let Mingyu in, to realize that maybe, just maybe, it was safe to stop running and be wanted. Last night he had fallen asleep wrapped in those safe arms, rocked by a rhythm of comfort he hadn’t known in years, and now that Wonwoo is about to perform an open-heart surgery on the father of the same man who confessed his love, that same rhythm just faltered.

Wonwoo closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, “Mingyu trusts me. I can’t fail him”, and when he opens them again, his reflection in the mirror stares back at him. His expression is tense and serious, jaw clenched and brows drawn, but beneath the hard lines a tremor of hope glimmers in his eyes. “What if I disappoint him? What if this love burns too bright for me to hold ?”

Wonwoo could have run. He could have pulled away from that embrace the night before, found safety in old patters, bury himself in back-to-back shifts, disappear behind the usual walls and let the moment pass unacknowledged. That’s what he used to do, what felt familiar, but he actually hadn’t. Because in the middle of his tangled feelings and confusion, mingyu had said something so disarmingly gentle it had shattered his every defense.

“There’s no rush”

Words so simple that cracked open the fortress of his chest he had spent years constructing just to let a little breeze of air in.

“I don’t want to take you away from yourself. I just want you to know I’m here.”

That was the knot now tangled beneath his ribs, the truth that was pulling his heart open with quiet insistence. Love, not as a tide threatening to drown him, but as water that held him and let him breathe.

“Dr. Jeon, the operating room is ready” the nurse’s voice comes suddenly, cutting through the fog of his own thoughts.

Wonwoo blinks, shaking his head once to clear the haze. He gives the nurse a small nod, pulls on his surgical mask and cap and walks towards the main entrance of the operating room, crossing the small corridor and pushing the swinging doors open with his back. The surgical instruments are perfectly aligned on a tray, shining under the bright lights. His team is gathered around the man lying on the operating table, already anesthetized, and they watch him waiting impatiently for his directives.

Wonwoo positions himself at the side of the table as the surgical lights above them flick on. His gown is secured, gloved hands lift ahead him and behind the surgical mask, his mouth is set in a serious firm line. He inhales deeply, exhales forcefully, he then looks at his colleagues and gives them a single nod.

It's time to begin.

“Vitals ?” Wonwoo asks firstly.

The anesthesiologist glances at the monitor, then meets his eyes over the mask, “Sedation is holding, Dr. Jeon” he replies, “Blood pressure is 110 over 70. Heart rate is 84, oxygenation 98%. The anesthetic depth is adequate, you’re good to go”

Wonwoo gives him a sharp nod. “Let’s maintain that mean arterial pressure above 65. Let me know immediately if anything shifts, and keep an eye on end-tidal CO2 as well. I want tight ventilation”

“Understood” Dr. Min confirms.

Wonwoo turns his head slightly to the side as the scrub nurse approaches him, “Scalpel” she says, already placing the instrument in his open palm.

“Thank you” he murmurs in a serious and clinical tone but beneath the surface his tension is simmered. “We’re starting with a midline sternotomy. Incision from the suprasternal notch to the xiphoid” his words explain in guidance as three residents stand just behind his shoulders watching his every movement.

With such practiced precision, Wonwoo makes the first incision drawing the blade downward, along the man’s chest, slicing cleanly through the parting skin and subcutaneous tissue. He works through the superficial fascia, careful to avoid excessive bleeding.

“Suction” he requests quietly and a junior resident steps in to assist him, eyes attentive and hands steady, “Note the landmarks” Wonwoo adds, “Manubrium here, xiphoid process below. Keep your hand low and controlled, be careful not to block my line of sight” the nurse passes him the electrocautery tool next, “We’re gonna reduce the subcutaneous fat and fascia now. We want a clean field before we touch the sternum”

Sizzling fills the room briefly as Wonwoo works through the tissue layers, controlling with precision every minor bleeders. Everyone around him is quiet and attentive to his movements, the silence broken only by the rhythmic beeping of the heart rate monitor and the subtle suctioning of blood.

“Retractor” Wonwoo orders.

Dr. Lee, his first assistant, steps in to place the sternal retractor as he requested. The sterile arms spread wide as the metal limbs slide into place with a soft heavy click. “Sternal saw is ready, Dr. Jeon” he says, lifting it carefully.

Wonwoo looks up at the monitor and watches the green line pulsing, the rhythm of that heart so fragile yet somehow human. His chest tightens briefly as soon as he lowers his gaze to the man lying unconscious in front of him, his face pallid beneath the harsh operating lights. It’s a strange and jarring intimacy standing this close to Mingyu’s source of deepest pain, the man who raised him but also hurt him when he needed his support most. Wonwoo carefully observes the same sharpness in the man's jaw that Mingyu eventually inherited from him, the same stubborn line of his brow, the same small mole on his left cheek. So similar, yet so different and distant.

“There’s no rush” he hears echoing in his mind.

Wonwoo swallows with the weight of that truth pressing into his ribs. He doesn’t know the full extent of what Mingyu endured growing up but he’s seen listened enough to understand that the wounds weren’t just emotional. They were structural, carved into the way Mingyu looks for affection, how he hides behind brightness to protect dark places. And now here lies the origin of so much pain, utterly vulnerable beneath Wonwoo’s hands.

But none of that matters right now.

Not the anger, not the past, not the ache in Mingyu’s voice when the night before he said, “I don’t know what to feel… I wish he could just disappear". Right now this man is just a patient, Wonwoo the surgeon, and he will save him no matter what because he is trained for this, because somewhere beneath all those scars, Mingyu still deserved the choice to forgive, the right to face his past with clarity and not with regret.

Wonwoo steadies his hands from that little tremor caused by the subtle tension and breathes once. Focus. Focus. Focus.

“I’m going to proceed with the sternotomy” he finally says, taking the saw and placing the blade at the top of the sternum bone. “Spreader”

The nurse locks the sternal retractor into place and slowly widens it until the chest cavity lay fully exposed. The lungs move rhythmically beneath as the heart sits nestled in the pericardium with such shallow and tired movements. Wonwoo stares at it for a moment, it’s so vulnerable.

“Opening the pericardial sac” he announces as he picks the scissors and makes a careful incision down the center of the glistening white tissue. A thin sheen of fluid escapes and Mr. Kim’s heart now is fully visible, beating and struggling, a perfect machine they always say but in that moment so painfully alive.

“Look here —“ Wonwoo says to the residents, “The left anterior descending artery, do you see that narrowing ? That’s one of three we’ll bypass today. We’re gonna make a two-vessel coronary artery bypass with sequential grafting on the marginal branches”

“Left internal mammary artery and great saphenous vein are ready, Dr. Jeon” the scrubs nurse informs him.

“Excellent” he nods, “Let’s prepare for the cardiopulmonary bypass then, get the heart-lung machine”

The perfusionist, stationed behind the glass, gives him a thumbs-up. “Machine is primed and heparin is already circulating”

“Cannulation next” Wonwoo says as the assistants around him begin suctioning fluids the moment he inserts the cannulae into the aorta and right atrium, one at a time. Blood begins to flow through the lines into the heart-lung machine.

“Flow initiated” the perfusionist confirms shortly after, “We’re on full bypass”

“What’s the temperature ?” Wonwoo asks without raising his eyes from the operating area.

“Cooling to 32°” Dr. Min answers, “Blood pressure is stable”

Wonwoo pauses and glances up at Dr. Lee, “Ready to arrest the heart ?”

“Yes, the cold potassium solution is ready” he confirms, “Delivering through the aorta”

Wonwoo nods. “Proceed, go ahead”

The team watches as the chilled solution slowly get injected into the heart making its rhythm slowing little by little, till it stops completely. The monitor line suddenly goes flat and the room get quiet except for the soft whirl of the bypass. Wonwoo never gets used to that moment, the intentional stopping of a heart, the feeling of having a life in his hands suspended between muscle memory and faith.

But he doesn’t let himself linger in that fear even though his forehead is sweating and his chest is tightening. Stay focused, Wonwoo. Focus. Focus. Focus.

“Heart is arrested, Dr. Jeon. We’re ready to start grafting” Dr. Lee announces.

The scrub nurse hands him the first graft, the internal mammary artery. Wonwoo examines the small coronary artery on the surface of the heart, locating the narrowed section and starts stitching, one tiny suture at time. Each thread is tied with care, precision honed by years of experience by now and maybe something even more pressing in that moment.

Mingyu’s voice returns to him, “There’s no rush”

Wonwoo looks at his fingers that don’t tremble, but inside his thoughts are a mess. “What if I can’t do this ? What if I lose him —“

No.

Focus. There’s no rush,

He glances at the monitor, “How’s the pressure, Dr. Min ?”

“Holding steady, Dr. Jeon” he replies.

“Good” Wonwoo gives a faint nod. The suture line on the descending artery is delicate and each motion flows into the next with grace, silk thread looping through the vessels walls. Behind the mask Wonwoo’s breath is heavy as well as mind anchored to every stitch. “Distal end is secured” he says, looking at his assistant, “Clamp, please” he requests, receiving it in his palm wordlessly.

Wonwoo moves to the aorta and begins preparing the proximal side, careful not to disturb the cannula involvement. He visualizes the blood flow already rerouted giving to the vessel a second chance mapping out in graft and threads. In some ways, this has always been what drew him to cardiac surgery, the beauty and possibility of rewriting endings and restoring function when all seemed lost.

Time passes in a slow tempo in that room as another vessel is repaired, another graft sewn into place. “The proximal is done” he breaks the silence, “Check for leaks then let’s move to the marginal branch”

The operating field stays dry, there’s no bleeding at all. “Excellent flow” Dr. Min confirms, watching as the vessel pulses gently under pressure, “Looks solid”

Wonwoo’s jaw loosens, “We’re almost there”

They repeat the process with the second graft too — incision, alignment, stitching and verification — and the bypass paths now lay across the heart like bridges drawn across a wounded city, rerouting life itself. Once even the final sutures are tied, Wonwoo leans back slightly and exhales through his nose.

“Blood gas and electrolytes are stable. Rewarming the patient now” Dr. Min announces, “Temperature is climbing, we’re at 34.8°”

Wonwoo scans meticulously each graft one last time, they look clean and tightly correct. “Let’s prepare to take him off bypass”

Dr. Lee gives him a nod from across the table. Wonwoo turns his attention to the perfusionist behind the glass. “Slowly reduce the flow. Let’s test the heart”

The hum of the machine decreases slowly as warm blood begins to circulate back through the heart, filling each spaces. Wonwoo watches the myocardium closely but he doesn’t speak a word, doesn’t even blink as his breath is anxiously held in his chest like a bubble waiting to be burst.

Then the organ contracts in a single twitch there in front of him. It’s just a subtle movement at first, a small ripple across the muscle but a single beat follows, then another, another one again and slowly the heart starts resuming his motility in a slow pulse, erratic at first, stabilizing under the influence of pacing wires. The monitor comes alive with its constant beeps and everyone around the table breathe out in relief.

“He’s coming back” a nurse whispers by his side and Wonwoo closes his eyes, allowing himself to expire a long puff of air from his lips.

“The sinus rhythm is restored” Dr. Min confirms, “The blood pressure is also coming up, 96 over 64”

“Let’s monitor contractility for a little more and check for bleeding around the graft sites” Wonwoo directs, keeping check the whole cavity to be sure everything has been smoothly performed. He inspects every suture lines, every angle his scalpel has touched. There were no active bleeds and the grafts are clean, pumping perfectly the new blood current.

“He’s stable” Dr. Lee says, a quiet smile evident in the way his eyes creased. “Grafts are holding, bleeding is minimal. Everything is perfect, Dr. Jeon”

He made it.

Wonwoo gives him a small nod and steps back from the operating field, feeling his hands relaxing for the first time in hours. “Let’s close him up” he says, calmer now, “Excellent work, everyone”

The scrub nurse immediately moves to prepare the closing sutures while another resident brings over the stainless steel wires used to re-approximate the sternum. The operating room moves like a well-oiled machine as everyone shifts gears without instruction. Wonwoo watches them for a moment, then he peels off his gloves and drops them into the bin. He steps back toward the sink and washes his hands again not out of necessity but for the rhythm and habit of it. For the ritual, as if it gives him something to do while he waits for his own pulse to slowly settle.

The water runs over his skin, sharp and cold, but it doesn’t bother him. If anything, the chill anchors him and reminds him that he’s here and that the surgery is over. His hands, stripped of their gloves, are steadier than they were minutes ago, but his pulse still thrums with momentum faster than usual. The heart in his chest pounds hard against his ribs, not from panic but from whole adrenaline and sense of victory. Something softer, maybe even earned.

Wonwoo had kept the promise Mingyu never asked him to make, one forged in the gentle gravity of a shared night, in the warmth of a tight embrace. The promise to care and protect his heart from something still so fragile but which could give him another chance to rebuild a life that had perhaps been a little too unfair to him.

The water runs over his knuckles, slipping between his fingers and disappearing into the drain, carrying with it the acrid taste of surgery and the weight of the past hours. Wonwoo leans his head forward slightly, closing his eyes as he exhales slowly through his nose. For the first time, his chest doesn't feel heavy with the pressure of the mistakes he might have made or the fear of failing to save that patient, but rather, it feels full. Alive.

There's still a stiff tension in his limbs, the one that clings to his bones after hours of fatigue, but the pain of doubt and the tension of perfection have instead disappeared leaving room for the residual glow of a purpose, the deep vibrant hum of having done something important today that truly mattered.

Wonwoo steps out of the operating suite and the bright, sterile lights of the hospital corridors feel too open after the enclosed intensity of the operating room. With his mask now tucked beneath his chin, his surgical gown exchanged for a fresh uniform and white coat, he walks down the halls with calm steps, eyes scanning the modest waiting area just outside the cardiac wing looking for Mr. Kim’s family, two women, which Wonwoo finds clearly suspended in the fragile limbo of waiting.

One sits tensely on the edge of a benched chair, hands clasped so tightly in her lap that her knuckles are turned white. She has short, tidy hair and wears a simple black blouse, as if dressed for dignity rather than comfort. Her shoulders are squared but her whole body vibrates with barely restrained anxiety. There’s something in her that reminds him of Mingyu, maybe it’s the sharpness in her eyes, or the way she doesn’t fidget even though she looks like she could unravel at any moment.

Minseo, instead, stands apart from her, facing the wide hospital windows that overlook the dusk-set courtyard. Wonwoo recognizes her immediately from the day before, her arms are crossed tightly over her chest, her forehead leaning against the glass with her eyes cast downward but actually unfocused, as if even the view can’t anchor her thoughts far away somewhere.

Wonwoo approaches them quietly, clearing his throat to catch their attention, “Mr. Kim’s family ?” he asks, only for pure formality.

The older woman lifts her head instantly and her eyes, rimmed with tiredness and worrying, lock onto his face as she stands up immediately, as if the movement might bring answers faster.

“Yes, I’m— he is my husband” she stammers, “Is he— how is he ?”

Wonwoo dips his head respectfully. “The surgery was successful” he begins explaining, meeting her gaze without flinching. “We performed a coronary artery bypass. Three vessels had significant blockages and we were able to graft new passages using the left internal mammary artery and a vein from his leg. There were no complication during the operation and the procedure was completed exactly as we hoped”

A small gasp escapes Mrs. Kim’s lips and her hand flies to her chest. Her shoulders tremble as her relief too big to hold in her small frame.

“He’s now being transferred to the intensive care unit” Wonwoo continues. “He’ll be under constant monitoring for the next 24 to 48 hours and we’ll keep track of his blood pressure, pain, and fluid levels very closely. The next few days are crucial for recovery but everything so far has gone according to plan. His heart is beating on its own” he hesitates, not wanting to overload them, but he knows how important the next part is. “He’s strong” he adds, and that, more than anything, makes Mrs. Kim’s eyes shine.

Minseo slowly turns from the window, her eyes landing on him with cautious hope. “So he… will recover fine ?” she asks, her voice more fragile than he expected.

“Absolutely” Wonwoo softens, offering her the reassurance she clearly needs. “The surgery corrected the blockages that were causing his symptoms and with proper rehabilitation, he should regain his previous function totally. He’ll need lifestyle adjustments, of course, no smoking, a proper healthy diet, but the prognosis is very good. The hardest part is behind him now”

Minseo exhales shakily and gives him a small grateful nod. Her arms uncross, shoulders sinking as the tension begins to melt from her posture. Then Mrs. Kim steps closer and takes his hands, her eyes damp but focused entirely on him.

“Thank you” she says, voice thick with emotion. “Thank you, Dr. Jeon, for giving him back to us”

Wonwoo opens his mouth but something in his throat catches him off guard. “It’s just my job, Mrs. Kim” he smiles, “He’ll need all your support during his recovery but I’m sure he will soon be able to return to his daily life without any problems”

“Yes—“ Mrs. Kim nods quickly, her eyes glassy. “Yes, we’ll do our best. He’s a stubborn man, unbearable sometimes, but… we’ll manage to keep him on track”

Wonwoo cracks another gentle smile before sensing something shifting in the air, the magnetic gravity pulling at him and drawing his attention instinctively over Mrs. Kim's shoulder. His gaze lifts toward the open hallway beyond the waiting room, and there, half-lit by the corridor's softer lights, stands Mingyu.

He’s in his fresh green scrub, probably just got to work or just stood there in the distance doing nothing but wait. His shoulders are tense, his posture slightly stiff and his hair is messier than usual, pulled back like his fingers have been raking through it for hours. They hold each other's gaze for a moment and everything else in that crowded space suddenly fades. Wonwoo doesn't register colleagues walking through the corridors, the sound of pagers thrilling in the distance, or even the two women still close to him watching him with hope suspended between breaths.

All Wonwoo sees is Mingyu. Only him. And his heart starts increasing his pace the moment his eyes lock onto his like they’ve been searching for an anchor to hold on to.

Wonwoo’s lips close in a tight line as he offers him the smallest nod. His mouth doesn’t move but the words are there, "He's okay”, and he watches Mingyu in the distance exhaling shakily like his lungs are rediscovering air for the first time in days. Then Mrs. Kim turns toward the shift in energy behind his back and her gaze follows the one Wonwoo had just dropped.

When she sees who’s standing there, her body stiffens before the realization crashes into her all at once. "Mingyu...” she whispers like she doesn’t quite believe it, like his name alone is a prayer answered. "My son—“

Mingyu barely has time to open his arms before she lunges at him. Mrs. Kim hugs him with such force that he almost takes a step backward, holding him tightly with years of absence compressed into a matter of seconds. Her fingers grip the back of his uniform to ensure he doesn't disappear again, and Mingyu leans around her due to the considerable height difference, his head bowed to hers and his cheek pressed against her hair as she cries into his chest.

He says nothing, but clings tightly to his mom, desperately, with everything he perhaps hadn't allowed himself to show before.

Her hands tremble as she caresses his back, pulling away to cup his face, her voice soft and broken, repeating his name like a mantra. "My son. My sweet boy”

Minseo, who until then had been silently watching her brother, a little shocked and with her arms still crossed over her chest, blinks and her lips part as if unsure if what she's seeing is real. Then, slowly, her expression changes first from disbelief, then hope, and finally a bright smile appears on her face as if the world begins to piece itself back together.

Wonwoo is one step away from all that and he watches them in respectful silence. His chest keeps rising and falling at mere peace but what he feels isn't tiredness but a sense of completeness settling beneath his sternum. He watches the family come together again, slowly, piece by piece. The embrace between Mingyu and his mom, the emotion trembling in Minseo’s shoulders, the silence that carries more than any spoken word could. There’s no sudden explosion of joy or dramatic outcry, just that deeply personal private moment that unfolds with the kind of tenderness Wonwoo knows he shouldn't interrupt.

Yet, even as he tries to stay away from there, his eyes are drawn to Mingyu again. And just as if sensing it, Mingyu looks up over his mom’s shoulder meeting Wonwoo's eyes again in a softer gaze. Something warmer and sweeter, terribly intimate.

They don’t say a word. They don’t need to. But there’s acknowledgment in Mingyu’s expression, a sort of silent thanks and recognition not only for what Wonwoo did in the operating room but for what it meant and what, in a certain sense, it gave back to him.

Wonwoo holds that gaze, allowing a heavy silence to stretch between them, filled with unspoken words and meanings that only them could make sense of. And for now, that is more than enough.

He lowers his eyes again and steps back slightly, letting the family have this private moment without him in the frame. There will be time later, if not for a talk, then at least for understanding, but for now Wonwoo is content to stand there with a full heart watching the life he helped save reshape the people who had separated but had never stopped loving each other.

In that tight embrace something in Mingyu melts and all the years of silence, of resentment hardening like an old scar tissue, slowly begin to crack inside him. He doesn't try to maintain the distance, doesn't fight the tremor that runs down his spine when his mother caresses his shoulders and holds him tightly against her frame. She's shorter than him now — she always has been — but somehow in her arms, Mingyu feels small again like a child finally allowed to come back home.

Minseo approaches them, hesitating only for a moment before she embraces them both, snuggling into the space beside him. Her chin presses lightly against his shoulder. "I missed you so much" she whispers through a trembling lip.

Mingyu wraps his arm around her, "I missed you too. I missed you both"

His mom finally pulls away enough to look up at his face. She cups his cheek with a trembling hand, her thumb brushing his eye where tears threaten to form. Her gaze roams over his now-manlike features with aching tenderness.

"Look at you" she whispers, laughing through her tears. "You've become so handsome. So grown up” Mingyu blushes at her touch, "And you're a doctor" she keeps saying with reverent pride in her voice, ”My son... my son is a doctor"

At those words something unexpressed that he hadn't even realized he'd been hiding for all this time, shatters open in Mingyu's chest. The weight of never having heard those words, of having waited years and years for a moment like this, and now it’s here, real and warm in the shape of his mother's warm hands and in her voice full of pride and emotion.

Mingyu feels a lump forming in his throat that prevents him from speaking, so he just nods and lets her affection linger there a little longer.

Shortly afterward they sit together, settling into the chairs in the waiting room. Minseo curls up next to her brother, so close that her shoulder brushes his. Their mother sits on the other side, still holding Mingyu’s hand as if afraid letting go of him would ruin everything. Her thumb brushes over his knuckles as if reacquainting herself with his presence but between them, the silence feels fragile and tentative, like walking barefoot on ground that hasn’t settled yet.

Mingyu lowers his gaze, suddenly feeling nervous. “How… is he ?” he asks, his voice coming out barely above a whisper.

His mom squeezes his fingers gently. “Dr. Jeon said the surgery went well” she replies, “He had a triple bypass but he’s stable and moved to the intensive care. They’ll be monitoring him closely for the next 24 hours”

“He is good hands” Mingyu nods, licking his lips. “Wonwoo… he’s the best surgeon he could have ever asked for”

His mother doesn’t respond right away, instead she lowers her gaze to the floor as a heavy breath escapes her chest. “Your father… he was so scared, Mingyu. I know he didn’t show it but when they told us he needed that surgery, I saw the fear in his eyes and all I could think was… that you weren’t there. That if something happened, he might never get to see you again. Never have the chance to say anything”

Mingyu’s expression falters a little, “I’m not sure he wanted to see me”

“Don’t say that”

“But it’s true” he calmly protests, “He’s the reason I left. You know that”

“I know” she nods. “Believe me, I know. He was cruel in ways I never defended, I haven’t fully understood how deep he went with you, but still… when you left, you didn’t just leave him, Mingyu. You left us too” her voice cracks just a little. “Do you know how many birthdays passed without a single message from you ?”

“I counted them” Mingyu says, voice low and filled with regret. “Every single one”

“I used to keep my phone under the pillow” she admits, trembling. “Some nights I’d wake up out of nowhere and check it, hoping maybe… you’d sent something even just a word”

Mingyu shuts his eyes tightly for a moment, “I just… I didn’t know how to come back. I didn’t think I could face Appa or myself. And I thought… maybe it was easier for everyone if I stayed away. Maybe you were better off without me”

“Better off without you ? Don’t say things like that, Mingyu. You’re my son”

“Still you never took my side” he says quietly. The words are soft, more tired than accusing, but they fall between them with the weight of years behind them. “When he told me to leave, when he told the family I was dead to him… you didn’t say anything. You didn’t stop him”

“That’s not true” Minseo says from beside him, “Mom fought so much for you”

She nods slowly. “I wish I had done more. God, I wish I’d screamed at him, thrown something, demanded he let you stay but I was scared too. I picked up the phone a hundred times to call you but every time I did, I was afraid… afraid you wouldn’t answer, that I would make it worse and I would lose you completely”

“I would’ve answered” Mingyu murmurs. “Maybe not right away but… I would have”

The silence that follows is still but no longer cold. It stretches like a thread slowly weaving them back together, like the beginning of something being rebuilt. The sharp edges have softened, more forgiving, and in that beat Mingyu’s eyes glisten. “I thought — I thought that staying away from you all would protect me but it didn’t. And eventually, I didn’t give up on everything like dad wished”

His mom strokes the inside of his wrist gently, a simple gesture but full of love. “When I found out about your graduation, he told me I wasn’t allowed to go. Said if I showed up, I’d be betraying him but I came anyway” she says with a smile, “I stayed in the back of the auditorium, I didn’t come near you but I was there. I watched you walk across that stage in your white coat, smiling so proudly. I cried so much I couldn’t see straight”

“You came ?” Mingyu asks, disbelieving

“I did” she confirms. “And when you didn’t come home after university, I thought… maybe you would never forgive us. Maybe you were gone for good”

“I thought so too for a while” he admits, “At some point it just became easier to pretend that part of my life didn’t exist, that I didn’t need you, that I didn’t need anyone anymore. But I was wrong… I needed you. Every single day. I just didn’t know how to say it. I was too proud… or too ashamed. Or both, I don’t know”

Minseo leans against him, resting her head lightly on his shoulder. “We needed you too” she says quietly. “Every time Appa came home angry, I wished you were there. I felt like I had to be the strong one because you weren’t and… I hated you for leaving but I missed you more”

Mingyu turns toward her and leans a kiss on her forehead, “I’m sorry”

“You’re here now” she hugs him, “That’s what matters”

Mrs. Kim looks at them, her children, finally reunited after years of distance, and her eyes shimmer with emotion, the tears gathering not from sorrow this time but from pure joy. There’s something almost reverent in her gaze, like she’s witnessing something she didn’t dare hope for anymore. The sight of her son and daughter sitting so close, so whole in their quiet presence, moves her in a way words can’t reach.

Mingyu sits nestled between the two women who shaped his childhood, one hand still clasped in his mom’s, the other resting lightly on Minseo's knee. The air around him is so soft and calm that the frenetic energy of the hospital seems to barely touch him, noticing also how for once, there's no tension between them but only the shared silence of unspoken wounds slowly healing.

They sit close to each other like roots reconnecting beneath the surface, finding their way back to the same patch of earth. The silence between them is a moment suspended in forgiveness, in the beginnings of something whole again. Mingyu closes his eyes and draws in a deep breath, catching the faint scent of floral shampoo in Minseo’s hair. The fragrance wraps around him like a memory as it smells like childhood mornings, laundry sun-dried on their old balcony, like the safety of his sister’s room when the world felt too loud.

It smells like home and, for a moment that feels so long, Mingyu lets himself be cuddled by with.

"Dr. Jeon said you're a surgeon” his sister says at one point, tilting her head slightly to look at him. “Is it true ?”

The corners of Mingyu's mouth lift in a small smile. "Yes, I work in pediatrics"

His mom's expression softens and she reaches out to gently brush a strand of hair from his forehead. It’s the kind of gesture that once meant everything — comfort, reassurance, wordless love — and through which Mrs.Kim is trying to see, beyond the grown man, also the boy he used to be, the one she missed and mourned, the one who was never really gone.

"You've always had a tender heart" she whispers, her voice hoarse with emotion. "Even when you tried so hard to look tougher than you were”

Mingyu swallows hard, eyes dropping to the floor as his throat tightens. The tenderness in her voice unravels him. “I simply didn’t want to be like him” he says, barely more than a confession. “That was all I could think about. I didn’t want to become him”

“You aren’t” she replies immediately, “You never were, Mingyu. And you never will be”. Her hand lingers at his temple for a moment longer before settling in her lap again. “Do you like it ? Working with children ?”

Mingyu exhales and this time the smile that forms is easier, more alive. “I do” he answers. “It’s not always easy. Some days are long, some cases are hard to forget, but when they recover and smile after days of being too weak to even lift heir head… that feeling makes everything worth it. It reminds me why I’m here”

His mom nods slowly, visibly moved but with her gaze full of recognition and pride. “You always were good with the neighborhood kids. Do you remember how they used to follow you around like ducklings ?”

“Yeah” he snorts, “I used to bribe them with candy so they’d leave me alone”

“Please” Minseo nudges him, “You loved their attention, being seen like their superhero —”

“Okay, fine” Mingyu laughs “Maybe a little. You’re right”

For a few moments, the laughter lingers between them soft and nostalgic, then Minseo tilts her head again, still curious. “You live here now ? In Seoul ?”

“Yes” he nods, “Just a few subway stops from the hospital actually. Nothing fancy, it’s a quiet apartment”

She studies him for a moment, then asks, more tentatively this time, “Are you happy ?”

Mingyu hesitates as his gaze drops to their hands, his mother’s still curled gently around his with her thumb brushing lightly over his knuckles. Minseo’s presence at his side feels grounding too, a quiet echo of childhood comfort.

“I think…” Mingyu begins slowly, carefully, “I’m getting there”

His mother lets out a long, trembling breath, her lips parting like she wants to say more but doesn't want to rush the moment. Instead, she simply tightens her grip on his hand anchoring them both. “Do you… have someone ? A companion in your life ?” she asks with a hesitancy that’s almost shy.

Mingyu glances up and something softer flickers across his face. The memory of the gentle night he spent with Wonwoo, the confessions breathed on each other's lips, that shy love that was enclosed between their intertwined fingers. His lips twitch slightly, and this time, the smile that forms is full of something that lingers just beneath the surface.

“I’m… getting there” he replies again as it carries the quiet promise of something blooming.

“Okay got it…” his mom smiles happily, “You’re obviously in love with someone so I promise I won’t go any further with these types of questions”

Mingyu lets out a quiet breath of laughter, the corners of his lips twitching upward. “Thank you…”

But his mom doesn’t look away, she keeps her gaze on him as something softer and more hesitant settle in her expression. “You… could come home sometimes” she then adds, quieter now, “For dinner or tea, or just for a visit… we actually don’t have to do anything big”

“Yeah, it doesn’t have to be often” Minseo nods in agreement, “Just enough so we can start… seeing you again and not only when something terrible happens” she says, sighing as if she had been holding it back too long. “I just… I missed you, Mingyu. There’s so much I want to tell you”

Mingyu meets her gaze and in her eyes he can see all her hopes. He smiles faintly, with a shadow of a little sadness. “I want to” he says gently, “I really do” he pauses, searching for the right words as the last thing he wants is to hurt them again. “I just… I’m still figuring out how to carry all of this. The memories, the guilt, everything I felt when I left. Being here with you again… it means more than I can explain and I don’t want to shut you out from my life but I need some time to… collect myself”

His mother’s face falters for a moment. The tiniest flicker of hurt crosses her eyes but then she nods, slow and understanding. “That’s fair” she murmurs. “Just promise us you won’t disappear completely again”

Mingyu looks at her for a long moment. “I promise” he then murmurs.

Minseo leans against him again. “Call me” she almost begs, her voice muffled against his shirt. “Whenever you feel like it. It doesn’t have to be for a reason. And if you don’t want to come home and see Appa, that’s okay, we can meet up somewhere else”

Mingyu closes his eyes for a moment, grounding himself in the warmth of their touch. “Okay, I’ll try” he says quietly. “One step at a time”

His mother smiles faintly, and even though it's small, it shines with something that seems like hope. Mingyu knows this isn't a naive forgiveness, nor a radical erasure of the past, but a slow and tender rebuilding, brick by brick, of a family that could relearn to love each other even through the still-raw pain.

When the pager attached to his pants rings though, reminding him that it was time for him to sign in to work like a reality-check that doesn’t wait beyond that fragile warmth of reunion, Mingyu checks the watch on his wrist and straightens up reluctantly. He turns toward his mother and sister and without needing to say anything, he opens his arms to pull them both in his embrace.

His arms curve around their shoulders like he’s trying to hold the entire world steady. His mother sinks into him with a soft breath, her hands splayed across his back, her face buried in the crook of his neck. Minseo wraps her arms around his middle tightly, cheek pressed against his chest, sighing like she has waited years to be this close again.

It wasn’t a quick hug, indeed, but the kind one that screams ‘I missed you’ without a single word. Mingyu closes his eyes for a moment, memorizing the feel of them as if by holding them tighter, he could freeze time just a little longer. When they part, it’s with soft hands and heavy hearts. None of them actually says goodbye but in Minseo’s crooked smile and his mom’s little kiss on his cheek wishing him a good day, a quiet promise passes between them: We’ll see each other again. We’ll take it slow. We’ll try.

Mingyu offers them one last smile and as he turns to leave, he raises a hand and waves gently casting a backward glance toward the bench where they still stood. His mother’s eyes follow him with quiet pride, her hands clasped at her chest as if holding the warmth of his hug there. Minseo waves too, small and bright, and they don’t look away until he disappears around the corner of the ward.

The emergency room welcomes Mingyu with its usual buzz. Doctors moving frantically, nurses chatting at their stations, but the day actually feels quite gentle. There were no crash calls or rushing gurneys, no red codes screaming through the speakers but just the steady pulse of a hospital breathing in and out and the measured rhythm of the usual routine.

Mingyu deals with a toddler that comes in with a stubborn stomatitis fever — restless, flushed, scared and clinging to his mom’s collar — and he examines him patiently soothing the little child with his calm voice, offering every now and then small jokes between thermometer checks and fluid assessments. Later, he oversees the discharge paperwork and signs the chart of a boy from orthopedics who had undergone surgery on a fractured humerus. The child beams at him through a sling and a galaxy of stickers decorating his cast, and Mingyu ruffles his hair giving him a high-five before he leaves.

By late afternoon, his shifts stretches into softer hours and Mingyu finds himself drifting through the wards with no real direction. Or so it would seem to anyone watching. There’s not much for him to do, no urgent cases, no reports to fill, no fires to put out, but instead of going to the break room to relax himself, Mingyu wants to fulfill a different desire that had been nagging him all day.

The cardiology ward is indeed quiet when he enters. Mingyu walks slowly, pretending to check the whiteboards and to be interested in a medical record posted outside a patient's room. His gaze, however, shifts toward the end of the corridor, toward a familiar door with a nameplate that makes his stomach churn just reading the name. He slows his pace, pretending to read something on his pager, then stops in front of it and runs a hand through his hair, casting furtive glances left and right like a schoolboy about to break a rule.

When the coast is clear, taking a small breath to gather his courage, Mingyu reaches out and gently knocks on the door, feeling his pulse quicken at something dangerously unexpected. There was a chance of not finding him there but as soon as he hears a soft “Come in” from the other side, he pushes it open slowly.

Wonwoo is seated behind his desk with his glasses perched low on his nose, his brow slightly furrowed as he scribbles down on the medical file spread before him. A half-full mug of coffee sits cooling near his elbow, his white coat is folded neatly over the back of his chair and the sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to his forearms. At the sound of the door opening, he looks up and his eyes soften immediately when they land on Mingyu.

“Hey” he greets him.

“Are you busy ?” Mingyu lingers by the doorframe, hand still on the knob. “Am I bothering you ?”

Wonwoo gently sets down his pen, placing it beside the file. “No, come in” he replies, standing already on his feet and moving around the desk.“I was just updating your father’s medical records”

Mingyu steps fully into the room and clicks the door shut behind him. As he approaches him, his hands slip into the pockets of his pants, and Wonwoo stops in front of him enough to let his presence radiates the warmth he needs.

“Anything new ?” Mingyu asks, his voice softer now.

Wonwoo nods, “He’s holding stable. The first six hours post-surgery have been encouraging, no signs of complication so far. If things continue like this overnight, we might decide tomorrow morning whether he can be moved out of the intensive care unit”

Mingyu exhales a slow breath that seems to deflate some of the tension in his shoulders. His eyes flicker toward the chart on the desk, then return to Wonwoo’s face. “You’ve done a really good job” he murmurs, sincerity threading through every word. “It was a long surgery”

“I was just doing my duty” Wonwoo replies as a ghost of a smile tugs his lips, “He’s your father but… it could’ve been anyone”

His words are modest, almost clinical but something else pulses underneath them. Mingyu hears it. Feels it. The subtle line between professionalism and something more personal and vulnerable as the silence that follows is delicate, suspended in the space between them. Mingyu blinks, briefly caught off guard by the honesty beneath Wonwoo’s restraint, but he doesn’t push. He simply looks at him for a long moment, as if the silence itself is already a form of understanding.

“How are you ?” Wonwoo then asks in more human tone, as the doctor in him recedes leaving space to just Wonwoo.

Mingyu hesitates, not because he doesn’t know the answer, but because the truth of it sits heavy in his chest. He looks at him, really looks at him, and his need for closeness shows in the subtle lean of his body, in the way his fingers brush faintly at the hem of his sleeve.

“I’m okay” he replies gently, almost as if he needs Wonwoo to believe it before he does. “Tired and a little… overwhelmed I guess. I saw my mom and my sister this morning”

Wonwoo nods as if he was expecting this. “They were waiting for your dad outside the surgery ward”

“Yeah” Mingyu’s features begin to relax, his body uncoiling from tension. “They hugged me like I hadn’t grown up a day and we talked a lot. Minseo said she has a million things she wants to tell me and my mom… she looked at me like time never passed. Like I never left” a faint smile lifts the corner of his lips. “They invited me home for tea and I wanted to say yes. I think… I still need time to process everything but in that moment I didn’t want for them to leave”

Wonwoo leans in a little, close enough for Mingyu to feel the familiar gravity between them gently pulling at both of their centers.

“They must have really missed you” he says almost a murmur.

“I think I missed them too” Mingyu admits.

Wonwoo’s eyes stay locked on Mingyu’s but he doesn’t move further even though his body looks for him naturally like a magnet. His hand lifts, brushing the edge of his sleeve, his fingers barely grazing the delicate skin of his forearm. His touch is tentative, hesitant, but it’s there tethered with something tender.

“It feels good to be able to talk to you about this” Mingyu sighs peacefully, “I know this isn't the ideal way to start... this thing between us but —“

“You don’t have to pretend with me” Wonwoo stops him.

“I know” he nervously nods, “And I certainly can't apologize for dragging you into this issue. That’s why… I’m really thankful you for what you did today, as a surgeon and not only”

Wonwoo steps forward gently, his arms slipping around Mingyu’s waist anchoring them together in an embrace that feels instinctive. Protective. Maybe even necessary. Mingyu lets himself fall into it, pressing his cheek lightly against his shoulder, closing his eyes for a second like the world outside can wait.

“I’m glad you talked to them” Wonwoo murmurs against him. “Do you feel better now ?”

Mingyu draws back slightly, just enough to see his face. “I think I do”

Wonwoo doesn’t speak again but the smile lingering on his face says enough. They stand there in the soft light of the office, held together by more than just touch. By timing, by everything unspoken, by the slow crumbling of all the walls they thought they had safely constructed.

Mingyu’s arms remain loosely draped around Wonwoo’s back, his thumbs brushing soothing little circles while the subtle rise and fall of his chest meets the steady rhythm of his breath. Wonwoo doesn’t move away from that embrace, not quite ready to create space again, but he stays close as his fingers gently press against Mingyu’s waist, not pulling him in, but not letting him go either.

The air between them hums with a tension that isn’t discomfort but tastes like anticipation.

Possibility.

“I wish we had talked more yesterday” Mingyu murmurs after a moment.

Wonwoo exhales through his nose, eyes tracing the line of his exposed collarbone. “There’s no rush” he replies softly, “We can talk whenever we want.”

“Like outside of here” Mingyu suggests, his tone turning playful. “Like… on a date”

Wonwoo tilts his head to the side. “Do you want to go on a date ?”

“Don’t you ?” he arches an eyebrow, “Or would you rather stay trapped here within these four hospital walls for the rest of your life ?”

Wonwoo pretends to think, lips quirking. “The idea doesn’t sound too bad”

“Workaholic” Mingyu groans before resting his forehead gently against him. He leans in and their noses brush as his voice dips low, persuasive and almost coaxing. “Come on a date with me…”

“No” Wonwoo answers too fast but his smile betrays him completely.

Mingyu starts to laugh but the sound is soft, almost reverent, because in this close space everything feels precious in the best way. Wonwoo’s gaze lifts again meeting his eyes but just for a second before it flickers downward landing on his pretty lips, lingering there with unmistakable want, then darting away again as if caught doing something indecent.

But Mingyu notices. He always does.

“You can kiss me, you know” he teases him.

Wonwoo’s expression folds in on itself with embarrassment. He groans and shakes his head like he has just been exposed. “Stop—” he mutters, “You can’t just say things like that…”

“What ?” Mingyu grins. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed ?”

“Noticed what ?”

“The way you keep looking at me”

Wonwoo's blush deepens instantly. “You just make it hard to think straight…” he admits feather-light, his voice caught between a laugh and a confession.

Mingyu smirks, clearly enjoying himself. “That’s kind of the point”

Wonwoo bites back a smile that escapes anyway. “You’re the worst…”

“Still the point”

Before he can protest again, Mingyu brings a hand to his chin and lifts his face with silent care. He holds it there for a second, just long enough for their eyes to meet, for their breathing to mingle, for the moment to fill with a heavy murmur, then he leans in and kisses him softly.

It's slow and tender, the kind of kiss that asks rather than demands, that confirms every feeling they'd both been too careful to name until that moment. Wonwoo gradually melts, his hands finding Mingyu's waist again as his fingers curl slightly in the fabric of his uniform. Their lips part lazily in a silent sigh and the kiss deepens, still unhurried, still delicate, but with all the weight of something new and real beginning to form between them.

When they part just barely, their foreheads stay pressed together, their eyes half-closed and dazed as the silence between them is now filled with something softer and more tender.

A faint smile touches Wonwoo's lips. "You're not exactly playing fair…”

Mingyu smirks, "I just know what I want"

"And what is that ?"

“You”

Wonwoo grins and leans in again, catching his mouth in another kiss. No longer hesitant or tentative but this time this is hungry. Their lips crash together in growing urgency, mouths parting naturally as their tongues begin to touch first tentative, then surer and hotter. Mingyu exhales against him, a sound somewhere between a sigh and a moan, and Wonwoo swallows it with a shiver as his arms lift and loop around his neck pulling him closer, erasing the space between their bodies completely.

Mingyu’s hands drift low to Wonwoo’s waist, fingers curling along the sharp curve of his hips, sliding over the fabric of his shirt like he needs to memorize every inch of him through touch alone. He tugs him even impossibly closer and they kiss like they’re starving, like time finally caught up with everything they’d tried to suppress and now there’s nothing to stop it.

Wonwoo lets out a breathy noise against his lips, one of pleasure and quiet surprise at how deeply he wants this. He chases Mingyu’s mouth when it briefly pulls back, nipping at his lower lip, and then, with a flash of daring, he tugs it lightly between his teeth. Mingyu gasps softly, his hips twitch forward in reflex and Wonwoo smiles into the kiss, fully aware of what he’s doing.

He breathes out, nuzzles against his jaw before kissing his lips again, this time slower but just as intense. Wonwoo kisses him in quick, open-mouthed pecks between each breath then grazes his teeth along his lip again, nipping, teasing, little sparks of mischief flaring in his touch.

Mingyu's hands slide to Wonwoo’s back, gripping him now as if the air around them had grown too thick and he needs something solid to keep him grounded. But then, just as the kiss threatens to spiral again, Mingyu suddenly pulls away just enough to lean his forehead against his shoulder. He’s panting, his body still pressed tight to him and his chest rises and falls in ragged waves.

Wonwoo stills, one hand resting on the back of his neck, fingers threading lightly through his hair. “What’s wrong ?” he murmurs, voice laced with concern as he presses a kiss to the column of his neck, soft and sweet.

Mingyu shakes his head against his shoulder, stifling a breath that borders on laughter. “Nothing” he says.

Wonwoo smiles, his lips brush against Mingyu’s ear now playful and coaxing. “That didn’t sound like nothing. Tell me”

“No…” he mutters, unable to meet his gaze.

“Come on…” he whispers, “Tell me”

“I’m…” Mingyu hesitates, chuckling weakly, “I’m getting hard” he admits, groaning as he buries his face in his neck. “God, this is so embarrassing”

“Don’t be” Wonwoo runs his hand down his back soothingly, “I kind of like that I’m the one doing that to you”

Mingyu finally meets his eyes, cheeks still flushed. “You have no idea what you do to me”

“Maybe I want to find out”

His smile lingers in the dim light of the office, lips parted just slightly as he looks at Mingyu with his eyes dark and bolder. His hand moves brave, sliding from Mingyu’s waist downward until his fingers find the firmness pressing beneath the fabric of his pants. Wonwoo cups him through it, his touch a mix of curiosity and quiet confidence as his thumb traces a slow stroke along the shape of his cock, and then, just as Mingyu lets out a surprised breath, he tugs it gently.

Mingyu’s whole body reacts. A sound escapes him, half groan, half gasp, and his hips jerk forward in instinctive response. His breath comes in a sharp drag through his teeth. “God…” he exhales, eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

Wonwoo watches him closely, hand steady between his legs, the other lifting to cradle his jaw. He leans in again pressing their lips together, this time deeper and firmer, his kiss swallowing every shaky breath that leaves Mingyu’s mouth. It’s tender and intense all at once, like he’s giving him something and taking just as much in return.

Mingyu moans again muffled into the kiss. His hands grip Wonwoo’s hips, not hard, but with a desperation that’s quickly rising. The pressure of Wonwoo’s palm over his cock is too much and not enough all at once. He grinds into it, needy and caught in the heat of the moment, his lips parting more as the kiss deepens.

Wonwoo hums softly, letting the vibration of it spill between their mouths. He shifts his hand slightly, fingers tracing along the outline beneath his pants, teasing him with just enough friction to make it maddening. Mingyu’s body trembles beneath the touch, knees slightly weakening.

“You’re…” Mingyu starts, then breaks off into another breath as Wonwoo’s palm presses more firmly. “Jesus, Wonwoo —”

Wonwoo kisses the corner of his mouth, then the edge of his jaw. “I said you made me hard to think straight” he murmurs against his skin, “Now you know how I feel”

Mingyu laughs, breathless, he buries his face in Wonwoo’s shoulder again, his fingers curling into the fabric at his waist like he needs something to hold onto.

“Keep going” he whispers.

Wonwoo’s fingers flex where they rest between Mingyu’s legs, teasing him with more pressure as he kisses down his neck. “Yeah ?” he breathes hot, right against his ear. “You want more ?”

Mingyu nods, eyes closed, head tilting back just slightly in surrender. “Yeah. Please…”

Wonwoo breathes unsteady as he pulls away slightly with his lips still tingling from the last kiss. There’s a flush blooming across his cheeks but his eyes are molten with a kind of bravery he’s no longer afraid to feel. His hands linger on Mingyu’s hips, thumbs brushing slow circles, before Wonwoo gently turns him, guiding him back until the backs of his thighs touch the edge of the desk, and drops onto his knees right in front of him.

Mingyu feels his breath catching in his throat the moment Wonwoo looks up at him and slips his fingers under the waistband of his pants and underwear to pull the fabric down over his legs. His cock springs proudly free, flushed and hard, twitching slightly as it rests again his abdomen.

“Fucking hell —“ Mingyu moans as Wonwoo leans in and presses a kiss to the base, right where heat coils deepest.

His hands fly to the edge of the desk behind him, gripping it like an anchor. His breath shudders out in a gasp as Wonwoo’s lips part just slightly to let his tongue tracing a line upward the tip in one slow maddening drag. His knees threaten to buckle, his soul might expire from his body, Mingyu’s head falls back as his hips jerk forward instinctively the moment Wonwoo takes his cock into his mouth, starting to bob his head up and down all over the length.

His wet and warm mouth wraps around him so beautifully and Mingyu fucks through him gently, feeling his length sliding down to touch the depths of his throat. His eyes lower again to meet Wonwoo's, unable to miss this spectacle, and there’s a teasing glint in there as Wonwoo lets his tongue swirl around the tip, tasting that salty flavor that only invites Mingyu to give him the full service.

He moans stifled, slowly and confidently, letting the weight of that cock settling in his mouth. It’s perfect, in its shape and flavor, Wonwoo could have continued sucking it for hours. It would probably become his new favorite thing to do.

Mingyu lets out a rasping sound from his chest. "Wonwoo..." he whispers, already loose.

Wonwoo's movements are measured at first, testing the waters with a kind of reverence, letting his lips adapt to the wonderful curves of his body as the tension slowly builds. One hand is gripped tightly at the base, the wrist rotating in a fluid rhythm as the mouth moves ever deeper, lips glossy, cheeks slightly hollowed. Every movement is dictated by lust, as if he is learning Mingyu by heart.

But just when Mingyu thinks he might lose himself completely, Wonwoo pulls back. Not much but just enough to tilt his head back, stick out his tongue and slap his cock across his wetness in a playful maddening motion.

"You're going to kill me —“ Mingyu moans, rolling his eyes back.

Wonwoo smiles boldly, "Isn't that what you wanted ?" he murmurs, his breath fanning across his heated skin.

“Yes" Mingyu exhales, barely holding on. "But I didn't know it would feel like this"

Wonwoo hums softly, the sound sending vibrations through his grip. He goes down again, deeper this time, until Mingyu's body shudders like a plucked string. The sensation is overwhelming, the heat, the rhythm, the way Wonwoo's hand doesn't stop moving even as his mouth needs a break and then welcomes him back in his dizzying heat.

Mingyu lowers his head, his hand worming its way into the crown of Wonwoo's hair. "Please" he whispers, unsure of what he's begging for. "Please, don't stop—“

Wonwoo doesn't answer, he doesn't need to. But he can't ignore the fact that the sight of Mingyu so wasted for him makes him wet in his boxers and not a little. His mouth and tongue work together in a mess of split and pleasure, so patient but also so devastating. Mingyu's thighs tremble, his entire body feels like it's burning from the inside out, as if he's teetering on the edge of something immense and Wonwoo is the only thing holding him together.

The rhythm builds, faster then slower, then fast again, just enough to drive Mingyu to the edge and pull him back, only to send him tumbling closer all over again. His breath comes in ragged bursts, hips straining forward with every stroke of Wonwoo’s hand and press of his mouth. It’s overwhelming unrelenting and honestly Mingyu is barely holding on.

Wonwoo doesn’t stop, he doesn't slow. He doesn’t seem to even care that the door isn’t locked or that anyone walking past might hear the desperate, whiny sounds slipping from Mingyu’s throat. All he cares about is this, the way Mingyu is unraveling for him, the way he is fucking his mouth and giving in completely.

“Fuck—” Mingyu gasps, his hand flying to Wonwoo’s hair, not to push him away but to ground himself. “I'm about to come... Do you… do you swallow ?”

Wonwoo is not gonna pull away from that cock to answer to that stupid question, so he simply stays there with his mouth full, unwavering, committed. And maybe that is already the answer.

Mingyu’s body locks, hips bucking forward with a choked sound of warning “Wonwoo— ah, I’m—”

But it’s too late for restraint. He comes with a shudder that rocks his whole body, a long unfiltered moan echoing from deep within his chest as his hands tighten and his legs tremble. Wonwoo takes all of him cum down, holding him steady through every pulse of release, through the broken sounds, the collapse.

When his cock finishes pouring into him, Mingyu slumps forward breathless and dazed as his heart pounds in his chest from the most beautiful orgasm of his life he just had. His hand is still wrapped around the back of Wonwoo's nape while he devotionally kitten-licks his length not letting a single drop of his seed escape.

His breathing begins to settle little by little, chest rising and falling in a slower rhythm as he leans back against the desk still catching his senses. Wonwoo stays between his legs for a moment longer, looking up at him with soft unreadable eyes then, slowly, he rises as his hands trailing lightly along Mingyu’s strong thighs until they reach his waist.

Mingyu cups his cheeks and his mouth meets Wonwoo's again. The kiss starts gentle, like a thank you between the lines, but then Mingyu tilts his head deepening it and Wonwoo feels the surprise rush through him when he licks into his mouth tasting the aftermath, tasting himself, so shameless open and unfiltered. It’s not just the physicality of it but the bold intimacy of the gesture, and Wonwoo’s fingers tighten around his shirt in reaction.

He tastes slightly bitter, saline but it’s more than just that. It’s Mingyu. Raw and real, and for some reason, it makes Wonwoo’s knees feel a little weaker.

Mingyu pulls away only to press an open mouth kiss to his cheek, then another to the hinge of his jaw, trailing down then to his neck where he nips the pale skin gently, “God, you’re so sexy” he whispers.

Wonwoo huffs out a breathless laugh. “Just sexy ?”

Mingyu pulls back and kisses his nose. “Beautiful” another kiss, “Smart” a kiss to his temple, “Unbelievably hot when you’re bossy” another to the corner of his mouth, “Dangerously good with your hands” he murmurs as his fingers now begin to unbutton Wonwoo’s white shirt, one at a time. “And funny” he adds, “And hot. And—”

“Okay, okay…” Wonwoo laughs, eyes fluttering shut as Mingyu mouths over his now bare collarbone. “I get it, boy”

“You asked for more” Mingyu teases, kissing a trail down the center of his chest. His fingers part the fabric wider, revealing more skin slowly until his palms are flat against Wonwoo’s chest, feeling the heartbeat under his touch, and his fingers starts playing with his hard nipples. Wonwoo lets out a breath and his hand slide into Mingyu’s hair, guiding him to take them into his mouth, letting the moment deepen. Heat begins to build again in their bodies that move closer and closer, their hips brush as the electricity between them reigniting with every kiss.

But then a little annoying sound startle them, bringing them back to earth. Both their pagers shriek to life at once, breaking through the haze of want.

Mingyu groans and immediately drops his head to Wonwoo’s shoulder like a man defeated. “Are you kidding me ?” he mutters, face buried in his neck.

Wonwoo can’t help but laugh, chest vibrating under Mingyu’s cheek. “I guess we’re out of time for fun”

“I hate our jobs” he grumbles, reluctantly straightening as he reaches down to fasten his pants.

“Do you hate them when you’re saving lives,or just when they interrupt your foreplay ?” Wonwoo teases as he buttons his shirt again, eyes bright with mischief.

“Both” Mingyu sighs. “Especially the second case”

They move apart reluctantly, the warmth between them still palpable, lingering like a secret under their skin. As they reach for their pagers, neither of them says it but they both know that this moment isn’t over but just been paused.

They move around each other quietly, shirts are buttoned, belts fastened, collars adjusted. There’s something oddly domestic in the silence like they’ve done this before, like they’ll do it again anyway. Mingyu finishes tucking in his uniform and catches Wonwoo’s gaze across the office. His hair is slightly mussed, the flush still blooming on his cheeks, lips pink and swollen from kisses that clearly haven’t lost their effect. And the look he gives Mingyu is so soft, so warm, it makes him grin.

“I think I’ve got a lot of time to make up for” Mingyu says, stepping closer again. “And a lot to make up to you”

Wonwoo’s response is quiet, but the smile that tugs at his lips is unmistakable. “You’re off to a good start”

Their mouths meet in one last kiss, sweet and unrushed, filled with something almost shy. Mingyu lingers as if trying to memorize the shape of it and when he finally parts, he rests his forehead against Wonwoo’s for a beat longer with their breaths shared.

“I’ll see you later ?” he asks in a murmur.

“Mh-mh” Wonwoo nods.

Mingyu slips out the door with one last glance over his shoulder, then the door clicks shut behind him and silence returns to fill that sterile office. Wonwoo stands in the middle of the room with his heart still beating a little faster than normal. He doesn’t move, not for a long moment, then he exhales through his nose and breaks into a smile so wide and unguarded it could light up the whole floor.

He presses a hand to his chest as if to steady something unruly there and that smile doesn’t leave his face, not when he returns to his desk, not when he picks up his pen again, and certainly not when he realizes he’s already counting the minutes until he sees Mingyu next.

Chapter Text

"Love is always coming, love is always going
No one's really sure who's lettin' go today"

The hospital corridors blend seamlessly into one another. Same sterile environment filled with a smell that ranges from bleach to a chemical-tinged antiseptic, same steady hum of annoying white lights overhead, same line of cold vinyl chairs molded to the weight of countless restless bodies that have sat there for too long expecting a good news that never comes.

Waiting lives here, seeping into the walls, and today in the cardiology ward, even the tension seems pent up, holding a breath as if bracing for something inevitable.

Mingyu is leaning against the wall outside a private room with his arms folded tightly across his chest. His foot taps a restless rhythm on the polished linoleum, his jaw is set tight, his gaze fixed somewhere ahead. There’s a tension in his stance as if he's standing on the edge of a storm he has been watching for years, one he should be used to, but which actually has never really left him.

The faint metallic rattle of a stretcher’s wheels reaches him before the sight does. The elevator doors part with a bell, revealing a bed pushed out into the hall. The man lying on it — his father — still carries the pale papery look of someone who has spent too long under intensive care unit lighting. Shadows settle in the hollows of his cheeks, his mouth is closed in a rigid line and the muscles are rigid under skin that hasn’t regained its warmth yet.

Wonwoo walks beside him with a medical chart tucked neatly under his arm. His eyes keep flicking from the portable monitor’s display to the man’s face micro-expressions. A slightly faster breath, a minute fluctuation in pulse, the persistent tension in his jaw enough to suggest discomfort or possible pain. These are the signs doctors usually keep track for any post-ICU transfer, especially after a cardiac surgery in which even though the operation might be over, the heart remembers its stress long after the last suture.

Out of the corner of his eye, Wonwoo catches Mingyu moving slightly forward from where he’s been standing. His eyes are locked on the man on the stretcher and he follows at distance the doctors crew into the room. His presence may appear almost invisible to the others but it doesn't go unnoticed to Wonwoo, who knows very well the whirlwind of thoughts and fears going through his head at that moment.

The bed is guided through the doorway, the medical team adjusts their pace to keep the IV lines and monitors cables from tangling. The soft afternoon light filters through the partially closed curtains and amidst all those disturbing movements, Mr. Kim, as if sensing something pulling him from across the room, testing not only the stretch of his neck muscles but also the gravity of the moment itself, slowly turns his head to meet Mingyu's eyes with uncanny precision.

No one else seems to exist in that space and the shift in the air is immediate, almost physical, as if the temperature drops suddenly and the silence acquires a new type of density. There is no greeting between them. No startled flicker of surprise. Not even the slightest hint of a smile. His father’s face stays in a carefully constructed mask but his eyes hold something colder, older recognition stripped of warmth that confirms a bond by blood without offering anything of it.

Wonwoo feels their tense eye-contact rippling through the space like a current under the skin. It isn’t the absence of words that weighs heavy, it’s the knowledge of everything left unspoken over years, piling in the silence until it becomes something solid that neither of them seems ready to touch.

“Let’s place him by the window” Wonwoo says to his team, pointing to the far corner of the room.

The orderlies angle the bed toward the spot instructed while a nurse steps in, tucking the blanket and adjusting the pillows ensuring the patients spine is properly aligned to reduce discomfort and support circulation.

The man’s gaze drifts briefly out the window, as if adjusting his eyes to the dim light, then his attention returns to Mingyu this time with a very slight twist at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a sneer but not a happy smile either. The nuance sits somewhere in between like a private commentary etched in the smallest of gestures. Wonwoo can’t interpret it with medical precision, there’s no chart entry for this kind of look, but the tension tightening Mingyu’s jaw offers all the context he needs.

Judgment. Contempt. Distrust.

Maybe all of them at once, and whatever it is, it settles in him with the weight of something long-standing and unresolved.

Wonwoo steps closer to the man, keeping his voice even professional. “I’m going to check your blood pressure and saturation again, Mr. Kim. Transferring from the ICU can sometimes put extra strain on the heart and I want to make sure everything’s stable”

The man doesn’t respond, doesn’t even turn his head toward him. His eyes return to the ceiling as if Wonwoo’s presence is just another useless sound in the background. When he gestures him to gently stretch his arm, Mr. Kim offers it without resistance and Wonwoo notices how the muscle under the skin is cool to the touch, the pulse faint but steady beneath his fingers.

Blood pressure is indeed 128 over 76, oxygen holding at 95%, and for a man who has just come off a ventilator three days ago, these numbers are more than reassuring. Wonwoo is very satisfied with the result, a little less with the tension that is blowing around him. He steps back and allows his gaze to sweep over both of them, Mingyu frozen in his corner and his dad calm on the outside but with a whole turmoil burning inside him.

Wonwoo straightens, setting the cuff aside before glancing down at the numbers one last time. “Your recovery is progressing well, Mr. Kim” he says evenly, “The vitals are stable and your heart is responding exactly as it should after surgery. I’ll make sure you get all the comforts you need and I’ll come back later to check on you again”

Mr. Kim’s eyes slide toward him then, sharp in a way that doesn’t quite match the frailty of his body. “When can I leave ?” his words are clipped, carrying the same weight as a door slammed in someone’s face.

Wonwoo doesn’t flinch to that harsh tone. “We’ll need to keep you under observation for at least another couple of days” he replies gently, “Once we’re certain there are no further complications, I’ll sign the papers and you’ll be free to go home”

Mr. Kim says nothing but the silence he offers isn’t neutral, in fact, it sits heavy enough for Wonwoo to read between the lines and understand that this isn’t about the hospital environment but about everything else that goes around. He lets a small breath slip through his nose, choosing not to press further. Then Wonwoo takes a step back, looking briefly toward Mingyu, who has been leaning silent against the wall.

“I’ll be back later” he murmurs as he passes him, the words meant for Mingyu alone. “I’ll give you two some privacy”

There’s no visible change in Mingyu’s face but Wonwoo knows him well enough to sense the tension beneath the surface, the taut wire between father and son that no one else in the room could name but both of them feel. With one last glance at the monitors and his own silent reassurance that there’s no immediate risk, Wonwoo steps out, letting the door ease shut behind him and leaving the two men in the quiet that suddenly feels louder than any alarm.

Mingyu stays where he is for a moment, letting his gaze settle on the man in the bed. There’s a strange dissonance in seeing him like this, so diminished, smaller somehow, the broad-shouldered figure from his childhood now propped up by pillows and a drip stand, the machinery doing part of the work his body once managed alone. Part of him almost pities it, but pity is a dangerous slope and Mingyu’s footing on it is unsure.

They look at each other for several seconds, the silence stretching the way it always has between them, long enough to choke, heavy enough to keep words buried. His father’s expression shifts, the smallest flicker passing over his face before it hardens into something closer to disdain.

“Are you happy to see me like this ?” suddenly he speaks and the question he asks is a knife slipped under the ribs, slow and almost gentle, but meant to pierce.

“No, I’m not” Mingyu answers steady, feeling however a shiver running down his spine.

A dry humorless laugh rasps from his father’s throat, “You have always been a terrible liar, I guess some things never change” he says, “I’m sure that somewhere in there, you must be really enjoying this”

“You think too much of yourself and still think my world revolves around you” Mingyu replies, “I guess some things never change” he echoes.

“Double standards” his father tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “You could’ve been the one to cure me now, the one everyone thanks for saving my life, but apparently you aren’t capable of that if you let your colleagues do all the job”

Mingyu’s mouth twists in something closer to bitter amusement. “I work in another department, I’m not your surgeon”

“Lucky me, I’d say” he spits the word at last as if to leave a bitter taste.

Mingyu studies him for a moment, arms crossed over his chest. “It's incredible how, after all these years of silence, this is the first time you see me and you decide to demoralize me without even asking me how I am”

“What’s the point ? You look healthy enough. I can see you’re not starving, I can see you’re still stubborn. Why should I waste breath asking questions I already know the answers to ?”

“Because maybe you’ì would hear something you didn’t expect. Maybe you would find out I’m not the same kid you left bleeding every time you decided to teach me a lesson”

The faintest twitch passing over his father’s jaw. “You always did have a taste for dramatics, Mingyu. You survived, didn’t you ? That’s more than some get”

“Survived” Mingyu repeats and nods. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it” he pauses briefly. “You know, most fathers would be curious about their sons lives, would at least try to make up for time lost”

The man gives a sharp, dismissive huff. “I’m not ‘most’ fathers. And time isn’t something you make up, it’s something you use. You either used yours well… or you didn’t at all”

“Funny” Mingyu says, his lips curling into something between a smile and a sneer, “I could say the same about you”

The pause between them lengthens, stretching taut until it finally snaps. “You walked away from everything I built for you. Why should I be interested in what kind of mediocre life you're leading now ? You graduated, you wanted to be a doctor, and for what ? To waste yourself in a shabby place like this ?” he says, but Mingyu knows this is just a tactic to humiliate him even more. “That business, a good master, would’ve been your future, would have made you a man. That was the plan, your inheritance. Your name would have meant something”

“My name means something to me here” Mingyu replies, voice still calm but edged now, his stare unblinking. “And to the people I choose to give it to. I don’t need your company or your approval to make it worth something”

“You think you’ve grown into a man, think you’ve grown into something worth respecting ?” The older man rhetorically asks, cold as metal, “You’re still the same boy who ran away because he couldn’t face real responsibility” his father’s face tightens, the mask slipping enough to reveal the sting. “Without me, you’d be nothing”

Mingyu lets out a small, incredulous laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “I’d rather be nothing than be you” he says back, “I’m the man who stopped letting you decide what hard means. You can keep your contempt. It doesn’t touch me anymore”

“You’re so ungrateful” his father’s face darkens, “And these are the fruits of your mother's labor. She raised you so pathetically, made you so weak, she filled your head with lies and pity. That’s not how you raise a real man”

“A real man—” Mingyu scoffs a laugh, “Do you hear yourself ? In all these years, have you ever been proud of me for once ?”

The older man doesn’t even blink. “Proud ?” the word comes out almost like a laugh. “Of what should I be proud of ? Throwing away everything for slumming it in some second-rate hospital instead of taking your place where you belonged ?” he shakes his head slowly, the contempt so familiar it almost sounds rehearsed. “No, Mingyu. Pride is for men who do something with the chances they’re given. You ? You spat on them”

“You mean the chances that came with a leash around my neck”

“You call it a leash, I call it direction. You were supposed to follow in my steps. I laid the road for you, all your future, all you had to do was walk it”

“And end up like you ?” Mingyu says, voice quieter but sharper, like glass about to crack. “Trapping everyone around you, breaking them down until they can’t even recognize themselves ?”

His father’s expression hardens further. “Better that than living in mediocrity, clinging to scraps of other people’s gratitude. You think these patients will remember your name when you’re gone ? You think anyone here cares you enough to keep you fed, to give you a roof over your head ? That’s what I gave you and you threw it away”

“You didn’t give me a roof” Mingyu says, stepping closer to the bed, his voice finally carrying all the rage. “You built walls and you called them home but actually contempt is the only thing you’ve ever been truly generous about and I stopped expecting anything else from you a long time ago"

For a long moment, neither of them move or speak further more. The steady beep of the heart monitor fills the space between them, too regular, too calm for the words they’ve just exchanged.

“You call it contempt. I call it truth” he says, “And it’s this truth that will follow you long after I’m gone. You’ll never make it, you’re weak, Mingyu”

“You’re right, I am” that draws a faint, surprised lift of his father’s eyebrows. Mingyu continues before he can speak. “Weak enough to walk away from you. Weak enough to stop breaking myself just to win your approval. Weak enough to stop living by your definition of strength —” his voice softens slightly, “But strong enough to keep living serene with my choices every single day”

A flicker passes through his father’s expression. “You think walking away made you noble ?” he says, the word noble rolling off his tongue like a scoff disguised as a question.

Mingyu’s gaze doesn’t waver. “It just made me free” he says simply and his father’s brows draw together but he doesn’t give him time to answer more. “Get better for your own sake, for Mom's and Minseo's. I don't need you to do it for me too, I’ve already let go of that, but I hope you will one day”

His words hang in the air, not an appeal, not a plea, just a truth offered with no expectation.

And in that truth, Mingyu finally feels the quiet settle inside him. The anger that once burned at every slight and dismissal is gone. The past had given him a chance to repair something, to reclaim a bond he thought he still needed, but standing here now, he understands it had never been about mending, it was about closing a loop, stepping into that room to face the weight of what had been, and finally, walking out lighter. The cycle was over, and not with reconciliation but with acceptance.

Mingyu studies his father for a moment longer, committing to memory his wrinkles, the guarded eyes, the silence where a lifetime of words could have been. His father says nothing. Not an insult, not an apology. He just breathes and watches him as if, for the first time, he acknowledges to have in front of him a whole stranger and not his son anymore.

Mingyu lets the moment be what it is. Then, with no more to give and nothing left to take, he turns toward the door. His footsteps are unhurried, the faint scrape of his shoes against the floor the only sound in the room until the latch clicks softly behind him. Once closed, Mingyu immediately leans his back against the wall. His hands find his pockets, shoulders sagging as if some invisible weight has finally slipped free.

The exhaustion in his body feels bone-deep, not the kind cured by a night’s sleep, but the one that comes after years of carrying something heavy and finally setting it down. For so long that wound had bled quietly inside him, raw and unhealed, and now it’s closed, not neatly, not without scar, but closed all the same.

Mingyu keeps his eyes shut a little longer, forcing the air in and out of his lungs in measured counts. Each breath smooths another ripple in his chest, until the restless thud of his heartbeat eases into something steady. The tension in his shoulders loosens fraction by fraction and when he finally opens his eyes, the hallway looks the same, but the weight pressing against his ribs feels lighter and no longer crushing.

He pushes himself off the wall and starts walking, his steps slow at first, then more certain as he weaves through the ward’s familiar rhythmic bustle. He isn’t wandering without aim as his mind is fixed on the one person he knows could take the tangle of chaos inside him and strip it down to quiet, who could steady him without trying but simply by being there.

It doesn’t take long to find Wonwoo, indeed.

Through the glass of a clinic room door, Mingyu spots him standing beside a patient in wheelchair. The elderly man seated there looks up at him with eyes lined deep by the years but lit by an undercurrent of playful mischief. Wonwoo leans forward slightly, one hand resting on the chair, the other holding his stethoscope as he listens his back with focused expression.

“Alright, Myungsoo” Wonwoo says softly, “Now take a deep breath for me. In… and out slowly”

Myungsoo does as asked, chest rising and falling beneath the knit cardigan draped over his thin shoulders. “When you tell me to breathe like this, I almost forget I’m here for my heart and not some kind of meditation class”

Wonwoo chuckles, “Maybe both are good for you” he replies, pressing the stethoscope lower, “Again, please. Nice and deep”

Myungsoo inhales and lets it out slowly, his breath whistling faintly through his chest. “I read in the newspaper this morning —” he says as he exhales, “About a bakery in downtown Gangnam run by two young guys... apparently they make the best red bean buns in all of Seoul”

“Is that so ?” Wonwoo asks to keep him talkative and entertained, “And I’m guessing you’re planning an investigation of your own ?”

Myungsoo grins, the lines around his eyes deepening. “If I can get out of this chair and into that shop, you bet I will. They say the dough is so soft you can eat it even without teeth”

“Then I’d better make sure your lungs and heart are ready for the mission” Wonwoo replies, moving the stethoscope to the other side. “One last breath, please”

The man inhales again, “After that —” he continues, “Maybe I’ll finally write that letter to my old army buddy. I’ve been putting it off for years, figure if I can chase down a bun, I can also chase down a memory too”

Wonwoo pulls the stethoscope away, a small smile lingering on his lips. “Looks like you have quite a to-do list today”

"Let's just say I'm not bored”

From the doorway Mingyu lingers for a moment and watches the quiet ease between them, the way Myungsoo speaks with an amused glint in his eye, the way Wonwoo’s attention and patient never wavers. His knuckles brush lightly against the doorframe in a soft knock and the sound is enough to make them both turn their heads. Wonwoo’s lips part in a surprised smile, a faint flush rises in his cheeks, while Myungsoo glances from Mingyu to Wonwoo, his brows lifting just enough to make the moment feel like it’s been caught under a spotlight.

Wonwoo leans down to Myungsoo, lowering his voice. “Just a moment, alright ?” he says before straightening and crossing the room toward Mingyu. “Hey”

“Hey” Mingyu greets back, the word softer than intended. His eyes flick briefly toward Myungsoo before landing back on Wonwoo. “Sorry to bother you, I see you’re in the middle of something”

“Not much, just some routine checkups” Wonwoo replies with an easy shrug, then his voice lowers slightly. “How… did it go with your father ?”

Mingyu pauses before answering, “Exactly the way I thought it would” he says at last, the corner of his mouth twisting in a bitter smile. “Same script, same ending. He’s still… him. Nothing has changed”

Wonwoo’s eyes search his for a beat too long before pressing his lips into a faint line. “I’m sorry” he murmurs, genuine in the way the words land.

“It’s fine” Mingyu says, though the sigh in his voice betrays the lie. “It’s not like I was expecting anything different” he clears his throat, straightening as if to shake something off. “Anyway… that’s not the reason why I came here looking for you”

“Oh ?” Wonwoo arches a brow, curious now. “What are you up to, then ?”

“I —” Mingyu hesitates, fingers finding the back of his neck in a nervous scratch. “I was wondering if you would like to go out with me after work ?”

The pause that follows between them is thick enough to feel. Wonwoo’s mouth quirks. “Is this a proposal for a date ?”

Mingyu’s ears warm instantly and he lets out a helpless scoff. “If you want to call it that…”

“I just might” Wonwoo chuckles, the corner of his mouth softening. “I finish at six”

“Me too” Mingyu replies then his mouth tips into a grin, the mischief in his eyes breaking through the earlier heaviness. “Actually, I already knew that. Saw your shift marked on the schedule in the break room”

Wonwoo lets out a surprised laugh, “So I couldn't refuse the invitation, right ?” he shakes his head in disbelief, “You’re unbelievable”

“Maybe…” Mingyu says, leaning just slightly closer. “I’ll be waiting for you in the parking lot ?”

Wonwoo’s smile lingers, “Okay…”

Before the moment can deepen and settle into something more, a nurse appears in the doorway, slightly breathless as if she’s been moving fast.“Dr. Jeon, I’m sorry to interrupt” she says, a hint of urgency in her tone. “I was about to update Mr. Han’s new medication plan in his records, but I can’t find them anywhere. Do you happen to remember where you put them ?”

Wonwoo blinks, turning towards her. “Oh I might have left them in my office, I’ll go grab them right away” he nods, glancing first at Myungsoo then resting his gaze on Mingyu. “Can you stay here for a moment ? I’ll be right back”

“Yeah, sure” Mingyu replies, stepping further into the space as Wonwoo brushes past him.

The door closes behind him with a soft click and the room slips into a muted stillness. Mingyu feels it almost immediately, the weight of Myungsoo’s gaze on him, so steady and patient, kinda edged with amused as if he has been expecting this scene to unfold exactly as it has.

The old man’s lips, indeed, curl into a knowing half-smile. “So—” he says, drawing the word out like a quiet verdict, “It’s you”

Mingyu freezes, caught off guard. “Excuse me ?”

“Dr. Jeon’s lover” Myungsoo says without hesitation as if that’s the most obvious thing in the world. “The one who managed to steal his heart”

The words hit like a jolt, Mingyu feels the warmth creeping up his neck, flooding all the way to the tips of his ears. “Ah I… I don’t think —”

“Oh don’t play dumb with me, son!” Myungsoo cuts in, his tone somewhere between amused and certain. “I may be old but I’m not that senile. I’ve seen the way you look at him and the way he looks at you too”

Mingyu scoffs a laugh and lowers his gaze for a moment, unsure how to respond properly. “I didn’t realize it was that obvious”

“It’s not obvious to everyone” he chuckles, settling deeper against his seat. “But I’ve been around for a long time by now, and when you’re on this earth for this long, you start to notice love’s marks. The way people’s eyes light up, or the way they fight not to”

Mingyu exhales softly, still a little stunned at how much the man has read from a few glances.

“Wonwoo is a good boy” Myungsoo continues, his voice gentling. “Too good for this place sometimes. Works hard, cares more than he should, and… he hides when he’s hurting” his gaze sharpens but not unkindly. “If you’re going to be in his life, son, make sure you don’t give him more reasons to hide”

Mingyu meets the old man’s eyes and straightens unconsciously under the weight of those words, then he nods once. “Yes, sir”

That earns him a satisfied little huff, almost like approval. Myungsoo’s gaze lingers on him for a bit longer before softening again. “You know… I’m glad he took a chance”

“Took a chance ?” Mingyu tilts his head curiously.

“On you” the old man answers plainly as if nothing more needs to be said. “That boy spends too much time locked in his own head. Always calculating the safest move, the least risky step. Sometimes he forgets life’s too short for that”

A quiet beat passes before Mingyu asks, “Did he… talk to you about it ?”

Myungsoo’s smile curves slow and he lifts a finger, wagging it side to side. “Don’t try with me, I don’t reveal secrets” he pauses just long enough for the air between them to tighten with curiosity. “But… I will say, he did have his doubts about a certain someone”

His brows lift as a mix of surprise and intrigue flicks across his face. “You’re not going to tell me more, are you ?”

“No” Myungsoo says with a sly glint in his eyes. “But I think you already know”

Mingyu exhales through a faint smile, unsure whether to feel flattered or nervous.

“You seem like a good boy, Dr. Kim” Myungsoo says then, his tone gentler and even paternal, “Just… be patient with him, alright ? And take care of him. He will need it”

Mingyu swallows as the weight of that responsibility settles over him, but he nods firmly. “I… I care about him a lot”

The old man tilts his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I know you do. And he cares about you a lot too, more than you might think”

Mingyu feels a warmth spread through his chest, filling the hollow spaces with something equal parts relief and pride. For the first time since entering the room, his lips curve into a sweet smile, and he is about to reply him, to tell Myungsoo that his affection for Wonwoo is genuine, when the lupus in fabula makes his timely return.

The door swings open and Wonwoo steps inside with a stack of files in hand. His eyes fall on the pair, both sitting in suspicious silence as he raises an eyebrow. “What were you two talking about ?” he asks lightly, his tone edged with playful suspicion. “Hope nothing bad about me ?”

Mingyu straightens, his throat suddenly dry. “Ah—I, uh—” he stammers, a poor attempt at forming words.

Myungsoo doesn’t miss a beat. “He was just explaining something medical to me” the old man says smoothly, winking at him. “Something about… how important it is to keep the heart strong. He is a gym guy, can’t you see that ? He knows his healthy stuff”

Wonwoo chuckles, clearly amused but not pushing further. “Is that so ?”

“Yes, indeed” Mingyu clears his throat, nodding so emphatically it borders on comical. “That’s exactly what I was doing. But—uh—I have to go now” he half-turns toward the door, eager to escape the warmth spreading into his cheeks. “Work’s calling”

Wonwoo lets out a laugh as he watches Mingyu passing him with his cheeks and tips of the ears fleshly red, “Have a good day, Min” he says, “See you later”

“Yes yes— later” Mingyu lifts a hand in a wave, grateful for the excuse not to look back because if he did, he knows the sight of Wonwoo’s smile might undo him completely.

After escorting Myungsoo back to his room, lingering for a brief final chat and offering a warm goodbye before handing him into the capable care of the nurse on duty, Wonwoo slipped once more into the current of the hospital’s day. The ward is already bustling with its familiar rhythm. The faint clatter of carts echoes along the tiled corridors, the shuffle of hurried footsteps. In the emergency room, the benches are constantly filling up, and patients await their turn with tired restless expressions.

Wonwoo moves smoothly among them, his hands steady and his tone calm as he stitches small cuts, bandages scratches and reassures the anxious. That work is routine, almost mechanical, but there's comfort in repetition, in every wound tightly closed, every abrasion carefully cleaned, like another small order restored to the chaos.

By the time Wonwoo slips into the break room around lunchtime, he retrieves a tuna sandwich from the refrigerator and settles at a table tearing off small bites of bread that’s gone a little dry around the edges but still passable. Across from him, Jeonghan is already in full stride, launching into a dramatic retelling of a recent peritonitis surgery. His hands cut through the air in grand gestures, fingers curling and unfurling as though he were narrating an epic instead of a clinical procedure.

But before the story can ground itself in scalpel and sutures, it veers into sighs and complaints about his newly relationship with Seungcheol, how things seemed perfectly fine one moment, only to unravel in sudden storms of anger the next. The tale sways dizzyingly between patient care and romantic despair, as if the two were interchangeable symptoms. Wonwoo chews in silence, lips twitching with the effort of stifling a laugh at how easily Jeonghan blurs life-and-death operations with lovers’ quarrels.

On the other side of the table, Seokmin crunches through a bowl of greens. Somehow, he radiates energy that feels almost indecent for someone fresh off a night shift, already halfway through another long day. Between mouthfuls, he launches into an enthusiastic play-by-play of his latest workout with Joshua, voice bubbling with uncontainable cheer. His pitch climbs as he insists they should all join him at the gym, his grin widening like a child offering candy.

Wonwoo watches as Jeonghan rolls his eyes, unimpressed, muttering that stress and exhaustion are workout enough for him, his tone so flat it could flatten Seokmin’s optimism on the spot. Still, Seokmin only beams brighter and Wonwoo stays mostly quiet, caught somewhere between amusement and resignation, chuckling softly into his sandwich as it disappears steadily from his hands.

After lunch Wonwoo slips back into the ward for his last round of checkups. The tasks unfold in their usual rhythm, vital signs measured and noted, medical records updated, soft reassurances offered to a patient worried about their medication. His hands move with practiced steadiness, his voice carrying its familiar calm.

On the surface, it looks like any other afternoon.

But beneath that composure, his thoughts are fractured. His focus drifts in intervals, tugged away by something not on the charts in his hands. More than once, his gaze betrays him flicking down to his wristwatch, watching the slow crawl of the minute hand as though it were mocking him. Restlessness isn’t in his nature — usually he is patient, rooted in the present — yet today the anticipation hums beneath his skin, restless and insistent.

He tells himself it’s nothing unusual, just another shift drawing to its end, evenings are only evenings after all, but the thought of Mingyu waiting for him somewhere just beyond the sliding doors, unsettles in him that quiet logic. The idea pulls him forward like a tide, stretching each moment into an hour, each small task into an obstacle between now and then. And when the clock finally clicks over to six, Wonwoo doesn’t linger. He collects the last chart, gives a final nod to the nurse on duty, and moves down the corridor with barely concealed urgency.

He reaches the locker room and his movements are uncharacteristically hurried. Shoes are quickly changed, coat shrugged on, bag slung over his shoulder, and in the next instant, Wonwoo is pushing the hospital doors into the open air, with his steps carrying him across the lot where he knows Mingyu is waiting.

Wonwoo spots him instantly. Mingyu is leaning casually against his car, one long leg crossed over the other, and his attention fixed on the phone in his hand. The late evening light paints him in softer hues, sharpening the edges of his silhouette but softening the curve of his smile when his eyes lift and land on Wonwoo. In an instant, his whole face brightens, exploding into a grin that seems to melt the tiredness of the day away.

“They finally let you go” Mingyu calls out, his voice carrying a playful relief as Wonwoo crosses the lot toward him.

Wonwoo doesn’t waste a moment. Reaching him, he rises on tiptoe and presses a quick kiss to the corner of his lips. “I’ve been waiting to do this all day” he admits as the honesty slips out before he can temper it.

Mingyu’s smile softens into something more intimate, almost teasing, as he slides an arm around Wonwoo’s waist and tugs him closer. “Really ?” he murmurs, his breath brushing against Wonwoo’s lips. “Then why do you rush it ?” his voice dips and before Wonwoo can form a reply, Mingyu is leaning down again, claiming his mouth in a slower deeper kiss.

This one lingers. Their lips meet with the sweet, magnetic pull of something inevitable, the world around them slipping away until it’s just the warmth of Mingyu’s mouth, the steady weight of his hold and Wonwoo’s own arms wound instinctively around his neck, smiling into the kiss.

“Is this our date ?” Wonwoo whispers against his mouth, amusement dancing in his voice. “In the hospital parking lot ?”

Mingyu chuckles, pulling back just enough to look at him, eyes still shining with that grin he can’t quite hide. “Don't you want to make a little spectacle and give the hospital something to gossip about for weeks ?”

Wonwoo huffs out a laugh, swatting lightly at his chest. “Please. I can already see Jeonghan writing a whole screenplay about it and making me the tragic lead”

“That doesn’t sound so bad” Mingyu counters, tilting his head. “I’d make a great co-star”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes but the corners of his mouth betray him curving upward. “Yeah, right. More like the annoying extra who won’t leave the main character alone”

“Annoying ?” Mingyu repeats, feigning offense as he tightens the arm around Wonwoo’s waist. “That’s what you call someone who’s been standing here waiting to take you out ?”

Wonwoo’s laugh spills out, his body leaning into Mingyu’s as though pulled by instinct. “You didn’t have to wait” he teases. “You could’ve just gone home, you know”

“And miss this ?” he dips his head, brushing his lips lightly against Wonwoo’s in the ghost of another kiss. “Not a chance”

Wonwoo doesn’t really push him away, “You’re going to get us into trouble”

“Worth it” Mingyu murmurs with such ease that it makes Wonwoo’s stomach flip. He presses one last kiss to his lips, savoring the quiet connection before finally straightening and squeezing Wonwoo gently at the waist. “Alright, let’s go”

The car smells faintly of Mingyu’s cologne, fresh and musky, clinging to the cabin as Wonwoo settles into the passenger seat. The hum of the engine fills the silence quickly followed by the radio's background noise which perfectly contrast the persistent buzz of his nervous thoughts. Neither of them speak for a beat too long, a bit shy, quite embarrassed, and Wonwoo fiddles with the hem of his coat, trying not to stare too much at Mingyu’s beautiful profile as he drives.

His heart races every time he smiles at something as simple as the red light turning green or when he starts humming the lyrics of a rhythmic song playing in that moment. Then Mingyu suddenly reaches over and casually pokes Wonwoo in the side. Wonwoo jerks with a muffled laugh, swatting at his hand. “Yah! What was that for ?”

“For sitting there all stiff like Professor Cha used to during our lectures” Mingyu grins, eyes fixed on the road. “Do you remember him ?” he asks but before Wonwoo can answer, Mingyu pokes him again, this time at his thigh, earning a sharp intake of breath and another startled laugh.

“Mingyu—stop!” Wonwoo protests, catching his wrist in a quick reflex, his laughter bubbling out despite his best effort to sound stern. “And of course I remember him! His lessons were so interesting”

“Please” Mingyu scoffs, dramatic “You can admit now they were boring as hell”

“That’s because you never paid attention” Wonwoo fires back, still chuckling as he reluctantly lets go of his wrist.

“I was paying attention” Mingyu hums, mock-apologetic, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Just… to you. Not to the lesson”

That shuts Wonwoo up instantly. His face warms, his ears going red as he shakes his head trying to suppress the smile that spills across his lips. He looks away out the passenger window but the grin betrays him, curving boyishly despite his attempt at composure. Mingyu smirks satisfied and the air between them softens, laughter dissolving the earlier nervousness until the ride feels easy like they’ve been doing this for years and not tentatively trying for the first time.

After a stretch of comfortable quiet, Mingyu’s voice dips into something more curious. “So…” he starts, his tone teasing but edged with genuine interest, “What’s your idea of an ideal date ?”

Wonwoo blinks at him, caught off guard. “My… ideal date?”

“Yeah… You know, the perfect evening” he throws him a sideways glance, “Besides standing in a hospital parking lot kissing me”

Wonwoo huffs a laugh, covering his embarrassment with a shake of his head. He shifts in his seat, eyes fixed on the window as if the city might hand him an answer. “I don’t know…” he admits honestly after a pause. “I… never really had many dates but… I think I’d like something quiet ? Nothing too flashy, just… somewhere nice” he doesn’t say the word romantic out loud, but it lingers there anyway, threaded through his tone.

Mingyu drums his fingers against the steering wheel, pretending to consider it seriously. “Hm, that sounds actually good. But I was thinking of taking you bowling”

“Bowling ?” Wonwoo repeats, twisting his head toward him with an incredulous laugh. “That’s your idea of romance ?”

“Of course” Mingyu nods solemnly, lips twitching at the corners. “I need to test your athletic skills, I can’t date someone who trips over their own shoelaces”

Wonwoo snorts, unable to hold back his chuckle. “You’re ridiculous. Completely ridiculous”

“I’m dead serious” Mingyu says, keeping his face straight while his eyes sparkle with mischief. “So ? Are you secretly a pro or am I going to have to carry the team score ?”

Wonwoo leans back, crossing his arms with mock pride. “I go to the gym sometimes, I can handle a bowling ball”

Mingyu side-eyes him suspiciously, drawing out the silence before asking, “Elaborate your definition of ‘sometimes’”

“Twice a week” Wonwoo says, shrugging. “Thrice, when I have time”

"I go every day. Even when I come out of a twelve-hour shift half-dead”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes but can’t resist muttering, “That explains why you’re built like a bear”

Mingyu smirks like he’s just won the lottery. “Careful, that sounds like you’re admiring me a bit too much, Jeon” Wonwoo immediately looks away, pressing his lips together to hide a smile but Mingyu’s laughter fills the car anyway. “Honestly, though ? I like you enough that I actually don’t need to test you”

The sincerity tucked beneath the joke makes Wonwoo’s heart stutter. He clears his throat, trying to play it cool. “So… something quiet somewhere nice ?”

“Ice cream and a walk by the Han River ?” Mingyu proposes.

The suggestion hits Wonwoo square in the chest. Simple, sweet and undeniably romantic. His face warms and though he tries to hide it, a smile tugs at his lips. “It sounds perfect” he murmurs softer than he intends.

Mingyu can’t help smiling proudly as he catches the faint blush rising high on his cheeks. With one hand steady on the wheel, he lets the other drift over brushing his fingers lightly against Wonwoo’s knuckles in a fleeting playful touch. The reaction is immediate, Wonwoo turns his head sharply toward the window, as if the blur of streetlights might conceal the heat flooding his face, but his ears betray him and after a beat of hesitation, his thumb shifts shyly tracing over Mingyu’s skin in the smallest of caresses.

The gesture makes something tighten in his chest, a quiet satisfaction blooming there. Mingyu squeezes it once and gentle before returning his hand to the wheel, feeling the ghost of Wonwoo’s touch lingers stubbornly against his palm.

The car fills with easy sound, laughter that bursts in short fits, playful jabs that escalate into Mingyu’s quick pokes and Wonwoo’s mock protests, followed by the warmth of their hands finding each other again resting together like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Every now and then, Mingyu brushes his thumb along Wonwoo’s just to feel him twitch and try to hide a smile.

Yet beneath all the teasing, a quieter current hums through the space between them. It’s there in the way Wonwoo keeps sneaking glances when he thinks Mingyu isn’t looking, in the way Mingyu’s grin softens each time he catches him. Sweet and persistent, the awareness curls around them like the hum of the engine, steady and impossible to ignore, as both of them can feel that this — whatever this is — feels already dangerously perfect.

The Han River greets them with a warm late-summer breeze, carrying with it the mingled scents of grilled food from picnics and the faint sweetness of blooming night flowers. The riverside glimmers in a gentle glow, fairy lights strung along the walking paths, lanterns swaying lazily in the air as their reflections ripple across the dark surface of the water. The scene unfolding in front of them is alive with quiet joy, there’re couples sharing blankets on the grass, families pushing strollers down the paths and children’s laughter ringing from the swings nearby.

They wander slowly toward a small stand by the riverbank, its neon sign buzzing faintly above rows of colorful ice cream tubs. Wonwoo lingers for a moment, eyes darting over the flavors before finally settling on one, while Mingyu debates far too long and nearly changes his mind twice. When the cones are ready, a brief skirmish breaks out over who should pay. Mingyu reaches for his wallet, but Wonwoo is quicker sliding his card to the vendor with a triumphant smirk. Mingyu lets out a mock groan of defeat but his eyes are warm, playful as he accepts his cone.

As they set off down the lantern-lit path again, Mingyu lets his fingers brush against Wonwoo’s tentative at first, then confident when he notices that Wonwoo doesn’t pull away. He slips his hand into his one to lace their fingers together. The fit is easy and so natural as if their hands had been waiting for this moment far longer than either would admit.

“Did you know —” Mingyu says after a bite of ice cream, “That in Hawaii, they make ice cream differently from here ? It’s not just milk and sugar but rather they use this creamy base with coconut sometimes. It’s ridiculously good, totally ruins you for the usual stuff”

“Really ?” Wonwoo glances at him, curious. “How was it there, by the way ? You’ve mentioned it before but never in detail”

Mingyu hums, eyes softening as memories stir. “It was… an experience. The hospital wasn’t huge like ours but the pediatrics ward —” he pauses, smiling at the thought “— it was always full of life. Kids everywhere, running around even if they were sick. Some of them would sneak into the staff lounge just to steal popsicles from the freezer. I don’t think I’ve laughed so much on shift in my life”

Wonwoo’s lips curve gently, his cone tilting as he watches him. “Sounds like you really liked working there”

“I did” Mingyu admits, quieter now. “There was this kid, he couldn’t have been more than six, who insisted he wanted to be my assistant. He’d follow me around with this little clipboard, scribbling nonsense, pretending he was checking vitals. The nurses called him my shadow” his grin is so wide it crinkles his eyes as the memory paints all over his face.

Wonwoo listens intently, lips curved in a small smile, watching how animated Mingyu becomes when he talks about the children, about the way that place came alive despite everything. His voice is a little softer than usual like he doesn’t want to miss a word. “They must have mistaken you for a superhero” Wonwoo playfully says, taking a careful lick of his ice cream before it drips.

“It seems so” Mingyu chuckles. “They were incredible. Surely it was exhausting sometimes but… I don’t know. It never felt heavy even when it was hard. The kids always made it worth it, they made me feel lighter”

Mingyu keeps talking and talking and talking about Hawaii, his words tumbling out faster the more he remembers. Wonwoo’s chest tightens at that but he only hums quietly, letting his silence stretches as they walk past a couple sitting on a picnic mat feeding each other bites of tteokbokki. Their joined hands swing lazily between them, the lights above catching in Mingyu’s dark eyes as he speaks. Wonwoo feels the warmth of his words settle deep, steady and comforting, just like the breeze that brushes against their skin.

Then Mingyu’s tone shifts quieter. “By the way… thank you. Again. For what you did for my father”

Wonwoo blinks, “You already —”

“I know” he interrupts softly. “I know I’ve said it before but it keeps coming back to me. What you did… taking care of him, of my sister and mom too, it wasn’t just a procedure. You gave me… a chance I didn’t think I’d ever get. To say things I needed to say, to close something I thought would stay open forever”

Wonwoo sits with that for a moment, his eyes falling to their hands. “I did my job, Min. It was the right thing to do as a doctor in that moment” he pauses, considering his next words carefully. “But I also knew what it meant for you. I’ve seen enough families to understand how those ties shape everything. And your father… he isn’t you. I just hope you made peace with that”

Mingyu’s thumb brushes over the back of his hand. “I don’t feel anymore that weight on my chest I thought I’d always carry. And for that… I’m grateful”

Wonwoo studies him for a beat, “Was it hard ?” he asks quietly, “Facing him again after all those years ?”

Mingyu breathes out through his nose, a low exhale. “Yeah. It was… weird. As a kid, I was terrified of him. Everything he said, everything he did… it felt like it had the power to crush me. I used to walk on eggshells every second at home but when I walked into that room this time… he wasn’t that man anymore. He was almost like a stranger”

Wonwoo doesn’t interrupt, letting the silence give Mingyu space.

“I thought I’d feel anger” he admits, “Resentment, maybe even hate, but instead I just felt distance. Like I was standing in front of someone I used to know but who couldn’t reach me anymore. And in that distance, I realized… he doesn’t get to have a hold on me ever again”

“That’s a hard thing to come to terms with” Wonwoo says, “Not everyone manages to separate themselves from the shadow of who their parents were”

“Yeah and I don’t think I could have if you hadn’t… just kept him alive long enough for me to say what I needed. Facing him reminded me that I wasn’t that powerless, that I could stand there, looking him in the eye and not be that scared kid anymore”

“That strength was already yours. You just needed the chance to use it”

“Maybe” Mingyu hesitates, “But without that chance… I would still be carrying him and all the turmoils with me. Now I can finally set them down”

Wonwoo gives a small nod, accepting his words without deflecting them this time, and he’s about to reply, his lips are parting when his phone suddenly buzzes in his pocket. The shrill ringtone slices through the soft hum of the river and the quiet weight of Mingyu’s words. Wonwoo pulls it out, noticing the hospital’s number glowing on the screen.

His thumb hovers over the buttons, his instincts scream to pick the call up, years of habit and step back into duty, but for once Wonwoo wants to resist and stay there in that small perfect bubble made only of ice cream in hand and Mingyu’s fingers tangled with his in the other one.

If it’s something urgent, there are other doctors and surgeons on duty. They’ll manage.

Mingyu notices immediately how much torn he appears, the flicker of hesitation in his face. “You’re not going to answer ?”

“No…” Wonwoo replies, pressing the silence button until the call eventually stops.

Mingyu studies him carefully, searching for cracks in the resolve. “You’re sure ?”

Wonwoo exhales through his nose, then slips the phone back into his pocket like setting down a burden. “Mh-mh” he nods, more certain now. “I haven’t arranged for anyone to be on call and I just want to… have some time off. They can survive without me for once”

Mingyu nods and whispers a faint ‘okay’ before he adjusts his stride, letting the warmth of the evening wrap around them, and readies himself to make sure this can truly be a special night for Wonwoo, for the both of them actually. The riverside stretches out in front of them, bathed in the soft golden glow of lanterns, and the air hums with the gentle rhythm of cicadas and distant laughter.

They fall into a meandering walk, their steps matching the lazy pulse of the river. They tease each other softly, recalling college memories and misadventures with the fondness of people who have known one another for far longer than they’ve had to. The jokes come easily, sometimes punctuated by nudges, playful shoves, or gentle laughter that rises and falls like music between them.

Eventually, the path opens onto a wider plaza where a group of seniors dances under the lanterns, a small speaker sending soft ballroom music floating through the night air. Without a word, Mingyu bows dramatically, offering a hand with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. Wonwoo hesitates, caught between amusement and disbelief, but Mingyu’s grip is firm and confident and before long, they are swaying and mimicking the practiced steps of the dancers, more awkward than elegant but no less joyful.

Wonwoo throws his head back in laughter, letting the sound spill freely. Mingyu steadies him, laughing too, with their hands still intertwined and their steps imperfect but perfectly synchronized in spirit. For a long moment, the hospital, the day’s pressures, the world beyond the riverbank, all of it fades. The warmth of the evening and the feel of Mingyu’s hand in his own remind Wonwoo that this — this laughter, this quiet joy, this unspoken understanding — is exactly what he's been wanting for a long time.

After that they find a quiet and more secluded bench further down the riverside path, away from the chatter and the distant strumming of music. The late-summer breeze brushes their faces, carrying the faint scent of the river and the soft rustle of leaves. Mingyu doesn’t waste a moment, scooting closer and pulling Wonwoo gently onto his lap. Wonwoo stiffens for a heartbeat, then relaxes when he feels the familiar warmth of Mingyu’s body against his.

It’s clear to Wonwoo that Mingyu craves physical closeness, it’s his way to show affection, and instinctively he wraps his arms around his neck, pressing small tentative kisses along the side of his neck. Mingyu lifts his face and leans in for a sweet lingering kiss on his lips. The heat in Wonwoo’s chest suddenly quickens, his heartbeat thundering in his ears so loudly he’s sure Mingyu can hear it.

But a sudden chime from Wonwoo’s phone cuts through the intimate moment back again.

Mingyu rests his head lightly against his shoulder, giggling as he nudges him with his elbow. “You really need to turn that thing off, Dr. Jeon, I can’t let you go right now at the best moment…” he teases, voice soft and amused.

Wonwoo chuckles, brushing a stray lock of hair from Mingyu’s forehead before taking out his phone and turning it in off mode as he requested. “Happy now ?” he murmurs, “No more interruptions”

“Much better” Mingyu replies with a contented smile on his lips.

They fall into silence for a moment, simply enjoying each other’s presence with their fingers intertwined and small little kisses fluttering hesitantly on their warm skin. The quiet between them grows comfortable in a shared intimacy that doesn’t need words, until it does.

“You said you wanted to talk…” Wonwoo reminds him, almost afraid of what’s actually coming.

Mingyu nods, tightening his arms around his waist, “Yeah. I think we need to” he hesitates, searching for the right words to begin with. “Everything… is happening so fast between us and I just want for you to know that this doesn’t feel like anything occasional to me but… it’s important” he speaks as his eyes linger on his face for a moment, “And I know you feel something for me, you told me, but I need to know— I want to know if we’re on the same page about this too”

Wonwoo lowers his gaze, tracing the line of Mingyu’s collarbone with a finger. The weight of the words presses against him in ways he both longs for and fears. After a pause, he exhales slowly.

“I… I don’t know if I’m good at this” he admits, “Being with you this way… it’s overwhelming and relationships, for me, have always been something to avoid. Too many variables, too much risk. People change and… in the end they eventually get hurt” his throat tightens, “I’ve sabotaged myself more times than I can count, Min, and… I’m scared. I don’t want to ruin what we have before it even starts”

Mingyu leans closer, rubbing his side in comfort. “And you think that’s what will happen to us ? That we’ll just… get hurt ?”

“I don’t know” he swallows, “I’m… scared of what this could turn into. Because if it’s real, if it’s as important as you say, then it’s something I could actually fear to lose” he pauses, “I worry… that I’ll mess this up, that I’ll let work or stress, or… everything else get in the way, take everything from me again, and I can’t —”

Mingyu presses a gentle kiss to his temple, pulling him back from the spiral. “Hey… look at me” he whispers. Wonwoo lifts his gaze, meeting Mingyu’s steady eyes. “We can’t predict what’s going to happen, and yeah, things will get complicated because we work together, we have crazy schedules, we’ll barely get time to breathe, let alone see each other properly but that doesn’t mean that we… can’t try”

Wonwoo exhales slowly, the weight of unspoken worries pressing against his chest. “My job is everything to me, Mingyu” he reveals almost guiltily, “It defines me, and I’ve hurt people because of that without meaning to. I’ve chosen work over them, I’ve lost things I didn’t meant to lose. What if I end up doing that to you too ? What if we just hurt each other in the process ?”

“What if we don’t ?” Mingyu replies, murmuring the words almost like a spell while his hand brushes comfortingly along his spine. “We can talk. We can also fight if we need to, but I’m sure I’ll still like you through all of it, Wonwoo. Even the messy parts, especially the messy parts”

And Wonwoo laughs softly, a sound mingling relief and nervousness. “You make it sound… so easy and possible. Like maybe I can do this, like maybe I can be someone worth being with”

“You already are” Mingyu says firmly. “You’re smart, patient, kind… and stubborn as hell, which I love, by the way”

Wonwoo chuckles, “And you… you’re reckless sometimes, way too confident. But somehow you make me feel braver than I’ve ever felt”

“Then that’s our deal” he smiles, “You make me better and I make you braver. We can tackle it together, the hospital, the stress, all of our chaos… whatever comes”

“Do you… really mean it ?” Wonwoo asks after thinking about it.

“I mean it” Mingyu nods, “If we’re going to do this, we do it all the way…”

Wonwoo’s eyes glisten but a nervous smile tugs at his lips. “All the way… That’s scary”

“Terrifying” Mingyu agrees with a soft laugh. “But also… worth it, don’t you think ? We’ll learn together, we’ll stumble, maybe even hurt each other a little, but we’ll also make memories no one else can touch. And honestly, I like you enough to take that risk”

“I… I like you too” Wonwoo breathes in sharply. “And somehow… knowing you feel the same way, it makes all the fear feel smaller”

Mingyu leans in, pressing their foreheads together once more. “We take it slow if we need to. But no pretending and no holding back”

“Okay…” Wonwoo smiles, his lips brushing Mingyu’s softly. “No pretending and no holding back” he echoes.

The kiss they share begins slow, almost hesitant, but soon deepens with a hunger neither of them has been able to admit until now. Wonwoo’s lips part beneath Mingyu’s, their mouths moving in rhythm, unhurried yet consuming, like they’ve been holding this in for far too long. Mingyu’s hand tenderly cradles the side of Wonwoo’s jaw while Wonwoo threads his fingers into his hair, tugging it just enough to draw him closer.

Their breaths mingle as much as their hearts race, and for a moment, the world around them is nothing but heat radiates from the press and smack of their lips that can’t seem to separate.

When they pull away, both are breathless and their foreheads rest together as they laugh softly at themselves, caught between exhilaration and disbelief. The bench beneath them feels like a secret sanctuary and they linger there for so long with their arms wrapped tightly around each other, trading stories and memories in the hush of the night. Past wounds, old heartbreaks, the endless grind of hospital corridors and sleepless nights, they let the words spill and give each other a piece of themselves.

The fears don’t vanish but they shift in something no longer crushing, rather now held between them secretly shared. A quiet bravery roots itself in that vulnerability, stronger than hesitation, than any doubts, and for the first time Wonwoo allows himself to try not to be afraid of what it means to share his life with another person.

When they decide to leave, late at night, neither truly wants to. In the car, the separation becomes unbearable and at stoplights, in the dark stretches of road, every occasion is ideal for them to steal kisses, quick, playful, then longer and deeper, until laughter bubbles up between them at how impossible it feels to keep their hands to themselves.

Pulling up beneath Wonwoo’s apartment building, the reluctance to part is even more palpable.

They stay parked for long minutes, the engine a low hum beneath them as if prolonging the night could stop reality from intruding. Wonwoo leans in one last time, kissing Mingyu with slow, sensual intent, his lips and tongue so teasing in a lingering promise of what still could be.

Mingyu forces himself to pull back, his chest rising and falling quickly, a wry smile tugging at his lips as he steadies himself. “Don’t tempt me Dr. Jeon, I’m a gentleman” he murmurs, voice rough but playful, “I don’t have sex on the first date”

Wonwoo laughs, licking his lips before reaching for the door handle. “Too bad for you then” he winks at him, smooth and almost taunting as he steps out into the night air. He leans back in, offering one last playful smile. “Goodnight, Dr. Kim. Drive safely”

Mingyu can only shake his head, grinning despite himself as he watches Wonwoo disappear into the building’s entrance. Just before the door closes behind him, he lifts a hand in a lazy wave and Mingyu returns it instinctively while a warmth lingering in his chest. Only when the building swallows Wonwoo whole, Mingyu finally put the car in gear with the smile still etched on his face, and heart restless, as he drives away into the night.

Wonwoo is so happy when he pushes the door and steps into his apartment, a space that so often felt like a sterile extension of the hospital — very quiet, impersonal, cold — but tonight, for once, it feels different and he doesn’t walk in with the weight of fatigue on his shoulders or the dull ache of solitude. There’s instead a strange, effervescent lightness inside him as if Mingyu’s laughter and warmth have followed him home.

Wonwoo toes off his shoes at the entrance and, on a whim, pushes himself down the hallway in socked feet. The childish gesture makes him laugh, the sound bouncing off the walls in a way it rarely does. Halfway down he twirls clumsily, his coat slipping from his shoulders. He shrugs it off with a small flourish and hangs it on the rack, as if he’s staging his own little performance for the empty apartment that doesn’t feel empty at all anymore.

He then pulls out his phone, the screen lighting up with unread messages and missed calls but he doesn’t tap them open. Wonwoo knows the content of each of them, requests, emergencies that aren’t really emergencies, reminders of responsibilities waiting for him, but he is not in the mood to save the world tonight so he presses the phone face-down on the counter and leaves it there. The hospital can wait for him for a couple of hours.

A hot shower washes away the residue of the long day, the surgery performed, the fatigue of the 8-hours-long shift, but nothing can rinse away the buoyancy in his chest, the warmth Mingyu has left behind. When he finally sinks into bed, the sheets are cool and soft against his skin and Wonwoo exhales a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding onto. His pulse slows, his breath evens out and for the first time in what feels like years, there’s no room in his mind for tension or noise.

Sleep comes quickly, settling over him like a soft blanket, and for once Wonwoo doesn’t dream of operating rooms, alarms, endless countdown of seconds bleeding into one another. Everything is just quiet, just so warm, and that night he swears he has never slept better, as if the world itself has finally loosened its grip on him.

The next morning, Wonwoo wakes up with a lightness in his heart he can hardly recognize as his own, with energy humming through his veins as if the universe has given him permission to feel alive. He eats a simple breakfast, dresses up quickly and packs his backpack ready to go to work with such rare eagerness, almost smiling to himself in the mirror before stepping out the door.

The city greets him in return. Sunlight warm and golden filters between buildings as the air feels crisp, carrying with it the chatter of pedestrians and the hum of traffic. Even the birds seem to sing louder that day, their melodies threading through the usual chaos of already so busy Seoul.

Wonwoo walks with a spring in his step, almost startled by how light the world feels in contrast to the heaviness he has grown used to. As he passes through Gangnam, his gaze catches on a small storefront tucked between a café and a flower shop, the bakery Myungsoo had mentioned so fondly just the day before, his eyes lighting up as he recalled its red bean buns.

Without thinking, Wonwoo veers inside. The place smells of sugar and yeast, fresh delicious bread just pulled from the oven is displaying in the showcase, and after waiting for a small queue, he buys two buns carefully wrapped in a small paper bag, already imagining the joy on Myungsoo’s face when Wonwoo would hand them to him later. But as soon as he steps into the hospital, Wonwoo notices how the building feels colder than usual, the white lights harsher than the past days.

The typical hum of morning rounds is replaced by a subdued hush, conversations whispered instead of spoken.

Nurses brush past him without their usual happy greetings, their eyes are averted, their shoulders very tense. His colleagues move down the corridor with their heads bowed and a knot forms in Wonwoo’s stomach as he takes the elevator to his ward. The moment he steps out, Jun appears from the opposite direction and his face is pale, completely exhausted, with no sign of good news between his signs of tiredness.

“What’s going on ?” Wonwoo asks without many ceremonies, his voice sharper than intended.

Jun hesitates, his lips part but no words come out from his mouth. He only shakes his head, slowly, as if saying it aloud would make it too real. After a long pause, he finally exhales, his voice breaking into the silence. “We… we tried for all the night” he swallows hard, eyes fixed on the floor. “But… Mr. Han didn’t make it”

The words strike like a blade. Wonwoo feels his blood freezing in his veins, his chest tightening painfully. His mind flashes back to his phone lying face down on the nightstand the night before, the calls he silenced, the messages he ignored and refused to read. He remembers how sweet the air had felt that evening, how deeply he had slept few hours ago, and the cruel dissonance suddenly crashes into him.

Myungsoo passed away.

And the hospital hallway blurs at the edges, sound receding into a muffled roar. Wonwoo stares blankly ahead, the paper bag trembles in his grasp and it slips from his hands, falling to the polished floor with a soft devastating thud.

Inside, the red bean buns crumble against each other.

Small, simple tokens of joy that will never reach the person they were meant for.

Chapter Text

"Lights will guide you home, ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you”

Grief had never been something Wonwoo learned to carry.

Over the course of his life, he had learned to master precision, to endure the mental strain of judgment calls in the operating room, even the insomnia of thirty-six–hour shifts. He could weather pressure, exhaustion, the loneliness of that difficult life which all in all he had chosen, everything but not loss. That pain was different. It doubled him over, stole the air from his lungs and left him with trembling hands unable to breathe.

Grief was something he had only learned to avoid but never truly to confront.

Wonwoo knows better as the memory that still haunted him most was that morning in Tokyo, halfway through his residency, when his phone rang with Seoul’s country code blinking on the screen. His father’s voice had been flat, almost clinical: “He’s gone. Grandfather passed this morning”. There were no details, no chance to bargain for more time, just a blunt finality that left Wonwoo frozen in the middle of a crowded hospital corridor.

Around him interns bustled, stretchers rolled past, monitors beeped with indifferent rhythm but for him, the world narrowed to silence. His body went through all the emotions and physical motions all together — nodding, hanging up, tucking the phone back into his pocket — but inside his heart had stopped, brokenly split in two.

Wonwoo remembered standing at the airport ticket counter later that day, with a suitcase in his hand, staring at the glowing departure board. Seoul was right there, just three hours away and yet it felt unreachable. He had told himself bunch of excuses not to leave his place in that moment — he couldn’t leave his patients, the hospital needed him, flights were full — but the truth sat cold in his chest as he couldn’t face the coffin, the cries, the weight of finality.

Wonwoo turned away that day. He went back to the ward, scrubbed into another operating room and buried his grief beneath sterile gloves and surgical masks, the only things that felt familiar to him.

Cowardice, he called it in his darker moments. Self-preservation, in kinder ones.

Either way, Wonwoo never saw his grandfather again. He never said goodbye to the man who had first placed a stethoscope in his small hands, who sat him on his lap to leaf through dog-eared anatomy books, who smiled patiently at every childish question about veins and hearts and lungs. That man never lived to see Wonwoo wearing his white coat with his name sewn on the pocket. He never saw him finishing his residency, never saw the first incision made with steady hands, the skill that had bloomed because of him.

The proud smile Wonwoo had dreamed of seeing was buried with him, sealed in the earth before he could ever earn it. But among all that pain, he still carried one image of him, a memory that still felt alive and untouchable by time: himself as a little boy, clutching his grandfather’s large hand as they stood outside the small neighborhood clinic.

The summer sun casted long shadows on the ground, the glass doors mirrored their figures and Wonwoo had stared at the reflection as if it showed a future waiting for him. His grandfather’s voice that day had told him that medicine was less about science and more about heart, about standing beside someone when their own body failed them.

At the time, young Wonwoo hadn’t understood those words but they clung to him, pressed into his heart like an indelible mark. And yet, when the man who had spoken them left that cruel world, Wonwoo couldn’t even stand beside him one last time. He avoided funerals, avoided endings, he had sealed that grief away like a specimen in a jar, too fragile to touch, too painful to disturb.

He told himself it was easier to keep it hidden, locked in the dark, where it couldn’t break him.

But grief doesn’t vanish when ignored.

It lingers. It waits. And now, years later, it returned to him in the cruelest way possibile, through Jun’s quiet words that just announced him Myungsoo’s passing.

Death had walked the same hospital corridors he had walked every day, brushed shoulders with him, and stolen someone Wonwoo had sworn to protect till the very end. And just like before, grief hollowed him out because to him it was not an old companion he knew how to bear. It was a storm he had never once allowed himself to stand in.

Wonwoo stands there in front of Jun, whose voice is soft but his words slammed into him like a physical strike. “Mr. Han passed during the night” that sentence is like an echo in his head and for a heartbeat Wonwoo simply stares at him, his mind refusing to process its real meaning.

But then Jun swallows, “Wonwoo… he is gone” he repeats.

And a laugh escapes his throat, jagged and wrong. Wonwoo shakes his head hard as if to rattle the words out of his ears. “No. No, that’s—no. I saw him yesterday, I saw him” his voice cracks, “He was smiling… he was better. You must’ve made a mistake. He’s—he’s just sleeping, right ? He’s—”

Jun’s expression breaks. His eyes glisten but his voice stays quiet as if trying to cushion the fatal blow. “He had a respiratory crisis during the night. His lungs collapsed too quickly and… we tried to intubate, we did compressions for almost an hour but his heart… it was way too weak, it simply didn’t come back”

“No!” Wonwoo snaps again, his hands curl into fists at his sides and nails dig crescents into his palms. “That doesn’t make any sense. You’re wrong! He’s strong—he was strong! He’s still here, he has to be!” his chest heaves as panic starts to burn through his whole body. “Jun, maybe you misread the chart, maybe—”

“We did everything, Wonwoo” he says final and desperate, “I swear to you, we did —”

“Everything ?!” Wonwoo barks out, his voice cracking but breaking trough all the hallways catching the attention of all the interns and colleagues that freeze mid-step. “If you had done everything as you say, he would still be alive!”

Jun tries to reach for his arm, “Wonwoo listen —“

But Wonwoo jerks back, fury sparking in his veins like fire. “You should’ve called me!” he roars, “If I had been there, I could’ve— I should’ve —”

“I tried to fucking call you!” Jun screams back, “I tried several times but you didn’t reply once and —“

Jun’s words ring in the air like a death sentence and Wonwoo simply can’t hear him speak further more. His body reacts before his mind can even catch up his movements and he lunges forwards, his fists gripping Jun’s collar with such force his knuckles turn white. Wonwoo pulls him close, their breaths clashing in the charged air, then he slams him back against the wall with his jaw clenched and eyes wild with tears and grief.

“You let him die!” he screams, shaking him as his own body shakes apart too. His throat closes, a strangled sound escaping him as the words fracture on his tongue.“He trusted us! He trusted me! And now he’s gone—You didn’t do enough! You should’ve saved him but instead you let him die!”

Jun’s composure cracks under him, “We did everything, Wonwoo! Do you fucking hear me ? We did everything we could but there was no hope left, his body just gave up!”

“Liar!” Wonwoo’s scream rips the air like an animal’s cry. His big tears blur his vision, dripping onto Jun’s gown as his hands shake violently clutching the white fabric tighter. “You’re lying—You’re lying to me! He was fine yesterday!”

Jun doesn’t push him off, he doesn’t even try to fight him back. He stands there, pressed against the wall, with his eyes wide with pain, understanding that Wonwoo’s rage in that moment is not truly meant for him. That is real panic, tearing its way out of a man who never allows himself to fall apart. Wonwoo’s vision blurs even more, his voice breaks into sobs as his chest convulses with shallow broken gasps.

His grip on Jun falters little by little as the dizziness spread, but the rage, the anguish, keep him locked in place. “How could you do this to me— how could you just—”

“Do you think I wanted this ? Do you think I didn’t fight ?”

“He could have survived! He could have lived a little longer!” Wonwoo shouts, his tears stream freely now, dripping onto Jun’s gown as he shakes him with both fists. His words devolve into messy sobs, his body trembling uncontrollably as his voice cracks into something almost childlike.

The corridor around him freezes in place and time. Nurses stand pale, clutching their charts in disbelief, as interns stare at him wide-eyed. To them, Jeon Wonwoo had always been a pillar of precision and control, but now he is breaking apart in the middle of the ward right in front of their eyes, showing his grief too loud, too wild to look away from.

Wonwoo is crying broken sobs on Jun’s coat, cursing him and punching his chest as the world around him gets so muffled to his ears and eyes. It’s in that moment that Mingyu’s voice thunders as he shoves through the crowd forming there, heart lurching at the sight of him so destroyed.

“Wonwoo!”

Without hesitation Mingyu seizes Wonwoo from behind, gripping him and prying him off Jun, locking his arms tightly around his frame. He drags him back and his chest is pressed against Wonwoo’s spine, holding him in a cage of trembling strength. “Enough, it’s me, it’s Mingyu. Stop, please, listen to me—”

But Wonwoo thrashes violently, his screams muffled by his own sobs. He claws at Mingyu’s arms, twisting, kicking, trying to break free. “Let me go! Let me go! He’s gone—don’t you get it—he’s gone!”

“Wonwoo, please—” Mingyu begs, whispering fiercely against his ear. He presses him even tighter, his chin buried in his shoulder desperately trying to hold him together.

Wonwoo finally sags as his fight dissolves into fragments. His body convulses as he collapses into Mingyu’s chest, sobs ripping out of him uncontrollably. He turns in his arms and pounds weakly at his torso with his fists, each blow less forceful than the last.

“He’s gone… he’s gone… he’s gone…” he repeats, the mantra of a broken man.

Mingyu holds him through it, taking every hit without flinching, whispering words that dissolved against Wonwoo’s cries. His arms stay locked around him as if sheer force could keep him from falling deeper into the abyss, while all around them, the whole hospital stands still, watching the unrecognizable collapse of Jeon Wonwoo — the most brilliant surgeon, the perfectionist, the man who had never allowed himself a mistake— now vulnerable and unraveling in another doctor’s arms.

Mingyu’s grip tightens, his chest heaving rapidly as he tries to anchor him to a tangible reality, but Wonwoo trashes wildly, every movement frantic like a trapped animal in a cage. His nails dig into Mingyu’s sleeves, his legs kick against the floor as his sobs tear from his throat in jerks.

“I should have saved him… I should have…” his voice comes out in barely coherent pieces. His lungs burn as if that air no longer belongs to him, rasping his throat and tightening his chest under the weight of that grief and pain.

His whole world crumples, the corridor blurs at its edges. Wonwoo’s ears ring with the roar of his heartbeat, louder than Jun's voice, louder than Mingyu's desperate pleas. The adrenaline that fueled his fury now turns into full-blown panic, white-hot and unbearable, flooding his body faster than he can bear.

“It can’t be. No, no, no..." Wonwoo shatters into a tangled cry, clawing at Mingyu's strong arms.

Mingyu tightens his grip, "Breathe, love... just breathe, you're safe" he whispers forcefully in his ear but Wonwoo can’t just calm himself down. His sobs are too violent, his chest convulsing uncontrollably. His heart pounding against his ribs, too fast, too hard, as if it were about to explode. To die.

His fists slip from his chest, his arms hang limply at his sides as his face, wet with tears, leans forward against Mingyu's shoulder. "He's gone..." his voice drops to a hoarse whisper, then the word cracks, it even stops.

Wonwoo's body relaxes and in a terrifying moment, it seems like the struggle is suddenly over. His weight collapses completely onto Mingyu's arms, his knees buckle, his head lolls back as his eyes roll upward. Mingyu shifts his grip, cradling him desperately as if brute force can hold him together. Around them, the corridor explodes — nurses panting scared, feet shuffling, medical records rattling — but Mingyu hears nothing but the silence of Wonwoo's body against him.

He holds him close, a hand cradling the back of his head. “I got you" Mingyu whispers, "You're not alone, I got you"

That's all Wonwoo remembers before his mind goes blank and in front of his eyes everything fades to black.

When he wakes up again, hours later, the first thing Wonwoo notices is the weight of a blanket on him, heavy and unfamiliar in its stillness, keeping him warm but also pressing against his chest like a reminder that something is wrong. His lashes flutter open in the dim light of his bedroom as gray shadows stretching across the walls, and for a brief fragile second, his mind clings to the illusion that everything is okay, that he has only woken from a restless sleep.

The air is soft and stale in his apartment, carrying with it the faint pungent smell of antiseptic clinging to his skin, now seeping also into his sheets. Wonwoo looks down and realizes he's dressed in the same clothes he wore in the morning. He hasn't showered before going to bed as usual, he doesn't really know how he got there actually. He remembers nothing except the pain of his knees hitting the floor, his body aches as if it's been scraped from the inside out.

He turns slightly and the fabric of the blanket almost whispers against his skin. Then his gaze shifts to the side and Mingyu is there, sitting on the edge of his bed with his head bowed and one hand resting delicately on his covered leg. His thumb traces absent circles across the blanket, silent and reassuring. On the bedside table, a tray of food stays untouched. A soup gone tepid by now, a little bowl of rice, a glass of water with the condensation long since melted.

"It was a dream. It had to be a dream” for a moment Wonwoo thinks but then Mingyu's eyes lift to his, dark and ringed with tiredness, and the fragile illusion of that still perfect world crumbles as the truth presses in, colder and heavier than the blanket itself.

“Hey…” Mingyu whispers so hushed, afraid to startle him. “You’re awake” he sighs, slightly leaning forward, “How are you feeling ?”

Wonwoo blinks, disoriented by his presence there. “How… how did we get here ?” he asks, his voice sounds so hoarse when it finally emerges. His fingers clench in the sheets, “I was at the hospital and—” he falters, his throat suddenly closing around the memory.

Mingyu doesn’t look away. “Jeonghan gave me the code to your place” he explains softly. “You fainted and I—I brought you home. I thought it was the best thing for you”

Wonwoo shakes his head, eyes widening as if refusing the words. “No. No, I can’t stay here I—” he tries to get out of the bed with a feeling of panic that was starting rising again, “I need to go back, I need to be at the hospital. They need me—”

But before he can push the blanket away, Mingyu’s hand presses firmly against his shoulder. “No, they don’t” he says, gentle but unyielding. “The hospital will survive without you tonight”

“You don’t understand —“

“Wonwoo” Mingyu calls him firmly with a tone that doesn’t accept debate. “Please, stay here” he begs.

The silence that follows between them is thick, at times trembling with everything neither of them can say. Wonwoo stares at him, his heart clenching in a vice, and under Mingyu's firm hand he feels simultaneously trapped and protected. He stares at the ceiling, the weight on his chest so crushing he can barely breathe. The quietness stretches on, broken only by the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen next door, the ticking of the clock on the wall. Every sound seems too loud, too intrusive compared to the empty ache inside him.

Mingyu shifts slightly, reaching for the tray. He lifts the glass of water first, holding it toward him. “Here” he murmurs, “Just a sip. It’ll help”

Wonwoo’s lips part but he shakes his head almost immediately. “I can’t…” he rasps. His throat feels sealed shut, raw and uncooperative, as if grief itself has lodged there.

“Okay” Mingyu says softly, without pushing. He sets the glass back down, then he tries with the bowl of soup. “At least a little —”

“I said no” Wonwoo snaps, his voice breaking as his eyes squeeze shut. “Please, don’t— just… don’t”

Mingyu doesn’t answer right away, he studies him for a long moment then only nods. He doesn’t insist with other words, instead, he puts everything back on the nightstand with movements so gently and steady that don’t betray any of the real ache in his chest. Wonwoo feels it, though. The weight of his own cruelty settles like lead in his stomach. He knows Mingyu doesn’t deserve his anger, his bitterness. He knows the man beside him is only trying to care for him while he’s breaking apart.

Shame burns through his tears, leaving him raw and hollow, and when Mingyu shifts rising from the edge of the bed as if to give him space, panic flares inside him. The idea of being left alone now, of drowning in the silence with only the weight of his guilt making him company, is unbearable.

His lips part before he can stop them. “Mingyu…” Wonwoo whispers, barely more than a breath.

Mingyu turns his head, “Yes ?”

Wonwoo swallows hard, his throat tightening. “Can you stay, please ? Can you… can you hug me ?”

For a moment, Mingyu just looks at him and his gaze softens in a way that cuts through every wall Wonwoo has left. He doesn’t answer, he doesn’t need to. He simply slips beneath the covers right next to him, the mattress dipping with his weight, as his arm finds its way around Wonwoo so easily, pulling him close and drawing him into the warmth of his body.

Wonwoo resists for half a heartbeat because if he lets himself lean into Mingyu, it feels like acknowledging the truth, but then the dam inside him breaks sooner than he expected. He folds against Mingyu’s chest, trembling, wracked with silent sobs that quickly spiral into ragged gasps. His tears spill hot and heavy, soaking through his shirt and staining the fabric in dark patches.

Mingyu only holds him tighter, as if he’s promising without words that he won’t ever let him go. “Shh…” he whispers into his hair, one arm wrapped firmly around his waist, the other lifting to cup the side of his face. His thumb brushes slowly across his cheek, drying the tears as quickly as they fall. “It’s okay. Let it out”

But that isn’t really okay. Wonwoo’s throat tightens until every breath feels like it might be his last. His fists clutch the blanket, his body curling into Mingyu’s like a wounded child, and he sobs until he can no longer tell whether the ache is in his chest or his soul. Mingyu just holds him, weathering each shudder, each broken sound, as if by staying close to him he can absorb even a fraction of Wonwoo’s pain. His hand never stops its gentle motion, wiping tears, smoothing stray strands of hair, grounding him in the only way he can.

In that dim suffocating quiet, Jeon Wonwoo — who never allowed himself to break in front of anyone — cries entirely, held together only by the arms around him. Eventually his sobs slow down after a while, minutes, probably hours, as his body keeps trembling against Mingyu’s firm chest. His face is buried in the column of his neck, damp and hot with tears, but Mingyu doesn’t move except to press gentle kisses into his hair, his temple, small touches that say more than words ever could.

For a long while it’s just silence, broken only by Wonwoo’s uneven breathing.

Then, hoarse and fragile, his voice surfaces. “…It’s my fault” he whispers, barely audible.

Mingyu shakes his head. “It’s not”

“If I had answered the phone…” his voice cracks and breaks apart, “If I had just answered one call, I could’ve been there. I could’ve… maybe—maybe I could’ve saved him”

Mingyu sighs deeply as if to share his pain but Wonwoo doesn’t stop. “I ignored the emergency” he admits, “I wanted—just one night. Just one night to be away from all of it and be… a normal person away from the weight of who I am supposed to be… and now…” his throat closes, a sob tearing out of him. “Now Myungsoo is gone because of me”

Mingyu cups his face gently, brushing his thumbs across his wet cheeks. “Don’t do that to yourself” he whispers, steady but tender. “You couldn’t do anything more than Jun and his team already did”

Wonwoo’s whole body shakes as his lips tremble against Mingyu’s palm. “That’s not true… because if I had stayed —” he chokes with his eyes glassy, “If I had stayed in the hospital —”

Mingyu freezes at that thought as the unspoken words hang in the air between them like a blade. He doesn’t need to hear the rest, he knows exactly what Wonwoo means with that. If he hadn’t gone out with him, if he hadn’t allowed himself that brief selfish sliver of happiness, Myungsoo might still be alive.

Mingyu closes his eyes, swallowing hard against the sharp twist in his chest. The jab isn’t meant for him but it cuts all the same. His arms tighten instinctively around Wonwoo even as his heart cracks open inside his ribcage. He doesn’t argue, doesn’t defend himself because this isn’t about him but it’s about Wonwoo’s grief and the unbearable storm of guilty tearing him apart.

He lets the implicit accusation land and sit heavy in the space between them, lets Wonwoo cry as if his tears might drown him entirely. Mingyu just holds him silently and Wonwoo presses his forehead to his chest with his fists curling desperately into his shirt.

“He trusted me” Wonwoo swallows, shaking his head. “It’s the same as before… my grandfather… I missed his last breath too. I wasn’t there, Mingyu, I never said him goodbye and I swore— I swore I’d never let it happen again but it does… I let Myungsoo down… when it could have been just another life I should’ve saved—”

Mingyu listens to him carefully, every broken sound, every violent shudder. He presses kiss after kiss into his hair, silent promises carried through touch alone because words can’t simply heal what Wonwoo is bleeding from inside. Mingyu doesn’t rush to fill the silence that presses heavy between them but he holds Wonwoo’s face gently and raises it so he can meet his eyes puffy from crying but still so beautiful.

“You can’t carry all of this on your own” he says after a while, “You can’t control who stays and who goes, no matter how much you want to. You’re a doctor, yes… you think people’s lives depend on you only but Myungsoo…” Mingyu pauses, his throat tightening as he chooses the words with care, “He cared for you deeply, Won. He trusted you with his life and none of that disappears just because he’s gone now. You gave him something to hold onto till his last breath, this isn’t the failure you think it is”

Wonwoo’s forehead drops against his chest and the sobs come heavy again, spilling out of him like a wound that doesn’t close. He shakes as if the weight of the grief might crush him alive and Mingyu simply holds him through it, grounding him with the warmth of his embrace, his lips brushing gentle kisses into his hairline.

Through tears, Wonwoo’s voice surfaces. “Then why… why does it feel like this ?” his fists twist into his shirt, knuckles bone-white, as if clinging to him is the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely. “Why do I feel like I can’t breathe without drowning ? Why does it hurt so much I can’t stand it ?”

Mingyu’s eyes close, pain flooding him at the rawness in Wonwoo’s voice. He presses another kiss to his temple, “Because you cared enough for it to break you. That’s the price of it, baby. It hurts because it mattered”

“I should’ve done more—” Wonwoo’s voice splinters again, muffled against Mingyu’s chest.

“No” Mingyu interrupts gently, his tone firm but tender. “You can’t live on should-have’s. You can’t undo what happened, no matter how much you punish yourself. Myungsoo’s gone… but that doesn’t erase what you were to him. You weren’t his doctor only, Wonwoo. You were his friend, his hope, don’t take that away from him by drowning it in guilt”

Wonwoo lets out a strangled sob, pulling himself impossibly closer, as if trying to disappear inside his arms. “I feel like I failed him anyway”

“Because you’re just human after all” Mingyu breathes, his cheek pressed to his head. “And humans grieve. We break, we feel. Even doctors. Especially doctors. But listen to me—” he pulls back just enough to cup Wonwoo’s tear-streaked face in his hands, brushing his thumbs tenderly across his cheeks. “You didn’t fail him. You loved him the best way you knew how and I’m sure he knew that”

Wonwoo stares at him through blurred vision, “…I’m so scared, Mingyu-yah”

“I know” Mingyu’s heart squeezes. He leans in, resting their foreheads together, “I know you don’t want to lose again, I know you’re afraid of hurting. But… you don’t have to be alone in it anymore. I’m here, if you let me”

Wonwoo clings to him, utterly desperate. “Don’t let me go. Please…” he whispers into his ear, “Don’t ever let me go”

Mingyu’s eyes burn, tears threatening but he holds them back. He tightens his arms around him, pressing a kiss into his temple. “I won’t. I promise” he whispers back with a voice cracked from the weight of his own heart.

And he means it. He means every word even thought it feels like it carves him open because beneath the promise lies the truth he can’t say out loud: Wonwoo’s grief has painted him as part of the blame. If I hadn’t taken him out… if I hadn’t distracted him… maybe he would’ve been there. Maybe Myungsoo would still be alive. The thought is poison but Mingyu swallows it down because this isn’t his pain to voice now. Wonwoo needs someone steady, someone who will not flinch under the weight of his despair. So Mingyu gives him that, even if his own chest feels like getting teared apart.

He rocks him gently, lulling him with soft touches and steady warmth until at last Wonwoo’s sobs slow and his breathing evens out. Exhaustion takes him over, his body finally surrenders, and even in his sleep Wonwoo clings to him as if some part of him knows that letting go means collapsing all over again. Mingyu doesn’t move rather he strokes his back in steady circles, his lips pressing featherlight kisses to his damp hair. On the outside, he looks calm like a quiet anchor, but inside, Mingyu lets his heart crying silent tears into the quiet of the night.

I’ll carry this with you.

Mingyu replays Wonwoo's words in his mind like shards of glass slowly piercing him. "If I had stayed..." the implication is clear, too sharp to ignore. If Mingyu hadn't taken him away that night on a petty personal whim, out of a desire to be with him and finally indulge in something beautiful, if they hadn't been together, perhaps things would have turned out differently.

Maybe it's true, Myungsoo would still be here.

The thought coils in his chest like a cruel truth, suffocating him. His stomach twists with guilt, with the fear that one day Wonwoo will stop burying his guilt in pain and unleash it all on him. That he will look at him and see no longer comfort, but the real reason Myungsoo died.

Mingyu shuts his eyes tight, forcing the thought down before it can break him even more. He tightens his arms around Wonwoo instead, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Don’t think about it. Not now. He needs you”

But the fear lingers insidious and Mingyu can almost imagine Wonwoo walking away, his voice hoarse and cold, uttering the words he fears most, "If it weren’t for you, he’d still be in this world”. The mere possibility torments him and Mingyu wonders if he’s selfish for staying here, for holding him like this when his presence might one day become a wound instead of a balm.

He looks at Wonwoo's sleeping face, the tears streaming down his cheeks, the exhaustion etched into every delicate line. His chest aches with a love so heavy it feels like a curse. “Even if that day comes, even if you hate me... I'll still be here. I can't walk away from you”

Mingyu presses his lips softly to Wonwoo’s temple, a promise only he hears. And Wonwoo stirs faintly in his embrace, shifting closer and burrowing into him with a small sound. Mingyu holds him tighter, his fear buried deep under the steady rhythm of his touch, the gentle lull of his breath against his ear. The night stretches long, filled with silence and unshed tears, and through it all, Mingyu remains alert, terrified of a future he can't control but clinging to the present where Wonwoo still needs him, still trusting him enough to collapse in his arms.

“If this is all I get… if one day he wakes and turns away… I’ll still take tonight. I’ll still take this moment where I can hold him and be his strength, even if it breaks me in the end”

The days that follow that exhausting night bleed into one another shapeless and drained of color as morning, afternoon, evening, they arrive and disappear without much distinction. Wonwoo didn’t want to step back from the hospital at first, didn’t want to surrender to the fragile illusion of control his work gives him. He argued with Jihoon about it, insisted he was totally fine, even pleaded with the medical director, but every protest was met with the same unshakable wall of care. Take a break, Wonwoo. Take care of yourself for once.

The words bruised more than they actually soothe. Still, when his strength finally ebbs, Wonwoo folded into reluctant silence and retreated home.

At first he told himself he would use the time wisely, maybe to rest properly, maybe study, maybe open the notes he abandoned weeks ago, anything to make the days feel less wasted. But the reality is far from that small hope. Hours drift past with him anchored to the same spot on the couch, body slumped, a cup of tea cooling between his palms. He doesn’t turn on the tv, doesn’t bother with music as even the clock ticking on the wall feels too loud. The room stays dim no matter the time of day, curtains half-drawn. He doesn’t move much, he doesn’t speak either.

Sometimes his gaze slips toward the shelves where his medical books line up in perfect rows. Once they filled him with pride — proof of his persistence, guidance in the darkest nights on call, tools that had shaped him into who he is — but now the sight of them twists his stomach. He can’t bear to touch them, his hands curl instead tighter around the cup as if the ceramic can be the only thing tethering him to the present. “What’s the use of all that knowledge if I still couldn’t save a life ?”

That thought burns his throat, he can’t silence it, but at least it gets distracted every now and then by his phone buzzing quietly on the coffee table like a faint reminder that the world outside still exists. When Wonwoo picks it up, the screen floods with messages after messages. Seungcheol, Joshua, Seokmin, Jeonghan. Each one is simple and kind, “Hope you’re resting well”. “Eat something good today”. “We’re here for you if you need us”.

Wonwoo wants to reply and reassure them he is doing okay but every word feels to heavy to type and eventually they would have been just a pack of lies. His thumbs hover, then fall still, he sets the phone back down as if even the glow of the screen is too much, but after a long stretch of silence, his hand moves again almost on instinct and he opens Mingyu’s chat. His chest tightens just seeing his name, Wonwoo types a hesitant “How are you ?” and stares at the blinking cursor until finally the reply comes.

Mingyu’s words are sweet, carefully so. He asks if Wonwoo has eaten, if he slept, tells him to be gentle with himself. But there’s a pause in them, a subtle gap between the lines. Not cold but not warm either. Something is held back, as if Mingyu is guarding a distance he doesn’t know how to close. Wonwoo feels it immediately, the gentleness that tastes faintly of hesitation, and yet he doesn’t press, doesn’t let his mind gnaw at the edges of that shadow. He has no strength to question why Mingyu sounds so different, no breath to untangle what it really means.

His own grief is too loud, his own guilt too raw.

So he just closes the chat before he can overthink, sets the phone down with more care this time, and leans back into the heavy hush of his apartment. The tea in his cup is lukewarm by now, metallic and bitter on his tongue. Wonwoo drinks it anyway, sip after small sip, because it gives his body something to do while his mind slips further into silence.

And so another afternoon passes.

And Wonwoo finds the courage to step back into the hospital only four days later.

The moment the glass doors of the Seoul National Hospital slide open, the sterile scent of latex and sanitized wash over him, familiar and suffocating all at once, sinking into his lungs like ice water. It should feel like coming home — the place he spends more time in than his own apartment — yet as he steps inside, a weight settles on his shoulders and Wonwoo feels heavier and heavier.

The walls feels narrower, carrying the echo of what he has lost. The light are harsher, the corridors unfold ahead of him in their usual palette of whites and grays, a sterile order that once steadied him. Everything feels wrong and incomplete, Myungsoo’s absence presses at him from every corner, so loud it becomes a presence of its own.

Wonwoo can still see him, in flashes. Myungsoo rolling through these very corridors in his wheelchair, offering a wry joke to a passing nurse. Myungsoo sitting quietly in the courtyard of the hospital, a book of poetry open on his lap, his thin voice carrying verses into the open air. Those images thread themselves into the sterile halls, superimposed over reality, and Wonwoo almost expects to see him just around the corner but each step only drives home the truth. He won’t.

Wonwoo walks carefully, as if every tile might crack under him. His posture is taut, his gaze glued to the floor. A few nurses pass by, smiling him softly but hesitant, and Wonwoo bows them in return with a shallow motion that barely qualifies. His voice won’t rise to answer them, he can’t meet their eyes, not when he feels them linger.

But their glances cut through him and Wonwoo already imagines what they are thinking. Pity, sympathy, perhaps even curiosity. Their silence is louder than words and Wonwoo can sense his chest tighter with knots at each look, raw pressure slowly climbing higher and higher into his throat. He feels as if being put on a stage, as if he has being watched and studied even though no one dares to say him a thing. The questions, though, hang there. How is he ? Is he alright ?

Wonwoo feels a wave of panic rushing through his veins and by the time he reaches the locker room, his lungs feel constricted, his pulse climbing faster than he can steady it. He shuts himself inside, presses his back to the cool metal lockers and closes his eyes. Deep breaths. One after another, drawn in and released like he’s trying to reset a body that has no intention to obey him.

He counts them, four breathes in, hold, four exhales out.

Again. Again. Until the tremor in his chest and hands lessen enough for him to move.

As he slowly regains clarity and control of his body, with the walls this time standing upright and no longer about to crumple on him, Wonwoo splashes his face and wrists with cold water and changes into his basic blue scrubs uniform, something so thin and impersonal against his skin. No white coat this time, no badges, no ‘Dr. Jeon Wonwoo’ sewn on the pockets. Not the sharp lines of authority he usually wears like an armor. He doesn’t want to be seen, doesn’t want that title, the expectations or the weight that comes it. Today Wonwoo only wants to move like a shadow, unnoticed, like a ghost among the living.

When he finally steps out and leaves behind the locker room, Wonwoo doesn’t turn instinctively toward the ward. Instead, his feet find their own path through the hallway ahead, past the glass-panelled offices where department heads pore over files and computers, until he stops outside one particular door. Its plain wood frame looks no different from the others but to him it carries weight, even forgiveness.

Wonwoo lifts his hand to knock. He hesitates for a fraction of a second as his chest is tight with all the words pressing inside him. Then, finally, his knuckles meet the surface and the sound is small, almost fragile, but to him it reverberates like a thunderclap inside the silence of his heart.

“Come in” a voice calls from within.

Wonwoo closes his eyes briefly, steadying his breath before pushing the office door open. The hinges give a soft creak as he steps inside, his movements tentative, almost as if he’s intruding a private space. The room smells faintly of coffee and old paper and on the other side of the desk, Wen Junhui looks up from his laptop. The glow of the screen reflects off his square glasses but the moment his gaze lands on Wonwoo, surprise flickers across his face.

He slides his glasses down his nose and sets them aside, “Wonwoo” he says genuinely caught off guards, “Hi. I didn’t expect to see you here today”

Wonwoo shifts awkwardly, his eyes drop to the polished floor unable to meet Jun’s steady gaze. “Yeah… I didn’t expect to come back either,” he admits, the words rough at the edges. A breath snags in his throat before he adds, more hesitantly, “Are you busy ? I—if you have a moment, I’d… like to talk”

“Of course not. You’re not bothering me” Jun closes his laptop with a quiet snap and leans back in his chair, the gesture open and inviting. “Come, have a sit” he gestures toward the chair across from him.

Wonwoo obeys, moving as if every step requires a huge effort. He sinks into the chair stiffly, his shoulders tense and hands knotted tight in his lap. For a while, silence presses down on both of them, interrupted only by the faint ticking of the clock on the wall and the soft rush of air from the vent overhead.

Wonwoo’s breathing is shallow, uneven, as if he’s bracing himself but Jun doesn’t push. Instead, he watches him carefully, letting the silence hold until Wonwoo draws in a shaky breath forcing himself to break it.

“Do you want something ? Coffee, tea ?” Jun asks gently, offering him an out if he needs it.

Wonwoo shakes his head quickly. “No… I’m fine. Thank you”

Jun nods once, folding his hands loosely on the desk. His gaze stays steady but his voice softens this time. “How are you ?”

Wonwoo opens his mouth, then closes it again. He presses his lips together, struggling with the answer and finally exhales a sound that is almost a laugh but too brittle to be one. “I—I don’t know” he admits at last, “To be honest”

Jun studies him quietly for a moment after those words slip out. Wonwoo looks nothing like the doctor he knows but rather fragile, as if he’s holding himself together with thread that might snap at any moment. His eyes trace the faint shadows beneath Wonwoo’s eyes, the slight hollowness in his cheeks, the pallor of his skin. The way his fingers worry at each other, restless and tight, betraying more than words could. Even his breathing carries the weight of exhaustion like any deeper inhale might shatter him.

“You don’t look fine” he says and his words aren’t an accusation, only a statement of truth. “And you don’t have to tell me what you think I want to hear. You don’t owe me that”

“I think I should, instead” Wonwoo debates, “I… wanted to apologize. For the other day, for the way I reacted to… the news and for how I yelled at you. It wasn’t fair. You were only trying to help me and I—“ his throat tightens. “I lashed out. I crossed a line. And I’m sorry”

Jun studies him quietly, his expression softening with each word. “You don’t need to apologize” he says kindly. “You were grieving, Wonwoo, you still are. And I swear no one in that room blamed you for the way you reacted. Not me, not the nurses, not anyone”

But Wonwoo shakes his head stubbornly, the shame etched deep in his features. “That doesn’t excuse my behavior” he insists. “I lost control. I let everyone see me… see a side of me I shouldn’t have. You didn’t deserve that. You were only doing your job, and I—” his voice falters as he swallows hard with his eyes starting burning again. “This happens all the time in our job and… I should’ve been better. I should’ve been stronger”

Jun leans forward, folding his arms on the desk. “Wonwoo, listen” he licks his lips, "You’re not a machine and you’re not built to be strong every second of every day. You’re a fantastic surgeon, everyone out there wants to be like you, but you’re also a human being” he pauses. “Mr. Han had become such an amazing presence in this ward but his situation was also very complicated and of course you were going to break when he was gone for the type of bond you had established. Anyone would. And the way you reacted ? That wasn’t weakness”

Wonwoo’s jaw tightens, he stares at his hands trembling faintly in his lap. “I just keep thinking… if I hadn’t ignored your call, if I hadn’t—if I hadn’t chosen to be selfish for once, maybe—” his voice cracks. “Maybe he would still be here”

“Wonwoo, don’t do this to yourself”

“But it’s true” he whispers, “If I had stayed, if I had answered, maybe…”

“Maybe, maybe, maybe” Jun firmly cuts in, “That word will eat you alive if you let it. You can spend the rest of your life replaying every choice, every second, wondering how you could’ve done it differently but that doesn’t change reality. You didn’t fail Myungsoo, you gave him more than most doctors could, your time, your attention, your presence. He trusted you, Wonwoo. And he trusted you because you treated him like a person in the first place and not just a patient”

Wonwoo finally looks up, his eyes rimmed red. “But he died anyway”

“He did” Jun nods, “But you know better than me that death isn’t the same thing as failure” he lets the words sit for a moment before continuing. “You’re carrying a weight that doesn’t belong to you. We tend to think so because we wear a white coat but actually we should be able to outrun mortality itself. You can’t, none of us can, and that doesn’t make you a bad doctor”

“It just feels like I should’ve done more” he swallows hard, his throat aching.

“You did everything you could to help him. We all did” Jun replies, “Sometimes the most we can do is walk with someone to the very edge and you did that. You walked with him until he couldn’t go any further. That matters, Wonwoo, more than you think”

Silence hangs for a moment. Wonwoo’s breath shudders in his chest, the tension in his shoulders refusing to release. Jun leans back slightly, studying him with a gentleness only a longtime friend can give.

“Apologize if you need to, if it helps you breathe easier, but know that I never held your anger against you. I understood it for what it was and I’ll tell you again: you don’t have to go through this alone. You’ve got people around you who care and this is just part of our job, let us carry some of it with you”

Wonwoo’s eyes sting but he blinks the tears back. “I don’t know how to let anyone carry it. It feels like if I put it down, I’m betraying him. Like I’m saying his life didn’t matter as much as it did”

“Remembering him doesn’t mean destroying yourself. Honoring him doesn’t mean drowning in guilt. Myungsoo wouldn’t want that. He would want you to keep being the doctor he believed in. You can carry him forward without letting the weight crush you”

Wonwoo bows his head, the words pressing hard against his chest, breaking something loose inside him. “I just… don’t know if I can.”

“You can” Jun says simply, with quiet conviction. “Not alone, maybe. But with help… you can”

Wonwoo nods faintly, though his hands remain tight in his lap. The silence that follows between them is almost tender, stretched thin like a fragile thread but merciful against the jagged edges of Wonwoo’s chest. Jun’s words still echo inside him but it’s the faint scrape of wood and the muted rustle of paper that pulls Wonwoo back from the fog of his mind. His gaze shifts just in time to see Jun sliding open the desk drawer from where he retrieves a cream-colored envelope, the kind that seems to carry weight far beyond its paper. Its edges are faintly worn, softened by time or perhaps by careful fingers that lingered on it before.

Jun doesn’t hand it over immediately, he studies it for a second then, with quiet reverence, he holds it in both hands before laying it gently on the desk and nudging it across.

“There was this letter for you among his personal things. I thought he would want you to keep it”

Wonwoo’s breath falters as it catches halfway up his throat in a knot and refuses to leave. His eyes fall to the envelope, stark against the polished wood of Jun’s desk. For a moment, he doesn’t move at all, but eventually his hands lift, hesitating in midair before lowering and trembling. His fingers brush the edge first, barely skimming the paper, as if testing whether it will burn him. The envelope is ordinary in every physical sense and yet his body trembles as if he’s holding fire.

When he finally takes it, he does so with both hands, cradling it as carefully as one might cradle glass. His thumbs trace the surface in halting strokes until they land on the black ink.

“For Dr. Jeon”

Wonwoo’s thumb lingers over the elegant calligraphy and his mind allows the groove of a memory. Myungsoo hunched over a notebook, his fragile fingers steady even when his breath wasn’t, the soft smile tugging at his lips whenever he shared and read aloud his poems. The sight unravels something inside Wonwoo and he weight of the envelope feels impossibly contradictory, light as if it holds only air, heavy as if it carries all of the man’s absence.

His throat tightens, eyes burning but Wonwoo doesn’t cry. Not yet. He only bows his head, “Thank you” he murmurs to Jun in a broken whisper.

No more words pass and Jun doesn’t push further, doesn’t try to fill the silence with comfort or platitudes. He only watches Wonwoo respectful in his grief as he gathers the letter against his chest, clutching it as if it might dissolve into smoke if he loosened his hold. There’s something almost childlike in the way he presses it close, so fragile and protective, as if Myungsoo’s presence lingers in the paper itself.

Wonwoo rises slowly from his seat, his movements stiff, mechanical, and he bows his head once toward Jun in a quiet farewell in place of words, slipping out of the office just shortly after. The corridor welcomes him with its pale light as his footsteps echo on the floor, each one syncing with the uneven thrum of his heartbeat. The familiar walls feel longer, stretching around him, hollow in their stillness. Wonwoo keeps his eyes low, the letter clutched close, until he reaches the muted blue of his personal office door.

The lock clicks into place with a firm click, sealing him inside. And suddenly, the room seems transformed, smaller, shrunken, airless. The shutters filter the daylight in thin gray bands and the silence here is heavier, almost oppressive. Wonwoo doesn't turn on the light, he doesn't need it as his body collapses onto the small leather couch.

The envelope rests on his lap, a pale slash against the dark background of his blue scrubs. He doesn't open it yet but instead, he stares at it as if it has the power to destroy him completely. His fingers glide along the edges in slow, repetitive caresses, returning again and again to the inked calligraphy that bore his name. Each stroke beneath his skin is like a heartbeat, Myungsoo's presence imprinted in the ink.

Time blurs. The world narrows to the silent rhythm of his breathing and the gentle yielding of the paper beneath his hands. The pain rises in him like a dark, rising tide, but Wonwoo doesn't move. He clings to it, pinned to the couch, a motionless figure in a room that suddenly seems too silent, too full of memories. Wonwoo wants to hold onto it a little bit more — to the envelope, to the moment, to the trembling edges of himself — as if letting it go would mean losing that person all over again.

But eventually the silence breaks and Wonwoo's hands, which have lingered incessantly over the sealed envelope, begin to move decisively. His chest heaves in a deep breath as if needing to inhale enough air to calm the tremors in his bones, his thumb slides under the flap, gently tearing gently the seam. The paper starts tearing little by little, its sound reverberate into the room louder than it should, Wonwoo unfolds the letter carefully smoothing the creases against his knees with his palms.

The writing in black ink spreads across the page in clean decisive strokes. Myungsoo's handwriting is graceful and even the shape of the words seems to carry with it the spirit of that old wise man.

So patient and steadfast but also so seemingly unshakeable.

Wonwoo breathes once more, then lowers his gaze and begins to read its content.

“If this letter has reached you, Dr. Jeon, it means I am no longer among you alive.

Do not let the weight of these words bend your shoulders further more. They are not meant as a burden but as a parting bow, the kind an old man gives when the curtain finally closes.

First, my thanks. You cared for me with a gentleness I had long stopped expecting from this world. You saw more than an old failing body in me. You listened to my poems when others might have smiled politely and left the room. You gave me time, dignity, and in doing so, you reminded me that even in frailty, life can still hold meaning. For that, I leave you my deepest gratitude.

I was never afraid to die, not truly. Death has been my quiet companion for many years by now, walking just a few paces behind me, so patient and unhurried. But I was able to look forward with a steadier heart because I trusted you. You gave me the peace of knowing I was not alone in those final days, that someone kind and capable stood at my side.

Do not think of my absence as a failure of your hands. Life, by its very nature, moves toward its end. “Do not go gentle into that good night” Dylan Thomas wrote once but I confess, I do not rage. I slip quietly, content that I have lived as I could, and grateful to have met you at the end.

You, Dr. Jeon — or I must call you by your name, Wonwoo — you are young and the years ahead you are so vast. I see how much you give to your patients, how tirelessly you work but I fear you forget yourself in the process. Do not bury your heart beneath duty and guilt. The dead do not ask for your suffering. I certainly do not. Carry me in memory, carry me lightly like a folded letter in your coat pocket and not like a stone in your chest.

Life is precious because it ends. The flower is beautiful because it withers, the poem moving because it concludes. To live fully is to accept impermanence. To love — in whatever form it comes to you — is to risk pain but also to taste the richest sweetness this brief life has to offer. Please, do not let fear keep you from it.

And since I am free now to speak with no restraint, I must tell you that love is not a luxury, Wonwoo. It is the marrow of life. Cherish it wherever it finds you. Live your love freely, without shame, without the chains of doubt or fear of consequence. Questions and struggles will come, they are part of the circle of life, but not the real enemy. They will shape you, teach you, and in the end they will reveal life in a different but more beautiful and fruitful light. Love bravely, even if it breaks you for a time, because it will also remake you.

Rilke once said, “Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror. Just keep going. No feeling is final”. Take those words with you, for they have been a compass to me. And when sorrow presses against your ribs, let it pass through, and remember that joy will return sooner or later.

If you think of me, do not think of these hospital walls. Think of me in the courtyard with the sunlight on my face, a book in my hand, the wind turning its pages for me. Think of me as a man who was not afraid at the end because he had been seen and cared for.

Live, Wonwoo.

Live beyond your work, beyond your goals and expectations. Do not make a home in sorrow, for loss is not a place to dwell but a passing storm. Grief is just love with nowhere to go but do not wallow in it, do not chain yourself to it. Instead, step back into the light of living. Laugh when laughter comes. Seek joy without guilt. Let your days be filled not only with duty, but with wonder.

Live life in the fullness of love, in whatever shape it finds you. It may come softly or it may arrive like a tidal wave. Do not be afraid of either but welcome it. Nurture it. Let it transform you. That will be the greatest honor you can give me, knowing that my memory did not darken your days but perhaps made you braver in seeking the beauty of your own.

With gratitude and peace,

Myungsoo”

Tears blur his vision before Wonwoo even realizes he’s crying.

The sentences on the page swim, yet he keeps reading, devouring each line as if afraid he might missing a point or it might vanish if he looks away. His throat tightens in a sob trapped there, until he presses the letter to his chest and lets the silence break. The sound that escapes him is fragile and muffled, yet it shakes his whole body. Wonwoo sobs quietly in his office, shoulders curling inward as if holding the letter close might tether him to the warmth of the man who wrote it.

The words feel like both a wound and a balm cutting into the softest part of him but also soothing all the same. It’s as if Myungsoo has reached across death itself to place a steadying hand on his head, to remind him to keep living, keep loving, and never stop doing that because that was actually the real driving force of life.

When the tears finally subside, Wonwoo sniffles and raises his head. His office is shrouded in gold, the afternoon pours its amber lights onto the glass painting the city with soft strokes of shadow. Beyond the window, Seoul breathes as the vast rhythm of the world has not been interrupted by his grief. Yet, in that incessant movement of the city in motion, Wonwoo feels something stirring, like a silent insistence that life will go on and that he must follow it too.

He clutches the letter to his heart again, his whisper of a tender "Thank you" almost lost in the silence of the room. The words are fragile and they float toward the sky, Myungsoo, toward his grandfather, carried in the silence like a prayer.

A silence falls over him but warmth fills his chest. Wonwoo knows the pain will remain — pain never goes away, it only merely reshapes him — but within it, a thread of light also shines that it’s not freedom but perhaps its faintest beginning.

Wonwoo slowly rises from the couch, cradling the letter like a lantern in the darkness. For the first time in days, he allows himself to believe he doesn't have to drown with the dead. That to honor the faith of his lost loved ones, he must continue walking through pain, through love, through the terrifying and beautiful expanse that is life.

And when the last light fades beyond the window, Wonwoo closes his eyes and breathes in letting those teachings settle inside him like roots.

He can't keep running from pain, he mustn't run from love.

Living fully is the only answer to breathe deeply even when the air feels sharp, to walk forward even when the ground trembles. To open his heart, not despite its fragility, but because of it.

Loving — no matter how uncertain, no matter how fleeting — is the only way forward. It’s the risk worth taking, the wound worth bearing, the flame worth burning for. In the end, it’s not what endures forever that matters but what is lived truly in the fleeting moment.

With Myungsoo’s words pressed into his chest like a vow, Wonwoo understands that life doesn’t ask for his perfection, only for his presence.

And love, in all its terrifying brilliance, will be the only answer he chooses to follow.

Chapter Text

“Under the moonlight, you and I, unable to stop our dancing steps.
Casting off all the torn and scarred old skin,
I'm shakin' my wings toward you, all night”

The morning is clear and cool along the Han River, like the city itself has paused to draw a long breath before the day begins. Sunlight slips through the branches that arch over the avenue, scattering across the water in restless fragments of gold, each one dancing briefly before vanishing into the current. The lawn, still jeweled with dew, glimmers under the light, and when the breeze shifts, it carries with it the mingled scents of damp soil and the faint but enticing aroma of coffee of someone passing by with a paper cup in hand.

Wonwoo stands there in the grass in the midst of it all, inhaling deeply the fresh air as it fills his lungs to the very depths.

He is stripped of all the trappings that usually define him — no pristine white coat, no well-ironed shirt, no tie — but instead, he wears a gray t-shirt that fits a little too snugly across his chest, black track pants hanging loose around his ankles, and white sneakers whose scuffed surfaces speak of years of faithful service. A headband keeps his hair from falling untidily over his face, and like this, out under the open sky, he looks oddly younger, as if some invisible burden has been lifted, even though only for a few hours.

Beside him, his mother is already perfectly balanced on her blue mat. She's wearing soft cream-colored yoga pants and a matching long-sleeved shirt, lightweight yet comfortable for the cool morning air. Non-slip socks with small rubber dots under the soles wrap around her feet, and her usual white cotton shawl is neatly folded over the bag on the ground. Her hair is pulled back in a high bun, catching the sunlight and revealing the glimmer of silver strands delicately intertwined with her black ones.

“Raise your arms wide, my son, stretch your back then lean forward” she instructs him in a calm voice, already in the mountain pose. Her hands are pointing skywards, her breathing slow and rhythmic as she seems taking integral part of the landscape itself.

Wonwoo mirrors her movements but his shoulders lift too rigidly, his pelvis stubbornly out of alignment. He inhales forcefully, as if preparing himself for a scalpel’s incision, then holds it in his chest until his ribs protest, exhaling then with the same kind of discipline as he tries to slowly bend down.

Haewon Jeon glances sideways at him, her lips tugging into an amused smile. “You know” she murmurs casually, “In my Thursday yoga class, there are women in their seventies who can touch their knees to their foreheads without even trembling. You, on the other hand…” she shakes her head slowly, her eyes gleaming with laughter. “You look like a ruler trying to become a bow”

“Thanks, Mom” Wonwoo mutters, his voice muffled as he fights to touch his ankles but stops mid-calf.

“Come on, my dear, don’t sulk” she chuckles again, patting him on the shoulder. “I brag to everyone that my son is a brilliant surgeon, that he saves lives everyday, I simply don’t mention that he can’t even bend forward without groaning like an oldie”

Wonwoo tilts his head, giving her a sidelong glare though the corner of his mouth betrays him with the hint of a smile. “I’ve spent years mastering the art of keeping my hand still. Doesn’t that count for some flexibility ?”

“That’s concentration” she corrects, slipping into a forward bend so gracefully it seems her body was built for it. Her fingers brush her ankles as naturally as though she were reaching for a glass of water. “Flexibility is something else entirely. And anyway” she adds, “You don’t need a surgeon’s license to learn how to listen to your body and properly meditate”

Wonwoo tries again, this time forcing himself further, even though he only reaches his knees before his back seizes in protest and his thighs harden like stone. “If I bend of one more centimeter, I’ll have to admit myself among my own patients”

His mom laughs, full and warm, a sound that carries him backward through time, to a younger version of himself who always found comfort in that very same sound. She places a gentle hand on his back, guiding him down with care. “Breathe, Wonwoo. Don’t try to control your muscles like you control your instruments. Let them move as they want”

They hold that pose in silence for a few minutes as the only sound they listen to is their breathing mingling with the rustle of the river’s current.

When they shift together into warrior pose, Haewon plants her feet on the mat with quiet strength, her arms extended and eyes fixed steadily over her fingertips. There is elegance in her posture while Wonwoo struggles against the damp grass, his foot slipping slightly before he steadies it, brow furrowed in the same concentration he carries into his job.

“You’re too serious” she chides gently, raising her chin with playful grandeur. “If you came with me to yoga more often, you would also learn to smile while holding this pose”

“You really think so ?” he asks, balancing his weight carefully, the skepticism plain in his voice.

“Of course” she replies without breaking form, her body still a perfect line of focus. “You might even discover your inner chakras”

Wonwoo huffs out a laugh. “If I started talking about chakras in the hospital, I’d get myself fired”

“Oh, nonsense. Everyone has chakras, you just ignore yours” Haewon says breezily, slyly glancing at him. “What about pilates class, instead ? Twice a week, a lovely instructor and very patient. She would whip that stiff spine of yours into shape in no time”

Wonwoo nearly loses his balance, his arms faltering as he stifles a scoff. “I already spend twelve hours a day hunched over in surgery. The last thing I need is another person telling me to tuck my pelvis and engage my core”

“But that’s exactly why you do need it” she grins mischievously, “Besides, think how impressed your colleagues would be if you started standing even taller”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “I’ll pass, but thank you”

Haewon’s laugh rings out and she nudges his elbow lightly as they transition into the next movement. “Stubborn as always”

They pass through a gentle sequence of movements, their bodies folding and opening like pages of a familiar book. From the mountain pose, they sweep into a forward fold then rise again, arms stretched high, before sinking gracefully into a lunge. His mother’s body seems to know the way without effort, her breathing guiding the movements like a quiet metronome. Wonwoo, on the other hand, moves with the calculated precision of someone checking every step against a mental chart — shoulders squared, legs stiff, exhalations released — as if he were marking surgical notes in his mind.

By the time they reach the downward dog pose, Wonwoo presses his palms against the grass, his feet are planted behind him and hips raised uncertainly. His back forms something closer to a bent plank than the inverted “V” it should be. His arms tremble slightly under his weight and his head dangles stiffly instead of releasing between his shoulders.

“Oh dear” his mom says, peering beneath her arm to look at him from her own perfect angle. Her body is a picture of ease, indeed, her heels are pushing toward the ground while her hips rising toward the sky. “My poor boy, you look like a folding chair that’s about to give way”

Wonwoo exhales with a groan, his voice muffled against the mat. “I swear my back will snap in two any moment. You’ll have to carry me home, Mom”

She laughs so loudly that a passing jogger glances over. “Don’t be dramatic, son. You’re supposed to relax, not like you’re on the verge of orthopedic surgery”

“I’m not dramatic” he insists, “This is just… advanced self-torture disguised as relaxation”

Still chuckling she pads closer, her socks making no sound on the grass, and places her hands gently on his waist, nudging it higher. “Lift here, not there. You’re dumping all your weight into your shoulders!”

“Dumping ?” Wonwoo repeats, “You’re talking like I’m a sack of rice”

“You move like one!” she counters, laughing again as she adjusts his stance. “Now stretch your legs properly. Yes, yes—like that. See ? You’re not breaking!”

Reluctantly Wonwoo lets his head fall between his arms as the strain softens slightly. He peeks sideways at his mom from his upside-down angle and the sight of her, so serene and smiling, strikes him with sudden warmth. A laugh escapes him, unexpected and free.

“What’s so funny ?” she asks, steady in her pose.

“You” Wonwoo replies, his voice lighter now. “You’re enjoying this too much”

“Of course I am” Haewon replies, her eyes twinkling. “When else do I get to boss around a famous surgeon like you ?”

Wonwoo shakes his head but this time he laughs heartily. When the sequence of poses ends, they lower themselves onto their mats settling cross-legged. Silence descends between them, not awkward at all but full of something unspoken. Their palms rest open on their knees, their eyes soften as they take in the river’s steady flow. A gust of wind passes through swaying the tall grass in a ripple, carrying with it the delicate sweetness of wildflowers. For a moment, time itself seems to pause, leaving only mother and son connected by breathing and laughter on a simple mid-autumn morning.

Haewon takes a sip of water from her bottle, then she turns her gaze to her son beside her studying the sharp lines of his profile against the backdrop of the river. The morning light paints his face in shifting shades of gold, but his expression is weighed down as if he is carrying something heavier.

“You have that face” she murmurs, carrying with her both fondness and knowing.

Wonwoo scoffs quietly, “What face ?”

“The same one you had as a kid” she replies with a smile, tilting her head slightly. “When you came home trying to hide a test paper with a red mark. Or the time you broke the little cardboard model of a heart you and your dad built together and you swore you could fix it if you just glued it fast enough”

Wonwoo’s lips twitch but he stays silent. His gaze drifts toward the current of the river as if searching for words there. A long breath escapes him, not quite a sigh but heavy all the same.

“It has been… a tough time lately” finally, he speaks. “I lost a patient few days ago”

Haewon doesn’t press him. She simply sets her bottle aside, folding her hands loosely on her knees, and gives him space.

“He had cancer complicated by heart problems” Wonwoo continues, swallowing each words like something fragile on his tongue. “He was so… brilliant and so full of knowledge. He reminded me so much of Grandpa and I… I got attached to him. I did everything to make him feel better, every test, every adjustment, every procedure. But in the end —” he pauses, lowering his gaze to the damp grass, “— he passed. And I simply don’t know if I did enough. For him, or even for myself”

Haewon lets the silence stretch, not out of indifference but because she knows her son. He has always needed space for his words to land, for his own heart to catch up with what he is admitting. When she finally moves, it’s to place her hand gently on his forearm.

“My son” she says softly, her thumb brushing against his sleeve, “You are not a god. You can’t save everyone. Sometimes your role isn’t to drag someone back from the edge but to walk with them as far as they can go so they’re not alone when they cross over”

His throat tightens but he nods. “I know” he whispers. “I keep telling myself that. And this patient too… he left me a letter before he passed. I’ve read it so many times and it still —” he stops, voice cracking just slightly, “— it still makes me question everything I thought I understood. And I feel like I’ve been reevaluating… quite everything in my life lately”

Haewon studies him with patient tenderness. “Knowing you, none of what you’re reevaluating has to do with your actual job”

Wonwoo’s lips twitch again, he exhales a little laugh through his nose. “Yeah, you’re right…” he admits. “There’s… someone in my life”

Her brow arches ever so slightly, “Your boyfriend ?”

A flush rises immediately to his cheeks and Wonwoo looks away, flustered. “I—I don’t know. Things are… a little weird between us right now”

“Well, you know, if it were perfect all the time it wouldn’t be that real”

Wonwoo laughs under his breath, “You always make it sound so simple”

“That’s because it is” she says, nudging his arm with playful insistence. Haewon doesn’t remove her hand from his arm but she lingers there, watching the slight flush still on his cheeks. “So… are you going to tell me about this boy who’s making my son blush like a teenager ?”

Wonwoo groans softly and rubs the back of his neck, his ears turning even redder. “Mom…”

“Yes, yes, I know” she interrupts with a little grin. “You’re shy and you don’t like oversharing your private but come on, I’m your mother. I already know half of it just from the way you’re looking down at the grass” she leans closer, stage-whispering, “What’s his name ?”

There’s a long pause, Wonwoo’s lips pressed tightly together then they twitch a little. “…Mingyu”

“That’s a nice name” Haewon nods, “Handsome-sounding. How is he ? Does he work with you ?”

“Yeah… he is a surgeon too” Wonwoo hesitates just slightly, “He’s… well, we’ve had some really good times together. He’s funny, kind, good with children. He… makes people feel at ease wherever he goes” a faint smile flickers across his lips, unbidden. “But lately… things have been a little at a standstill, work has been pulling me in too many directions and… I keep thinking I’m gonna ruin everything”

Haewon tilts her head. “Are you being too hard on yourself again ?”

Wonwoo hesitates, searching for the right words. “It’s just… Mingyu is so full of life and interests. Always moving, laughing. And I…” he gestures vaguely at himself, as if his very being explained everything. “I don’t know if I can keep up with that energy. Plus we haven’t had much time to spend together and… I don’t know, maybe we’re too different. Maybe we’re not a good fit”

“Nonsense, son, seize the moment! And if it doesn’t come, create it yourself!” Haewon protests, leaning back slightly as her eyes sparkle with mischief. “Do you know how I won your father’s heart ? He was shy as a stone wall, he would have stared at me for another five years before daring to say me a word. So one day, I simply walked up to him, shoved a sandwich into his hands and said, ‘Eat, you’ll need your strength if you’re going to marry me one day’”

Wonwoo bursts out laughing, almost choking on his breath. “You didn’t!”

“Sure like hell I did!” she declares, her eyes shining with the same mischievous spark she must have had when she was young. “And he did eat that sandwich, right there, completely bewildered. The poor man never recovered from my ambush but that’s how I knew he was mine”

“Unbelievable” Wonwoo shakes his head, still laughing. “I wish I had inherited even half of your frankness… or your resourcefulness”

Her smile softens into something tender. She brushes a stray lock of hair from his forehead, an old mother’s gesture she hasn’t abandoned even though her son is grown. “Instead you inherited your father’s shyness but you don’t have to be ashamed of it. That’s why you’re thoughtful, why you listen so deeply. This boy, Mingyu, he may run ahead of you sometimes, faster than you think you can follow but maybe that’s exactly why he needs someone like you to slow down himself a little”

Her words sink into him slowly like sunlight breaking through after a long stretch of cloud. Wonwoo lowers his eyes, his lips curving into a small smile. “Maybe” he whispers.

For a moment, they sit in the hush of the riverside listening to the faint murmur of water and the rustle of the grass. Then Haewon’s gaze sharpens ever so slightly, her mouth twitching into a sly smile. “So…” she begins cautiously, drawing out the word with theatrical suspense. “Are you bringing him home for Christmas ?”

“Mom!” Wonwoo sputters, half scandalized, half laughing, his face flushing again. “Come on!”

“What ?” she asks innocently, widening her eyes in feigned surprise. “I need to know how many extra plates to set at the table!”

Groaning, Wonwoo buries his face in his hands as his ears burn hot with embarrassment. The sound that escapes him is half protest, half laughter, muffled against his palms and it only make his mom laugh even harder, a warm melodic sound impossible not to catch. And as always, it works on him. No matter how heavy his mood, no matter how stubbornly he clings to silence, her laughter chips away at the weight until it feels lighter and more bearable.

Wonwoo peeks at her through his fingers and finds her still laughing, eyes crinkled, shoulders shaking just slightly with her own amusement. The sight tugs at him and against his will, a grin cracks across his face. He shakes his head, marveling at how she never seems to run out of energy, how she has this boundless way of turning even his most guarded moments into something bright.

Around her Wonwoo doesn’t have to be the serious surgeon, the professional man who carries lives in his hands. He can just be her son, a simple guy who still needs her cuddles.

In that instant, the day shifts. The sky seems a little clearer, the sunlight a little warmer and the weight that pressed on him when he woke up no longer suffocates him but it’s rather thinned out by his mom’s teasing. For a fleeting moment, everything feels easier like breathing after holding his lungs too tight for too long.

The morning by the river draws to a close with the quiet inevitability of time. Wonwoo checks his watch, his lips pressing together as the reality of his shift settles in. He gathers his mat, folds it carefully and slings his bag over his shoulder. His mother stands and embraces him, her arms warm and unhurried like the world can wait while she holds her son for a little bit longer.

They don’t need many words as the promise to call soon hangs between them naturally. And pulling away from her with one last smile, Wonwoo climbs into his car. The engine hums to life and as he drives away, the river and his mother’s small figure in the distance shrink into the rearview mirror until they are both swallowed by the city’s bustle.

At the hospital the bright white lights sadly replace the natural sunlight and even the air around doesn’t smell anymore of fresh grass and river breeze but rather sterile and aseptic. Wonwoo walks towards the locker room, throwing polite 'good mornings' here and there to his colleagues already on shift, and once inside he sheds the softness of the morning along with his casual yoga clothes.

The fabric of his scrubs feels cooler and it's more rigid against his skin as he buttons the first two buttons of his white coat. For a moment Wonwoo lingers there in front of the mirror, staring at his own reflection. His face is composed but his eyes betray shadowed the weight beneath. He exhales deeply before reaching for his stethoscope. The familiar loop settles around his neck and grounds him, pulling him back into the role he knows just so well.

Stepping into the ward, Wonwoo moves with quiet determination as his mind already align itself with the rhythm of patients, charts and procedures he has to take care of. After consulting the list of the follow-ups on his iPad, he makes a mental scheme about his own tempo before getting into surgery but he suddenly gets distracted as, just few steps ahead of him, a subtle movement catches his eye.

Even from a distance he is unmistakable. Tall, broad shoulders, stride easy and confident. Mingyu walks along the corridors next to Areum, sipping what it seems like coffee in a steaming paper cup. They’re talking informal, maybe telling each other something funny from the way Areum laughs. Mingyu glances at her as he speaks, his expression lit with the casual charm that seems to follow him everywhere. The cold hospital lighting strikes his profile sharpening the line of his jaw, catching the glint of his smile and something suddenly twists in Wonwoo's stomach.

The sight is ordinary for him — just two colleagues sharing a moment in the hallway before getting into work — but it lands in his chest like a blow. Mingyu looks so at ease, so relaxed, his presence filling the sterile environment in a way that Wonwoo himself never manages. Watching him, an ache spreads low and insistent beneath his ribs and his hand moves almost unconsciously into his pocket, pulling out his phone as if it could close the gap he feels widening.

The screen flickers to life lightening but it's empty from any notifications. There's no new messages, no missed calls, nothing at all from him. The hollowness hits quietly like a wave rolling in without warning, and Wonwoo tells himself it’s foolish to expect anything. They’ve both been busy lately, work is relentless, and yet the silence of his inbox feels heavier than it should, as if absence itself has a weight he didn't calculate so well.

Wonwoo stands there for a bit too long, staring at the blank muted screen before locking it and sliding the phone back into his pocket. He inhales deeply, forcing his shoulders to square, drawing the mask of composure back over himself as the lives in that ward depend on his steadiness. That, at least, was something he can face and control but beneath it all, the image of Mingyu’s unbothered smile lingers stubborn as a heartbeat he really doesn't know how to silence.

The rhythm of the day carries Wonwoo forward as he moves from patient to patient, chart to chart, letting each case demanding his full attention yet leaving just a tiny space for his mind to still wander when the door closes shut behind him or when he writes notes in a file. Mingyu’s face keeps flashing through his thoughts and Wonwoo tries to shake them off but even as he buries himself in the work, the ache beneath his ribs lingers stubborn and unresolved. No matter how tightly he focuses, he can’t quite scrub Mingyu from the edges of his mind.

After finishing a cardiology consultation requested by nephrology, Wonwoo presses his stethoscope flat against his chest for a moment before sliding it back into his pocket. He steps into the corridor, exhaling slowly, his shoulders slumping as he rubs the back of his neck. And just as he steadies himself to move on, his pager buzzes sharply at his waist.

The small screen lights up with urgency with a terse command from Jihoon: “Conference room. All attending physicians”

Wonwoo lets out a fain huff, tilting his head back against the wall for the briefest second as if silently asking for patience from above. His jaw tightens, his eyes close, but then he pushes off and musters the composure he knows he needs before walking toward the indicated place and preparing himself for whatever crisis demands their attention.

The conference room is already filling when he arrives. Doctors sit scattered around the oblong table, coats draped neatly or askew on the chair backs, Wonwoo recognizes familiar faces from his ward but also others from pediatrics, emergency and general surgery. The low murmur of conversation hums through the space, a mixture of theories, tired jokes and speculation about that sudden meeting.

Wonwoo slips quietly into the first available chair, folding his hands neatly on the table as if order alone might calm the restless beat of his pulse. Around him, voices murmur in low exchanges, the scrape of chairs filling the pauses. The main door opens again shortly after and it’s almost immediate the way Wonwoo’s gaze finds him in the crowd like a thread pulled taut. Mingyu is talking to a colleague as he comes in, his tone light and easy, his hand brushing against the strap of the coffee cup holder dangling from his wrist. The moment his eyes sweep across the room and land on Wonwoo, something shifts in him as his steps falter, just briefly, before he recovers.

He offers him a small smile and raises his hand just enough to count as a greeting. Not a wave but rather a gesture half-formed. Wonwoo’s chest tightens as the message behind that smile is too hard to decipher. Is he happy to see him ? Is it just habit ? Wonwoo feels his own body on the verge of betraying him, caught between the urge to lift a hand too, to make space for him at the chair beside him, and the instinct to stay still, composed and unreadable.

In the end, stillness and pride win.

His lips part but no sound comes out.

Mingyu hesitates. It lasts only a heartbeat, then he moves further into the room slipping into a chair several places away, his face smoothing back into the calm neutrality of a professional mask. The distance between them feels more cavernous than the length of the table, the silence louder than the shuffle of papers.

Wonwoo drops his gaze and his fingers begins to nervously fidget against one another. Words gather in his throat — questions, confessions, apologies — but that just stay locked behind clenched teeth. The tension in the room shifts when Jihoon bursts in, laptop tucked under one arm and a medical chart clutched in the other. His sharp energy cuts through the murmurs as he strides toward the head of the table with a nervous and urgent expression.

The loud murmurs die down right away, chairs suddenly shuffle and everyone straightens feeling the air thick with expectation. For a moment longer, Wonwoo allows himself to glance sideways toward Mingyu then, just as quickly, he forces his focus forward, waiting for Jihoon to speak.

“Good morning, everyone” he begins, sweeping his gaze across the gathered doctors, flipping open the medical chart in his other hand. “Apologies for pulling you from your schedules on such short notice but this couldn’t wait” he pauses and clears his throat, “We have a very delicate case on our hands, critically urgent that requires full collaboration across all departments”

A murmur ripples through the room. Wonwoo shifts slightly in his seat, his stethoscope pressing cold against his collarbone as Jihoon continues.

“This morning in the ER, a four-year-old boy was admitted after collapsing at home” he explains, “He showed cyanosis, labored breathing, several fainting episodes. The pediatrician who visited him suspected something congenital and transferred him here immediately. Our initial workup confirms that… it’s a complex case, one this hospital hasn’t ever faced firsthand until now”

A doctor at the far end of the table leans forward. “What is it ?”

Jihoon’s mouth hardens, “Tetralogy of Fallot”

A hush falls over the room, only broken by a low whistle from someone near the pediatrics side of the table. Mingyu exhales sharply under his breath, the curse slipping out before he can stop himself. “Fuck…” he lowly murmurs but the silence makes it audible.

All eyes swivel to him but it’s Jihoon who pins him with a look. “Dr. Kim” he says evenly, “Would you walk everyone through what exactly what we’re facing ?”

For a heartbeat Mingyu hesitates, caught between his role as a surgeon and the weight of all the eyes now fixed on him, including Wonwoo’s. Then he straightens in his chair, resting his forearms against the table.

“Tetralogy of Fallot is a rare congenital heart defect composed of four distinct abnormalities” he begins, glancing briefly down the line of doctors. “A ventricular septal defect, first, which means there’s a hole in the wall that separate the right and left ventricles and entails oxygen-poor and oxygen-rich blood to mix” he holds up a finger, ticking them off one by one. “A pulmonary stenosis, second, which narrows the pulmonary valve or artery and restricts blood flow to the lungs. A right ventricular hypertrophy, third, which leads the right ventricle to work overtime and thicken its walls accordingly. And lastly an overriding aorta, where the aorta is displaced and sits over both ventricles instead of just the left, pulling blood from the wrong side”

“Together, these four defects starve the body of oxygen” Mingyu pauses exhaling, “That explains the boy’s cyanosis, fainting and collapse”

“We’re dealing with a child whose oxygen saturation is dangerously low” Jihoon clarifies, “He needs stabilization, surgical planning and coordination across pediatrics, cardiology, anesthesia and surgery. Every decision matters and if we miss a step, if we delay, he won’t make it”

The weight of their words settles in the room. Wonwoo feels them like a stone in his chest as his medical instinct already races ahead to oxygen therapy, echocardiography, pre-op assessments. Beneath that, another current tugs at him, the sound of Mingyu’s voice, his professional explanations and the reminder that no matter how distant they’ve become, here they are again, bound to the same fight for a fragile heart.

“How has he even managed to survive this long without corrective surgery ?” a doctor speaks up few chairs away, “Most children with Tetralogy of Fallot are diagnosed within months of birth, some need intervention within days”

Jihoon picks up the thread smoothly. “According to his medical history, the family lives in a rural area and access to specialized care has been limited at best. He has had episodes of blue spells, as the parents described, but they were dismissed as asthma or viral infections. No proper cardiac imaging was done until now”

Another voice joins in, this time from the general surgery side. “But four years ? Even with mild obstruction, you would expect more severe decompensation much earlier”

“That’s the remarkable part” Mingyu leans forward, “He’s what generally is called a ‘pink Tet’, his pulmonary stenosis isn’t complete. There’s just enough flow to the lungs to keep him going, compensating with collateral circulation. It bought him time but the collapse tells us the balance is over. His right ventricle is failing and his body can’t compensate oxygen anymore”

A low murmur ripples through the group, part disbelief, part admiration at the boy’s resilience.

“So what are his numbers now ?” another asks.

Jihoon scans the chart in front of him. “Oxygen saturation in the ER was 72% on room air and stabilized to 85% with oxygen therapy but he is very fragile. Hematocrit is elevated, his body has been compensating with polycythemia. He is small for his age, underweight and his parents are overwhelmed” he says before closing the file, “There’s no other way around this, the boy needs surgery soon. He won’t last long if we wait”

His gaze sweeps the room, sharp and assessing, before landing on Mingyu then shifting to Wonwoo. The weight of that look makes the air in the room feel denser. "Dr. Jeon" Jihoon calls out, "I know this isn't exactly your area of ​​expertise but I’d like to have your consultation. And for a heart this small, what do you think is the best surgical approach to this case ?”

Wonwoo straightens slightly in his chair, his chest tightens as he pictures the child gasping for breath, skin tinged blue and parents as terrified as lost. His fingers tighten together before he forces them apart, resting his palms flat on the table as though to steady himself.

“It’s… challenging” he admits, carefully measuring each word. “Working with a child this young changes every variable. Tissue is delicate, vessels are tiny and even the slightest miscalculation can have severe consequences. That said, if we move efficiently, the priorities are to close the ventricular septal defect with a patch first, that will prevent oxygen-poor blood from mixing into systemic circulation. At the same time, it’s necessary to address the obstruction in the right ventricular outflow tract to relieve pressure and allow proper pulmonary blood flow. Just at the end, the overriding aorta must be realigned to ensure blood is correctly routed from the left ventricle”

“It must be a work done simultaneously” Mingyu leans forward, finishing Wonwoo’s thought almost immediately. “Handling the patching, work on widening the pulmonary valve and resecting any obstructing muscle tissue. This will reduce right ventricular hypertrophy over time. We also need to continuously monitor pressure gradients to make sure we don’t overcorrect and cause complications”

“Exactly” Wonwoo nods, “And during the surgery, it’s essential having anesthesiology to maintain strict hemodynamic control. Every shift in oxygenation or blood pressure can cascade rapidly in a child this small. Coordination with the nurses and technicians is critical and we can’t afford any missteps but rather anticipated and supported them in real time”

“For post-operative we’ll need cardiology to follow up closely” Mingyu interjects again, seamlessly weaving into the plan. “Echocardiograms immediately after surgery, monitoring for arrhythmias, ventricular function and oxygen saturation of course. Pediatrics will need to oversee fluid balance and nutrition, making sure his body stabilizes after such a major procedure. And general surgery must maintain open lines with the intensive care unit. If there are complications, everyone must be ready to intervene”

Their dialogue flows as if they’re finishing each other’s sentences naturally, the rhythm of planning and problem-solving almost intimate in its synchronicity. Heads around the table nod, some silently impressed by the seamless cooperation between the two.

Jihoon observes this for a moment before nodding. “Mingyu you’ll take the lead on the surgical procedure” he declares, “Dr. Jeon, would you be willing to assist ? Your precision could make a huge difference here”

Wonwoo looks up, eyes meeting Mingyu’s across the table. The question hangs in the air unspoken, “Can you trust me to do this with you ?” he sees no pressure in Mingyu’s expression, only steady confidence and quiet hope in his gaze.

He inhales, feeling the responsibility settle over him then he exhales slowly. “Yes” he says firmly, “I’ll assist”

“Great” Jihoon nods, turning to the rest of the room. “This case requires the utmost cooperation from all of you. This child’s life depends on flawless teamwork, understood ?”

Wonwoo feels the intensity of the moment sharpen, the weight of every decision pressing on him, but Mingyu’s glance across the table steadies him realizing that maybe together they can handle it.

Chairs scrape against the polished floor as, at the end of the meeting, Jihoon dismisses everyone with finality. The conference room comes alive in an instant, the silence of urgent listening giving way to the shuffle of papers and the murmur of hurried discussions. Doctors gather in small clusters as pediatrics huddle near the far end of the table, emergency physicians already debating ventilator protocols, surgeons cross-checking schedules and instruments. The air feels charged as if the very walls know what kind of storm is about to unfold within them.

Wonwoo lingers in his seat for a moment watching the flurry of motion with a detached stillness. His gaze drifts unbidden until it lands on Mingyu who is leaning slightly toward a colleague, listening intently with his expression focused yet soft at the edges. His hand gestures as he speaks, punctuating his words with a natural energy and suddenly, in the midst of the chatter and the shuffle, his mother’s voice floats through his mind, clear as if she were standing right beside him.

“If the moment doesn’t come, create it yourself"

The thought sparks something restless beneath his skin. His pulse jumps in a nervous flutter against his ribs, hesitation knotting in his stomach, but Wonwoo doesn’t let himself sit with it rather he forces his legs to stand up and move before doubt can drag him back down.

Each step feels both impossibly long and far too quick as Wonwoo closes the distance and the noise fades into a dull hum until it’s only him and the sharp edge of everything unsaid between them.

“Mingyu” Wonwoo calls him, voice loud enough to cut through the noise.

Mingyu turns and for a split second his features brightens before softening into a polite smile. “Hey…” he greets casual as if the air between them isn’t thick enough to choke on.

The sight of him knocks something loose in Wonwoo. His throat tightens and the words he’s been hoarding for days suddenly clamoring to break free. He falters and feels his breath snagging but he tries to steady himself with a quiet inhale. “Can we talk for a moment ? Please ?”

The question hangs there and Mingyu hesitates. It’s subtle but clear the way his smile falters, his weight shifting from one foot to the other, his hand lifting instinctively to the back of his neck. He rubs at it once, a nervous tell Wonwoo knows too well, and his eyes flickering with something unsure. His lips part, a half-breath caught between yes and something else but then another doctor approaches them briskly.

“Dr. Kim” the voice cuts in urgent, kinda leaving no room for delay. “There’s a patient on the ward who needs your consult. Can you come now ?”

Mingyu blinks, pulled sharply back into the current of duty. He nods almost on reflex. “Sure, I’ll be right there” he replies and his eyes swing back to Wonwoo, apology written plainly in every line of his face. “Sorry—” he murmurs, softer this time, almost ashamed. “See you later ?”

For a second hope stirred again in Wonwoo but even as he bites the inside of his cheek, he knows better how easily later becomes never in a place where emergencies dictate the hours.

Tasting iron on his tongue, he can only manage a small nod. “Of course” he lies as the words sound more like surrender than agreement.

Mingyu's smile is fleeting, then he leaves, turning to follow his colleague and disappearing into the stream of white coats. Wonwoo remains where he is, with his hands hanging limply at his sides and his chest heavy with the familiar ache of nearly missed opportunities that he had tried to create, as his mom suggested, but slipped away anyway.

He exhales a long deep breath, then he straightens his shoulders and gathers himself. The ache in his chest doesn’t leave at all but Wonwoo pushes it to the quiet edges of his mind where it can only hum like background noise. There’s work to be done that doesn't accept even more distractions and despite everything Wonwoo, at least in his job, understands what he needs to do.

The hours that follow slide past in a haze, one consultation folding into the next. Blood work to review, charts to sign, vitals to check, medications to adjust. In one room, a faint heart murmur keeps him listening longer than expected. In another, a patient from dialysis struggles with new complications. His body knows what to do, his voice carries instructions, his expression stays composed. To the eyes of colleagues and patients alike, Wonwoo is calm and reliable. Yet underneath, a thread keeps tugging him drawing his thoughts back to that chance that never quite took shape.

By the time his shift winds down, the ward has settled into the muted quiet that follows the day’s chaos. Wonwoo walks toward the locker room with his stethoscope looped neatly in his hand like a task finally completed.

Inside, the space is empty and only a few lockers stand open with their doors hanging ajar. Wonwoo quickly undoes his coat and scrubs, sliding free of his uniform to change into more comfortable clothes. When he shuts his own locker with a metallic click, his eyes drift automatically to Mingyu’s, the one opposite his. His black gym bag is still there, slouched against the little door, an evidence that he hasn’t left the hospital yet.

For a moment something stirs low in Wonwoo’s chest, a small but insistent trace of hope back again. He imagines the door opening, Mingyu walking in with that easy tilt of his shoulders, that ‘later’ taking shapes after all. But the room stays stile and the door doesn’t open. And Wonwoo stands there longer than he should, with his heart caught between waiting and leaving. In the end, he lets his shoulders sink, slips the strap of his bag over his shoulder and walks out alone leaving the hospital doors close behind him and the night air presses cool against his skin.

By the time Wonwoo gets home, the weight of the hospital has settled deep in his shoulders. He doesn’t linger on the couch in the living room as he usually does after a tiring day, just to breath quietly and enjoy the silence of his house, but rather he drops his bag on the floor and heads straight for a nice shower. The water scalds at first but Wonwoo leans into it anyway, letting the heat sluice over him and washes away the thin film of hospital air made of disinfectant, latex and that faint metallic tang that seems to cling even after he’s left.

He lathers his hair, massaging the shampoo into his scalp until his own thoughts feel like they're loosening from him, strand by strand. His favorite body wash, white musk, fills the steam around him in that scent that it's for him something delicate but comforting.

When he finally shuts the water off, the silence rings off in the bathroom. Wonwoo towels himself dry and pulls from the drawer a pair of worn cotton shorts that always feel softer after a long shift, and a loose white shirt that hangs from his frame, a makeshift set of pajamas. The mirror catches him in passing, damp hair falls into his eyes and he dries it as he can with a towel but doesn’t linger on it much.

The kitchen is quiet, almost too neat. He opens the fridge and stares at its contents for a few seconds, then closes it again. Cooking has never been his strong suit if anything, it’s his battlefield, littered with small disasters every time he tried to made a nice meal for himself. Tonight Wonwoo doesn’t even pretend to try. It’s too late to order delivery so he pulls a packet of Buldak noodles from the cupboard followed by a can of Monster he puts on the counter.

He is a bit ashamed of that combination, exactly kind of dinner he would never confess to his mother, but that’s what his pantry offers at the moment and what his stomach demands.

The kettle hums as he fills it, the click of the switch punctuating the stillness. While it heats, Wonwoo wanders to the living room and flips the TV on, the screen flashing into a random game show with bright lights, canned laughter, strangers clapping for prizes that mean nothing at all. The noise at least fills the space a little, a background hum that keeps the apartment from feeling too empty.

He drifts between the kitchen and the living room, half-listening the tv, half-waiting for the kettle to boil. His hands move automatically tearing open the packed of noodles, crinkling the seasoning until the sharp chime of the doorbell cuts through the air.

Wonwoo freezes. His arms hang suspended mid-motion with the small packet of sauce pinched between his fingers. The doorbell rings again and he stares at the entrance as if it’s a trick of sound, a mistake. He isn’t expecting anyone after all.

Slowly he moves to the door. His heart taps louder against his ribs and when he opens it, Wonwoo didn't expect to see Mingyu standing on the other side, framed in the hallway light, with an oversized black hoodie hanging loose on his body, his bag slung over his shoulder like he’s just stepped out of the hospital to get to Wonwoo’s right away. His smile is shy as if he’s not sure if he has the right to be there.

“Hi” Mingyu greets him softly. “Uhm... okay maybe I should have called first but I was actually hoping to find you still at the hospital"

Wonwoo forgets how to breathe for a moment, his braincells too forget how to work properly at the sight of him standing there in front of his apartment. He swallows, shakes his head. “No, I…” his voice awkwardly trails off, “I left a little early”

They linger there too long, suspended in the doorway as if neither knows how to bridge the space. Wonwoo becomes acutely aware of his own stillness, how stupid he must look standing half-blocking the way. Heat crawls at the back of his cheeks and with a quick exhale, he shifts aside pulling the door open wider.

“Please, come in”

Mingyu steps inside as the door clicks softly shut behind him. He toes off his shoes by the entryway, setting them neatly aside, and drops his bag just beside the door. The weight of his presence seems to shift the apartment’s air, filling it with something more alive than the faint hum of the TV or the cooling kettle. Wonwoo gestures toward the living room, leading him in. The game show still plays in the background with bright laughter and applause that feel suddenly too loud. He grabs the remote and lowers the volume until the noise is little more than a hum.

“Sorry” Wonwoo mutters, rubbing at his wrist as if the words might scrub away the awkwardness. “It’s a bit messy”

Mingyu looks around at the sparse furniture, the faintly askew throw pillow, the kitchen counter with its scattered evidence of a quick dinner-in-progress. He smiles amused in a way that doesn’t sting. “It’s fine” he says replies then glancing back at Wonwoo with a flicker of curiosity, “Were you doing something in particular ?”

Wonwoo shakes his head as an embarrassed laugh catches in his throat. “No I was just… I was about to make myself something to eat”

When Mingyu turns toward the kitchen, his chuckle breaks the air open, “Buldak and Monster ? This is your dinner ?” he teases, lifting the noodle packet lightly with two fingers. “You gave me hell for a little of fast food last time”

Heat prickles across Wonwoo’s cheeks. He scratches the back of his neck, trying to downplay the truth of it. “Yeah, well… sometimes I don’t really feel like cooking. I’d rather just have something quick”

Mingyu laughs again but it’s fond rather than mocking. He sets the packet down and without missing a beat, he starts rolling up the sleeves of his hoodie. The movement is casual but there’s a quiet confidence in it too. “Set the table” he says, already stepping closer to the counter. “I’ll take care of it here”

Wonwoo blinks. “No, you don’t have to—”

“I want to” Mingyu cuts in gently as his hands are already moving, searching for what he needs. “I enjoy cooking and honestly, it would make me feel better knowing you’re eating something that isn’t instant noodles drowned in energy drink. Let me turn that sad dinner into something better”

Wonwoo bites down on the inside of his cheek, caught between protest and the strange warmth curling at his chest. “Okay…” he says softly, almost reluctant but there’s something like relief threaded through it too.

Mingyu glances back at him with a quick grin before pulling open the fridge with the ease of someone unafraid to make himself at home. The faint hum of the appliance fills the silence as he bends slightly, scanning the sparse shelves. A carton of eggs, half a head of wilting lettuce, a container of kimchi, a lonely tomato and a bottle of soy sauce. He straightens with a laugh, shaking his head.

“You weren’t kidding—” he says as amusement softens the edges of his words. “You really weren’t planning on cooking”

Wonwoo hovers by the table suddenly aware of how bare his fridge must look through someone else’s eyes. “I told you” he mutters, defensive. “Cooking isn’t exactly my strength”

Mingyu hums in acknowledgment, already pulling out the tomato and eggs. He checks the pantry next, finding rice and some ramen packets tucked into the corner. “This is enough” he declares, “I’ll make us some fried rice. It’s simple but better than…” he lifts the Buldak packet again for emphasis, “Whatever this was supposed to be”

Wonwoo can’t help but laugh, shaking his head as he reaches for the placemats to set the small dining table. “You’re too much”

“You’ll thank me later” Mingyu says, his voice light as he cracks eggs into a pan with the smell of sesame oil blooming into the air and filling the kitchen.

Wonwoo pretends to fuss with the chopsticks and bowls but his eyes keep straying back to the tall figure at his stove. Mingyu moves easily in his kitchen, sleeves pushed to his elbows, hair falling a little into his eyes as he focuses on dicing the tomato. He hums quietly under his breath, a tune Wonwoo doesn’t recognize but finds strangely soothing. The quiet domesticity of it all unsettles him. Mingyu doesn’t belong here, not really, and yet in this moment, he fits so seamlessly it feels like he has always been part of the space.

The pan sizzles softly as Mingyu stirs the diced tomato and kimchi together, the light over the stove casts a warm glow on his face. Wonwoo lingers behind him for a moment before stepping forward and sliding his arms around Mingyu’s waist, his forehead pressing briefly between his shoulder blades.

Mingyu stills just for a second then his body relaxes into the embrace, eases under his touch. His free hand rests casually on the counter but Wonwoo can feel the slight shift of his breathing. He closes his eyes, lets himself sink into the simple closeness. Mingyu smells like soap and laundry powder, faint traces of coffee clinging to his hoodie. Wonwoo leans in and presses the lightest kiss to his nape, so soft and tentative it feels more like a confession than a touch.

“I thought…” his voice comes out quietly, “You didn’t want to talk to me anymore”

Mingyu’s stirring slows down but he doesn’t pull away. “Why would you think that ?”

Wonwoo tightens his arms around him. “I don’t know” he admits, “I felt like we have… kinda been avoiding each other lately”

Mingyu lowers the heat on the stove and sets the spatula aside, his focus lingering on the pan for a beat longer before he turns into Wonwoo’s arms. They face each other now, close enough that their chests touch. As their hands drift to their sides, their fingers brush different times until Mingyu’s slips into Wonwoo’s, with their palms also meeting in an unspoken answer.

He leans forward, resting his forehead gently against Wonwoo’s and for a moment the world is narrowed to the warmth of breath mingling, the stillness of the kitchen. Then Mingyu tilts his head just slightly, brushing his lips over Wonwoo’s with a softness that feels fragile, like a secret only meant for the two of them. A little kiss they share that carries more reassurance than urgency.

When he draws back just enough to meet Wonwoo’s eyes, his whisper is gentle. “It’s not that”

“Then what is it ?” Wonwoo’s heart stutters.

Mingyu inhales deeply as if in doubt whether words to use. His thumb brushes over the back of Wonwoo’s hand, soothing him. “Let’s eat first and then we’ll talk about it”

Wonwoo searches his eyes, sees the unspoken weight there but also the warmth that a little reassures him. He nods faintly at his request, even though his lips still tingle from the kiss like a reminder that maybe some things are still worth holding onto, that not everything is already lost.

Mingyu stir-fries the rice on the stove several times before turning it off and setting the pan down in the centre of the table with a satisfied grin. He spoons the food into two bowls with a flourish that’s half playful-half proud. “There” he says, sliding one across the table toward Wonwoo. “Rescue mission complete”

Wonwoo sits down slowly with chopsticks already in his hand, the knot in his chest easing as the smell of the food rises between them. He takes the first bite and an explosion of spicy rich flavors instantly happen in his mouth as well as warmth spreads through him, chasing away the dull ache that had followed him home earlier. But it isn’t only the food that soothes him. It’s the sight of Mingyu leaning forward across the table, chin propped on one hand, watching him with quiet anticipation.

“It’s good” Wonwoo admits.

Mingyu’s smirk blooms immediately but he leans back, folding his arms with mock offense. “Of course it is. You doubted me ?”

Wonwoo chuckles but doesn’t answer right away. He chews his food, gaze lingering over the rim of his bowl. Mingyu’s teasing glint doesn’t quite hide the gentleness in his eyes and it makes Wonwoo’s chest feel unbearably full.

The silence stretches but not uncomfortably and they eat like that for a while — chopsticks moving, bowls steadily emptying — until the conversation resumes in little bursts. Mingyu nudges him about his nonexistent cooking skills, joking that he should never be allowed within ten feet of a stove. Wonwoo rolls his eyes, pretending to protest but the corners of his mouth betray him.

At one point Mingyu laughs so hard he has to put his chopsticks down, and Wonwoo finds himself laughing with him, shoulders shaking, the sound bubbling out before he can stop it. They talk about groceries, about Mingyu’s offer to drag him along shopping — “so you don’t starve yourself with instant noodles again” — and Wonwoo teases back, asking if that’s a doctor’s order.

It’s nothing extraordinary, just jokes, food and the clink of bowls on the table, but to Wonwoo it feels precious like something he had missed without even realizing it.

Eventually the laughter quiets. The bowls sit empty with the chopsticks resting across their rims. Wonwoo stands up first from his seat collecting the dishes but Mingyu follows without hesitation, brushing his hand against his ones as he takes the other bowl. Together they carry everything into the kitchen, placing them into the sink side by side.

The dishes could wait to be washed. Their conversation couldn’t be postponed any longer.

Wonwoo’s gaze lingers on Mingyu for a moment before he reaches out for his hand and laces their fingers together. The touch is tentative, like a quiet invitation, and without a word Wonwoo gives him a gentle tug leading them over the couch, past the quiet hum of the tv still playing in the background. He waits for Mingyu to sit down then he climbs right into his lap straddling him. For the first time tonight, Wonwoo doesn’t try to fill their silence but he simply gives them space to mark what their bodies already know, his heart beating steadily trusting Mingyu will follow.

Mingyu circles his narrow waist and pulls him in for a hug, snuggling against his collarbones and pressing his head sideways to Wonwoo’s chest, finding his peace. Wonwoo wraps his arms around his neck and lingers in that intimate contact, giving him little kisses on the crown of his head and closing his eyes so he can feel the steady rise of Mingyu’s chest against his own.

Eventually it’s Mingyu who moves first, leaning back just enough to brush Wonwoo’s lips with a series of small, heartfelt kisses, like he’s testing if he’s allowed to stay this close. “How are you ?” he asks softly.

Wonwoo doesn’t answer right away, he swallows the question looking for words that don’t reduce the last few days to something neat. “I’m… okay” he says at last, “Some moments are heavier than others but I’m trying to move forward without pretending everything didn’t affect me”

Mingyu nods, “I’m glad you can say that” he murmurs. “I… If I can be honest, these last days have been hard for me too. Not like yours, of course. Just in a different way”

“Why ?” Wonwoo asks gently, lifting his eyes back to him. “What’s been weighing on you ?”

“I just… keep thinking about us” Mingyu’s hands tighten at Wonwoo’s waist. He hesitates, like the words cost him. “I’ve been replaying that night over and over in my head. And I keep wondering if I ruined something, if what happened would change everything we’ve been building so far. I thought—” his breath hitches. “If I hadn’t dragged you out for that date, you might have had your last moments with Myungsoo instead of me. If I hadn’t insisted on pulling you away…” he trails off, jaw working as if pushing the truth through clenched teeth. “It’s my fault”

“Mingyu, no” Wonwoo shakes his head sharply. “That’s not true”

“Yes, it is. Because if you were there— if you hadn’t been with me maybe you could’ve done something for him” he pushes through, “I don’t want to be the reason you have to step away from your patients”

Wonwoo lifts his hands and frames Mingyu’s face, thumbs brushing over his cheekbone. “Stop” he says barely above a whisper. “Stop, please. Look at me”

Mingyu’s uncertain eyes meet his.

“No presence, not yours and not even mine, could have changed the outcome of that night. Myungsoo had already made his choice. He was tired and decided that it was time for him to let go. That was his only wish” Wonwoo says gently, looking at him in the eyes. “He left on his own terms”

Mingyu’s lips part but he doesn’t argue. He sees in Wonwoo’s gaze not just the doctor who has accepted the limits of medicine but the man who has carried grief close enough to understand its shape.

“You think you took me away from something but the truth is… you gave me something precious, instead. That night you reminded me I wasn’t only a doctor but still a human after all. That I could sit across from someone, eat with them, laugh with them, and feel alive too. Myungsoo’s path ended… but mine didn’t. And being with you, it didn’t steal from him but saved me” Wonwoo leans in then, their foreheads resting together. “Don’t carry a weight that was never yours to bear. Please. You’re not the reason he died” he presses on, his own voice shaking.

The ache in Mingyu’s throat tightens, guilt and hope crashing together. But as Wonwoo’s hands remain steady on his face, the blame loosens its grip, replaced by something fragile he dares to hope is absolution. For a long moment Mingyu just stares at him, breath uneven.

“I’m terrified… that one day you’ll look at me and see nothing but a distraction that stole you away from something only you could give” Wonwoo’s brows knit, but Mingyu goes on, like if he stops now the truth will choke him. “I’ve never loved someone the way I love you, Wonwoo” he admits, raw. “And that makes it even harder because if staying with me costs you even one patient’s last breath… I don’t know if I could stand being the reason you regret us”

Wonwoo lets that sit, trying to understand his fears, then he nods. “There will be times I have to go” he admits. “I’ll leave dinner half-finished, I’ll miss plans, that’s the reality of my role but choosing to be with you when I can… that isn’t me neglecting my job, Mingyu. It’s me being a person. You don’t pull me away from what matters, you remind me why it matters”

Mingyu lowers his gaze but Wonwoo raises up his chin to meet his eyes, “Do you think I don’t wish I had more time with him ? That I don’t wonder if I missed some sign, some clue of his illness I should’ve seen earlier ? Every doctor carries those questions but Myungsoo… he was surrounded by a team of people who cared about him. And even if I had been there, standing right at his bedside watching him dying, it might have been the same pain to me” he swallows hardly the truth. “That’s just my grief, Mingyu. Not a puzzle I need to solve but a weight I want to learn to hold”

Mingyu’s expression flickers. “You always push further than anyone expects” he whispers. “It’s who you are. And I… I decided to give you space because I thought you need it from me. I thought if I made the distance, it would hurt less when you did”

“It hurt anyway” Wonwoo replies, his thumb skims the hinge of Mingyu’s jaw. “I missed you. Even when you were two doors down in the hall, I missed you”

Mingyu nods and something loosens between them. He draws their joined hands to his chest, as if to anchor the words there. “I don’t want to make you choose so tell me where the line is. Tell me when you need to go and I’ll walk you to the door. Tell me when you can stay and I’ll put rice on and make you sit down. Just… don’t leave me guessing”

Wonwoo’s mouth lifts in a little soft smile, “Will you cook for me again ?”

“All the times you want” Mingyu replies lazily, playing with his fingers. “As long as you fill the fridge”

“You'll never stop teasing me for that, will you ?” Wonwoo sighs, though his smile betrays him.

“Not a chance” Mingyu grins. “You’re a menace to your own kitchen. It’s practically a crime scene in there but we can make a deal. I cook and you buy the groceries and do the dishes”

Wonwoo raises a brow. “That’s extortion”

“That’s teamwork” Mingyu shoots back, his grin turning boyish.

The banter lingers, their laughter fading into gentler smiles. Wonwoo’s hand, still caught in Mingyu’s, shifts so he can intertwine their fingers at their best, holding him tighter.

The small change makes Mingyu’s chest swell, his teasing tone softening. “I like seeing you like this”

“Like what ?” Wonwoo asks, curious.

Mingyu studies his face for a moment, thumb brushing absently across his hand. “Not carrying the whole world for once”

Wonwoo’s breath catches at the honesty, his teasing retort slipping away. Instead he leans a little closer, his lips curving into something smaller more private. “You make it easy”

The laughter fades into something slower as their eyes lingering on each other. Wonwoo’s hand drifts almost unconsciously to the back of his neck and Mingyu’s breath hitches but he doesn’t pull back, if anything, he leans closer, letting the space between them collapse until their lips meet again. This kiss is different, tender but threaded with so much warmth and want, and it deepens naturally like they’re discovering a rhythm that belongs only to them. Mingyu’s hand slips gently over the curve of Wonwoo’s back, guiding him even closer, while Wonwoo tilts his head to meet him fully, his own fingers curling tighter at the nape of his neck.

They move together instinctively as their lips part, tongues brushing tentatively before finding a rhythm that deepens until breathing becomes secondary. Mingyu nibbles on his bottom lip, takes its fullness between his teeth as they share kisses and when he breaks away to get a pinch of air, it’s only to press his mouth against Wonwoo’s jaw, down to the pale column of his neck. The warmth of his lips there makes Wonwoo tilt his head back, eyes fluttering closed as a sigh tumbling out of him.

His body betrays him and his hips start shifting subtly seeking for a friction in an involuntary plea. Mingyu feels the way his body moves and his hands slip beneath Wonwoo’s shirt, tracing the lines of his back to spread warmth over every inch of his delicate skin. The touch makes Wonwoo arch into him even more, his breath stutters as well as his chest rises too quickly.

“Undress me” he whispers, choking on his breath and begging all at once.

Mingyu stills but truly looks at him with something between awe and disbelief, as if the request itself is sacred. For a moment he doesn't move, wanting to admire that wonder for a little longer, then, with a tenderness that steals Wonwoo’s breath from his lungs, Mingyu nods and lifts the hem of Wonwoo’s shirt slowly. His fingertips brush reverently over his sides as he peels it away and when the fabric leaves him bare, Mingyu doesn’t rush, he doesn’t even let his eyes wander greedily. Instead, he bends forward and kisses him first the hollow of his throat, then the sharp edge of his collarbone, going down to the center of his chest.

Each kiss is unhurried and well-studied, like a vow tattooed on the skin. Wonwoo’s breath trembles, his hand sliding into Mingyu’s hair, tethering himself to the devotion in every touch. It feels like more than desire, it feels like being seen, cherished, carried carefully in hands that could just as easily crush but never would.

Mingyu lingers, his lips mapping gentle paths across his torso. “You're beautiful” he murmurs against his skin, the words almost reverent like a prayer spoken between kisses. His lips close around a nipple as he sucks and plays with his tongue until Wonwoo lets out a vocal moan from the back of his throat.

Wonwoo arches back and isn't ashamed to let him know how much he wants to feel him inside, overwhelmed by his gentleness, by the way Mingyu looks at him as if he's not only wanted but worthy. His chest aches with it and when he leans down to kiss him again, it's with something desperate that speaks what words can’t. Their mouths find each other again, hotter and more urgent, like each breath and touch is proof that they're here, alive, choosing each other over and over again.

Wonwoo’s hips move instinctively, pressing against Mingyu’s body in a desperate search for proof that Mingyu is as hard as he is, that he isn’t alone in this hunger. He doesn’t voice a loud request but his lips keep breaking against his mouth, breathless and pleading, as if the sound itself is enough to tether him. Mingyu feels it, feels him, and something raw flashes across his face. His hands drop lower settling firmly on his ass, cupping him, squeezing it as a groan vibrate in his chest.

Without ever pulling his lips away, Mingyu moves with startling strength and rises from the couch with Wonwoo held against him. Wonwoo gasps softly, arms locked tight around his neck but Mingyu’s hold never wavers. He carries him, step after steady step toward the bedroom, and when he finally lays him down on the bed, it’s not careless but reverent.

Mingyu lowers him gently, like something precious, and Wonwoo doesn’t hesitate. He hooks his thumbs into his shorts, pushing them down in one swift movement until nothing remains between him and Mingyu’s gaze. The vulnerability should make him flinch but it doesn’t, not when Mingyu is looking at him like that, eyes dark with awe, lips parted as if he’s staring at an artwork he doesn’t quite believe is real.

Wonwoo sits up just enough to catch him by the front of his shirt, tugging him down, kissing him breathlessly with his mouths colliding with a force that makes his head spin.

“Fuck me” he urgently whispers against his lips.

And Mingyu swears those words completely undo him, he’s about to lose his fucking mind. A sound tears from his throat, half-laugh, half-groan, his forehead pressing to Wonwoo’s as if the closeness is the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Are you sure…” he pants, voice wrecked and aching with need. “Fuck— you have no idea know what you do to me…” his words cut off as he kisses him again, hungrier, his hands trembling slightly as they drag up Wonwoo’s body as if committing every inch of him to memory.

Wonwoo doesn’t let the urgency fade. His hands slide beneath the hem of Mingyu’s hoodie, feeling the warmth of his tanned skin beneath. He pushes the fabric up slowly, exposing a strip of hard muscle, the curve of Mingyu’s stomach that flexes under his touch. His breath hitches at the sight, lips parting, cheeks flushed in heat and Mingyu doesn’t make him wait further more. He reaches behind himself and grabs the collar of his hoodie yanking it off in one swift motion. The fabric hits the floor, forgotten.

For a moment, Wonwoo can only stare. The body in front him is nothing short of statuesque, broad shoulders tapering into a narrow waist, the cut of defined abs catching the low light, every line of him carved . His chest rises and falls with heavy breaths and Wonwoo’s mouth hangs slightly open, flush burning hotter across his cheeks. His hands, hesitant only for the space of a heartbeat, slide up over Mingyu’s chest tracing the firmness of muscle before moving lower.

Fingers stumble only slightly at the waistband of his jeans, before finding the buckle of his belt. He works at it slowly, his eyes flicking up to meet Mingyu’s as if asking wordlessly, “May I ?”

Mingyu exhales deeply, his lips curving into the faintest, breathless smile. “I’m not—” he murmurs low and rough, his hand covering Wonwoo’s as if to steady both of them. “Don’t ever think about it…”

But Wonwoo only lifts his eyes, teasing even through the haze of want. He doesn’t listen to him at least, not with words. Instead he tugs the belt loose, pulls Mingyu’s pants down enough to free the line of his hips and dips forward to press his lips and tongue along the edge of his boxers. His kisses are light, playful, tracing the ridges of muscle and the warmth of his breath makes Mingyu throw his head back with a choked groan.

It’s almost too much, too fast, and with such sudden but desperate tenderness, Mingyu guides him down on the mattress, pressing him gently but firmly into the sheets. “Turn over for me…” he demands.

Wonwoo obeys and he shifts slowly, so provocatively, rolling onto his stomach with a languid arch of his back and head turned to catch Mingyu’s gaze from over his shoulder. Mingyu lowers himself and his lips brush his skin first between his shoulder blades, then lower in a trail of kisses along the elegant line of his spine. Each press is unhurried as if every part of Wonwoo deserves to be worshipped. Wonwoo shivers, fingers curling tight into the sheets, his body trembling at the combination of heat and tenderness.

“Mingyu…” he breathes, voice breaking with need. He bites down lightly on his lip, “You’re going to ruin me like this”

Mingyu pauses against his lower back, “I’m going to love you like this”

Wonwoo’s hand trembles slightly as it reaches for the nightstand, finding the small bottle of lube by touch alone. Without looking, he tosses it toward Mingyu who catches it easily, the soft pop of the cap echoes in the quiet room. Wonwoo shivers at the sound, anticipation tightening through him but instead of the cool slickness he expects against his hole, instead of the glide of fingers, there’s a pause and then something hot, wet and unbearably intimate touches him.

Wonwoo jerks forward with a strangled sound, his arms buckling so his forehead presses into the crook of his elbow. His hole clenches under the sudden assault of sensation and the raw swipe of Mingyu’s tongue makes him curse, his voice muffled into the sheets. “F— Mingyu!”

The man hums against him as his hands grip firmly Wonwoo’s hips holding him steady, coaxing him to stay open for more. The discarded bottle lies forgotten on the bed, Mingyu clearly has other intentions first, while Wonwoo squeezes his eyes shut, knuckles white where they twist in the sheets. The wet heat of his tongue against his most fragile pulse makes him tremble all over, torn between the unbearable edge of pleasure and the intimacy of being cherished in a way that leaves him defenseless.

“God, you’re insane—” Wonwoo gasps, a broken laugh tangled with the moan that follows. “Don’t stop”

Mingyu pulls back just long enough to ghost his lips over the sensitivity. “Should have pinned you down and done that much sooner if that was supposed to be my view. You taste heavenly” he dips forward again as if savoring every flick, every whimper he can draw from Wonwoo’s trembling body.

Wonwoo tries to hold himself steady but his hips betray him, pressing back in a desperate search for more. Mingyu chuckles low, the sound vibrating against his body. “So restless” he murmurs between strokes. He then grabs the lube back again and slicks his fingers with care before pressing one cool digit against his hole which slips easily inside.

Wonwoo gasps at the feeling, the sound of his breath is sharp but quickly melts into a low moan as his body naturally adjusts around him. His forehead drops against his arm as Mingyu leans in, brushing his lips in the curves of his spine, whispering praise with every small movement. Soon another finger joins in, the stretch gets more intense, and Mingyu takes his time to curl them, testing the angles until he finds the spot that makes Wonwoo jolt and clutch at the sheets with a strangled sound.

He arches into the touch, his hips rising and pleading. “Feels so good” he sighs in pleasure, his back bowing as if he can’t contain the waves rolling through him. His body pushes back into Mingyu’s hand, chasing every stroke.

Mingyu hums low in his throat and his mind wanders how someone could look this undone, this beautiful, and still trust him so completely. He presses a kiss to Wonwoo’s damp nape, fingers working in and out, arching just enough to make stars burst behind his eyes.

“Just fuck me—” Wonwoo desperately demands. “I need you”

Mingyu stills for a breath then curls his fingers again, coaxing another shudder from him. “You have me” he murmurs against his skin, “All of me. Always”

Mingyu’s fingers slip free and Wonwoo shudders at the sudden emptiness. His gaze darkens as he pulls down his boxers and reaches for the lube again, slicking his hard cock with careful strokes. Wonwoo rolls onto his back, presenting himself. His skin is flushed, lips parted, eyes heavy with want as Mingyu, in front of him, drags his tongue across his own lips unconsciously at the sight of him so naked and ready.

He positions himself between Wonwoo’s legs, large hands sliding to the back of his knees to push them up and open, framing him behind his back. Wonwoo lifts his hips, wordless invitation trembling in every line of his body, as Mingyu presses his cock against his hole, slowly pushing inside until the resistance gives way. Wonwoo gasps and a curse slips from him, half-swallowed by the sound of his own moan. Mingyu buries himself deeper until he can’t anymore, until every inch of his cock is sealed inside the heat of him. He braces on his elbows, chest brushing Wonwoo’s as he lowers, breath stuttering at the feeling of being held so tight everywhere.

For a long moment he just stays there, breathing with him. Wonwoo’s lashes flutter, his cheeks tinged pink and Mingyu’s throat aches at the sight. “You’re so beautiful” he whispers almost in disbelief.

Wonwoo lets out a breathy laugh, shaking his head even as his arms lock behind his neck. “You already said that before”

“Can’t help it” Mingyu smiles against his lips, kissing him softly. “Every time I look at you, it just… slips out”

Wonwoo pretends to roll his eyes but the way he arches up into him betrays the truth, he likes hearing it. “You’re ridiculous…” he says but his tone is fond.

“Maybe” Mingyu admits with a grin, pulling his hips back only to sink in again slower and deeper, making Wonwoo gasp. “But you like it anyway…”

Wonwoo’s mouth falls open, a soft moan catches as Mingyu brushes against that spot that makes his toes curl. “You’re fishing for compliments now”

“I don’t need to fish anything” he growls, nipping at his jaw. “I already caught you”

Wonwoo laughs again, “That’s so cheesy” he gasps and moans when Mingyu thrusts in slowly just right.

“Yeah ? Then why are you smiling like that ?”

“Because you make me happy”

That affirmation undoes Mingyu completely and his lazy thrusts falter for a moment as his eyes focus on him only, “Fuck, I love you so much” he blurts out like he has been holding those words back for a lifetime.

His ears burn with embarrassment but there’s no taking them back. Wonwoo freezes only a second before pulling him close as he presses his forehead to his. “I love you too” he whispers, and the truth of it thrums through Mingyu like a shock.

He groans softly, burying his face against his neck. “Say it again” he begs.

Wonwoo smiles and tugs at his hair. “You heard me”

“Don’t care, say it again”

“I love you”

Mingyu wants to bottle this moment, carve it into his bones, play it back a thousand times until forever ends. But words will never be enough to show what he truly feels, nothing could ever compare, so Mingyu kisses Wonwoo hard and begins to fuck into him slowly, searching for all the spots that made Wonwoo whimper and scrape down his back. He groans against his mouth, every sound Wonwoo makes unravel him further, every little tremor and gasp become a vow he silently swears to honor. With every movement, he whispers the only truth that matters, through lips, through touch, through the rhythm that binds them. I love you, I love you, I love you.

“Right there—” Wonwoo gasps, breaking around the edges. Mingyu moves enough to find his hips and lift them higher so he could fuck into him so deep he steals the air from both their lungs.

Wonwoo trembles beneath him, every nerve alive with how impossibly full he feels. His other hand drifts lower, wrapping around himself, stroking his cock in rhythm with Mingyu’s movements. The dual sensation makes his back arch, his head falling into the pillow with a helpless moan.

Mingyu groans at the sight, sweat beading at his temple. “God, you’re perfect like this”

Wonwoo’s leg curls up along Mingyu’s side, pulling him even closer, urging him to go deeper and deeper even though there wasn’t anymore space. Mingyu obeys to his silent request, pushing in with a rougher roll of his hips that’s not hurried, not frantic, but grounding enough for Wonwoo to clutch on him tighter and dig his nails into the muscles of his biceps.

There had been nights in which sex felt meaningless and messy, sometimes desperate, sometimes breathless, but this one with him was just another kind of a story. Mingyu’s pace isn’t meant to rush them toward the inevitable but to draw out every second of closeness, to etch the memory into their skin. He wants to feel every tremor, every shiver of Wonwoo opening beneath him.

He leans down to presses their forehead together as he loses control of his voice through moans each thrusts more, “Fuck—Fuck— I don’t know if I — Fuck I can’t…”

Wonwoo shudders at his plea, his own strokes faltering as his chest heaves. His eyes flutter open, glassy with tears and pleasure both. “Keep going Min— Please, please, please don’t ever stop”

The desperation in his voice makes him groan and Mingyu doesn’t stop indeed, if anything he keeps his rhythm steady anchoring himself in the way their bodies fit, in the way Wonwoo’s breath catches and his body shakes every time he thrusts just right. His hand tightens in Mingyu’s hair dragging him closer and their mouths crash together in a kiss that’s more breath than shape.

Wonwoo comes first. A sharp gasp tears out of him as he spills hot cum all across his stomach, his hand moving helplessly on his cock through the very last strokes. His whole frame shudders with release, legs trembling around Mingyu’s hips. The clench of his walls around him drags Mingyu under seconds later. He buries himself as deep as he can go, pressing their foreheads together as his rhythm falters, hips stuttering with a broken groan of Wonwoo’s name. He cums inside him in spasms, clinging as if Wonwoo’s body is the only anchor he has left.

When it ebbs Mingyu collapses forward, chest to chest, with their damp skin sliding together. He doesn’t move right away, doesn’t want to. He just breathes against Wonwoo’s shoulder, catching the erratic thump of his heartbeat. Wonwoo’s arms curl around him instantly, holding him tight, grounding them both.

“Min-ah” Wonwoo whispers, voice hoarse, but there’s a soft smile tugging at his lips as he kisses the side of his temple. “I love you”

Mingyu huffs a breath that’s halfway between a laugh and a groan. “I can’t feel my legs”

“Oh that’s very romantic of you” Wonwoo mocks offended and Mingyu lifts his head just enough to see his flushed face, his glassy eyes softened now with affection.

They exchange a slow lazy kiss, less urgent now and more like a seal pressed over what they’ve just shared. “I love you too” Mingyu whispers back before rolling onto his side, tugging Wonwoo with him, and pulling the blanket up around them.

Their limbs tangle, Wonwoo’s face tucking into his neck as Mingyu’s arms banded securely around his waist. In the quiet after, Mingyu’s lips find his hair, whispering against it. “I’m not letting you go”

Wonwoo hums already drowsy, his breath warm against his chest. “I don’t want you to”

The night softens around them and for the first time in days, both of them feel whole. The world outside their room could have been burning, neither of them would have noticed as under the weight of tangled legs and shared heat, the only reality that mattered is the steady thrum of their hearts pressed together under the sheets.

Wonwoo shifts just enough to find Mingyu’s gaze, his eyes half-lidded, softened in a way that makes his chest ache. For a beat they just look at each other with the silence that’s no longer heavy but full. Mingyu brushes a thumb over Wonwoo’s cheek, “Sleep” he murmurs, voice low and rough from everything they’d just shared.

Wonwoo smiles faintly, eyes slipping closed as he curls closer into him. “Only if you stay right here”

Mingyu doesn’t bother answering, only tightens his hold around him and tucks the blanket higher, breathing him in as if he could anchor himself there forever.

In the hush that follows, with the sheets cocooning them and the night air cool against their overheated skin, they both let themselves drift. No more distance, no more silence but just warmth, steady and unbroken, as they fall asleep in each other’s arms.

Chapter Text

"Everybody waiting for the fall of man
Everybody praying for the end of times
Everybody hoping they could be the one
I was born to run, I was born for this"

The room is still steeped in the hush of the early morning when Wonwoo opens his eyes.

For a moment he doesn’t quite understand what has stirred him from that rare and peaceful sleep, the most beautiful he has had in years. There is no sound in the room except from the faint beep of the alar clock blinking 7:00 am. Too early for his usual measure. There is no motion catching his eyes except the lazy sway of the curtains in the draft shifting like slow breaths.

Wonwoo thinks briefly of closing his eyes again, to sink back into the soft pull of his dreams, but then the light holds him still for the way the first sun-rays filter through the window, weaving across the room in threads of molten orange, painting the sheets, the walls. It feels less like morning breaking in and more like the day extending him a gentle hand with the promise not to disturb the peace inside this bed.

And who is resting there beside him.

Wonwoo feels the warmth before he turns to see him. The solid press of an arm looped around his waist, the secure curl of fingers tangled with his even in sleep, as if Mingyu’s body had made its involuntary decision to never let him go. His breath ghosts along the back of his neck carrying the faintest sound of a snore, a little puff that would have made Wonwoo laugh at any other hour but now it only makes his chest ache in that wordless way, the one that feels too big to fit inside a ribcage.

This is what he has ever wished all along. Not success, not recognition, not even certainty. Just this. The simple quiet miracle of having by his side someone whose presence feels like home.

Careful not to break the magic of that moment, Wonwoo shifts within the cocoon of Mingyu’s hold until he is facing him. Mingyu stirs but faintly, sighing low as he burrows deeper into the pillow.

Wonwoo feels his breath catching in his throat, and god, he can’t stop looking at him. At the gentle curve of his lips, parted just enough to reveal the faintest glimpse of teeth. At the soft slope of his nose, the rise and fall of his chest beneath the sheets, the constellations of beauty marks scattered along his skin. That little mole on his cheek, so small and unassuming, seems impossibly dear under this light as if the sun itself is trying to frame it for him.

The sound of their breath mingle and the steady thrum of those two heartbeats presses into the silence. With the fabric shifting and a new day approaching, Wonwoo realizes that maybe peace isn’t a place to find. Maybe it’s a person, and he is very lucky to wake up right next to him.

Wonwoo’s hand lifts before he even thinks. He brushes a strand of hair away from Mingyu’s forehead, his fingers lingering and tracing softly the warm slope of his face. Every detail feels sacred, like the light has carved Mingyu into something only he is meant to witness, and he keeps memorizing his features when Mingyu’s lips twitch, curving into a faint smile.

“Stop staring at me” his voice comes out muffled, rough with sleep.

Wonwoo freezes, caught in the act like a child with his hand in the jar, but then a soft laugh spills out of him. “You’re so beautiful…” he whispers back, eyes shining, “I can’t help it”

“Mmh” Mingyu cracks one eye open, peering at him with the laziest suspicion before shutting it again. He smiles half-amused, half-embarrassed, “Are you stealing my lines now ?”

“You love compliments” Wonwoo teases, “Admit it”

“Yeah, I do love them from you” Mingyu huffs a chuckle, before stirring his body and tucking his face close to Wonwoo. “Hi, good morning”

“Hi” Wonwoo whispers back, “How did you sleep ?”

“So well” he replies without hesitation, pulling him tighter into the circle of his arms. “Your bed is way too comfy… even though I have a question”

Wonwoo tilts his head, puzzled. “Shoot”

“How does it feel…” Mingyu pauses dramatically, as if he’s about to unveil some deep life-altering thought. “To wake up and realize that you are my boyfriend now ?”

Wonwoo bursts out laughing and grabs the nearest pillow to shove it into his chest. “Shut up!”

“What ? It’s a serious question!” Mingyu muffles a laugh into the pillow, eyes curved into crescents as he peers at Wonwoo with that boyish grin that never fails to undo him.

Wonwoo shakes his head, though warmth swells in his chest at the truth hidden beneath the play. “Idiot” he whispers softer now, leans in to press a quick kiss against his lips. “It feels like the best thing that has ever happened to me”

Mingyu smiles wider. “Good, that’s exactly how it feels for me too”

The grin on his face falters into something gentler as if the weight of the moment presses on him in a way teasing never could. Mingyu tosses the pillow aside to slip an arm around Wonwoo’s torso, pulling him in to catch his lips in a kiss that doesn’t spark like a sudden flame but it lingers and coaxes into something warmer. Their mouths move in unhurried rhythm, savoring the closeness until Wonwoo’s breath stutters in his chest. He sighs softly and melts into it, fingers curling in the fabric of the sheets as if he could anchor himself there.

Their laughters dissolve into the press of lips that refuse to part. Mingyu’s hands drift with purpose across Wonwoo’s back, his palms mapping the familiar terrain as though rediscovering it for the first time. He traces along his spine in slow, reverent lines, pausing here and there to press a thumb into the dip of bone, a fingertip into the slope of muscle. The unhurried pace makes Wonwoo shiver, his skin lighting up in goosebumps that chase every place Mingyu’s touch has claimed.

The heat of his palms seeps deeper than skin until Wonwoo exhales against Mingyu’s mouth, eyes fluttering closed in surrender. Their kisses lengthen in quiet succession, each one stretching further, deepening without haste. What begins as soft and playful grows into lips parting only to return with a tenderness sharpened by want.

The sheets twist around their legs as they shift closer each kisses more. Wonwoo parts just enough to murmur against his lips, “Do you have to be at the hospital anytime soon ?” he asks.

Mingyu exhales, chasing another kiss before answering. “Not before noon”

A slow smirk curves across Wonwoo’s mouth. “Mhmh” he hums, brushing his lips along Mingyu’s jaw, “So I’m allowed to take a little more time with you”

Mingyu scoffs a breathless laugh, “Time for what ?” he asks, nibbling at his bottom lip.

“For giving you my good morning” Wonwoo shifts, sliding over until he straddles Mingyu’s hips, bracketing him with his thighs.

The words hang between them like an electric current and before Mingyu can catch his breath Wonwoo is on him again, kissing him with a mouth that burns hotter. Their chests rise and fall against each other and the press of their pelvises meeting, the sliding of their cocks together, drags a helpless groan from Mingyu’s throat whose hands dig hard on his waist, enough to leave faint marks on the pale skin.

Wonwoo doesn’t relent, rather he angles his hips and begins to circle them slow and teasing at first, then deeper, syncing their movements into a maddening rhythm that feed the heat coiling between them. He moves with intent, each little thrust drawing more sounds out of Mingyu until the air is knocked out of his lungs.

Mingyu's head tips back against the pillow, knuckles turning white where he grips. His eyes fight to stay open until for just a moment he catches the sight of Wonwoo above him, hair disheveled, lips parted and kiss-swollen, pupils blown wide with want.

“Fuck, Wonwoo—” Mingyu chokes, words breaking into a moan. He can’t form more than fragments, can’t articulate the way the man on top of him is undoing him piece by piece.

Wonwoo vigorously grinds against him until their cocks are hard and wet with pre-cum, then with a slow inhale, he lifts himself to slightly rest a palm on Mingyu's chest for balance. His thighs tremble to maintain control and Mingyu watches enraptured as Wonwoo reaches back to grasp his cock and guiding it to his opening. His breath catches, words die in his mouth as he sinks down on him inch after inch.

Wonwoo tilts his head back and hangs his mouth open, lips trembling around the ghost of a moan as he takes his time to let his body adjust to the stretch. His palms splay across Mingyu’s pecs, fingers pressing into the hard plane of muscle beneath them as if to anchor himself there. His nails dig deeper without meaning to, dragging half-moons into his sun-warmed skin, leaving evidence of how much it takes not to give in to the urge to move.

Mingyu feels every mark, every tremor, and he watches his lashes flutter shut as Wonwoo tries to ground himself and to accept the overwhelming fullness inside him.

“God…” Mingyu hisses, eyes squeezing shut at the sheer sensation of being enveloped like this. He claws lightly at Wonwoo’s waist as if to steady both of them. “You’re so fucking tight…”

“Shut up…” Wonwoo exhales shakily before starting rolling his hips in lazy circles, savoring the press of Mingyu inside.

The motion makes Mingyu curse again, “F— you’re…” but his sentences is cut off by another helpless moan. He tries to lift his head to look at Wonwoo moving his body like enchanted but the sheer sight of him above, with sweat glistening along his collarbone, makes him go crazy.

Wonwoo bites down on his lower lip and he begins to move slow at first, lifting himself before sliding back down, his hole clenching around Mingyu with every motion. The pace grows steadier until the sound of their breaths and the faint creak of the bed fill the room. “You like this ?”

Mingyu can only laugh breathlessly, “You’re going to fucking kill me”

He groans and his hands tighten on his hips, holding him firmly as if Mingyu might lose himself without anchoring there. His eyes roll back for a moment before he forces them open again to watch that show, Wonwoo bouncing up and down his cock increasing his pace. Wonwoo smirks faintly through his own labored breathing as his movements grow bolder and more provocative, lifting himself higher and then sinking down on his fullness to make Mingyu’s grip falter.

“Fuck, I love this—love you like this—” his words dissolve into a moan as Wonwoo rolls his hips down with devastating precision, hitting every spots by himself.

The intensity builds up more and more, their rhythm no longer hesitant but hot and consuming. Wonwoo leans forward and presses his palms into Mingyu’s shoulder to steady himself, his own breath shuddering as he rides him. “More” he whispers between pants, “Mingyu… fuck me more”

The plea unravels Mingyu completely. With a sharp exhale he pushes himself upright, one arm wrapped tight around Wonwoo’s back, the other hand still clutching his hip. He crashes their mouths together, kissing him with a passion that borders on desperation and that can only make them breathe through each other. Teeth clash, tongues tangle, their ragged gasps swallow every kiss that refuse to end. Their lips break only for them to steal air, their foreheads pressed together as their bodies continue to move stronger now.

“Shit—” Mingyu groans against his lips, nearly trembling with how good it feels, how perfect Wonwoo feels in his arms. “You’re driving me insane”

Wonwoo laughs breathlessly, tilting his head back to expose his throat and Mingyu doesn’t miss the opportunity to kiss down the column of his neck to taste sweat and salt, mouthing gently until his teeth leave soft unmissable marks. Wonwoo locks his arms tight around his shoulders and rolls his hips back and forth, alternating circles and grinding down onto him, moans getting swallowed into his mouth every time Mingyu hits that sweet place deep inside him.

Their kisses turn frantic, mouths parting and reconnecting as if they can’t bear a single inch of distance. Mingyu’s hands roam over him in blind devotion, over the dip of his spine, the curve of his waist, grabbing his ass cheeks and spreading them when he feels Wonwoo’s thighs beginning to shake. Mingyu helps him moving on his cock, meeting Wonwoo halfway with even deeper thrusts that make the bed tremble beneath them.

“Right there—Min” Wonwoo gasps, voice high and broken, until he’s nearly sobbing with pleasure. “Ah, ah—” he cries out as his chest arches into Mingyu’s touches.

Each thrust angles deeper, Mingyu groans low. “Wonwoo—fuck—you feel so good, I can’t—”

His words dissolve into another moan as his rhythm falters, hips stuttering against the overwhelming rush building inside him. Wonwoo drags his lips back to him, kissing him hard almost bruising. Their tongues tangle desperate as a litany of muffled cries pass between them.

“I’m—” Mingyu’s voice fractures when he breaks the kiss, “I’m about to come”

“In me” Wonwoo interrupts, more like a plea than a command. His hips grind down with a shiver, eyes fluttering shut as he gasps out, “Don’t hold back”

Mingyu’s breath catches, his entire body trembling under the weight of Wonwoo’s total permission and trust. His control suddenly shatters and with a hoarse groan, he tightens his hold and thrusts deeply, burying himself fully inside as he comes. Wonwoo cries out, his voice breaking on Mingyu’s name, nails raking down his back as his body convulses in bliss each spurt more.

His hips jerk helplessly, Mingyu’s entire body bowing into him as Wonwoo clings through it all. His own hand works on his cock furiously until he collapses too, spilling hot cum all over his abdomen, his own release streaking their skin as he trembles and gasps. Wonwoo shudders and moans loud and their rhythm slows down messily, driven by nothing but the desperate ache of wanting to be impossibly closer.

For a long moment the room is nothing but the sound of their broken breaths. The mattress rocks beneath them as Mingyu, still inside him, lowers his head against his shoulder to press his lips to the damp skin there, whispering something incoherent that sounds like devotion. Wonwoo hugs him tight, arms wound around his broad back and his forehead presses to his head as his chest heaves with ragged breaths. There are overwhelming tears in the corners of his eyes like the way this love is more than his body can hold. He sighs deeply against Mingyu, clutching him as if afraid the moment might dissolve.

Mingyu peppers soft kisses along Wonwoo’s temple and cheeks. Eventually, he eases them both onto their sides, still tangled, still joined until the last possible second. Wonwoo sighs at the loss when Mingyu slips out but it’s quickly soothed by the way he gathers him up again, pulling the covers over them both. They lie there, exhausted but giddy, sweat cooling on their skin, bodies tangled so closely it’s hard to tell where one ends and the other begins.

Wonwoo’s fingers move lazily over Mingyu’s chest, tracing little shapes like circles, half-hearts, lines that disappear into the faint ridges of his muscle.

The touch is almost absent-minded but Mingyu feels every delicate trace. “I never want morning like this to end” he mumbles, catching Wonwoo’s wrist and kissing the inside before letting it fall back against his chest.

Wonwoo smiles faintly, “Me neither” he whispers.

Mingyu tilts his head up, stealing a kiss that’s nothing like the frenzy from before but it’s slow and meant to last. It lingers in the quiet between them, where neither needs more than the weight of the other. He kisses him once more, softer on his forehead, “Don’t fall asleep” he murmurs a little playful. “We need to shower”

“I don’t want to get up” Wonwoo pouts.

“I’ll cook you breakfast” Mingyu tries to negotiate.

“Hmm. That sounds inviting”

“It’s a yes ?”



Wonwoo chuckles this time, brushing his nose against his neck. “Fine…”

Like the morning itself is guiding them forward, they peel themselves from the sheets and slip out of bed together. The cool air brushes against their warm skin as they pad barefoot to the bathroom. Mingyu stretches with an easy groan, long arms arching overhead, while Wonwoo only shakes his head, lips tugged into a smile that carries both amusement and affection. Neither strays more than a breath away from the other.

When the shower hisses to life, steam soon curls around them, softening the edges of the room and smudging the mirror into a blur. Mingyu makes a show of shivering dramatically when the water leans warmer than his liking, teasing Wonwoo with exaggerated complaints. Wonwoo retaliates by stealing the shampoo straight from his hands, squeezing a dollop into his palm with a sly glance that betray his intent.

Mingyu can’t help but grin as he watches the mischief play across his face. Sliding in behind him, he lifts his hands and combs them slowly through damp hair, fingertips gentle as he works the shampoo into a lather. Wonwoo yields to the touch, eyelids fluttering closed, his weight leaning just slightly back as if to say that he trusts him completely. When they trade places, Wonwoo’s touch mirrors his so soft but purposeful, nails lightly grazing over Mingyu’s scalp until Mingyu can’t hold back a low groan of pure contentment, melting under the attention.

The steam clings to them both, wrapping their skin in a fine sheen as the space between kisses grows shorter in an absentminded brush against a temple, a lingering press to a shoulder, the fleeting warmth of lips at the corner of a mouth. There is no urgency to it, no hunger beyond the simple need to be near. The rhythm of it is easy, as if that type of intimacy has always been their language, as if the morning itself has conspired to slow the whole world around them.

They tumble out of the bathroom wrapped in damp towels and laughter still clinging to their lips. Mingyu dresses quickly, tugging his clothes back on from the night before, running a hand through wet hair that refuses to stay flat. Wonwoo, slower, pads back into his room and emerges in soft shorts and an oversized shirt, sleeves hanging loose against his wrists. He looks every bit like someone who could fall back into bed if given the chance but the fond curve of his smile betrays that he’s glad he didn’t.

In the kitchen, Mingyu rolls up his sleeves with the kind of enthusiasm reserved for someone about to conquer breakfast. He raids the fridge, pulling out kimchi, leftover rice, green onions, and eggs. “Kimchi Pancakes” he declares like it’s a mission, tossing the ingredients on the counter.

Wonwoo reluctantly picks up the cutting board, eyeing the knife like it’s an enemy. He starts slicing scallions with the most uneven rhythm, each cut cautious and strangely angled. Mingyu watches for all of five seconds before setting down his spatula and stepping up behind him. His chest brushes against Wonwoo’s back as he reaches for his hands.

“Like this” he murmurs, adjusting the angle of his wrist.

Wonwoo bristles, half a laugh caught in his throat. “I’m not completely hopeless, you know”

“You’re cutting them like they offended you” Mingyu teases, lips brushing his ear as he leans in closer. His hands stay over Wonwoo’s a moment longer than necessary, guiding him through two clean slices before withdrawing.

Wonwoo shoots him a sidelong glance, cheeks faintly flushed. “You just wanted an excuse to hover”

“Guilty” Mingyu grins, stepping back toward the stove.

Wonwoo quickly abandons the knife and hops onto the counter with his legs swinging lazily. From his perch, he watches Mingyu toss kimchi into the hot pan, the air filling with the sharp, comforting scent as it sizzles. He stirs with ease, glancing up every so often just to find Wonwoo’s eyes on him. Each time he does, Mingyu slips between his knees for a quick kiss, stealing a taste of him before returning to the stove.

“I haven’t felt this normal in years” Wonwoo chuckles, his voice slipping out casual but tinged with something quieter.

Mingyu looks back at him and smiles softly, “Normal suits you” he says, “Domestic, even”

Wonwoo blushes and doesn’t hide the way the words settle warmly inside him. They fall into a very domestic rhythm, Mingyu cooking, Wonwoo occasionally reaching over to sneak a bite only to have his hand slapped away, both of them laughing.

“What’s on your agenda today ?” Wonwoo asks casually between the sizzle of the pan and the easy banter.

Mingyu lowers the heat on the stove before answering. “I have to check some patients and then I think I’m gonna study the case of the child with Tetralogy of Fallot”

Wonwoo slides down from the counter just as Mingyu plates up the steaming kimchi pancakes. They set the dishes down on the small kitchen table and as they sit, Wonwoo rests his chin briefly on his hand, studying Mingyu’s face. “Are you worried about it ?” he asks softly, watching how the question lands.

“I am” Mingyu exhales heavily, chopsticks pausing midair as if the thought alone makes him loses his appetite for a moment. “It’s… the first time I’ll be handling something like this. Tetralogy of Fallot isn’t straightforward, it’s risky, especially for a child that young”

“High risk” Wonwoo agrees, chewing quietly, “But it’s also one of those conditions where surgical correction can completely change the child’s life. Without it, he won’t have much of a chance, barely decades ahead of him”

“That’s the part that scares me most” Mingyu’s jaw tightens, “It’s not like other surgeries where there’s some margin. Here if I make one wrong decision, there’s no undoing it”

“Nothing will go wrong” Wonwoo sets his chopsticks down, leaning forward slightly. “You’re not going to do this alone, there will be an entire team in that operating room with you. And I’ll be right beside you too, anticipating your moves, adjusting when you need me to. I know you, Mingyu. I know you’ll walk in there prepared to do everything possible for that child”

Mingyu swallows, nodding slowly. “I’ve been reviewing the anatomy over and over, I’ve been reading about the Blalock–Taussig shunt and full repair procedures but what scare me is not just the technical part, it’s the unpredictability, the timing, the pressure shifts… this boy doesn’t have time for hesitation and I’m trying to memorize everything but also I keep thinking ‘what if I miss something ?’ ”

“That’s always a risk” Wonwoo says honest but firm, “We’re used to thrive under pressure and preparation isn’t just memorizing steps but understanding the reason why we have to do that. Think about the physiology. Cyanosis, right ? Deoxygenated blood mixing. Surgery corrects the outflow tract, relieves the obstruction, closes the defect. It’s a step-by-step procedure to rebuild the child’s heart”

Mingyu lets out a short laugh, almost in disbelief at how grounded Wonwoo sounds. “You make it sound so poetic”

“It is, in a way” Wonwoo shrugs. “Medicine is cruel sometimes, but it’s also miraculous. That’s why we do this, isn’t it ?”

The heaviness in Mingyu’s shoulders eases, little by little. He picks up his chopsticks again and takes a bite. The food tastes better, or maybe it’s just the conversation loosening the knot in his chest. “You really believe I can do that ?” he asks after a pause.

Wonwoo gives him a faint smile. “I wouldn’t scrub in with you if I didn’t”

The words land heavy and warm in his chest, steadying Mingyu in a way no textbook ever could. He exhales slowly, eating another bite in silence before speaking again with a new steadiness in his movements. “The boy’s parents… they’re hesitant about the surgery and honestly I don’t blame them. The risks, the money, handing their child over to strangers—” he cuts himself off, frustration tightening his jaw.

“Of course they are” Wonwoo nods knowingly, “They’re being asked to gamble their child’s life on strangers in masks but that’s why they need you. They don’t just need to trust the procedure, they need to trust you, Min-ah, to convince themselves that their son will be safe with you. I’ve seen how parents look at you. You have this… presence. You’ll get through to them”

Mingyu’s lips curve in a small, almost reluctant smile. His eyes linger on Wonwoo for a moment longer than necessary before dropping back to his bowl. “Thank you” he murmurs and for the first time that morning, the heaviness in his chest feels a little lighter.

The rest of breakfast passes in easy rhythm, chopsticks clicking against porcelain, laughter spilling in between bites of pancake and rice. The conversation drifts away from surgeries into frivolous chatter, half-teasing remarks about Wonwoo’s cooking skills, Mingyu joking about turning the kitchen into his territory now, Wonwoo rolling his eyes but secretly enjoying the normalcy of it.

When the plates are finally cleared, the reluctance to move persists. They wash the dishes side by side, their shoulders brushing in quiet touches, and small giggles speaking louder than words. Eventually, Mingyu checks the clock on the wall and the weight of time presses in. He shrugs on his hoodie and slings his bag over his shoulder, but at the door, neither of them moves quickly.

Their goodbye is stretched thin, kisses exchanged once then twice then again until Wonwoo chuckles against Mingyu’s lips and nudges his chest with a firm hand. If he doesn’t push him out now, Mingyu will never leave. And with a mock-scowl and a reluctant smile, Wonwoo shoves him gently toward the corridor, telling him without words that if he doesn’t go, he’ll be late. They part with one last kiss and the promise of seeing each other soon etched in their eyes.

The city greets Mingyu with the usual morning rush, cars honking, scooters weaving between lanes, the hum of life at full tilt. He drives through it half-distracted, replaying the warmth of the kitchen, the sweetness of Wonwoo’s sleepy smile, and by the time he pulls into the hospital parking lot he forces his mind to sharpen, slipping back into the mantle of the doctor he has to be in that moment.

The locker room carries its usual cocktail of scents, clean linen sharp with detergent, sterile tang of antiseptic clinging faintly to the tiled walls and the faint musk of tired bodies passing through. The air is filled with the familiar soundtrack of metal doors clang open and shut, the rustle of scrubs being pulled over. Mingyu steps inside and lets his eyes sweep the row until he catches sight of Seungcheol already dressed in his orthopedic burgundy scrubs, crouched at his locker to lace up his shoes.

They greet each other with a brief nod, an unspoken routine of men who’ve worked too many shifts side by side. Mingyu turns to his locker and starts to undress, tugging his hoodie over his head when he notices Seungcheol’s gaze flicking all over his frame for a beat too long. His friend’s brow arches, mouth already curving like he has just found something to tease him.

“Rough night ?” he asks deceptively casual, like he isn’t obviously fishing.

Mingyu blinks. “No, why ?”

“You didn’t get home, did you ?”

“What ?” Mingyu frowns, halfway through kicking off his sneakers. “Yes, of course I did. Why do you ask ?”

Seungcheol leans back against his locker, crossing his arms. “Why are you wearing the exact same clothes as yesterday ?”

It takes a beat for Mingyu to process. His hoodie, his jeans, the shirt he crumpled on the floor last night but apparently pulled right back on this morning. His ears become suddenly hot and he ducks his head into the locker, scrambling for composure.

“What are you talking about…” he mutters, voice breaking into a weak laugh. “I changed. Obviously”

“Bullshits. You didn’t” Seungcheol barks out a laugh, “Who did you sleep with ?”

“Cheol—” Mingyu threw his hands up, “I have something like twenty of these black hoodies in my closet! You know me!”

“Don’t fucking try to change the subject, Kim Mingyu” Seungcheol points at him like he has just caught a kid stealing candy. “Who is he ?”

“Why are you suddenly assuming it’s about a man!” Mingyu insists, grabbing at his scrubs like changing faster would erase the conversation.

“Because you’re too defensive and your ears are mad red” Seungcheol shoots back, “So, who is he ?”

“None!”

“Liar!”

Mingyu groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh my god… Fine!” his voice cracks as he surrenders so dramatic. “I spent the night at someone’s place, you’re right, happy now ?!”

“Yes, thank you” Seungcheol leans back against the lockers, grinning ear to ear. “Now spit his name out and I’ll leave you alone. Do I know him ? Does he work here ?”

Mingyu sighs so hard it came out like a growl. “It’s… Wonwoo”

The name drops between them like a stone in a still pond. Seungcheol blinks once, twice, then his jaw goes slack.

“You’re shitting me”

“I’m not, I swear—”

“You’re fucking kidding me!” Seungcheol slaps Mingyu’s bicep hard enough to sting, his laugh exploding into the room like he can’t hold it in. “What the hell, dude! Are you two dating ?!”

“God… lower your damn voice!” Mingyu hisses, checking the door like someone may have overheard. His cheeks burn so red they match the emergency exit sign. “Yes, we are! And it’s… recent. Well, not really recent because I’ve been crushing on him since college but— things happened and we—uh…” he waves a hand vaguely, ears burning. “We slept together and—”

“You had sex with the cardiothoracic ice cube!”

“Stop, he’s nothing like that!” Mingyu shoots back instantly, like someone had just insulted his family.

Seungcheol stares at him for a long moment, blinking like his brain is buffering. Then suddenly he tips his head back and bursts into laughter, loud enough that it bounces off the tile walls. His shoulders shake, his hand slaps against his locker for support.

“This is insane” he gasps between laughs. “You. And him. This is absolutely insane!”

Mingyu groans again, “Don’t make such a big deal out of it”

“It is a big deal!” Seungcheol insists, still grinning though the shock lingers in his eyes. “Kim Mingyu… and Jeon Wonwoo… dating. What alternate universe did I wake up in?”

Mingyu’s ears burn even redder. “We’re not—well, I mean, yes we are, but just… don’t make it sound ridiculous”

Seungcheol finally reins in his laughter, though a smile tugs stubbornly at his mouth. He exhales and his expression softens. “Okay. Okay. Jokes aside… I’m genuinely happy for you. But be careful, okay ?”

“Careful ?” Mingyu asks, halfway through tying his drawstrings.

“You know what I mean” Seungcheol leans back against the lockers. His tone shifts from teasing to serious in a heartbeat, the kind of voice he only uses when he’s about to give advice. “We all work in the same hospital. You and Wonwoo are both surgeons, you’ll be in the same operating room sometimes. If word gets out, people are going to talk. Some will whisper, some might even use it against you”

“I know. But…” Mingyu shrugs, helpless. “I can’t help it, Cheol. I’ve wanted him for years and now that he’s finally seeing me —” his words trail off, emotion catching at the back of his throat. “I’m not letting that go”

Seungcheol watches him carefully, his grin fading into something gentler. “You sound serious”

“I am” he meets his gaze with an earnestness that leaves no room for teasing.

“Alright” Seungcheol sighs, “Then be smart. Hospital gossip is brutal and people look for weaknesses. If the wrong attending gets wind of this, they might question your judgment, your professionalism. Wonwoo’s too. And that’s not fair but it’s the reality”

Mingyu nods slowly, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “We’ll be careful. No one knows for now”

“Good. Keep it that way. At least until you both know what you want from this long term” Seungcheol pauses, “Trust me. I know how messy this can get”

Mingyu frowns, glancing at him. “Because of Jeonghan ?”

Seungcheol chuckles quietly, the sound carrying both fondness and exasperation. “Yeah… because of Jeonghan” His eyes soften in a way that betrays just how much he cares. “You think your situation is complicated ? Try dating a general surgeon with a God complex. Half our relationship is me dragging him out of the hospital when he refuses to sleep and the other half is us arguing over who gets the last piece of fried chicken at two in the morning.”

“That sounds about right for Jeonghan” Mingyu grins.

“It is” he admits, his smile tugging wider, “But it’s not easy. Our schedules barely line up, you know. Sometimes we go days without seeing each other properly, even though we’re in the same building. And when we do… we’re so exhausted we can barely talk. You have to be prepared for the rhythm of it”

Mingyu leans back against his locker, listening intently. Seungcheol doesn’t sugarcoat things, and that’s why his words land heavy.

“But —” Seungcheol continues after a beat, his tone softening, “The moments we do get together ? They make all the rest worth it. Sitting in the cafeteria at midnight, holding hands under the table like idiots. Him sneaking into my office between consults just to nap on the couch. The small things become everything, I swear” his eyes grow distant for a moment, then refocus on Mingyu. “If you and Wonwoo can find your version of that, it’ll work”

“That’s all I want, honestly. Just… to have him. Even if it’s only in pieces”

Seungcheol studies him for a moment, then smirks. “You’re really whipped, huh ?”

“Shut up…” Mingyu mutters with a laugh, though his ears betray him by turning scarlet again.

Seungcheol pats him hard on the back. “Good. You deserve it. Just promise me one thing”

“What ?”

“Don’t let this job eat the both of you alive. Because it will, if you let it”

Mingyu nods firmly. “I promise”

He closes his locker and slings his red stethoscope around his neck, the fabric of his fresh scrubs is so soft and freshly clean against his skin. Before heading out, Mingyu steps close to Seungcheol and pats his shoulder firmly, the kind of gesture that carries both gratitude and the wordless bond they’ve always shared. Seungcheol responds with a crooked grin and then they part ways, each pulled toward their respective wings of the hospital.

The day around Dr. Kim Mingyu swells to life almost instantly. The pediatric ward hums with its usual lively rhythm, nurses move briskly between rooms as the faint beep of monitors keep them company during the rustle of charts being updated. Mingyu makes his rounds steadily as his tall frame bends low to speak gently with children curled under blankets. He checks incision sites on their tiny bodies, listens to small heartbeats through his stethoscope, some kids beam at him with sleepy smiles, others are groggy and irritable, but Mingyu’s patience never falters. He adjusts IV lines, reassures parents about the progress of the therapies and scribbles notes into charts that will later be typed into endless files.

By mid-afternoon, his pager buzzes sharply against his hip. A quick glance at the code confirms what he already suspects and had already in mind to do, “consult meeting with other physicians”. Mingyu washes his hands briskly, discards his gloves and heads down the hall weaving past residents hustling to their assignments.

The conference room door stands slightly ajar when he arrives. Inside, Joshua sits at the far end of the table with his sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows, reviewing lab reports very attentively. Across from him, Jeonghan leans casually against the chair back with a surgical chart open in front of him, his posture relaxed but his sharp eyes are already scanning every details written there.

Mingyu pauses briefly at the threshold, straightening his shoulders before stepping inside. He pushes the door open fully, greeted by the muted shuffle of papers and the sterile hum of the air-conditioning.

“Good afternoon” he says, bowing his head lightly.

“Afternoon” Jeonghan replies, gesturing with his chin. “Come over, Gyu. We’ll start in a moment”

Mingyu nods and slips into a chair, laying his own notes on the polished surface. He takes a deep breath with the weight of anticipation pressing down at his chest, and behind him the door opens again meeting a hasty Jihoon, walking briskly over the table with a folder tucked under his arm. He whispers a polite ‘good afternoon’ to everyone and slides into an empty seat without many ceremony, placing the file down on the table.

“Alright, we’re all here” Jeonghan says after a quick glance around, flipping open the chart in front of him. “I wanted to update you all about the Tetralogy Child’s recent condition. We, from general surgery, have been monitoring him closely for the past twenty four hours and I believe there are some changes that we need to discuss”

“I got your file just this morning” Jihoon adds, as chief, his presence carries a quiet authority that settles the group. He folds his hands over the table and glances toward Jeonghan. “I’m glad to see you’ve taken time to review it. That’s exactly the kind of collaboration I expect, and frankly, what this patient demands”

“We can’t afford delays with a case like this” Jeonghan counters, tapping the page with his pen. He flips open the latest echocardiography results, his eyes focused as he scans the numbers. “So the oxygen saturation still hovers around 78% despite supplemental. He's not responding very well, it's barely sustainable, as well as the right ventricular obstruction is extremely severe” he turns the page so the others can see the gradients highlighted in ink. “We don’t have much time”

Joshua adjusts his glasses and leans forward, tracing the measurements with his pen. “The ventricular septal defect is large, as expected. The overriding aorta is also pronounced. It’s a classic presentation of Tetralogy but a very difficult one this time. The pressure gradient across the right ventricular is dangerously high. That’s what’s driving the cyanotic spells” He sits back, his voice even, analytical. “If he has another hypoxic spell of that magnitude, I’m not sure he’ll recover”

Mingyu listens intently, then places his own notes on the table, his fingers smoothing the page almost unconsciously. “I’ve reviewed the imaging and labs three times” he says, voice so steady it makes both Jeonghan and Joshua look at him directly. “This boy can’t wait for a palliative shunt alone. It would buy time, yes, but his anatomy makes him a candidate for full repair. The pulmonary annulus is small but not hypoplastic beyond salvage. If we patch the ventricular defect and relieve the obstruction in one operation, he stands a chance at a near-normal life expectancy”

Joshua tilts his head, considering. “You’d go for a complete repair right away ? At his age ?” his tone isn’t dismissive, but it carries the cautious skepticism of an internist weighing long-term outcomes.

“Yes” Mingyu nods firmly. “We risk more complications by waiting. Prolonged cyanosis is already affecting his growth. His hematocrit is high, his body is compensating but not forever. Every day without correction increases his risk of stroke, brain abscess, developmental delays. The longer we delay, the narrower the window becomes”

Jeonghan’s gaze sharpens as he flips to the imaging scans again, this time pointing with his pen. “What about the right ventricular hypertrophy ? The muscle is thickened and relief of obstruction can destabilize the ventricle. If you go in aggressively, you risk postoperative low output syndrome. Children can spiral fast”

Mingyu meets his eyes, “That’s the risk. But leaving him as he is, it’s a greater one. We’ll need careful intraoperative monitoring and we’ll keep extracorporeal oxygenation on standby. I’m not naive about the possibility of failure but ethically—” he pauses slightly, “— ethically, I can’t justify only giving him a half-life when there’s a chance for more”

Joshua taps the table lightly with his pen, his expression thoughtful. “You’re thinking in terms of physiology, not just mechanics. That’s good. But what about pulmonary regurgitation post-repair ? You’ll be trading cyanosis for the potential of long-term right ventricular dysfunction”

“I’ve thought about it” Mingyu replies quickly, as if anticipating the challenge. “The patch will be tailored to minimize regurgitation. He’ll need long-term follow-up, maybe even a valve replacement down the line but that’s a future he’ll actually have the chance to reach. Without surgery, he won’t.”

Jeonghan exhales, leaning back in his chair, arms crossing loosely. There’s no dismissal in his eyes this time, just a quiet measuring of Mingyu’s conviction. “I can’t say you’ve not done your homework. I’ll give you that”

Mingyu lowers his gaze for a brief moment remembering the breakfast conversation, the way Wonwoo had said, “Think about the physiology. Deoxygenated blood mixing. Surgery can rebuild the child’s heart” it steadies him.

When he looks up again, there’s a quiet hope in his eyes. “This is about giving the child a chance to live a normal childhood. Running. Breathing without turning blue. His parents are terrified, I know that, but if we don’t move forward, their fear will only be replaced by regret”

Joshua exchanges a glance with Jeonghan before nodding once. “I agree with the assessment” he says, sliding the file closer. “It’s risky but medically sound. The physiology supports it”

Jeonghan sighs, then smirks faintly at Mingyu, the edge of challenge giving way to something closer to respect. “Fine, we’ll back you but you’d better be ready, Kim. Once you open that chest, there’s no turning back”

Mingyu straightens in his seat, pulse thrumming but he doesn’t flinch. “I’ll be ready”

You’re not going to do this alone.

Wonwoo’s unspoken presence hovers at the edges of that promise, grounding Mingyu like a steady pulse beneath the chaos. He doesn’t need to say it aloud, doesn’t need to explain to Jeonghan or Joshua how much strength he draws from knowing Wonwoo will be there beside him, steadying his hands as much as his heart.

The meeting stretches on in their usual medical discourse as charts slide across the table and pens scratches notations into margins already crowded with reminders. Jeonghan’s voice is firm as he outlines the division of roles, methodical in the way only a seasoned surgeon can be. Joshua punctuates with careful input, stressing systemic monitoring, anesthesia management, hemodynamics, every detail that will hold the boy’s fragile body together on the table.

Mingyu listens, nods, adds his thoughts where needed. He outlines the surgical sequence he has rehearsed in his head countless times. The incision, the exposure, the careful navigation of malformed anatomy, all mapped like choreography, each movement dependent on the one before. And when Wonwoo’s role is mentioned, it isn’t questioned. His name folds into the plan seamlessly, his presence at Mingyu’s side assumed as if it were always meant to be there.

Guiding exposure, anticipating each gesture, he is more than an assistant rather the anchor Mingyu knows he will need that day.

By the time the meeting adjourns, Mingyu steps out into the corridor releasing a long breath as his shoulders rise and fall for the huge weight on them that soon shifts from clinical planning to human responsibility. He barely takes three steps ahead before Areum appears at the far end of the hall, iher expression already telling him what he needs to know.

“Mingyu, can you come over the consultation room for a moment, please ?” she calls gently, “The child’s parents want to talk to you”

“Yes, sure”

Together they walk down the hall, footsteps softened against the polished floor as the silence between them carries a gravity of its own already.

The consultation room feels too small for the heaviness inside it. Just a plain table, three chairs, some prevention posters on the walls and a window opening to the hospital’s back garden where sunlight filters through in fractured patches. The child’s parents sit close together, two silhouettes bound by shared worry. Their clothes are plain, frayed from wear, the father’s shirt bleached thin from too many washes, the mother’s cardigan stretched at the elbows. Her hands twist tight in her lap, her shoulders slump forward carrying a weight that no labor could match.

Exhaustion clings to them beneath their eyes, the kind that comes from years of measuring every decision against what little they have. Mingyu smooths a hand down the front of his white coat before stepping closer, bowing his head in greeting.

He offers his warm palm first to the mother, then to the father, “I’m Dr. Kim Mingyu” he introduces himself. “I’m the doctor in charge of following your son's case. Thank you for coming to meet me today”

They nod, the mother’s hands twisting tighter in her lap, and Mingyu takes his seat across from them. Areum slips into the chair at his side, clipboard balanced on her knees, but her presence is more supportive than clinical.

It takes only a breath before the mother leans forward with trembling lips. “Doctor… will my son survive ?”

Mingyu wets his lips, fighting the urge to rush with reassurance but they first deserve honesty. “Your son’s condition is complicated” he begins slowly, careful with every word, “He was born with a heart condition called Tetralogy of Fallot” he pauses just long enough to gauge their faces. “I know that sounds frightening but let me explain what it means in simpler words”

Mingyu sketches an invisible shape on the table with his fingertip, as if tracing the outline of a heart. “Normally the heart has a very smooth pathway that allows blood to flow out to the lungs, pick up oxygen, and then carry that oxygen to the rest of the body. In your son’s case, there are four small problems that happened when his heart was forming. Each one by itself might not be so severe but together they make it very hard for his heart to do its job”

The parents lean in, their eyes fixed on him listening with focus.

“The first problem is that there’s a hole between the two lower chambers of his heart. Blood that should go to the lungs to pick up oxygen instead mixes with the blood going out to his body. That’s why sometimes you see his lips or fingers turn bluish”

The mother nods faintly, pressing her hands tighter in her lap.

“The second and third problems are that the path to his lungs is narrowed and the main blood vessel leaving his heart is sitting slightly off-center. So, blood has trouble reaching the lungs where it’s supposed to pick up oxygen. Finally, because of all this, the muscle of his right heart chamber has become thicker. It’s working too hard”

He lets the explanation hang for a beat, giving them time to process all the informations. Then Mingyu softens his tone, “The good news is that we know how to repair this. Surgery allows us to close the hole, widen the pathway to the lungs and put things back in the right place. After that, your son will finally be able to breathe easier, run, and play without his heart tiring so quickly”

The father swallows, his voice low. “So… he could live like other children ?”

“Yes, absolutely” Mingyu nods gently. “That’s the goal”

“And…” the father swallows hard, his jaw working as if every muscle in his body resists the thought. “And if the surgery fails ?” he asks, breaking open the terror he’s been trying to hold back.

“There are risks, yes” Mingyu leans forward, folding his hands on the table. “Every surgery has them but your son will be assisted by the best team of cardiologists, anesthesiologists, surgeons we have here. We’re not going in unprepared. Every possible complication has been studied and anticipated. I can’t promise you there won’t be danger but I can promise that we will do everything in our power to bring him safely through it”

For a moment the room stays silent, filled only by the ticking of a clock and the distant hum of hospital life beyond the door. The father nods faintly, his lips pressed thin while tears glisten at the edges of the mother’s eyes. She tries to blink them away but one escapes eventually sliding down her cheek.

“Dr Kim we don’t…” she barely whispers, “We don’t have the money to cover all the expenses. Even if this is what he needs, we can’t…” she covers her mouth with her hand as if ashamed, the other clutching the fabric of her skirt tight enough to wrinkle it.

Mingyu feels his heart seize in his chest. He was prepared to see all the possible scenarios — questions about the surgical complications, the long recovery, the medical jargon he might need to translate — but nothing in medical school prepared him for this helplessness, the reality that medicine alone can’t heal without means.

“Please don’t let money decide your child’s future” Mingyu says softly, leaning forward as if to bridge the chasm that’s opening between them. “I know this is scaring and overwhelming but there are options. Government programs, charitable foundations, even hospital initiatives that exists for this very reason. Nurse Areum and I will help you navigate every one of them”

“We’ve already tried” the father shakes his head. “The waiting lists are endless and by the time we see any support, it would be too late for him”

Mingyu sees it in both their faces, the exhaustion of years bent under labor, the quiet compromises of poverty, the nights spent choosing between medicine and meals. They love their son so fiercely it’s written into every sag of their posture, every desperate glance at one another. But they are cornered, powerless against a system that doesn’t bend for them.

Something in him though refuses to let that be the very end. Mingyu straightens in his posture, carrying a fire he doesn’t often allow to show. “Your son deserves a chance. He deserves to run, to laugh, to grow without this weight on his chest.” His gaze flicks between them, locking on their broken hope. “I give you my word, I will find a way. I won’t let money be the reason your boy doesn’t get this surgery”

The father’s eyes widen, startled by the intensity of his vow. His large hand covers his wife’s smaller one on the table, squeezing as if to anchor them both. The mother lowers her hand from her mouth, staring at Mingyu with a mix of disbelief and fragile hope.

“We… we just want him to live” she murmurs, tears flowing freely now on her face.

Mingyu’s chest tightens at the sight, “He will. And we’ll fight for it”

That meeting, Mingyu cannot deny, leaves him particularly troubled and thoughtful. And when the door clicks softly shut behind them, the consultation room feels like it’s holding his own breath. Mingyu sits slouched in his chair with his elbows resting on his knees and eyes unfocused on the floor. He’s not seeing the tiles or the faint scuff marks on them but rather his mind is still projected to the mother’s trembling hands, the father’s defeated eyes, the way they clung to each other as if love alone could shield their son from a failing heart.

Areum lingers at the threshold and takes a moment to observe him. She has seen Mingyu tired before, seen him after grueling surgeries and sleepless nights, but this is different. He looks shaken, restless, like someone carrying the weight of something far heavier than clinical responsibility. She crosses the room in few steps and pulls the chair opposite him back with a soft scrape.

“That was… exhausting” she admits quietly, breaking the silence. “Their fear… it’s hard not to carry it with you.”

Mingyu runs a hand down his face and exhales sharply, as if forcing air into lungs that feel too tight. He pushes himself to his feet, pacing a few steps across the room, then back again. His white coat swings with the movement, restless like him.

Areum studies him. “What are you thinking, Min ?”

Mingyu stops mid-step then turns to face her. His eyes are brighter than usual, lit with something fierce and unwavering. “This surgery is going to happen” he says certain. “And if money is the barrier, then I’ll cover it myself. Whatever it costs”

Areum’s eyes widen in shock. “Mingyu…” her voice catches somewhere between awe and alarm. “You can’t just— do you realize how much something like this will be ? It’s not a bill for groceries or rent. It’s astronomical”

“I don’t care” the answer is immediate, without hesitation. He takes a step closer, gripping the edge of the table with both hands as if to anchor his conviction. “I can’t sit back and watch a child die because his parents can’t afford treatment. Not when I know — I know — I have the skills and the team to save him. What kind of doctor would I be if I turned away and let money decide ?”

Areum leans back, searching his face. His intensity is overwhelming, and yet there’s a clarity in him that silences all her doubts. “Mingyu, think carefully” she pleads softly, her voice tinged with worry. “It’s not just about the surgery. There’s post-op care, follow-ups, medications. It could take years”

“I’ve already thought about it” he interrupts, shaking his head. “And I’ve made up my mind. If that’s what it takes, then yes I’ll shoulder it. I can’t let bureaucracy or bank accounts dictate whether this boy gets to grow up. Not when I’ve chosen a profession that’s supposed to protect lives” his throat tightens and he looks away briefly, “What’s the point of all this, our training, our sacrifice, if in the end we let a child’s future be decided by paperwork and waiting lists ?”

Areum feels her chest constrict. She knows Mingyu’s heart, knows the way he throws himself into every case, but hearing him like this it’s something different.

It’s not reckless passion. It’s a vow.

She softens, her eyes warming as she watches him pace again, shoulders taut with energy he can’t discharge. “You’ve always been like this. Too big-hearted for your own good” her lips curve into the faintest smile. “And maybe that’s exactly what makes you the doctor you are”

Mingyu stops again, finally meeting her gaze. “I’d rather ruin myself financially than look back one day knowing I let a boy die because his parents couldn’t pay. I won’t live with that”

For a long moment, silence settles between them again then Areum nods slowly, decisively. “Alright, if you’ve made up your mind, then I’ll stand with you. We’ll figure out the logistics together, applications, funding, maybe even external sponsors. You don’t have to carry it all alone”

A rush of relief flickers across Mingyu’s face, though the weight doesn’t fully lift. “Thank you”

Areum offers him a small smile. “Just… promise me you won’t burn yourself out before the surgery even happens. That boy needs you steady, not drowning”

“I know” he nods, easing back into his chair. “I actually want to meet him”

“He’s in room 117, do you want to go ?”

Mingyu doesn't need to be told twice as he is already on his feet, walking down the corridor in long strides to reach the child’s room. He feels the tug in his chest tighten with every door they pass, he actually has walked these halls countless times but this time the weight in his chest feels different, heavier and personal. Areum pauses in front of the door, lifting a hand to knock softly.

She eases it open and Mingyu steps in behind her as his eyes immediately land on the child sitting legs crossed on the bed. The room is modest but bright, washed in the soft glow of afternoon sunlight that sneaks past the thin curtains. The walls are yellow pale, dotted here and there with crayon drawings taped up by nurses trying to bring cheer to sterile space.

A low hum comes from the oxygen machine at the bedside, its tubing looping up to the clear mask resting gently over the child’s small face. Each breath fogs it faintly, his chest rising with uneven effort that makes Mingyu’s own lungs ache in sympathy. But the boy isn’t focused on his own condition. His thin arms are holding a console in his lap, his dark eyes fixed intently on the tiny screen. His thumbs move with a fierce determination, clicking and tapping at the buttons as if the outcome of this game were all that mattered. There’s a stubborn energy in him, bright and alive, in such contrast to the frailty of his body.

Mingyu lingers at the doorway for a heartbeat, watching him quietly. His throat tightens at the sight, this child who fights to breathe but still clings to play, to dreams. He straightens, forcing himself forward with purpose, and the hum of the machine seems to follow him as he crosses the room.

Areum’s voice gently breaks the quiet, soft as she steps closer to the bed. “Seungyoun, look who’s here! This is Dr. Kim. He’s the doctor I told you about, the one who’s going to help you get better”

The boy glances up a little startled, his eyes darting quickly over Mingyu’s tall frame and white coat. He doesn’t speak but his fingers hesitate just long enough to show he’s listening. Then, almost shyly, he drops his gaze back to the game, though his shoulders curve just slightly toward Mingyu, betraying curiosity.

Mingyu softens immediately. He doesn’t want to be a towering stranger in white so he bends down to one knee beside the bed to meet the boy at his level, forearm on the mattress rail so his posture feels casual. “Looks like you’ve got a big football match going on there” he tilts his head towards the console.

Seungyoun’s lips twitch behind the clear mask, his breath fogging the plastic with every exhale. He nods once, a little embarrassed. “I’m winning” he whispers, muffled but proud.

“Of course you are” Mingyu grins, leaning a little closer “You look like someone who doesn’t lose easily” that earns him a tiny side-glance, “Do you have a favorite team ?” he asks.

The boy’s eyes flick up, curiosity outweighing his shyness. “Manchester United” he replies softly.

“A solid choice, red jersey suits champions” Mingyu smiles, “Do you play football at school too ?”

“Yes” Seungyoun nods, his small hands clutching the console tighter. “But I can’t run fast, I get tired”

Mingyu’s heart twists, “That’s not your fault, buddy. That’s your heart making you slow down but you know what ? That’s something I can help fix”

Seungyoun tilts his head toward him, studying him with a mix of doubt and hope, as though daring to believe him but afraid to be disappointed. “So I can run ?”

“Mh-mh” Mingyu meets his gaze fully, “You will run and not just run, you’ll fly across that field so fast your friends won’t be able to catch you!” he points toward the little players on the screen. “Faster than them, even!”

The boy’s lips curl into the tiniest smile, the first one since Mingyu walked in. “Really ?”

“Really”

“I want to be as fast as Son Heung-min” he says after a while, eyes suddenly brighter.

Mingyu chuckles and straightens just enough to look him squarely in the eyes, “Then we’ll make sure you get to chase that dream, okay ?”

There’s a beat of silence between them. Seungyoun’s fingers slacken on the console, the game forgotten for the moment as he stares at Mingyu and shyly nods. Behind them, Areum watches the exchange feeling the tenderness blooming in her chest. Her lips press into a thin line, her eyes glistening despite the steady smile. She knows this isn’t just a doctor comforting a patient but rather every word Mingyu speaks carries the weight of a vow.

As he pulls back and watches Seungyoun’s fragile smile bloom through the oxygen mask, Mingyu feels that promise settle deep in his chest. Whatever it takes, professionally, financially, personally, he will see this boy run.

Mingyu doesn’t rush his time in Seungyoun’s room. He stays kneeling by the bed, watching the boy’s thumbs dart across the console, occasionally pointing out moves, cheering quietly when a goal flashes across the screen. The child relaxes little by little, sneaking glances at Mingyu, his eyes brighter now than when they’d first walked in. Between rounds, Mingyu gestures to the posters taped to the wall — old football stars cut from magazines — and Seungyoun, shy at first, begins nodding, showing him his favorites. Mingyu listens, encouraging, his hand resting lightly on the bedframe as if anchoring himself there.

Time slips by unnoticed, marked only by the steady hiss of oxygen and the occasional beep from the console. For a short while, the room feels less like a hospital and more like a safe pocket of childhood where dreams of goals and fast runs outshine tubes and masks. Eventually, Mingyu rises to his feet, brushing the crease from his trousers. Seungyoun waves timid but genuine, before lowering his gaze back to the game. Mingyu lingers just a moment longer, imprinting the boy’s smile in his mind before stepping out into the corridor with Areum.

The door closes softly behind them. Mingyu leans back against the wall, his chest tight shaken by how much the boy’s hope already means to him. He drags a long, deep breath through his lungs, trying to steady himself. His hands tremble slightly as he pulls his phone from his coat pocket, unlocking it and looking for the chat Wonwoo already pinned at the top.

Mingyu types quickly:“I met him. He’s amazing. I need to do this right”

A few seconds pass, long enough for Mingyu to hear the pounding of his own heart. Then, the reply appears, simple but steady, carrying all the weight he needs: “You will”

The screen glows in his palm. Mingyu exhales again, slower this time and feeling the fire inside him settle, not diminished, but sharpened. He pushes off the wall and starts walking as the boy’s smile and Wonwoo’s quiet certainty will carry him forward.

Chapter Text

“They say that we're out of control,
And some say we're sinners
But don't let them ruin our beautiful rhythms”

The nights leading up to the surgery were the worst Mingyu had ever endured. Worse than the sleepless stretches of medical school, worse than those moments when doubt gnawed through his head like a worm burrowing in the dark.

He could no longer recall the last time he had slept more than three hours in a row.

His eyes burn with grit, the muscles of his shoulders are pulled taut as if he were carrying a boulder on his back, yet still he pressed on. Articles, clinical cases, detailed reports, Mingyu devours them all with a hunger bordering on desperation. Page after page, journal after journal, he combs through data from American universities, Japanese hospitals, searching for reassurance in numbers and diagrams, in the cold certainty of medical science. Videos of pediatric surgeons flicker across his laptop screen, the bluish light washing his face pale like a ghost hunched over a battlefield of paper and ink.

His apartment bears the scars of his obsession. The dining table is a war zone by now, covered in scattered notebooks filled with frantic handwriting. Sheets of paper litter the floor, their margins crammed with anatomical sketches, crude maps of vessels and chambers looping endlessly into one another. Percentages, mortality rates, arrows, and question marks, every tiny spaces had become an extension of his restless mind.

Even the air smells heavy with fatigue but still his thoughts refuse to quiet.

Every time he closes his eyes, the malformed image of Seungyoun’s heart surfaces. Small, fragile, yet impossibly complex, like a riddle whispered by nature itself. It haunts him the way the boy had spoken so earnestly about wanting to run and be fast.

Mingyu can almost feel the scalpel trembling in his palm already, can almost see himself faltering at the critical moment, and he would jolt awake from dozes with his heart racing and hands clenched into fists. At times, he catches himself at four in the morning hunched forward with his forehead pressed to the edge of the desk, his fingers buried in his hair as if a long shuddering breath could be the only thing that pulls him back from going insane. He would steady himself, deep breaths in and out, and then Mingyu would force himself once more to replay the surgical steps over and over, as if repetition could carve the fear out of him.

Exhaustion at last would push him upright with bones creaking in protest as he rises from his chair. Mingyu drags himself to the window and watches Seoul stretching out beneath him in a sprawling mosaic of neon, every light like a reminder that life goes on anyway, ordinary and unbothered, while he stands alone in the stillness. The traffic far below is reduced itself to a faint hum, the pulse of a city asleep. Everyone else could rest but Mingyu stands watch, carrying the weight of a single boy’s fragile heart in the cage of his own.

He leans his forehead against the cold glass, his breath fogs up the surface in soft halos fading too quickly to leave a trace. For a fleeting second, Mingyu wonders if he is truly ready to walk into an operating room with the responsibility of having that child’s weak heart in his hands. His gaze drops and he notices the tremor in his own fingers, the same hands that never falter beneath the surgical lamp, steady even under pressure. And yet now, they twitch with exhaustion betraying the cracks in his body. Mingyu stares at them as if they are foreign tools, as if they might slip from his command at the moment he needs them most. His jaw tightens as he clenches his fists, I can’t fail him. I promised him.

But even within the walls of the hospital, when others find reprieve in the brief lulls between crises, Mingyu keeps going unable to step back.

One night Joshua stumbles upon him in the doctors’ room, hunched over the desk, bathed in the harsh glow of the computer screen. The light carves shadows deep under his eyes, his posture bent as if the weight of knowledge itself is crushing him. Joshua sets a sandwich down in front of him, its wrapper crinkling softly against the papers. “Mingyu, get some sleep” he murmurs low with concern. “You’re exhausted”

Mingyu forces a thin smile, his lips barely curving, and nods as if he agrees. He promises he’ll rest. But the lie is automatic, he never does.

The following day, Jeonghan catches him in the act. Mingyu has two textbooks propped open at once, his hands moving between them in frantic loops of underlines and notes, highlighters scattered like fallen weapons around him. Jeonghan lingers in the doorway, arms folded and head tilting with a mix of disbelief and begrudging admiration. “You’re one step away from becoming a cyborg” he teases.

Mingyu lets out a laugh without lifting his eyes from the pages. It’s a sound too sharp to be carefree, but it suffices as an answer. Somewhere, he knows Jeonghan isn’t entirely wrong.

And then there’s Wonwoo. The only one who doesn’t tell him what to do, who doesn’t scold or tease him. Mingyu wakes one morning to find himself slumped over his own desk, cheek pressed into pages dense with scrawled diagrams and notes blurred by the imprint of his skin. His neck aches and for a moment he feels like stone, but then he notices the faint warmth of a cup at his side. Steam still curls from the surface, delicate tendrils rising into the air.

He blinks, disoriented, searching the room but it’s empty, only silence remains. It doesn’t take much to know who had been there. Wonwoo’s presence lingers in the smallest details, in the faint press of lips tingling at his temple he had barely registered in sleep, the careful placement of the mug as if it were a quiet offering to rest just for a moment.

Mingyu wraps his hands around the cup, letting the heat seep into his skin and for the first time in days he smiles. It’s a small curve of his lips but it softens his chest and the frantic beat of his heart. For just that moment, he isn’t a surgeon anymore but he’s simply Mingyu, warmed by the certainty that someone loves and believes in him enough to leave him coffee and a kiss when the weight of the world threatens to crush him.

The morning of the surgery, Mingyu feels like steel forged for battle. He doesn’t speak to anyone on his way into the hospital, doesn’t acknowledge the greetings of colleagues in the corridors as he usually does every day. His gaze is locked forward as his long strides make their own way, his headphones pumping music loud enough to drown out even his pulse. It’s the ritual he’s clung to since residency, music as armor, rhythm as focus.

In the locker room, the atmosphere feels hushed and sacred. Mingyu peels off his clothes with the efficiency of someone already in the fight, tugging the scrub top over his head like it’s a second skin. His fingers pause over the fabric where his name is stitched in white thread against the pale blue. Dr. Kim Mingyu. He stares at the letters as if they carry the weight of the world. Closing his eyes, he inhales deeply, trying to summon stillness. You can’t falter, he keeps telling himself.

But then the click of the door breaks the silence and Mingyu stiffens, his jaw clenching as irritation rises in his chest at the intrusion — this was his space, his ritual, and he doesn’t want anyone to see the cracks forming in him — but before the annoyance can fully take root, a hand touches his arm grounding him and his whole world turns upside down, his whole body softening at the sweet contact as if it alone has the power to calm the storm inside him.

“Min-ah” Wonwoo’s soft voice calls him.

Mingyu exhales all at once, his shoulders sagging in relief before he even turns. Wonwoo is already dressed in his scrubs and he appears as calm as ever. He doesn’t fill the room with words but instead he lets his hand linger on his arm for a bit more, drawing an absent-minded stroke against the fabric. It’s a touch both tender and commanding, saying “I’m here. Look at me”

Mingyu raises his head and when his eyes finally meet Wonwoo’s, the rest of the world drops away. Without hesitation, Wonwoo gently cups his face into his hands, his palms warm against the tense line of his jaw. His thumbs brush over the faint circles beneath Mingyu’s eyes, tracing his exhaustion not judging but simply accepting.

Mingyu surrenders before he even realizes it. His body helplessly leans into the cradle of his touch and for once he doesn’t try to hold himself together but he abandons the last of his defenses, letting himself be engulfed by that love standing there in front of him. Wonwoo closes the space pressing a kiss to his forehead, lingering that moment longer than necessary like a silent promise.

When he pulls back, his voice is even softer. “Are you ready?”

Mingyu nods, but his voice betrays the weight in his heart. “Yes”

“Yes” Wonwoo repeats, steading him. “They’re preparing Seungyoun now. In a few minutes they’ll take him into the operating room” his hands slide down to his shoulders, grounding him gently. “And I’ll be right there, beside you. Every step you take, every stitch you make. We’ll do this together and he’s going to be okay”

That reassurance hits Mingyu harder than he expects and something breaks open under Wonwoo’s quiet certainty. The flood of love and trust fill his lungs more fully than any breath he has taken since the morning began because Wonwoo doesn’t just believe in him, he doesn’t even allow the possibility of a doubt. And that faith, quiet and unshakable, steadies Mingyu’s trembling hands more than any ritual ever could.

Mingyu leans forward until his forehead presses against Wonwoo’s, their breaths mingling in the charged quiet. The silence between them is heavy, humming with fear, the weight of responsibility, the gratitude for this presence beside him. Mingyu doesn’t need to explain how much it means for him as Wonwoo already knows. He always does.

Wonwoo pulls back to meet his eyes again, his lips twitch into the faintest smile. “Come on” he says quietly, “We’ve got a boy to take care of”

The pre-operating room greets them with a chilling stillness, a silence so complete it seems to cling to the walls. Mingyu pushes the door open with his shoulder, Wonwoo right beside him, and together they cross into the narrow corridor as if stepping over the threshold of a battlefield.

The stainless-steel sinks gleam immaculate under the harsh white lights, Mingyu approaches them with slow steps muffled against the linoleum by his rubber soles. He pauses at the edge for a moment too long, hands suspended in front of him, eyes drawn to the restless but determinate reflection in the steel panel just above the faucet.

The ritual begins almost on its own, ingrained into muscle memory. Elbows first, hands lifted high, above the shoulders, never to fall. The faucet hisses and the first rush of water strikes his skin with a punishing chill, cascading down in sharp streams that trace his arms. Mingyu scrubs with precision his palms, fingers, nails, every crevice, every surface then higher, to the wrists, to the forearms. The antiseptic soap fills the air with its sterile tang, a smell that both steadies and isolates him.

At his side Wonwoo matches his rhythm and motions, taking his time to wash his hands and forearms properly. Mingyu doesn’t look at him directly but he feels him there, his anchoring presence, the silent gestures of his partner brushing, rinsing and repeating like an unspoken vow “We’re in this together”

Time bends around that ritual Mingyu had performed hundreds of times before but now it seems more tense and unusual than ever. As soon as they finish scrubbing, an attendant already gloved and masked, approaches them freshly stepped back from the sinks, and offers them towels.

Mingyu let the fabric absorb the water dripping down from his elbows, careful never to break the sterile posture, then the gown came next. The attendant holds it open and Mingyu slides his arms into the sleeves without lowering them, letting the fabric drape across his body. The ties are cinched at his back, sealing him into the role he had been preparing maybe for his entire career. The mask is fitted across his face, the elastic snapping into place at the back of his head covered in a cap, his breath echoes faintly against the material.

Finally, it’s time for the gloves. Mingyu extends his hands forward and allows them to be slipped on by the attendant who tugs at the cuffs so the edges seal seamlessly over his gown. One by one, his fingers disappear beneath the pale barrier until his hands no longer look like his own but like finely honed tools. Mingyu flexes them different times to let the tight latex to adhere perfectly on his skin, hours ago they were trembling in exhaustion but now they feel stripped of all the weakness.

When he is done, Mingyu turns his head. Wonwoo has already finished his clothing as his own gown and mask are in place and his gloved hands folded neatly against his chest in the classic sterile posture. For a moment their eyes meet over the edges of their pale blue masks but nothing is spoken between them, nothing has to be. Wonwoo’s gaze is steady, Mingyu finds in him all the reassurance he had been serving for in every sleepless night, and he inclines his head to give him the faintest nod. “I’m ready”

Wonwoo mirrors it back and follows the attendant who pulls the door open for them to the operating theater. Cold air washes over them immediately as inside the sterile room the nurse are already arranging all the necessary instruments on the trays. The monitors pulse softly, their screens are alive with lines of green and blue, and the anesthesia machines exhales mechanical breaths rehearsing the rhythm of the child’s lungs.

Mingyu takes one last deep breath before approaching the operating table where Seungyoun lies, already unconscious. His small frame is dwarfed by the sterile white sheets, his face is obscured by the mask and tubing as his chest rises and falls in a mechanical rhythm under the influence of the ventilator. Mingyu looks at him so small and fragile and feels his throat tighten at the sight, the weight of those sleepless nights and endless study sessions all crystallized in that single moment.

He lifts his gaze to the team gathered around him, examining their faces one by one, meeting Joshua and Jeonghan’s focused eyes behind the masks who are waiting only for his lead to start.

There’s no turning back.

“How are his vitals holding up ?” Mingyu asks looking towards the monitors.

“Heart-rate steady at 88, oxygen saturation is 99%” Joshua replies, gaze flicking across the numbers on the screen, “The blood pressure is a little low, 95 over 60, but acceptable given the anesthesia. There’re no arrhythmias so far”

Mingyu nods, turning his attention to the anesthesiologist. “What about the induction ?”

“We started him with a mix of sevoflurane and propofol to ease him under” the doctor explains, “Then rocuronium for paralysis. He’s intubated and ventilated, isoflurane for maintenance and fentanyl onboard for analgesia. Lines are secure, gases are stable. He’s fully under, no awareness and no distress”

“Good…” Mingyu murmurs more to himself than anyone else. He turns back to the team, his eyes sweeping over them all. “Our plan is clear” he says firmly, “Tetralogy of Fallot gives us four things to correct but the sequence is what matters. We’ll start with the ventricular septal defect first, that’s our priority. We’ll patch the hole between the ventricles, make sure there’s no residual shunt left behind”

Joshua nods silently, his gaze already flicking between Mingyu and the monitor, fingers poised over the keyboard to note every change.

“Next, we relieve the right ventricular outflow tract obstruction” Mingyu continues, “Dr. Jeon will assist with exposure while I resect the muscle bundles. If the narrowing is too severe, we’ll place a transannular patch” his eyes narrow slightly above the mask, as if visualizing every move already. “The overriding aorta will correct naturally once the septal defect is closed, and the hypertrophy in the right ventricle will ease over time once the pressure is relieved” a brief pause follows and Mingyu lets the silence settle, “That’s the order. No rushing. No mistakes”

Jeonghan tilts his head, folding his arms across his chest. “Just keep in mind the right ventricular outflow patch can put strain on the pulmonary valve. If you need to widen it further, don’t hesitate. It’ll buy him stability long-term”

“I know” Mingyu replies, clipped but respectful. “I won’t take chances”

“I’ll keep you updated on perfusion and pressure every five minutes” Joshua looks up from the monitor, his eyes sharp behind his glasses. “Any desaturation or arrhythmias, you’ll know immediately”

“Perfect”

Mingyu's gaze, almost without conscious thought, spots Wonwoo across the table but unlike the others, there's no exchange of orders between them as Wonwoo already knows what to do. A single look, concrete and familiar, is enough to make him nod slightly. He trusts him, he knows he can do that, and this immense trust in him makes him feel anchored to something extremely real that until a few weeks ago Mingyu had prayed wasn't just in his head.

He exhales softly, lowering his eyes to the small body beneath the sterile drapes. “It’s time” he whispers, the words barely audible but slicing through the silence all the same.

“Scalpel” he then orders holding his hand out at his side.

The scrub nurse steps forward, placing the instrument into his gloved hand. The weight of it settles into his palm, heavier than steel has any right to be. Mingyu looks one last time at the small boy beneath the sterile sheets, then draws in a slow deep breath before lowering the blade to Seungyoun’s small chest, the first cut marking the beginning of everything he has always fought for.

The scalpel traces a clean line down the little sternum, the sterile drapes parting around the incision like the opening of a curtain on a stage where no mistake is allowed. Mingyu’s hand is as steady as his own breath now and every layer he touches it’s dissected with such meticulous care. The pale skin first, then the thin film of subcutaneous tissue, each one retracted carefully by the scrub nurse attentively at his side.

“Stable vitals” Joshua announces, his eyes never leaving the monitor. “Heart-rate holding at 90, oxygen saturation at 98%”

Mingyu acknowledges him with the slightest nod, his focus tightening as he reaches the sternum. He lifts the sternal saw, its whine piercing the still air like a sound that makes his chest ache even though his hands don’t flinch even a bit. The saw bites into bone with a mechanical hum and the sternum parts methodically like a little door being opened. He sets the instrument aside, breathing slowly in his chest as if his cavity has become suddenly as small as the child’s.

“Retractor” he says quietly.

The instrument is placed in his hands and with a careful motion, Mingyu spreads the sternum apart. The cavity opens, revealing the delicate structures within, a glimpse of ribs, shimmering pericardium, the faint rise of the small heart still beating bravely inside its cage.

“The pericardium is exposed” Wonwoo announces beside him with his calm and measured tone, the same gentle voice that has grounded Mingyu countless times outside those walls. His eyes are fixed on his heart but Mingyu can sense how attentive he is to his movements. “Keep your hands firm, you're doing well”

Mingyu exhales, “Scissors”

The pericardium yields under the scalpel’s delicate bite, the razor-thin blades parting its silvery membrane almost too soft to be real. Wonwoo’s retractor eases it back, folding the thin layer aside like opening a curtain, and suddenly the heart is laid bare in all its complexity, fragile and rebellious, in that tiny space with its deformed anatomy hidden within the cavities. The whole room around seems to hold everyone’s breath at the sight, all the medical staff leaning in to observe that rarity firsthand.

“Ready for bypass when you are” Joshua’s voice slips into the silence. “Parameters are steady, blood pressure holding at 70 over 40”

Mingyu glances at Wonwoo, who meets his eyes and gives him a nod without hesitation. “He is ready, let’s go on bypass” he suggests.

Cannulas are carefully introduced into the right atrium and ascending aorta, the gateway points for blood to be diverted into the bypass circuit. Wonwoo takes the lead this time, his hands sure and graceful guide each insertion with such precision it makes the task seem almost effortless. Mingyu assists him closely, adjusting angles and absorbing every movements as he studies the quiet authority in Wonwoo’s technique, the unhurried steadiness, the confidence born not of arrogance but of mastery.

A soft hum fills the room as the machine takes over, the whir of pumps and the hiss of oxygen exchangers weaving into a rhythm that substitutes for life itself. The monitors confirm the blood is coursing smoothly through plastic tubing, bright red against sterile drapes, the child’s circulation now entrusted to circuitry and skill.

“Fully on bypass” Jeonghan agrees, “The circulation is stable and the heart is decompressed”

Seungyoun’s little muscle begins to quiet, indeed, no longer burdened by the demand of sustaining the body. Its beats falter into a steady stillness, obediently giving in control to the mechanical lungs and heart beside the table.

Mingyu swallows hard, aware of the importance of that moment. “Okay” he murmurs, looking at the exposed chambers in front of him “Let’s locate the septal defect”

Wonwoo leans closer, his shadow falling over the delicate landscape of the child’s heart. “There” he points with a gloved finger, “Do you see it ? That opening between the ventricles. It’s larger than imaging suggested but the margins are clean and ideal for patching”

Mingyu narrows his eyes tracing the contours of the muscle’s anatomy. The defect is wide enough to siphon all the boy’s strength, gaping like a wound in the boy’s future. “Yes, I can see it” he agrees, signaling to the scrub nurse to bring him the prepared patch material along with the fine sutures.

Just last night Mingyu’s fingers had trembled with exhaustion, unsteady from weeks of rest deprivation, now, under the glow of the operating lights, they move with unwavering certainty, guided by something greater than skill alone.

“You’ve got this” Wonwoo whispers, pitched low so that only he can hear. “Just the way you practiced, Min-ah”

Mingyu nods once, absorbing that quiet conviction, before lowering delicately the patch with the forceps. It hovers for a heartbeat above the heart’s restless motion, trembling faintly between the tips, then he sets it gently over the defect, the thin piece of fabric covering and sealing the dark gap that had for so long left Seungyoun breathless and frail.

Wonwoo steadies the heart with retractors, “Angle three millimeters clockwise” he instructs softly, “Yes… perfect.”

Saying so, Mingyu begins threading the first sutures. He takes the needle and pierces the septal wall, drawing the thread through and knotting with slow care each loop. He pulls them snug but not too tight, the tie is measured and the patch takes its place as if it binds more than tissue, binding hope, binding breath, binding the promise of a healthy future.

“Don’t rush the corners” Wonwoo cautions gently, his tone never chastising but only guiding. “Anchor deep into the septal wall. Yes— exactly like that. Keep the bites symmetrical, very good”

“Bypass flow stable” Joshua announces, “Oxygenation is steady”

“Pressure holding too” Jeonghan adds, his eyes flicking from the monitor to Mingyu’s hands. “You’re right on track”

But Mingyu barely hears them. His focus narrows to the pull of suture against the tissue, the faint snap as the thread settles into place, and the cadence of Wonwoo’s voice grounding him so intimately.

“A little more of tension” Wonwoo instructs. “Now curve it under — yes, perfect”

Their hands nearly brush as Mingyu secures another knot and the briefest contact sends a charge through the sterile air. Not romantic, not indulgent but intimate in the most sacred way, like a communion of trust. One leading, one following, until it feels like they are breathing in unison, repairing a broken heart with hands that move as one.

From the outside, it doesn’t look like a surgery but like a choreography. Mingyu and Wonwoo move with a synchrony so fluid it borders on unreal, each anticipating the other’s next step as if they’ve rehearsed it countless times, though everyone in the room knows this is instinct. Where Mingyu’s hands hover for half a breath, Wonwoo is already there, offering him quiet direction and refinement. When Wonwoo tilts the heart gently to reveal its hidden margins, Mingyu shifts instantly, anticipating him before he even speaks.

The scrub nurse, who has seen more procedures than she can count, catches herself holding her breath. It isn’t just the technical mastery, it’s the way the two surgeons orbit one another, their focus locked in a private circuit. Mingyu never needs to ask for the next instrument as Wonwoo has already caught the slight pause in his rhythm and knows what is coming. Wonwoo never glances at the monitors as Mingyu has already cued Joshua to confirm the numbers.

Their voices are quiet threads weaving through the stillness. “Hold here” Wonwoo murmurs.

“Got it” Mingyu answers instantly with his hands already where they need to be.

The room itself seems to bend around them. Every movement is mirrored, balanced, like two halves of a single mind working together on the edge of life and loss. Theirs isn’t just communication, it’s trust born from years of studying, falling and rising together, like a silent pact that hangs between them like a silent vow, “I’ll never let you fall”.

From the sidelines, Jeonghan folds his arms over his chest with a faint smirk that tugs at his lips under the mask. “Unbelievable” he whispers under his breath, looking at that intimacy being translated into scalpel and suture. The perfusionist leans toward the circulating nurse, murmuring under his breath, “They don’t even have to talk. Look at them—they just know”. The nurse nods, eyes still fixed on the field, unwilling to blink and miss the rhythm unfolding right in front of her.

For Mingyu, the rest of the room has blurred into silence. All that exists is Wonwoo’s presence beside him, the quiet confidence that steadies his pulse, the calm certainty that keeps the storm in his chest at bay. Every time Wonwoo’s gloved hand brushes near his own, Mingyu feels his chest tighten with something fiercer and quieter than love itself. It roots him, sharpens him, keeps his grip firm more than years of training ever could.

For Wonwoo, every stitch Mingyu lays is proof of his growth, of the man he has become and the doctor he fought so hard to be. His gaze never wavers, his voice never hints the shadow of a doubt, because he knows deep down that Mingyu’s heart beats in rhythm with his own. Even here, at the precipice of risk, Wonwoo knows they are aligned. Together they create something no textbook can teach, no lecture can explain. Life itself balanced on the fragile edge of their trust, stitched closed by their shared precision.

When even the last stitch is secured, Mingyu's shoulders relax and a breath he hadn't realized he was holding leaves him. He carefully extracts the needle from the cavity, looking at the synthetic patch adhering securely to the once-dangerous but now sealed hole, then he leans back slightly as his eyes lift to the monitors.

"No residual shunts, Dr. Kim" speaks a nurse, ”Pressures is stable and oxygenation improved"

Wonwoo looks up the sterile field, meeting Mingyu's gaze through the masks. He doesn't smile, but there's a silent pride and a surge of confidence that speaks louder than words. “You did it. I knew you would"

Mingyu's throat tightens but he refuses to let it show. He tilts his head in an almost imperceptible nod then turns his chin slightly, already focused on what comes next.The heart lies motionless in the sterile field, suspended on the machine that now keeps Seungyoun alive. The patch for the ventricular septal defect gleams faintly under the light and for a moment the atmosphere in the operating theater is calm.

The first hurdle is behind them.

"Let's move on to the right ventricular outflow tract now” Mingyu then announces, though a bead of sweat slides down the side of his temple beneath the cap. “We relieve the obstruction and open the path to the pulmonary artery. That’s where his blood flow has been throttled”

“Find the hypertrophied bands first” Wonwoo instructs, “You’ll see them straddling the outflow like barriers. Use the fine scissors. Controlled cuts, don’t dig to deep and stay superficial around the pulmonary valve leaflets, they’re delicate”

Mingyu listens to him carefully and nods, accepting the scissors from the scrub nurse’s palm. He draws in a shallow breath and positions the metallic tips, starting teasing apart the fibrous bands of muscle that are choking the chamber and narrowing the outflow. His movements are cautions, his focus doesn’t waver and beside him Wonwoo holds gentle retraction, giving exposure and directives with his voice a constant anchor.

“Good,” Wonwoo murmurs, opening the view just enough. “That’s one. Don’t pull too much—cut. Nice and clean. Keep the field tidy”

“Suction” Mingyu mutters as the nurse responds immediately, clearing the faint ooze of blood and restoring his visibility.

The outflow begins to open, the chamber starting to look less strangled. Joshua glances at the monitor, “No hemodynamic changes. You can proceed”

Mingyu focuses harder, removing the next obstructing muscle band. His heartbeat thunders in his ears, though his hands stay precise. Wonwoo’s voice speaks reassuring by his side, “Almost there, Mingyu, just one more bundle. Take your time and stay controlled”

Mingyu steadies his grip on the scissors, the world narrowing down to the thin strand of muscle between the blades. However he feels the taut resistance of the swollen band under the steel, it’s firm and fibrous, exactly as it should be. It takes one clean snip to fix it, Mingyu makes some pressure, squeezing it and finding the muscle this time softer than expected, and within a second, followed by a startling gush, a sudden surge of blood fills the surgical field, splattering his gown, the drapes, the nurses’ gloves.

The gush is too fast, too violent, like a dam ripped open in an instant. The suction line shrieks as it meets the flood, the clear tube turning crimson in a blink but it can’t keep up. The field fills in seconds, every clean margin drowned under a rising tide of red. Mingyu can’t even see where the vessel ends and the rupture begins.

The monitors explode into punishing alarms, the perfusionist swears under his breath. “Pressure dropping! Sixty… fifty… forty! Heart rate is falling!”

“Massive hemorrhage!” The scrub nurse gasps. “We’re losing liters!”

Mingyu freezes, eyes wide, his scissors still in hand. “Shit—”

“Field’s flooding!” Jeonghan barks, “I can’t see anything— get another suction in here!”

Wonwoo reacts instantly, “Clamp now! Conservative suturing, direct closure of the tear! Hurry up everyone!” he commands, already pressing gauze into the wound with his gloved hands moving fast. “Mingyu, keep suction going, I need to see where the wall’s compromised!”

“Bypass flow increased!” the perfusionist calls out urgently, “Circulating volume dropping fast!”

Mingyu swallows hard, forcing his trembling hands back into motion. He presses the suction close, desperate to clear the torrent enough to see, the tip slurping noisily as blood foams around it. Beside him, Wonwoo is already clamping and trying to bring the torn edges together, but the sight makes Mingyu’s stomach drop. The arterial wall looks impossibly thin, slick and fragile as wet silk stretched too tight. Every time the needle pierces, it threatens to rip through like a fingertip tears straight through damp paper.

“He’s desaturating!” Joshua’s voice cuts in “Oxygenation is at 60% percent! Pressure at 50 over 30! He won’t survive this bleed much longer!”

“Clamp harder!” Jeonghan barks, sweat glistening at his temple as his eyes dart between the monitor and the crimson flood spilling into the field. “We’re losing volume fast!”

Wonwoo’s hand is iron on the vessel, “Needle driver! We stitch, now!” he shouts through the chaos.

But Mingyu stares at the shredded tissue feeling a cold certainty run through him. The artery is so fragile, impossible to trust, and if he throws stitches they’ll slice through the vessel before the child ever wakes. His mind races as his eyes are fixed on the torn pulmonary artery, direct suturing would shred it to ribbons, he knows it, his gut screams it even as the room spins with alarms and voices.

“No— no!” he shakes his head, “We can’t stitch this! The wall is too thin, it won’t hold! It will tear again!”

“Mingyu, we don’t have a choice!” Wonwoo fires back, urgency cracking through his composure, “We have to stabilize him now or he will die!”

“I said we can’t!” Mingyu’s voice rises over him with conviction.

“Then what ?!” Wonwoo thunders, panic creeping into his tone as his gloved fingers pinch down as more blood seeps past.“Do you want him to bleed out on this table while you keep thinking what to do ?! We don’t have time to improvise! Every second counts and suturing is the fastest way to stop this emergency! We need to close it!”

Mingyu refuses to follow his lead and suddenly his mind races with a single impossible solution. He can see it in his head as clearly as if he is rehearsing each steps: cutting a flap, using the child’s own heart-tissue to reinforce the fragile artery wall with what nature gave him. It’s insane and reckless, no one does that, but his instinct is screaming that this is the only sane choice.

“We patch it with the pericardium!” he blurts out, breathless. “Autologous. His own sac. It’s stronger, it’ll hold”

The whole room goes still, even the suction feels muted for a beat, Wonwoo’s head snaps toward him, eyes dark with fury above the mask. “Are you fucking out of your mind ?! Cutting the pericardium in a hemorrhage this heavy ? That’s crazy in hell! He’ll crash before you even shape it!”

“It’s the only way!” Mingyu fights back, louder than he intended, as his hands already reaches for the scissors. “If I stitch bare, it’ll rip the second we take him off bypass. I’m not letting him survive this table just to fail tomorrow. Trust me, we have to reinforce it!”

“Mingyu, fuck, you have to stay clear-headed!” Wonwoo’s voice fractures, fury and fear tangling together. “You’re gambling with his life! Reinforcement takes time we don’t have!”

“Then I’ll make the time!” he replies, "If we only clamp and stitch, we’re buying him hours. I’m giving him years in this way!”

“Perfusion dropping fast!” Joshua shoots them a desperate look, “This argument is costing seconds, guys move!”

Wonwoo clenches his fists in frustration, “You’re fucking insane if you think this will work!”

Mingyu doesn’t answer but his jaw tightens. He knows everyone is watching, waiting, judging him but he doesn’t care. “This is the only way to save him”

Wonwoo clamps harder, so torn between fury and helpless love he feels for that man, then, with a guttural growl, he tightens his wrists even more for him to take actions, “Then fucking move, damn it! Don't waste any more time!”

That single piece of encouragement is enough to force Mingyu's mind to focus on a single point, a life-saving mission that wouldn't accept any outcome other than how it should have gone. The monitors' alarms, the screams of his colleagues, and the hurried footsteps of the nurses moving from one side of the room to the other to clean up the blood—everything fades to a background hum. All that remains is the torn artery, the life that would have oozed from his gloves, and the wild pounding of his heart, which he hoped would synchronize with Seungyon’s.

With scissors in hand, Mingyu makes the first cut, the metal biting cleanly into the child’s pericardium. The translucent sac resists only faintly before parting, its slick surface quivering under the blades. Each snip is an eternity, every fraction of a second ticking down like sand through a glass, the sound of the monitors reminding him with every beat how quickly the child’s life is draining away. The membrane gleams under the harsh lights, resilient in a way the shredded artery no longer is.

Mingyu works fast, almost blind to doubt, trimming a flap with instinct as his only guide. There is no time to measure, no margin for hesitation. His breathing is shallow, sharp, his body drawn tight as a bowstring stretched to its limit. When the flap finally comes free, he lifts it delicately with the tip of his forceps. It trembles in the air—small, frail, yet in this moment the only shield standing between life and loss. Across from him, Wonwoo’s forceps bite down hard on the vessel, his knuckles white, the clamp in his grip the last wall against catastrophe.

Here’s the patch, he thinks, his throat too dry to speak it aloud as his pulse is a thunder in his ears. He lowers the living tissue toward the gaping tear, positioning it flush against the rupture. The pericardium’s surface shivers under the pull of suction, a fragile veil against a roaring tide.

“Needle” he calls out, this time finding his voice.

The scrub nurse presses it into his gloved palm without hesitation. Mingyu threads the suture through the slick edge of the patch and then into the jagged lip of the artery wall. The vessel resists him, its surface ready to split at the slightest tension but his grip is unwavering. He anchors the first stitch, ties with precision, then moves to the next, rhythm steady despite the chaos roaring around him.

Each prick of the needle is like stitching against the edge of disaster, threading hope through a sheet of damp parchment that could disintegrate at any moment. His gloves are slippery with blood, the field still flooding despite suction pulling at full force, but methodically, stitch by stitch, the patch begins to take its place, its edges aligning with the vessel, sealing what should never have been opened.

Wonwoo leans closer, his breath harsh through the mask, jaw clenched so tight the muscle in his cheek trembles. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t give him instructions as he knows that even a word could fracture the fragile focus that is holding Mingyu together in that moment. Instead, he just holds the clamp steady, with his silence like a vow and his presence an anchor, even through all the fury and fear.

“Pressure is 30 over 20!” Joshua’s voice cuts through the storm, pitched on the edge of panic, “He is going Mingyu— we’re losing him!”

“Shut up and don’t distract him!” Jeonghan snaps, suction tube steady in his fist as he clears the bloody field without faltering. “Let him work!”

Mingyu feels every nerve in his body funnels into the needle he drives through the tissue, one stitch after another, again and again. Each pass feels like threading a lifeline across an abyss. His hands remain firm but inside his chest his heart slams so hard it aches, pounding in rhythm with the monitors’ merciless drone. Sweat trickles beneath his cap, stinging his eyes but he doesn’t blink. Please hold, he prays silently with every knot, please hold. Please—

The final knot cinches down tight, anchored with the certainty of a man on the edge of desperation. The suture bites snugly, the pericardial patch pressing flush against the torn artery. For a beat it trembles under the pressure but then Mingyu notices that the bleeding slows. The crimson torrent decreases, a trickle tapering off to nothing more than a sluggish ooze. The organic patch glistens beneath the light, damp and impossibly fragile, but it holds.

The room freezes in that moment of extreme tension. The suction in the doctors' hands hum in vain, pulling only traces of water into the still-open cavity. The overhead monitors emit the repetitive tone of a flat graph. There is no rhythm, no return. The silence between them expands and becomes suffocating every seconds more, every chest in the room closing as if the lungs themselves have forgotten how to breathe.

Mingyu’s knuckles blanch white around the needle driver. His eyes sting, burning through the fog of his mask. Did I save him ? Or did I fail anyway ?

And then a blip from the monitor happens, so faint it could be his imagination playing tricks on him.

But then a second comes right away, sharper this time.

Then a third, a fourth, and the flat line gradually breaks, returning to the rhythm of a heart that was slowly awakening.

Beep… beep… beep…

“Heart rate 60… now 70” the anesthesiologist breathes as he reads the miracle aloud. “Oxygenation is rising 80% and the pressure is stabilizing. He’s coming back, Dr. Kim”

Wonwoo exhales with a force that shakes his chest, his entire body going limp as if an invisible chain had just snapped on his back. The clamp in his grip loosens, though his hands remain suspended near the patch and his eyes remain glued to his heart, watching it beat faintly with each new beat of blood. Mingyu in front of him finally lowers the needle, and a tremor runs through his arms as if the weight of the world has just been lifted from him. His gloves are slick with blood, his shoulders heavy, but his hands don't waver rather they are tense and ready to intervene at the slightest sign of new emergency.

Wonwoo looks up and locks eyes with Mingyu across the sterile field. No words are exchanged between them, but there's a storm in Wonwoo's gaze as the fury still simmers, the fear still clinging to that reckless idea, but the disbelief is also clear, shimmering like a hidden spark behind a veil of fierce pride. The boy's heart keeps beating, fragile but holding up well, and each beep echoing through the monitors sounds like a salvation.

Only minutes ago, they were on the brink of loss. Now, against all odds, the boy lives.

“God… you’re a reckless lunatic, Kim Mingyu. How the fuck did you even do that ?” Jeonghan blurts out, his suction finally eases and for the first time in what feels like hours, he lets himself breathe too.

Doubt hangs in the air for a moment longer, then the tension dissolves and the entire room erupts in disbelief. A few gasps turn into a shaky chuckles, someone lets out a stifled sob behind their mask. The perfusionist, who had been whispering numbers like prayers earlier, runs a forearm across his sweaty face. "Holy shit..." he mutters under his breath, unable to believe his eyes.

Joshua keeps track of the monitors with a lump in his throat but even his accuracy falters with emotion. "His heart is holding itself" he says, turning his head. "You did it, Mingyu."

The child remains under careful monitoring for a while longer, every beep from the monitor more precious than the very air that helps him breathe. The team doesn't move, no one dares, and for almost half an hour, they stay suspended in vigilance, monitoring every slightest change, waiting for the bare sign of instability. But the heart continues to beat, stubborn and constant, as if determined to prove that this impossible victory is real.

Only then, when trust is enough to overcome fear, the doctors resume the surgery. Piece by piece, adjustment after adjustment, Mingyu and Wonwoo guide the team through the remaining repairs phases. The hours blur into a symphony of hands and instruments, and by the time the last stitch is done, almost eight hours have passed.

Mingyu feels the weight of the minutes in every bone, every muscle trembles with exhaustion. His back aches, his eyes burn, and sweat soaks his shirt and gown but he doesn't falter, not until the last stitch is sutured and the final instruction falls from his lips.

"Close the chest. We're done”

The child is carefully stabilized, every line double-checked, every catheter precisely secured. The drapes are gradually lifted, revealing the battlefield of the operating room, now fragile and brimming with humanity once again. The machines hum constantly beside him like a survival metronome, an affirmation that Seungyoun will survive, that his once-torn and failing heart now beats strong enough to carry him to the soccer fields he once only dreamed of.

Around the table, the team exhales in turns, and then one by one, they all approach Mingyu to congratulate him. The scrub nurse clasps his arm with both hands and eyes still glassy from the sight of that impossible hemorrhage. The perfusionist removes his headset and nods stiffly in his direction in a gesture heavy with respect. Jeonghan smacks his shoulder with a force halfway between affection and reprimand, “You amazed me, Kim”

Joshua is the last one stepping forward and extending a hand that Mingyu takes strong in his grip. “That was incredible Mingyu” he says, smiling in front of his exhausted face. “You were brave”

The words sink deep but they sit heavy in Mingyu’s chest. His throat tightens and for a brief moment as he wants to accept that praise, to believe he has earned that recognition, but he can’t. Not yet. Because even now, his mind is no longer in the sterile theater but it wanders already down the corridor, pacing toward the waiting room where the two parents sit suspended in dread, waiting to hear if their little boy has survived the day.

Until he faces them, until he delivers their son back into their arms, there is no room for victory.

As the doors of the operating room close behind him, Mingyu pulls off his cap, wipes his drenched brow and draws a long breath. He doesn’t even notice his own shaking until the scrub nurse steadies the disposal bin for him. He peels off his gloves first. They come away with a snap, heavy with dried blood streaked in the proof of eight unrelenting hours. His gown is next, drenched with sweat, splattered faintly despite the sterile drapes. He unties the strings and lets the fabric fall from his shoulders, hitting the hamper shortly after with a dull thud.

Mingyu strips quickly of those dirty clothes, almost mechanically, finding his own skin clammy beneath the scrubs. A fresh new scrub clings cool against his overheated body, he catches sight of himself in the mirror as he ties the new gown closed. He is pale, lips cracked from dehydration, dark crescents carved beneath his eyes, but Mingyu forces himself to wash, splashing water across his face and hair until the fatigue stings less sharply, until he can breathe without the metallic tang of blood and antiseptic clogging his nose.

It doesn’t erase the exhaustion, but it steadies him enough to walk.

The corridor is quiet when he steps out, the hum of hospital machinery blending into the low murmur of voices from the waiting area. Each step feels heavier than the last, his heart pounding as if he were still inside the theater with scalpel in hand.

As soon as Sungyoun’s parents see him appear from around the corner, they stand up from their chairs as if pulled by a single string. Their faces show a concerned expression, eyes bloodshot from hours of waiting. The mother grips the father’s arm so tightly her knuckles are bone-white, her whole body poised on the edge of collapse.

Mingyu stops in front of them and removes his mask. “The surgery is over” he speaks to them, letting the silence stretch only a second before he gives them the words they’ve been waiting for. “It was successful. Seungyoun is stable”

The mother gasps, covering her mouth as tears flood down her cheeks. The father’s eyes close tightly, his shoulders collapsing as if years of tension are finally releasing at once. Mingyu feels their gratitude like a physical wave crashing over him.

He bows his head slightly, speaking quieter. “He’s not out of danger yet. The next 48 hours will be critical. But… he has a chance at least, something he didn’t have this morning”

The mother reaches for his hand impulsively, clutching it between both of hers, her tears soaking his skin. “Thank you. Thank you, Dr. Kim… thank you for giving our boy back to us”

Mingyu swallows hard, his throat thick with emotion. He doesn’t know what to say, no words could possibly carry the weight of what he feels, so he just nods and gently squeezes the woman’s trembling hands before letting go. As he steps back, the weight of exhaustion presses down on him again but this time softened by the quiet knowledge that today, against all odds, he didn’t lose.

The locker room is a hollow echoing space when Mingyu enters, empty of chatter, stripped of the bustling energy it usually carries before a shift. With only the faint buzz of the overhead fluorescent lights keeps him company, Mingyu drags himself toward his locker and lowers himself onto the bench, feeling the exhaustion seep deep into his bones. His back hits the cold sheet of metal, his knees threaten to give entirely. He lets his head drop back with a dull clang against the steel, eyes closing as the chill seeps into his skin.

For the first time in hours Mingyu breathes in fully, a breath that seems to claw the fatigue out of his chest before spilling it out into the quiet. But the stillness doesn’t last for too long. The door soon creaks open and the sound of measured footsteps spreads across the tiled floor. Mingyu doesn’t need to open his eyes as that cadence is unmistakable, he knows it as well as his own pulse.

Wonwoo steps inside already changed into his own clothes, with hair damp from a rushed shower.

Mingyu’s eyes lift, heavy-lidded, and the moment they open their gazes lock across the room. Nothing is said. Nothing needs to be said. The silence between them is taut, humming like a high-tension wire ready to snap. It’s the kind of silence that cuts deeper than shouting, heavy, suffocating. Mingyu feels it press into his chest and he sees the storm building in the tight set of Wonwoo’s jaw, the way his teeth worry at the inside of his cheek as if holding back words that might detonate if released.

“I know what you’re about to tell me” Mingyu breaks first, “And you should know this before you say it, I don’t regret it. Not for a second. I’d make the same choice a thousand times over, no matter what it cost”

Wonwoo exhales sharply, like he has been punched in the gut. He crosses the distance between them slowly every step weighted as if dragging the battle inside him closer to the surface. When he stops just in front of him, the sterile chill of the locker room bends around him is replaced by the heat radiating off his body. His fists flex at his sides, knuckles blanching white before he forces them open again. The war plays out in his mind, in the fire of his eyes fixed unrelentingly on Mingyu’s.

“You scared the hell out of me” he says at last, “Do you even realize what you did out there ? You gambled with his life, with your hands, with… with everything. That wasn’t brilliance, Mingyu, that was recklessness. You could’ve lost him. You could’ve—” his voice falters and Wonwoo bites it back before it can break.

Mingyu straightens slightly, his body tense. “I know it was risky” he admits, “But I also knew exactly what I was doing. Could you have really stitched that artery and trusted it to hold ? Could you have let him leave this room knowing it might tear the second he took his first breath off bypass ? Because I couldn’t. Not when I saw how thin it was”

The anger in Wonwoo’s eyes flickers, caught between indignation and reluctant understanding. He exhales shaky through his nose, his shoulders finally sagging. His hand lifts and hesitates for a fraction of a second before settling against Mingyu’s cheek with unexpected gentleness. His thumb brushes the damp skin just below his eye.

“You make me crazy” Wonwoo whispers softer now, the fury unraveling into something more vulnerable. “I wanted to strangle you out there. I wanted to rip that needle out of your hand and force you to listen. But at the same time…” he swallows hard, his throat bobbing “I couldn’t stop watching you. Couldn’t stop thinking ‘If anyone can actually pull this off, it’s him’ and that terrified me even more”

Mingyu’s lips twitch in a ghost of a smile, “I had to do it. I couldn’t walk away knowing I hadn’t tried everything. Even if it meant you… hating me for it”

Wonwoo leans closer, their foreheads nearly touching now. “I don’t hate you” he murmurs. “I love you. But don’t you dare pull something like that ever again… not in these situations, with time slipping through our fingers. You can’t just—“ his voice breaks slightly, “— you can't just play at being God”

His hand slides to cup the side of his face fully and before Mingyu can respond, Wonwoo closes the final inch between them and presses his lips against his. It’s not frantic, not sweet either, but a kiss that exhales fear, fury and love all tangled together. When he pulls back, his voice is just a whisper against Mingyu’s mouth but it carries the weight of a vow and a warning.

“If you ever scare me like that, Kim Mingyu, I swear I won’t forgive you so easily”

Mingyu exhales a shaky laugh and his hands lifts to rest on Wonwoo’s waist, “Fine” he breathes, showing him a smile “Noted”

For the first time since the scalpel touched Seungyoun's skin, Mingyu takes the deepest breath in his arms when Wonwoo embraces him. His body leans against his lover’s, tired but feeling finally weightless. And in that sterile locker room, the two find themselves in the aftermath silence, not as surgeon and assistant, not as savior and skeptic, but as two men who supported each other on the brink of disaster and come back breathing.

Whatever storms wait tomorrow doesn’t matter as at least tonight they had survived together.

Chapter Text

"Remember how you've made it through the fire?
Remember how you've come so far?"

The first twenty-four hours after surgery were always the most critical and Mingyu knew it.

Once Seungyoun was wheeled out of the operating room, his role there was technically over, yet Mingyu stayed rooted outside the intensive care unit like a sentinel. He barely blinked as, from behind the glass, his eyes were locked on the fragile rise and fall of the boy’s chest under the ventilator. Each beep of the monitor was important, each shift in oxygen saturation felt like a verdict, as if the universe were pronouncing judgement on every stitch he had placed.

Mingyu kept standing guard in that room for what seemed like an eternity, not wanting to leave the boy to chance in any way. It’s only when dawn crept across the ward, only when he saw that his vitals held steady for all the night, that he allowed his shoulders to relax. Against all the thinnest of odds, the autologous patch made with his own pericardium tissue had endured and the boy had slept peaceful and survived a day that according to statistics would never have seen the light.

Relief drained Mingyu out more than fatigue itself ever could, and from that moment his colleagues practically shoved him out of the hospital with strict orders to rest. For once, Mingyu didn’t argue as his body was bone-heavy and his mind was no longer reasoning, thin as gauze.

The following days slipped past in a fog of recovery, indeed. Mingyu slept like he hadn’t in years, longer than he thought possible, sinking so deeply that he started to find sunlight already spilling across the floorboards of his apartment when he opened his eyes. He cooked himself simple meals without much appetite, sipped tea that cooled too fast, let the silence of his home settle around him like a soft blanket. He had lived for weeks in the frenetic pulse of preparation, in the roar of operating rooms and alarms that now the stillness almost startled him. Yet he welcomed it.

But even in rest, the world didn’t leave him alone at all.

What happened in that operating room had left ripples that in a very short time grew into waves. In the hospital corridors, colleagues whispered about it, glancing his way with awe they didn’t try to disguise, administrators gave him solemn nods, as if in recognition of something larger than his own hands had done. And soon the attention spilled outward, breaking those walls. Newspapers, medical journals and blogs started talking about it, even evening news segments began circulating stories about the “extraordinary surgery” performed at Seoul National Hospital.

Mingyu didn’t seek the news out, but they found him all the same, forwarded by friends, praised in calls and messages filling his inbox. His mother, especially, seemed unable to contain her enthusiasm. She devoured every article, every picture, sending them to him with a pride so fierce it burned through the screen of his phone. At first Mingyu smiled at her cheerfulness, it filled his heart with joy, but later, alone in his apartment, he felt the warmth of it settling into his bones. All those years of study and brutal training, of sleepless nights and mistakes he thought had broken him, all of it had led him here to something that mattered.

To proof that his hands could make a difference. That a child’s future might unfold because he had chosen to risk and not to stop at the obvious solution.

And yet, even as the noise swelled around him, only one image anchored him more than the articles, more than the applause. Seungyoun’s chest rising and falling in the intensive care unit bed, fragile but so strong and willing to live. That was the true reward, the measure by which everything else faded. The rest, the attention, the accolades, was only a far echo.

That week indeed unfolded in a strange balance, half-hectic, half-quiet. The hospital halls buzzed with his name, while his apartment absorbed the weight of his silence. Mingyu rested, he recovered, but beneath it all he also carried the quiet and private satisfaction of a surgeon who knew he had not just prolonged a life but opened a door to a whole future.

And now, as early afternoon sunlight spills through the wide living room window, Mingyu lies on the blue couch draped in sleep from a little nap. His body slots heavy between Wonwoo’s legs, his face pressed into the gentle rise of his abdomen as his arms are wrapped loosely around his torso, like even in dreams he refuses to let him go. Wonwoo sits propped against the arm of the couch, with glasses perched low on the bridge of his nose and a book taken from Mingyu’s collection resting open in his right hand.

His leg dangles lazily over the edge of the cushions while his right knee bends just enough to cradle Mingyu closer. His other hand never stops moving though, tracing slow gentle circle along his lover’s back, so absentmindedly as if that small gesture is what tethers Mingyu to peace.

Every so often, Wonwoo lowers the book to glance outside the window as the world there moves along in its ordinary rhythm — cars sliding past on the streets, a dog barking faintly down the block — but there, wrapped in this slant of sunlight, the room breathes peacefully with them.

It’s Sunday and for once neither of them has anywhere to be. There are no surgeries to run toward, no wards pulling them back with alarms but just a wide beam of sunlight spilling across Mingyu’s apartment, the couch sinking beneath their weight and the quiet rhythm of two bodies pressed close. In that moment, the stillness feels like the most extraordinary luxury, an ordinary slice of time that feels like the rarest thing of all.

Mingyu stirs in his arms, a faint murmur catches his throat as he shifts against Wonwoo to adjust his comfort, his tall frame curling instinctively closer. Wonwoo’s hand moves to meet him without thought, sliding upward to let his fingertips gently comb through Mingyu’s dark hair.

“How far have you reached ?” Mingyu’s voice comes low, still wrapped in sleep.

“Mh ?” Wonwoo blinks, lowering the book just enough to look down at him. His thumb holds his place between the pages. “I’m at chapter 10”

“I slept for almost half the book” Mingyu mumbles, stretching his long limbs lazily before melting back into the warmth of him. “Is it good ?”

“It’s nice” Wonwoo chuckles, glancing at the novel resting in his hand. “Do you want to sleep a little longer ?” he asks then, brushing his knuckles lightly along Mingyu’s temple.

Mingyu shakes his head almost stubbornly, tightening his arms around Wonwoo’s waist like a child refusing to let go of a favorite toy. “No” he whispers, “I just want to stay here with you”

Wonwoo smiles and closes the book, setting it down on the coffee-table without breaking the gentle rhythm of his hand against Mingyu’s back. He then leans down and presses a kiss into the crown of his messy hair, “Alright” he says, “But we can also do something easy if you want”

“Cuddle like this ? Sounds like the perfect plan”

Wonwoo laughs, shaking his head. “You’re such a big baby”

Mingyu lifts his head just enough to meet his eyes, his grin mischievous as he leans in to kiss him softly. “Then you must like big babies because you keep having me around”

“Don’t push your luck” Wonwoo rolls his eyes, though his mouth curves despite himself.

“Okay, fine” Mingyu says, sitting up a little straighter now, though he doesn’t really move away, only props his chin on Wonwoo’s shoulder. “What did you have in mind then ? Tell me”

“I don’t know…” Wonwoo admits almost thoughtful. “It’s Sunday and we have some time off for once. We could go for a walk, go eating something good or…” he pauses as a small smile tugs at his lips. “We could go to the cinema. I haven’t been there in forever”

“That’s nice” Mingyu nods, catching the faint excitement in his tone. He untangles his arms and leans down to bury his face briefly in Wonwoo’s neck first, kissing the warm skin there in a way that makes Wonwoo shiver. “I’ll get up and get dressed in a few. What do you want to watch ?”

“I saw that ‘The Conjuring’ just came out”

Mingyu freezes halfway through standing, then slowly looks down at him, “… really ?”

“What ? You don’t like horror movies ?” Wonwoo furrows his brows at the unusual hesitation. Mingyu presses his lips in a tight line, refusing to answer that question but the silence is enough to make Wonwoo gasps. “Oh my god—” he says, suddenly coming to realization. “You’re scared of them, aren’t you ?”

“I didn’t say that!” Mingyu snaps quickly but the way he avoids eye contact betrays him.

“You are!" Wonwoo bursts out laughing, “I can’t believe this! You, Kim Mingyu, surgeon of the impossible, who can stand in the operating room for hours surrounded by blood everywhere, completely chickens out in front of some fake ghosts and a bucket of stage red paint ?!”

Mingyu glares him but it only makes Wonwoo laugh harder. “It’s not the same!” he insists, crossing his arms defensively over his chest. “That’s real work while horror movies are just… ugh they’re designed to mess with you! And all those sound effects, the music, the… jump scares! It’s not entertainment but a psychological warfare okay ?!”

“Uh-huh so scary” Wonwoo smirks, reaching out to tug Mingyu back down onto the couch. The taller man resists for all of two seconds before letting himself be pulled, sulking. “You’re unbelievable” he kisses his pouting mouth, “And ridiculously adorable but don’t worry, I promise I’ll hold your hand the whole time”

“You’d better” Mingyu grumbles, though the blush rising in his cheeks gives him away.

Dating Mingyu, Wonwoo discovered, is less like settling into routine and more like stepping into an adventure that shifts shape every single day. Some afternoons pass in quiet predictability, Wonwoo hunched over his desk with a sandwich in one hand and patient charts in the other. Other days Mingyu barges into his office with a carefully packed lunchbox which smell of something home-cooked fills the space until even Wonwoo’s stiff posture softens.

Sometimes it’s Wonwoo’s doorbell that rings at odd hours and when he opens it there’s Mingyu with hair mussed from the wind, holding nothing but a bag of chips and an eager smile. “Are you busy ?” he’d ask, or “I brought ice cream!” he enthusiastically would say, ending up with nothing but them scrolling social media pressed against to each other on the couch, and Mingyu who would show absurd tweets with the patience of a storyteller until Wonwoo’s chest aches from laughter.

There’s sex, plenty of it. There’s intense making love, but it’s the laughters that come after that changes everything. Wonwoo doesn’t even recognize himself sometimes, catching the way he giggles against Mingyu’s shoulder while cuddling in bed or the way his lips curving without thought. It feels reckless but in the safest way possible.

And Mingyu isn’t just fun. He’s patient in the moments that matter. He notices the tremor in Wonwoo’s hands when anxiety catches him off guard, the way his breathing sometimes stutters. He doesn’t point it out but he just steadies him with a warm palm at the small of his back or a glance across the aisle during a shift that says “I’m here, you’re fine”. That gaze alone keeps Wonwoo from spiraling as if Mingyu has the power to anchor him to the present.

Love, Wonwoo realizes, is not something he has to earn but, with Mingyu, it’s something he learns to share and to make space for. Mingyu teases him, indulges him, surprises him. He makes him feel like a carefree boy again even in the smallest things, like humoring his sudden wish to go to the cinema on a Sunday afternoon even though he doesn’t particularly like that movie.

“Shall we go ?” Mingyu emerges from his bedroom, hoodie zipped halfway, loose black pants brushing his sneakers, a baseball cap pulled low but not enough to hide the brightness in his eyes.

“Yeah, I’m ready” Wonwoo answers, slipping his arms into his coat. He barely has time to adjust the collar before Mingyu catches his hand, spins him with playful ease and pulls him into a soft kiss that lingers just enough to send a flush creeping up Wonwoo’s cheeks.

They step into the hallway after closing the door, their fingers brushing then twining. In the elevator it’s just the two of them, enclosed in the faint hum of machinery and the mirror-bright walls. Mingyu leans casually against the corner, tugging Wonwoo closer until their shoulders press. His arm snakes around his waist, pulling him in as if he couldn’t stand the thought of space between them. Wonwoo doesn’t protest, instead, he rests his forehead briefly against Mingyu’s shoulder, and for a few seconds, the world feels suspended somewhere between steel doors and heartbeats.

By the time they reach the ground floor, Mingyu presses a quick kiss to Wonwoo’s temple, one last indulgence before stepping back into the ordinary rhythm of the early afternoon.

The car ride is very easy, music hums low from the speakers and the streets are crisscrossed by golden lines of the slowly setting sun. Mingyu drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting palm-up in midair. Wonwoo threads his fingers through it without a word and Mingyu’s thumb begins to trace idle patterns across his knuckles in an unspoken rhythm made for them only.

“By the way—” Mingyu says after a few blocks, glancing sideways at him with his cap shadowing the curve of his smile, “I’m meeting my sister for lunch next week”

“Oh ? Really ?” Wonwoo turns his head curious, “How have been things between you two lately ?”

“Pretty good, actually” he replies fondly. “We talk almost every other day. Feels like we’re finally… catching up for lost time. She’s even planning to move to Seoul soon”

“For work ?” Wonwoo asks, genuinely pleased. “That’s really a great news”

“Yeah, she wants to open her own beauty salon” Mingyu nods, a little proud. “She’s been scouting locations, visiting premises for rent all over the city. She keeps sending me pictures of empty storefronts like I have any sense of feng shui” he chuckles, “But honestly, I’m impressed. She’s so determined”

“Seems like it runs in the family,” Wonwoo says with a smile tugging at his lips. “But really, that’s amazing. She’s brave for taking that step… and in this way you’ll be close again too”

“That’s the part I’m most excited about” Mingyu admits, “She and I wasted a lot of time being distant. I don’t want to lose more years like that”

Wonwoo’s expression softens. “I’m sure she feels the same”

Mingyu hums in agreement to that and there’s a small pause between them before Wonwoo speaks again, this time a little more carefully. “And your father ? How’s he doing ?”

His lips purse ever so slightly, the kind of expression that slips out before he can hide it. “Mom says he’s fine. She’s been keeping him on track with his diet since the surgery and won’t let him sneak any shortcuts” he replies as a faint smile ghosts over his mouth. “He complains all the time, of course but she won’t let him cheat. She even calls me sometimes just to gloat about catching him raiding the fridge”

Wonwoo smiles, “I’m glad he’s recovering well. That must be a relief for you too”

“It is” Mingyu admits, his thumb pressing a little firmer into his hand. “After everything that happened… even though we don’t talk much, I’m grateful he’s okay”

Wonwoo turns his head slightly, studying the side of Mingyu’s face bathed in the honey-gold light of the afternoon. His jaw is taut but beneath it is softness too, something Mingyu rarely lets others see. The silence that follows is comfortable at first, then deepens into something heavier, as if Mingyu is turning words over and over in his mouth before finally letting them go. Then he lifts their joined hands and presses his lips to Wonwoo’s knuckles. The gesture is so gentle, so reverent, it makes Wonwoo’s breath falter.

“I want you to meet Minseo” he says suddenly.

Wonwoo blinks, caught off guard, and lets out a small laugh. “I’ve already met her”

Mingyu shakes his head, glancing at him briefly before returning his eyes to the road. “You know what I mean”

The air shifts with the weight of those words. Wonwoo feels it immediately, the gravity beneath them pulling them close. His chest tightens as the realization blooms, Mingyu isn’t just talking about polite introductions anymore. He’s talking about family, about permanence, about weaving Wonwoo into the fabric of his life.

“Are you… sure ?” Wonwoo asks tentatively, “I mean… That’s not a small step”

“I’m sure” Mingyu doesn’t hesitate. “She’s important to me. And you’re… you’re important to me too. I want her to see that”

Wonwoo’s breath stutters, his heart thudding louder in his ears than the hum of the car engine. He can’t look away now the earnest curve of Mingyu’s mouth, the way his words don’t waver.

“You’re really serious about this” he murmurs, more to himself than to Mingyu.

“I’m not planning to let you go, Wonwoo, of course I am” Mingyu replies, finally turning just long enough for their eyes to meet. “I don’t want to treat this like something temporary, that’s not what this is to me” he exhales, his thumb brushing a soothing arc across Wonwoo’s skin. “And I know it might feel rushed, I know it could scare you and if it does… I’ll wait until you’re ready. But I need you to know that I’m sure about you, about us”

Wonwoo swallows hard as his throat suddenly goes dry. The words settle deep into him, heavier and more certain than anything Mingyu has ever said before. It lodges in his chest, steady and immovable, and for a dizzying moment he can’t breathe because he understands that Mingyu isn’t just opening a door for him. He’s laying bricks, one after another, to build something with him that looks frighteningly like a future.

A shaky breath escapes Wonwoo as he leans back into the seat, the hum of the car suddenly drowned out by the thundering of his own heartbeat. Mingyu’s hand is still locked in his and Wonwoo clings to it like proof this is real. His lips twitch, curling into the faintest almost disbelieving smile. “If you had told me some time ago… I would’ve probably run away already”

“Why ?” he asks, a half–smile tugging at his mouth. “Too cheeky ?”

“Because you’re just…” Wonwoo trails off, letting out a short laugh that’s more nervous than mocking. “Too full of surprises. You come crashing into my life like a storm and I don’t know if I should take cover or just let myself get swept away”

Mingyu chuckles softly, the sound warm and low as he lifts their joined hands to his lips and presses a kiss to the back of Wonwoo’s knuckles. “At least I’m not boring” he teases, his eyes softening even as he smirks.

“No…” Wonwoo admits, his smile gentler now. “You’re anything but boring. You terrify me sometimes… but you also make me feel like this”

This is everything Wonwoo can’t shape into language and Mingyu knows that as he studies him for a moment in the way his lashes flutters, the faint tremor in his voice, in the curve of his mouth that looks almost shy. He knows exactly what Wonwoo means by that, even if the word itself is too thin to carry the weight. This is the warmth of belonging. The rare freedom of being seen without disguise, the kind of quiet love that lets his restless mind still for a little while.

Wonwoo doesn’t have to spell it out as Mingyu feels it in the way his shoulders soften when he leans closer, in the unguarded way he lets himself be held. Mingyu smiles and doesn’t push Wonwoo to say more, he doesn’t ask him to explain his feelings. He just presses another slow kiss to the back of his knuckles, sealing the silence with something steadier than words, because he does know. No sweet sentences and further proofs need to be shown as everything is already there, in the space between them. And Mingyu, with his hand still clasping Wonwoo’s like it’s the only thing tethering him to the earth, is more than fine with that.

They ride the rest of the way in that sweet way, fingers laced and the world outside blurring in broad afternoon strokes past them. When the rounded shape of the cinema finally comes into view, its tall posters plastered with bold titles and dates, Mingyu steers smoothly into the parking lot already half full with cars glinting under the sun.

They step out into the crisp air, Wonwoo tugging his coat tighter around himself while Mingyu adjusts his cap. The smell of buttered popcorn is already faint on the breeze, drifting from the theater doors, and Wonwoo can’t help but grin at the faint sparkle in Mingyu’s eyes as he reaches for his hand again without hesitation.

At the ticket counter, Mingyu leans forward. “Two for ‘The Conjuring’ please”

Wonwoo chuckles, amused. “Confident, aren’t you ?”

Mingyu flashes him a grin but Wonwoo catches the way he shifts ever so slightly on his feet, as if bracing himself. Tickets in hand, Mingyu steers them toward the concession stand, scanning the glowing menu boards overhead.

“Alright” he says, glancing down at him, “What kind of popcorn do you want ? Sweet ? Salty ? Caramel ?” he wiggles his brows playfully. “Or should we go all in and get the jumbo bucket so you can bury me under kernels when I inevitably scream ?”

Wonwoo snorts, “You’re already planning your downfall ? That’s very brave of you” he pretends to consider, tapping his finger against his chin. “Caramel. Sweet suits you”

“Sweet suits me ?” Mingyu repeats, "That sounded dangerously close to flirting, Jeon Wonwoo”

“Maybe it was” Wonwoo shrugs lightly, smirk tugging at his lips as he leans a fraction closer. His voice drops just enough for Mingyu to feel the tease ripple over his skin. “Or maybe I just like watching you get sticky fingers so I can make fun of you after”

“Unbelievable” Mingyu shakes his head, clicking his tongue in mock offense. “Here I am, sacrificing my sanity, risking actual nightmares just to watch this terrifying movie with you, and your plan is to laugh at me while I suffer ?”

“That’s half the fun”

Mingyu rolls his eyes but the smile that escapes him is so unguarded it makes Wonwoo’s chest ache in the best way. “You’re impossible…” he playfully mutters but his body language hints something close to ‘please don’t ever stop’.

With popcorn ordered — half caramel, half salted, a compromise Mingyu insists is “the perfect balance” — and sodas in hand, they head toward the theater doors, brushing shoulders with every step. The theater is dim when they slip inside, the screen still lit with trailers, the soft murmur of strangers filling the air. Mingyu leads the way down the aisle, his height making him impossible to miss, and chooses seats right in the middle. “Best view” he declares, as if it’s a strategy rather than an excuse to sit pressed up against Wonwoo in the dark.

They settle in, the giant bucket of popcorn wedged between them, sodas in the cup holders. Wonwoo shrugs off his coat and glances sideways at Mingyu, who is already shifting in his seat, stretching his legs out until his knees brush the row in front.

“You look nervous” Wonwoo murmurs in a teasing tone.

“I’m not nervous” Mingyu replies a little too quickly, reaching for a fistful of popcorn as he shoves a few kernels into his mouth, chewing like it proves his courage. “I’m totally fine”

“Right” he chuckles under his breath, “The bravest man alive, no doubt”

Mingyu narrows his eyes, “You’re enjoying this way too much”

“Of course I am” Wonwoo grins, “I’m used to Dr. Kim Mingyu being all serious and professional in the ward. I never thought I'd get to see you like this but I must say… this version of you is just as charming if not even cuter”

“You’re supposed to be my safe place, not my tormentor” Mingyu groans, burying his face briefly into his shoulder.

“Who says I can’t be both ?” he shoots back a quiet laugh, enjoying the way Mingyu sulks just enough to be endearing. But before he can retort, the theater lights begin to dim, swallowing the room in layers of shadow. “It’s starting!” he whispers, almost boyishly.

That excitement earns him a side-eye glare but Mingyu just shakes his head and sinks deeper into his seat. The opening credits begin to roll on the big screen, and with them, the first eerie swell of music seeps through the speakers. Mingyu straightens immediately, his body stiff as a board, arms crossed tight over his chest as if bracing himself already. Wonwoo by his side lounges more comfortably in his seat, hiding his smirk as he dips his hand into the bucket to pop a piece of caramel popcorn into his mouth.

Minutes pass and the movie wastes no time to get into the mood. Shadows on the screen twist into something unsettling, a creaky farmhouse corridor appears as the camera follows a girl holding a flickering candle. Her breath is shaky, each step echoing like a drumbeat in the oppressive silence. The theater air itself seems to shrink, trapping everyone in the same suffocating tension.

Mingyu shifts slightly, his jaw tight and eyes pinned to the screen, trying his best to stay impassive but then a shadow darts across the wall, too fast, too sharp, the soundtrack crashes in a shrill burst, and he jolts so hard his soda rattles violently in its holder, fizz sloshing dangerously near the rim. Wonwoo claps a hand over his mouth, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

“What the hell was that ?!” Mingyu hisses, voice cracking into a whisper-shout. “Why—why is she walking down there alone with a candle ? Who even does that ?! No sane person hears a creepy noise at 3 a.m. and thinks, ‘Yeah, let me grab my candle and go investigate!’ Flashlight, people. Flashlight!”

Wonwoo can’t help to let his laugh spill free, “You do realize that’s the whole point, right ? If she made good choices, there wouldn’t even be a movie”

Mingyu swivels to glare at him. “Don’t talk to me— Talk to her! She’s the idiot walking straight into a murder basement”

Onscreen, the girl’s trembling hand pushes open a cellar door with a long aching creak. The entire audience collectively tenses, breaths held as the music builds into a looming crescendo. Mingyu curls up against Wonwoo, “See ?! Basement! Never the basement!” he alerts and the next scare erupts without mercy as something lunges from the darkness making the whole theater gasping in unison.

Mingyu doesn’t just flinch this time but he grabs for Wonwoo’s hand, clutching it so tightly it’s crushed against his chest. His heartbeat drums hard beneath his palm and Wonwoo can barely breathe, so absorbed is he in the sweet scene of his big frightened boyfriend.

The movie unfolds in relentless waves of tension, shadows stretching too long, whispers curling through the silence, sudden bursts of violence that draw startled gasps from the audience. Each time the camera lingers on something grotesque, Mingyu turns instinctively toward Wonwoo, burying his face against the crook of his neck as if the press of skin and the steady thrum of his pulse could shield him from the screen.

Wonwoo is amused but he also lingers in that tender contact. His hand rises without thought, threading his fingers through Mingyu’s hair and stroking slowly to soothe the shiver that runs through him. With his mouth tilted toward his ear, Wonwoo murmurs soft little descriptions of what he is watching, half to reassure, half to tease him. “There’s blood on the floor… fake, I promise” he whispers, lips brushing warm against Mingyu’s hairline as his words are calm but his chest shakes faintly with laughter he doesn’t bother to hide.

Time slips strangely, two hours collapsing into what feels like few minutes, and for once Wonwoo finds himself completely out of his mind, not consumed by the duties of his job, the expectations of the day, or the anxieties that often torment him. Instead, he's there, living in the moment with only Mingyu’s weight pressed against him, his hand tangled in dark strands, and the ridiculous absurdity of explaining a horror movie scene by scene to a man who faces real blood every day but can’t stomach cinematic gore.

Wonwoo realizes shortly, with something like wonder, that he has never laughed this freely inside a theater before. Never felt this light. And it’s all because Mingyu is beside him.

When the credits finally roll and the theater lights come up, Mingyu bolts upright with a groan, stretching his arms as if he’s endured a marathon. “Worst horror movie I’ve ever seen, anyway” he declares, though the flush on his cheeks betrays him. He mutters complaints all the way down the aisle — about the pacing, about the predictable scares, about the idiocy of the characters — while Wonwoo trails behind, biting his lip to keep from grinning too widely.

Out in the cool evening air, the buzz of chatter and the buttery scent of popcorn fade behind them, and they weave through the parking lot hand in hand. Wonwoo stops abruptly, tugging Mingyu back by their joined fingers. Mingyu looks at him in surprise just as Wonwoo rises onto his toes and presses a quick kiss to his lips, smiling against his mouth.

“Thank you for being such a brave boy for me” he murmurs, amusement lacing the words.

Mingyu’s brows arch, his grin slow and wicked as he leans in. “You know…” he drawls, voice dropping to something low and smooth. “I think I deserve a reward for what I just endured”

“A reward, huh ?” Wonwoo tilts his head, faking innocence “What kind of reward are we talking about ?”

Mingyu doesn’t answer immediately, instead, he leans down pressing his lips against the curve of Wonwoo’s neck in a lingering kiss that sends a shiver straight through him. “Let’s go to your place first… and then I’ll tell you”

“Why my place ?”

“Safety” he speaks suggestive, the kind of tone that curls heat in the pit of Wonwoo’s stomach. “I can be… quite loud and your neighbors don't complain as much as mine”

That earns him a mischievous laugh, so bold and warm it ripples straight through him, leaving a flush of heat in its wake that pools low in his stomach. Wonwoo fists the collar of Mingyu’s hoodie and drags him down for a teasing kiss, just a brush of lips but enough to make his eyes darken in hunger, before tugging him back to the car.

The ride to Wonwoo’s apartment is short, but it feels even shorter with the way they can’t seem to behave themselves. Mingyu drives one-handed, the other resting low and possessive, wandering with lazy boldness across Wonwoo’s thigh until it presses just a little higher his jeans, sparking heat that makes his breath falter. Every stoplight becomes an excuse for another stolen kiss, their mouths finding each other as if the minutes apart are unbearable. Every turn of the wheel is met with laughter, Wonwoo half-heartedly scolding him for not paying attention, though his own guilt is written in the way he leans closer, lips ghosting against Mingyu’s neck and teeth grazing just enough to make him shiver.

He’s smiling the whole time like he’s helpless against it, drunk on the closeness.

By the time they pull into the building’s lot, both are already intoxicated by the thrill of being so completely immersed in each other. The elevator ride is barely manageable as Mingyu cages him against the mirrored wall, mouths colliding in kisses that are less delicate now and more desperate, until the mechanical chime of the doors drags them apart with a sharp jolt. They stumble out, still grinning, still flushed, like guilty teenagers caught sneaking out past curfew.

At the apartment door, Wonwoo fumbles briefly with the keypad, punching in the code with fingers that don’t want to cooperate and Mingyu’s breath warm against the side of his neck. The lock clicks, the door swings open, and Mingyu is right behind him like a shadow and a presence all at once. Wonwoo barely manages to flick on the light and toe off his shoes before Mingyu’s mouth finds his again urgently, tugging at him like he might disappear if he lets go.

Wonwoo laughs breathless against the kiss, catching Mingyu’s wrist to steady them both. Then he pulls him down the corridor, half-dragging, half-running, their steps stumbling in sync as laughter bursts out between their mouths. And by the time they reach the bedroom, it’s obvious in every hot touch, every laugh, every sinful look, that this isn’t just hunger for the night ahead. It’s something deeper, anchored by the certainty that they're completely, hopelessly in love with each other.

Wonwoo pushes Mingyu back onto the mattress, the man falling with a soft thud and a laugh muffled between their lips. Wonwoo crawls between his legs, bracing himself on either side of Mingyu’s body as their mouths crash together again so hungry, so greedy, chasing and meeting in equal measure. Mingyu arches up into him, hips lifting in restless urgency, hands sliding under his shirt, searching every line of muscle, every patch of warmth like he can’t get enough.

The hoodie comes undone under Wonwoo’s impatient hands, fabric tugged open to reveal the planes of Mingyu’s chest. Mingyu doesn’t waste time as his fingers slip to the waistband of Wonwoo’s jeans, tugging insistently, fiddling with the button until he can push the denim just low enough to tease.

His voice is a whisper against Wonwoo’s mouth, low and ragged with want. “Take them off”

And Wonwoo is about to, already clumsy with urgency, ready to obey without a second thought to whatever this man want. His eyes flick down catching Mingyu’s bare tanned skin, the flush across his chest, the way he’s already half-naked and eager for more. Heat curls low in Wonwoo’s gut, so ready to bring Mingyu on the edge of insanity, until the sharp unexpected sound of the doorbell cuts through the room making them both freeze instantly on the spot.

Mingyu’s chest heaves, breath shallow as he looks up at Wonwoo. “Are you expecting someone ?”

“No… I don’t —” Wonwoo breathes still hovering above him, lips swollen, pupils blown wide. He blinks once, then again when the sound rings again dragging him out of the haze like a bucket of cold water. His expression shifts for a moment, then frustration flickering across his face before he lets his forehead drop briefly to Mingyu’s shoulder with a groan. “Fuck…”

Mingyu props himself up on his elbows, “What ?”

“It’s Sunday”

“So ?”

Wonwoo lifts his head, laughter bubbling up despite himself. “She always comes to visit me on Sundays”

The confusion on Mingyu’s face is priceless. “Who are you talking about ?”

“My mom” Wonwoo sighs and just like that the entire heat of the moment deflates into something ridiculous.

Mingyu’s eyes widen so fast it almost looks comical, his whole body tensing as if the word mother just detonated like a grenade between them. “She is here ?! Your mom ?” his voice cracks halfway up the register. “Oh fuck —”

Wonwoo bursts into laughter at the sight of him so panicked. His whole frame trembles with amusement, shoulders shaking as he collapses briefly onto his chest.

“This is not funny, Wonwoo!” Mingyu hisses, his hands flying down to his lap as if that could magically hide the obvious problem straining against his briefs. “I can’t meet your mom like this, I — shit! I literally have a boner in my pants!”

That only makes Wonwoo laugh even harder. “Relax” he says, lifting his head and grinning wicked as he leans down to kiss Mingyu on the lips, “I’m not throwing you to the wolves. Stay here, I’ll take care of it”

Mingyu groans, dragging a hand over his face. “What if she hears me breathing ? What if she somehow just knows I’m in here, half naked, corrupting her precious son ?”

Wonwoo chuckles again, already swinging his legs off the bed and fumbling to button his jeans. “You’re so dramatic, Mingyu” he teases, trying to tuck in his shirt quickly. He’s still laughing but there’s a nervous edge to it now, the kind that comes when he knows his worlds are about to collide in the most inconvenient way possible.

Mingyu scrambles upright, yanking his hoodie closed and fumbling with the zipper. “I swear to God, Wonwoo, if she walks in here and sees me like this, I’ll have to emigrate, change my name and start a new life”

“Perfect, go run a clinic on an island in exile while I’ll be here explaining to my mother why my boyfriend fainted at the sight of her”

“Not helping!”

The doorbell rings again, followed this time by the unmistakable rhythm of someone impatiently tapping the wood. Wonwoo inhales deeply as he straightens his clothes, runs a hand through his hair in a vain attempt to tame it and throws Mingyu one last grin, “Don’t move. Don’t make a sound”

“I hate this” Mingyu murmurs, throwing a pillow in his face. “I hate everything about this”

“I love you too” Wonwoo tosses over his shoulder before striding out of the bedroom.

He straightens his shirt, runs his hand through his hair one last time to tame it, and strides down the short corridor. His pulse hammers as he forces his lips into what he hopes is a casual smile, pulling then the front door open to greet his usual Sunday visitor.

Haewon Jeon stands at the threshold of his apartment in all her composed glory, the kind of presence that always manages to make Wonwoo feel both safe and slightly scrutinized. A thin silk scarf is draped elegantly over her shoulders and her posture is impeccable, her expression alight with the radiant smile that never fails to soften him even when he’s not prepared for it. Her eyes are keen and observant, sweeping over him instantly to drink in every detail.

“Hi, Mom” Wonwoo smiles, trying to be composed.

“Hi, my dear” she replies, stepping forward to embrace him. The familiar scent of her perfume — light floral with a trace of citrus — clings to him for a moment before pulls back just enough to look at him properly. “What took you so long to open the door ? Were you resting ?”

Caught off guard, Wonwoo stiffens. His body knows to shake his head before his brain catches up. “No, I was just—” the words clumsy stumble out as he clears his throat, searching frantically for something plausible. “I was just… tidying up”

Haewon’s brow arches, the same subtle gesture that used to strike fear into him as a teenager, clearly unconvinced. “Tidying up ? At this hour ? You know that housework is done in the morning, son” she echoes, her tone playful but threaded with the suspicion only a mother could master. Her expression, indeed, slips and she starts studying him, her gaze traveling across his face in the kind of detail that makes Wonwoo feel like he’s under a magnifying glass. “Are you feeling alright, Wonwoo-ah ? Your cheeks are so red”

The question catches him harder than it should. Wonwoo blinks as heat creeps higher across his face, blooming under her gaze. “I’m… fine” he says quickly, but his voice lacks conviction, and he knows it. He clears his throat again, trying to smooth out the rough edge in his tone. “Really, I’m fine”

Wonwoo shifts his weight from one foot to the other, uncomfortable under the weight of her attention but before he can get another excuse out of his mouth, Haewon briskly steps inside carrying a paper bag whose handles are looped firmly over her arm.

“Well, good. Because I brought you something special!” she announces, her voice suddenly excited. “You won’t believe it, our neighbor’s son just returned from Beijing and he brought back the most fragrant Chinese tea ever! She gave me some yesterday and I thought about you immediately. You always say the tea I brew is too weak, don’t you ? I’m sure this one will change your mind”

She beams as she holds up the bag, the excitement in her eyes leaving Wonwoo both warmed and utterly cornered.

“That’s very thoughtful, Mom” he manages to say, his smile a little too tight, his hands itching to tug at his collar. He tries to mask the rush of embarrassment threatening to spill across his expression. All he can think about is Mingyu half-naked in his bedroom and the mere thought makes his pulse trip over itself, panic and absurdity blending into one.

Haewon doesn’t notice that. She’s too busy bustling toward the kitchen, already setting the bag on the counter. “You’ll love this tea, it will relax you!” she continues as cheerful. “It has such a clean taste and your whole apartment will smell like a flower shop”

“Great” Wonwoo exhales slowly, dragging a hand across his face.

“And look at this—“ Haewon’s voice fills the small kitchen as she unpacks her bag like it’s a magic pouch. “Your father went fishing this week and he insisted I bring you some of the dried fish he caught. I told him you’d roll your eyes at me but you know how he is, he gets stubborn about these things. And this —” she pulls out another parcel wrapped neatly in brown paper, “Some of Mrs. Park’s homemade kimchi. She swears it’s her best batch yet. Oh, and wait—” she bends slightly over the bag again, “I also brought you…”

She trails off mid-sentence. Her hands, still holding a packet of rice, falter in midair as her gaze shifts past Wonwoo’s shoulder drying up the words on her tongue.

Wonwoo freezes as the silence strikes him like a stone. He follows her line of sight and his stomach drops when he sees Mingyu, shy, hesitant, hovering on the kitchen’s threshold as if caught in a place he shouldn’t be. His tall frame is draped in the loose hoodie back again, his hair mussed where nervous fingers had clearly combed through it. Haewon’s brows lift, her expression caught in surprise but quickly softened into something more curious than disapproving. Her eyes flick back and forth from her son, who looks like he’s about to pass away, to the stranger who stands in his home like an open secret finally uncovered.

Mingyu swallows visibly, then steps forward, bowing gently. “Good evening, ma’am”

Wonwoo nearly groans, his hand dragging across his face as if he could hide behind his own palm. “Mom, this is Mingyu, my… my boyfriend”

The silence that follows is thick enough to choke on. The word boyfriend echoes in the room louder and stretch into the kind of pause where every second feels like a year. Wonwoo’s pulse hammers in his ears, his heart kicking violently against his ribs. He dares a glance at Mingyu, who stands tall despite the awkwardness, his hands clasped neatly in front of him.

He bows again, more shallow this time. “Very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Jeon” he says softly, his politeness so painfully earnest.

For a long moment, Haewon simply stares at them. She doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, still clutching the packet of rice like she’s forgotten it’s there. And then, slowly, like a cloud breaking into sunlight, her expression melts and a broad, radiant smile blooms across her face.

“Oh, Mingyu!” she exclaims joyful. She sets the rice down on the counter and steps forward, arms lifting slightly as if she might embrace him. “Of course. Of course! Wonwoo has told me so much about you!”

Wonwoo blinks, his mouth falls open but nothing comes out, “That’s not…” he tries to say but he doesn’t even know if it’s meant to protest, to correct, or to simply remind her that he’s still standing there.

But Haewon is already moving past him. “Goodness, I’m so pushy barging in like this! I should’ve guessed you were busy… but did you really think you could hide this handsome man from me forever, Wonwoo-ah ?” she shoots her son a pointed look, the kind that makes his cheeks flame even hotter. “Look at you son, you surely grew up so well”

Mingyu bows again, the corners of his lips twitching in nervous relief. “Thank you, Mrs. Jeon. I… I really didn’t mean to intrude on your evening with your son”

“Nonsense, darling!” Haewon waves her hand as if swatting his words away. “If you’re important to my Wonwoo, then you belong here” and before Mingyu can protest, she closes the distance and embraces his tall figure, smiling up at him afterward. “You’re even prettier than he described. And please, call me Haewon. ‘Mrs. Jeon’ makes me sound like my own mother-in-law”

Wonwoo rubs the back of his neck but, buried under those layers of embarrassment, there’s a sense of gratitude and relief warming up his heart. Haewon glances at him briefly, her gaze softening before she turns her attention back to Mingyu. “Now then, have you guys eaten yet ? Because I’ve brought far too much food, as usual. My Wonwoo knows I can’t stand seeing good things go to waste and he hardly eats properly on his own”

“She’s exaggerating” Wonwoo mutters rolling his eyes, though his ears turn pink again.

“I’m saying the truth!” she insists, her tone half-scolding, half-loving. “He forgets to eat when he’s busy and when he does eat, it’s instant noodles or delivery food. That’s no way to live.”

Mingyu’s lips twitch and before Wonwoo can argue back, he steps forward. “Then let me cook something” he offers, bowing his head slightly. “For you too, Haewon-ssi. It’s the least I can do, especially since you’ve been so kind”

“Absolutely not!” she declares, her smile stretching wide. “You’ll cook next time, Mingyu-ah. Tonight, you both just sit down and let me spoil you. That’s what moms are for, anyway.”

Mingyu laughs softly, bowing his head again in a polite nod, while Wonwoo groans by his side, burying his face briefly in his hands. The apartment soon fills with the scent of tea leaves and chives that Haewon has unwrapped from a paper bag, the clatter of jars and packages on the counters filling the quiet kitchen. Mingyu is initially hesitant to move into a space that clearly isn't his, but quickly relaxes when Haewon motions him closer with a quick wave of her hand.

"Here, Mingyu-ah, come. You look like you know how to handle a knife better than my son" she says, halfway between joking and commanding, as she pushes a cutting board over to him. "Can you cut these scallions for me, please ? Thin, but not too much, they’ll disappear if you make them too delicate"

“Yes, ma’am” Mingyu replies automatically, then catches himself. “Haewon-ssi,” he corrects with a sheepish grin.

“Much better” she nods approvingly, “You know, the secret to this stew is balance. Too much salt and it loses its depth, too little and it tastes like dishwater. But if you sauté the garlic and scallions just so before you add anything else… ah, that’s the real magic!”

Wonwoo crosses his arms, trying to look unimpressed but unable to hide his curiosity as he watches Mingyu nod along, following her instructions carefully. His hands move deftly, the scallions falling into perfect slices, each piece uniform.

“This man knows how to cook properly” Haewon says proudly, glancing at him.

“I’m not that bad myself” Wonwoo protests immediately.

“You burned an egg, Wonwoo-ah”

“Really ?” Mingyu bursts out laughing, the sound rich and warm, filling the kitchen. “Eggs are so easy to cook, burning them is a new level of skill”

Wonwoo shoots him a glare but Mingyu only grins wider, clearly enjoying himself. “Don’t laugh at me, it was one time!” he mutters.

“It was three times” Haewon corrects, patting Mingyu’s arm. “Good thing you’re here, Mingyu-ah. At least I know my son won’t starve from now on”

Mingyu bows his head, blushing. “I’ll make sure he eats well, Haewon-ssi. I promise”

Wonwoo didn’t expect the way his chest would loosen, the way the heaviness of embarrassment that had followed him since the doorbell rang would melt away. He leans quietly against the counter, his arms still crossed over his chest but the tension has gone soft, replaced by his heart feeling fully only. His gaze drifts over to them, his mother with her sleeves rolled back, beaming as she moves around the kitchen, and Mingyu, tall and attentive beside her, laughing easily as he takes instruction, his long fingers clumsy at chopping until Haewon nudges him, showing him the right rhythm.

They look like they belong there, side by side at the stove. Mingyu listens carefully, laughing when she teases him, asking about her “secret ingredient” with a boyish grin. Haewon, radiant and teasing, answers with a wink and a handful of herbs, delighted to have an audience who cares. Wonwoo watches them and feels the warmth rising in him and for the first time all evening, he doesn’t feel trapped between his two worlds crashing together but rather they’re weaving, effortlessly, seamlessly, as if they were always meant to.

Later they sit at the small dining table, the meal spread between them steaming and fragrant. Haewon speaks animatedly, her stories tumbling out with laughter as she recalls moments from Wonwoo’s childhood. How he used to steal the stethoscope from his grandfather and press it to her chest insisting on checking her heartbeat. How he scribbled on scraps of paper with crayons, calling them prescriptions. How he once bandaged their family dog in gauze because he was certain it had a “broken paw”.

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, sinks lower in his chair as if the table might swallow him whole. His mom beams all the more, clearly enjoying his discomfort. Mingyu, though, he only laughs with his eyes crinkling at the corners as, beneath the table, his hand tenderly finds Wonwoo’s. His thumb brushes soothing circles against his skin, a silent anchor that turns the embarrassment into something softer. Wonwoo looks at him, already suspecting the grin he has on his face is half affection, half playful revenge for every jump scare earlier that afternoon, but he can’t bring himself to mind.

Not when Mingyu’s laughter sounds like that.

Not when his mother looks this happy.

The evening stretches on in warm tones, laughter mingling with the clink of chopsticks and the savory scent of Haewon’s cooking. She adores Mingyu almost instantly, her delight plain in every glance, every question about his job and hobbies. By the end of the meal, she’s already inviting him to dinner at the family house, and to Christmas too, declaring there will always be a seat for him at her table. Wonwoo blushes hearing that, lowering his gaze to his bowl, but when he lifts his eyes again and sees Mingyu so calm and smiling, so at ease, his heart feels impossibly full.

Eventually Haewon gathers her things after dinner, insisting with a gentle smile that she should head home before the evening grows too dark. She hugs Mingyu tightly at the door, murmuring that she expects to see him again soon, and peppers Wonwoo’s cheeks with kisses until he protests laughing. Before leaving, she delivers her usual warnings — eating properly, sleeping enough, not overworking himself — words she repeats every week but that somehow feel more comforting than nagging. When she finally steps out and the door closes with a soft click, the apartment falls into a hushed stillness, the air warm from the evening’s laughter.

Wonwoo exhales, smiling before he even realizes it, and he wraps his arms around Mingyu’s waist pressing himself close to his body. Mingyu leans into him easily, his chin brushing the top of his hair.

“It seems like I’ve won her over” he says at last, his voice carrying the faintest thread of disbelief about how smoothly the evening went.

“Yeah” Wonwoo smiles, tilting his head back just enough to look at him, “She likes you. A lot. I think she might like you more than she likes me right now”

“Well, can you blame her ? I am very charming”

Wonwoo smacks his chest lightly, “You’re insufferable” he chuckles, “But… thank you for tonight. For being so… you. She’s everything to me and seeing you with her… it meant more than I can explain”

Mingyu’s gaze softens, his hand coming up to cup Wonwoo’s cheek. “I’d do it a thousand times over if it means making you smile like this”. The kiss he gives him is soft but grounding, their breaths mingling in the stillness of the apartment. They linger in each other’s embrace for a bit longer, swaying almost imperceptibly as if the world outside has suddenly disappeared.

“Do you want to stay the night ?” Wonwoo then asks, almost shy.

“I really want to” Mingyu replies with a sigh, “But I’ve got the midday shift tomorrow and I’d really like to head in early. I want to check on Seungyoun before the day gets busy”

Wonwoo nods, not disappointed but understanding, his hand slipping down to entwine his fingers with Mingyu’s. “That’s fine, I’ve got the morning shift anyway. We’ll both be busy”

“Mh-mh” Mingyu hums, leaning in again to brush another featherlight kiss over his mouth, “We can have lunch together, though”

Wonwoo smiles into the kiss, “Okay. Deal”

After a tender goodbye and many kisses later shared on the threshold of Wonwoo’s apartment, Mingyu makes his way home. The warmth of the evening still clings to him as soon as he steps out of the building but happiness seeps in the moment instead he sinks into his own bed. He stretches out his limbs letting his eyes fall shut, relax taking control of all his senses as if he slowly drifts himself into a deep untroubled sleep.

The next morning, true to his word and with his body restored as well as his mind clear, Mingyu wakes earlier than his alarm and instead of lingering in his usual breakfast and work-out, he goes out heading straight to the hospital, not even pausing in the locker room to change into his scrubs once he gets there. His hoodie and jeans remain, casual and a little rumpled, but his stride carries the same gravity of his role.

The corridors hum softly with the typical morning bustle around him. Nurses exchanging notes, colleagues offering nods of recognition as he passes, and Mingyu greets them warmly but he doesn’t stop to chat with them as usual as there’s only one place he wants to be first.

When he reaches Seungyoun’s room, the sight waiting for him pulls a smile to his lips instantly. The little boy is propped up in bed with a colorful blanket tucked neatly around his legs. His cheeks are flushed with healthy color, his eyes bright in a way they hadn’t been days ago. He’s grinning wide, talking animatedly to his parents seated on either side of him. They look tired but relieved, their own smiles mirroring their son’s.

For a moment Mingyu simply takes it in, the small miracle of a child’s recovery after the storm of surgery. Then with a gentle rap of his knuckles against the doorframe, he announces his presence.

“Knock, knock. May I come in ?” his voice speaks soft, careful not to break the moment.

The boy’s mother looks up instantly, her face lighting as recognition floods her features. She rises halfway from her chair, a hand fluttering toward him in welcome. “Dr. Kim! Please, come” she says warmly.

Mingyu steps inside and approaches the bedside with easy strides, his eyes landing on the boy who’s grinning so wide it seems to stretch across his whole face. “Morning, champ” he says with a smile, dipping his head just slightly in greeting. “You’re looking a whole lot better than the last time I saw you”

Seungyoun sits a little straighter, his blanket slipping to reveal skinny arms that look stronger now than they did just days ago. “I feel better too!” he chirps, his voice bright and clear.

Mingyu chuckles and glances at the parents, offering them a small bow. “I’m glad to see such quick progress. You’ve both been taking good care of him, I can tell”

The father nods, his smile a little sheepish but proud, while the mother clasps her hands together, emotion brimming in her eyes. “We’re just so grateful” she says softly. “Seeing him like this… it feels like we can breathe again too”

Mingyu’s chest loosens at her words, a quiet sense of pride welling in him. He rests a reassuring hand at the edge of the boy’s bed, leaning down slightly. “Well, it looks like someone’s already eager to get back to running around, huh ? Are you ready to meet your friends again on the soccer field ?”

The question lights a spark in Seungyoun instantly. His whole face beams and he grips the blanket in his small fists, bouncing a little where he sits. “Really ? I can play again ?!” his voice bursts with excitement, though a flicker of worry quickly chases it. “But… will it be okay for my heart ? Mommy said I have to stop a lot and… and not to run too fast”

Mingyu feels the boy’s eagerness tug at him, tempered with that small shadow of fear that no child should have to carry. He crouches down so they’re eye-level, his expression softening, “You’ll have to be careful for a while, yes” he nods slowly so Seungyoun absorbs every word. “Your heart is healing and like any muscle, it needs time to get stronger again. You’ll listen to your parents, to your doctors and most importantly, you’ll listen to yourself. If you feel tired, you rest. If your chest feels strange, you stop right away. But one day soon… you’ll be running down that field again, kicking the ball like you never stopped”

Seungyoun’s eyes grow wide, “So I really can ?”

Mingyu chuckles softly, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “Of course you can, buddy. The World Cup is waiting for you. But let’s take it one step at a time, okay ? Plenty of rest, plenty of good food, and you’ll be back to your friends before you know it”

The boy nods fiercely and that earns a smile from his parents too. Mingyu’s hand lingers for a moment longer in Seungyoun’s hair before he straightens again, smiling as the little kid beams back at him. The family warmth in the room seems to intensify with the increasing daylight, but then Seungyoun's father looks at Mingyu and clears his throat gently.

“Dr. Kim” he calls him tentative, “If you have a moment… I’d like to have a word with you”

Mingyu perks up immediately, his professional instincts sharpening beneath his calm exterior. He glances at the boy who is already turning back toward his mother, chattering about soccer again, before nodding and stepping aside with the father, just a few paces away near the window.

There, in the quieter corner of the room, the man exhales, shoulders weighted with something heavier than words. “I don’t even know where to begin…” he says, his voice trembling with sincerity. “My wife and I truly don’t know how to thank you for… for everything you’ve done for my son”

Mingyu shakes his head almost immediately, “Please, you don’t need to thank me. I was only doing my job”

But the father doesn’t seem satisfied with that answer. “Your job saved his life” he says with a voice broken by the impending cry, “We spent so much time helplessly watching Seungyoun's heart fail, unable to do anything to help him. So much time thinking we'd lose him any day, and then..." His words trail off, his throat tightening as if he were trying to hold back tears. "And then suddenly someone like you comes along and... everything changes. My son suddenly has a hope”

"He's a strong boy" Mingyu smiles softly, offering him reassurance. "Stronger than most adults I've ever seen. He fought for this as much as I did. And now look at him, he is recovering so well”

The father swallows hard, nodding as his eyes glisten. "We thought we'd never be able to afford this surgery, Dr. Kim. The costs were... simply too high for us, they would have completely bankrupted us. We would have lost everything we have, and I was already at peace with the fact that I would have to work hard to support my family, but then the hospital the other day told us that everything was covered by an anonymous donor through an organization that helps children in need like Seungyoun" his voice cracks at those words, and he briefly presses the palm of his hand to his eye. "Whoever that person is, I will never stop thanking them in my prayers”

“That’s an amazing news” he nods gently, “I told you someone kind would come along to help. Sometimes… life just surprises us in the best ways”

“Yes, that’s true” the father lets out a shaky laugh, “A miracle, really” he bows his head, “Thank you, Dr. Kim. For everything. For your skill, your patience… and for never giving up on my son”

Mingyu dips his head respectfully but beneath the curve of his smile, the truth presses heavily against his chest. He doesn’t tell the man that the "anonymous donor” had been him, that when the chance to help appeared, he hadn’t hesitated for even a breath. That decision, to him, had never felt like sacrifice at all. It had been instinct, as natural as breathing, if he could give, Mingyu would without a doubt, just to see that boy’s heart beating healthy again.

So he swallows the truth down, lets it rest in the dark where it belongs as gratitude, he thinks, should belong to fate and nameless kindness, not to him.

The family doesn’t need to know it.

What matters is that their boy is here.

When they turn back toward the bed, Seungyoun is laughing with his mother, his small hands tugging restless at the blanket as if already imagining himself kicking a ball on an open field calling his name. Mingyu breathes out slowly, the air leaving him in a rush that feels both heavy and freeing. His chest aches with the weight of what he keeps hidden but it’s balanced by the lightness of what he sees right in front of him.

This moment, the flush on Seungyoun’s cheeks, the bubbly laughter in his throat, the relief in his parents’ eyes, this is the only recognition he’ll ever need.

The rest simply doesn’t matter.

Mingyu says them his goodbyes quietly, a soft ruffle of the boy’s hair, a small nod to the parents who look at him as if he has given them back the entire world. Then with his unhurried stride, he slips once more into the rhythm of his day.

The ward greets him with its familiar hum and Mingyu shrugs off his clothes in the locker room to slide into his navy scrub and white coat. He gets to work almost immediately, overwhelmed by the rush of the small emergencies. A series of stitches in the emergency room, a fever check for a restless child, a series of chart reviews which pages flutter beneath his pen as he offers silent reassurances to anxious families.

The hours blur together quickly, swallowed by the rhythm of routine. He doesn’t notice the light fading until dusk presses against the hospital windows, shadows stretching long across the floors. By the time he peels off his coat and slings his backpack across his shoulder, a deep fatigue tugs at every step, though his calm expression reveals none of it.

The ride home is quiet, the cool evening air cutting through the weariness like a balm. His body moves almost automatically when he reaches his building, backpack sliding down one arm, long fingers searching the rear pocket where his keys always wait. He stops by the row of mailboxes, the metallic click of the key turning in the lock so familiar it feels ritualistic. No matter how late or tired, he never skips to check the mails not to miss any rent or bill deadlines.

As usual, a handful of unremarkable papers waited inside. A glossy flyer promising discounts at a new restaurant just opened around the corner and the predictable electricity bill folded neatly into its windowed envelope. Mingyu shuffles through them absently, his thoughts already drifting to a hot shower, maybe a simple dinner before collapsing into bed.

But soon his gaze is caught by a plain white envelope with the hospital postmark stamped clean in the corner, his name written across the front so clinical and precise. The rest of the mail suddenly feels weightless in his hands and a strange tension coils in his stomach, equal parts anxiety and curiosity, as if the weight of the paper itself might tip the balance of his life.

Mingyu tears it open carefully, the sound unnaturally loud in the silence of the building, and slides the folded letter free. The hospital’s crest sits at the top of the page, the words beneath so crisp and formal blur for a moment as his breath catching like he had suddenly forgotten how to exhale. His eyes move swiftly, then slowed, each line sinking into him unwilling to miss a single detail.

That’s an official invitation in Zurich for an international conference on pediatric cardiac surgery.

Not just a simple invitation as an attendant this time, but as a speaker.

His name is printed there in black ink as the acknowledgment of his work, his technique for autologous pericardial patching, has been recognized beyond the sterile walls of his hospital, beyond the city, beyond the whole country. His surgery, no longer just whispered in the corridors or buried in case notes, but called to stand on a global stage.

Mingyu leans back against the wall, the faint metallic chill of it grounding him while his pulse thunders in his ears. The fanfare, the countless nights, the risks he had taken for the sake of a child’s life, somehow the world had noticed and was ready to pull him into the light.

For a long moment, Mingyu doesn’t move. The world narrows to the envelope in his hands, the weight of it far heavier than paper should ever be. His eyes trace his own name again and again, the familiar strokes suddenly transformed into something almost foreign like proof of a reality he never dared imagine.

Slowly, almost reverently, he presses the letter to his chest. His eyes flutter shut, his breath catching as if the steady thrum of his heart might anchor the truth inside him. If he holds it there long enough, maybe it will sink in, maybe it will become real.

Zurich.

His name.

His work.

The words echo through him as excitement coils in his stomach tangled with disbelief, with the tremor of something so much bigger than himself. Mingyu opens his eyes again, half-expecting his surrounding to have shifted to match what he feels inside but nothing has really changed.

The lobby is still empty, the stack of bills still sits forgotten in his other hand, the hum of the elevator drones lazily down the hall. Yet, though the reality seems the same, Mingyu no longer perceives it as such. For the first time in his life, everything brims with newness as if the ground beneath his feet has tilted just enough to reveal him a different horizon.

Everything might stay still but inside him, he knows, his world has shifted forever into something incredibly different.

Chapter Text

"Every inch of your skin
Is a holy grail I've gotta find
Only you can set my heart on fire"

Gossip has never been a topic Wonwoo particularly enjoyed dwelling on.

Unlike others, he doesn't have much patience for the half-truths that pass from mouth to mouth, swelling and distorting until no one remembers their real origin source anymore. To him, rumors are nothing more than background noise, interference that creeps into the hum of daily life, but this morning the disturbances in the hospital are simply too much and apparently even impossible to ignore.

The corridors are alive with it. Muffled voices drift through the halls, clashing and fading, only to circle back like restless currents of air. Nurses lean closer to each other as they trade medical charts, their whispers intertwine with laughter as their expressions wide in pure wonder. Even the residents, those usually expressionless pillars weighed down by fatigue, have something new in their eyes, a sharp glint of admiration they usually get when they know a secret just too good to keep.

Wonwoo frowns as he passes by the chatter, his long strides piercing the noise but the murmur lingers, brushing his shoulders no matter how quickly it moves from person to person. It's too early for the hospital to be so full of restless energy at the crack of dawn, and whatever's got everyone so excited can surely wait until after he has had his usual coffee.

He pushes open the door to the doctors’ lounge expecting relief and silence, perhaps even the comfort of routine. Instead, the atmosphere inside is no different at all as Jeonghan and Seokmin are sitting hunched together at the table with their mugs clasped in their hands, gossiping like everyone else that morning. Words tumble between them in quick bursts, broken by disbelief and threaded with astonishment.

Whatever they’re discussing, it clearly isn’t about patient charts or cafeteria food.

Wonwoo heads straight for the kitchenette and pours himself a good cup of coffee. The pot gurgles softly as he tips it forward, dark liquid spilling into his mug, and though the familiar dripping is a small comfort against the incessant murmuring behind him, no matter how hard he tries to tune it out, Seokmin and Jeonghan's voices still weave their way into his ears.

“This is insane” Seokmin whispers in disbelief.

“You’re telling me” Jeonghan replies smoothly, “Honestly, it’s extraordinary. Not the sort of thing you hear about every day”

Wonwoo arches a brow at the coffee swirling in his cup but he says nothing, at least not yet.

“I didn’t even think it was possible” Seokmin continues, his chair scraping slightly as he shifts. “I mean, people spend their whole careers chasing something like this and most of them never even get close”

“Exactly! That’s why it’s so brilliant” Jeonghan chuckles softly, leaning back in his seat. “One moment you’re just doing your work and the next everyone suddenly knows your name. Everyone wants to hear what you have to say”

“Do you think he’ll go ?” Seokmin asks after a sip, “I mean, I can only imagine the pressure”

“He’d be a fool not to!” Jeonghan comments, “Opportunities like this don’t just fall out of the sky every day. This is the kind of thing that changes everything”

Wonwoo’s grip on his mug tightens ever so slightly as the steam rises in front of his face. His friends’ words tumble over each other, enough to break through his carefully constructed wall of indifference. And when he finally turns, curiosity takes him over.

“What exactly are you two talking about ?”

Seokmin’s eyes widen at the question, almost scandalized, as if not knowing makes Wonwoo the most oblivious man alive. Jeonghan, on the other hand, leans back in his chair as a smile tugs at the corner of his lips savoring the reveal.

“You really don’t know ?”

Wonwoo blinks, “What should I know ?”

“Literally the news is on everyone’s lips!”

The silence that follows stretches just a shade too long as Wonwoo’s blank expression only fuels Jeonghan’s theatrics even more. He lets the moment hang, milking the anticipation like a stage actor holding for applause. Then he exchanges a conspiratorial glance with Seokmin who looks seconds away from exploding, before finally turning back to Wonwoo with a triumphant glint in his eyes.

“Mingyu has been invited to the Zurich conference!” he declares, brimming with excitement. “It’s fantastic, isn’t it?”

Wonwoo widens his eyes and mouth at the news, freezing on the spot as the words slice through the easy air so sharp and irrefutable. His fingers tighten around his mug, his body halting mid-motion as if the world itself has paused with him.

“That’s…” he manages to say, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “It’s… it’s really amazing”

Wonwoo lowers his gaze into the dark pool of coffee, watching the ripples tremble across its surface, his reflection mirroring the tightness gathering low in his stomach. Just last night he had heard from Mingyu, listened to the steady rhythm of his voice, the softness that lingered even in the most ordinary things he was doing around the house before going to sleep. They had parted with warmth, with affection, and yet not once had Mingyu mentioned any of this.

Not once had he let slip the kind of news that could change all his life.

Wonwoo’s heart squeezes but pride swells in his chest, fierce and bright, because he has always known that no one deserves such recognition more than Mingyu. But that same pride is tangled in the sting of learning it here, secondhand, like just another colleague eavesdropping on hallway chatter. He wished he could have seen that moment of wonder and joy in his eyes, instead, he finds himself left with whispers, gossip, and a small void where intimacy should have been.

Behind him Jeonghan and Seokmin carry on their string of praises, their voices blur together so bright while Wonwoo stands apart with his coffee cooling in his hands.

“It’s one of the biggest conferences in the world” Jeonghan says, “Mingyu must be so excited”

“International, even” Seokmin chimes in quickly, lifting his mug like he’s toasting to the fact. “We’re talking doctors from every corner of the globe sharing techniques, breakthroughs, discoveries. Just being invited is already a badge of honor”

“A recognition on a full level” Jeonghan nods, his long hair falling forward before he tucks it neatly behind his ear. “Once you stand on that stage, you stop being just a promising doctor in Seoul. You become someone the whole world watches”

Wonwoo forces a small nod, the swirl of his coffee suddenly fascinating. “It does sound… incredible”

“What kind of conference do you think it is exactly ? I mean, they don’t invite people for ordinary case reports. It has to be about something groundbreaking, right ?” Seokmin leans forward, curiosity spilling out of him.

Wonwoo exhales slowly through his nose, buying himself a second before answering. “It’s where innovation takes center stage. People bring the kind of work that changes practices, sets new standards. To even be considered means your research… your contribution, is the kind that can ripple through medicine itself. It’s… the highest recognition you could hope for”

“Mingyu deserves it” Jeonghan hums, “No one can deny that. His autologous patch technique was brilliant. Honestly, I’m not surprised it caught international attention”

Wonwoo nods again, slower this time, though his thoughts aren’t fully on the conversation anymore. A question claws its way up, too sharp to hold back. He wets his lips, voice quieter when he finally speaks. “How did you find out, anyway ?”

“Jihoon told me first thing this morning!” Seokmin brightens, eager to share what he knows. “Apparently the official letter arrived yesterday straight to Mingyu’s apartment. Can you picture that ? Just opening your mail like any other day and suddenly, boom, Zurich”

Wonwoo smiles at his colleagues’ joking tone, but the atmosphere becomes even more festive when the door swings open and Mingyu steps inside, already in his scrubs and coat, the name badge clipped neatly against his chest, crossing the threshold and making the chatter explodes into noises.

“Here’s the man of the day!” Jeonghan calls rising from his chair. Seokmin joins in with a loud whistle, clapping furiously until the entire room seems to buzz with their energy. “Congratulation!”

Mingyu’s face breaks into a wide grin, bowing his head as if trying to contain the emotion rushing through him. “Oh my god, you guys…” his voice cracks with laughter, his hand pressing over his chest. “Thank you. Seriously, thank you so much”

Seokmin leans forward, practically bouncing in his seat. “How do you feel ? No, wait—don’t say fine. You’ve got to feel like you’re walking on air right now!”

Mingyu laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. “Uhm… yeah, I feel like I’m floating. It still feels… absurd, honestly, like any second someone is going to tell me it was a mistake and take it all back”

“You’re too modest, Kim Mingyu” Jeonghan cuts in, stepping closer to clap him firmly on the shoulder. “Make us proud when you go to Zurich. Be sure to enhance the honor of this hospital”

“I will” Mingyu nods, smiling softly. “I promise. It will be done”

Wonwoo has been silent through the commotion, his fingers tightening unconsciously around the warm ceramic. He watches Mingyu grinning, taking in the flush on his cheeks, the brilliance in his eyes in a brightness unguarded and childlike in its joy. The sight stirs something gentle in him that slips anyway in the small softness of his expression, and when Mingyu steps toward him, just a fraction closer than necessary, Wonwoo’s smile comes without thought.

“Congratulations, Dr. Kim” he says at last, his voice carrying more warmth than he intends.

Mingyu’s gaze finds him instantly, locking on with the force of someone who has been waiting for that single word. His shoulders ease as if a breath he has been holding finally escapes. His lips part as if to speak, then press together again, wetting them nervously. “Thank you” he murmurs, then hesitates. “Actually, I… well—” his words trail off. “Can we talk for a moment, please ? In private ?”

The request hangs heavy in the room, tugging the attention of Jeonghan and Seokmin who keep chatting beneath their glances that betray a hint of curiosity. They keep up their chatter, but their glances betray their curiosity, the air thick with unspoken questions. Wonwoo feels a shift in his chest, then he nods and sets his coffee down on the counter.

“Sure” he replies.

Mingyu lets out a subtle breath of relief, then he tips his head toward the corridor for Wonwoo to follow him. The lounge room, with all the laughter and noises, stay forgotten behind them as they walk through the ward. Mingyu leads him to his office, holding the door open until Wonwoo steps inside, and once the door clicks shut, the atmosphere shifts immediately as the loud celebrations are replaced with something unspoken, more fragile and intimate.

Mingyu doesn’t sit but he lingers by his desk with one hand rubbing absently at the back of his neck as though trying to work out the words stuck in his throat.

“I’m sorry you had to hear about Zurich from other people” he says softly at last. The bravado he carried in the lounge, the bright smiles and gracious nods, have fallen away now that it’s just the two of them. “I wanted to tell you myself, but—”

“Min-ah”

Wonwoo’s tone is gentle as he leans against the edge of the desk with his arms folded loosely across his chest. Despite the knot that had twisted in his stomach earlier, despite the sting of learning something so important secondhand, there’s no accusation in him now. Only understanding.

“You don’t have to justify yourself” he says quietly. “You must have been… overwhelmed last night after getting that letter. I get you”

“It didn’t even feel real” Mingyu admits, “I opened it and just… stared. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. It sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it ?” he laughs but the sound is brittle, “And when you called me, I just… I didn’t want to talk about Zurich, or the invitation, or what it might mean. I just wanted to hear your voice and feel like myself for a moment and not like the whole world suddenly shifted under my feet”

That honesty cracks something open in Wonwoo. The lingering disappointment he had carried dissolves, leaving only warmth in its place. He pushes off the desk and closes the space between them, sliding his arms around Mingyu’s his neck in an embrace that is at once steady and tender.

“You did so good” he murmurs against his neck, leaving there a small tender kiss. “I’m so proud of you”

Mingyu’s shoulders finally ease, tension melting from him like thawing ice. His lips part into a faint smile, as if the words themselves steady him more than anything else could. He draws in a shaky breath, his hands resting tentatively at Wonwoo’s waist as if grounding himself in return.

“Now tell me—” Wonwoo says softly, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “How does it really feel ?”

Mingyu laughs unguarded, “Like… I’m standing on the edge of something massive” he admits. “Like I’m terrified and excited all at once. I feel like… all the times I thought I wasn’t good enough… maybe they meant something after all. Maybe I wasn’t wrong to keep pushing”

“You weren’t” Wonwoo’s gaze softens, “You deserve this more than anyone”

Mingyu stills, caught by the conviction in his tone. His eyes lock on Wonwoo’s so intense and for a long moment he doesn’t move, he only looks as if searching for an answer written in his expression.

“I want you to come with me” he whispers.

The words fall into the quiet between them like a stone into still water, sending ripples through Wonwoo’s chest. Wonwoo blinks, stunned, his heart kicks hard against his ribs and his mouth opens slightly but no sound comes at first.

“Mingyu… I can’t” he stammers, “This— this is your moment. You’ve earned it and I’d be just…”

He’s rambling now, his thoughts spilling faster than he can contain them, trying to reason, to deflect, to push the spotlight back where it belongs. But Mingyu shakes his head and cup his face, grounding him in place. His forehead rests gently against his, their breaths mingling together.

“There’s no one else I want beside me that day” he says, “No one understands what it took, what it means for me to be there. Please, come with me”

Wonwoo’s heart is racing, each beat echoing in his ears. His hands clutch at Mingyu’s wrists, torn between instinct and the weight of his words. “But… what about the ward ? My patients, the scheduled surgeries… I have so many things to —”

“Jihoon will handle it” Mingyu replies quickly, already anticipating the protest. “He’s more than capable, you know how meticulous he is. The hospital won’t collapse without you for a few days. But me ?” he pulls back just enough to meet his eyes again, “I don’t want to do this without you”

His breath grows shallow, caught somewhere between resistance and surrender. His mind scrambles to summon reasons — duty, responsibility, the comfort of staying in place — but each one breaks under the intensity of Mingyu’s gaze, under the warmth of his plea. How could he say no, when every beat of his heart falls into rhythm with the man standing in front of him?

“Are you… are you really sure about this ?” Wonwoo asks.

Mingyu nods, “More than sure”

Wonwoo exhales slowly, almost as if the air has been forced from his lungs. The tension in his shoulders eases, replaced by a weight softer but heavier in its inevitability. His lips twitch, the beginning of a smile tugs against his composure.

“Okay fine…” he replies. “Fine, I’ll come”

And the transformation in Mingyu is immediate.

His eyes light up, relief and joy breaking across his features. A laugh slips from him, half-shaky, half-exhilarated, as if he hadn’t dared to believe until this very second. He presses his forehead more firmly against Wonwoo’s and then he kisses him, so soft and reverent, as if to seal the wordless promise that they would always be there for each other, no matter what. A little peck that carries gratitude and wonder in equal measure, a quiet vow shared in the stillness of his office.

The weeks leading up to departure are hectic, though for Mingyu each tick of the clock tightens the knot in his chest. Thinking about Zurich is enough to make his pulse race and at the hospital colleagues don’t fail to remind him of the weight of his responsibility through their warm smiles and congratulations, claps on the shoulder and assurances that he will be absolutely brilliant.

“Be our pride” everyone told him, but a gnawing doubt simmers beneath the surface whispering that he isn’t ready at all, that maybe he doesn’t belong among the world’s most renowned surgeons.

Mingyu replays every failure, every long night bent over textbooks, every moment he had thought he wasn’t good enough, until the weight of expectation presses against his ribs like an iron band. He masks it well, smiles when people praise him, thanks them sincerely, but inside he’s already standing on that stage, terrified the words might leave him and reveal the fraud he fears he is.

Luckily for him, at his side Wonwoo senses it without needing to be told. When Mingyu stares too long at an open notebook or paces the living room in restless silence, Wonwoo doesn’t press him with words to relax. Instead he grounds him with quiet touches, a reassuring glance, the steadiness of his presence reminding Mingyu he isn’t alone and that he is absolutely capable of handling that conference.

At Mingyu’s apartment, the night before their departure, the floor is littered with half-folded shirts, discarded ties, and jackets draped over the back of the sofa like casualties of war. Mingyu stands in the middle of it all with his brow furrowed, holding up two nearly identical black ties as if they contain the answer to everything.

He mutters to himself about colors, about combinations, about which jacket one is better to make a good first impression. Wonwoo, already packed days ago, sits cross-legged on his bed with a small smile tugging at his lips. He watches Mingyu circle between the closet and the suitcase, picking things up only to put them down again. His laugh finally breaks through when Mingyu holds up a third shirt against his chest, comparing it to his reflection in the mirror with the seriousness of a man who seems to be deciding the fate of the nation.

The sound makes Mingyu glance at him and a flush creeps up his neck, but it only makes Wonwoo laugh even harder. It’s a fond laughter, full of warmth, and Mingyu rolls his eyes but smiles despite himself, recognizing the absurdity of his panic, dropping the clothes on the pile just to join Wonwoo in bed and kiss him senselessly.

When the day finally arrives, it begins in darkness. The alarm rings long before dawn and the two of them move in a hurry through the apartment, their bodies sluggish with sleep but buzzing with anticipation. Suitcases click shut, comfortable clothes for the flight are pulled on and the faint chill of the early morning greets them as they step outside.

The taxi waits at the curb, headlights glowing in the dim hushed street as they load their bags into the trunk. And the moment Wonwoo slides into the backseat beside Mingyu, his phone starts buzzing in his pants pocket, flashing on the screen his mom's contact name. Her voice fills the car with warmth, even through the small speaker, as she insists on wishing them a safe trip and telling them not to skip any meals, also reminding Wonwoo to make sure Mingyu sleeps on the plane. Her tone is playful but laced with maternal care and Mingyu feels a strange tug of belonging hearing her include him so naturally in her thoughts.

Incheon Airport greets them with its usual chaos of bright lights, rolling suitcases clattering over tile and the constant churn of voices in dozens of languages blending into a single hum.

The smell of roasted coffee beans drifts from cafés that are already buzzing, despite the early hour, and announcements echo overhead in clipped tones, calling passengers to gates spread out like arteries across the terminal. Mingyu and Wonwoo move with the tide, dragging their suitcases behind them to the crowded check-in counters with passports clutched in their hands. Mingyu, as organized as ever, handles the process briskly while Wonwoo by his side is quieter and watches him from the side, catching the glimpse of nerves in his expression.

When they finally clear security, Wonwoo slows his pace and he stops in front of one of the massive departure boards. His gaze is caught by the glowing names of cities stretching across the world. Zurich blinks in sharp white letters near the top but his eyes drift lower to other names — Lisbon, Rome, Kyoto, Santiago — and for a moment he seems somewhere else entirely, lost in the possibility of move towards all the places he has never been.

Mingyu steps up behind him, the warmth of his presence breaking through the noise. He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to the crown of Wonwoo’s head, a quick gesture but steady enough to draw Wonwoo back from his wandering thoughts.

“You’re staring like you want to get on five planes at once” Mingyu teases him.

Wonwoo huffs a small laugh, still looking at the board. “Just thinking… look at all of these places. What do you think Zurich is like ?”

“Cold” he replies “But probably as beautiful as a postcard. Clean air, mountains, lakes and the best chocolate in the world” Mingyu looks down to watch Wonwoo’s lips curving faintly at the thought, “What about you ? If you could choose anywhere on that list right now, where would you go ?”

“Somewhere warm” Wonwoo replies without hesitation.

“Something like… tropical islands ? Really ?” Mingyu chuckles, “I can’t picture you lying under a palm tree sipping coconut water with an umbrella in it”

“Why not ?” he asks amused, pretending to be offended. “I can relax! Or maybe I’d just let myself enjoy the quiet for once. I’d also like a great city, somewhere full of history, art, music…”

Mingyu slips an arm around him from behind, pulling him closer as if the busy airport has suddenly faded around them. “They say Rome is the city of love” he murmurs against his ear.

“That’s Paris” Wonwoo corrects, though his lips twitch.

“Cliché” Mingyu counters, then he squeezes him gently. “I’d like a place with winding streets and bad Wi-Fi so you can actually ignore all your e-mails”

“You’re the one on the verge of becoming famous, booked and busy”

Mingyu rolls his eyes at the tease but before he can reply, their boarding time flashes across the screen and the announcement for their flight echoes through the terminal. Zurich is now blinking with urgency and Mingyu takes Wonwoo’s suitcase by the handle to lead them toward the gate.

There, their passports are scanned with a quick beep, boarding passes torn neatly in half before the narrow jet bridge swallows them into its tunnel of carpeted hush. Crossing the threshold of the aircraft, they are greeted by the subdued glow of business class. The cabin radiates a silent order like the muffled shuffle of passengers stowing bags, the muted thud of luggage wheels, the polite murmur of attendants guiding passengers to their wide seats in a private island of space and calm.

Wonwoo slips easily into his seat, unbothered by the commotion that still lingers in the aisles. He shrugs off his coat, folding it neatly before tucking it to the side, and toes off his shoes to slide his feet into the gray slippers from the courtesy kit. Beside him Mingyu watches with quiet fondness while fastening his seatbelt, his long fingers fumbling for only a second before smoothing the strap flat across his lap. Wonwoo offers him his slippers and pillow, telling him to relax, then he unfolds his iPad and browses through the glowing grid of movies that makes his lips quirk in faint amusement.

Headphones are slide over his ears, shutting out the rest of the cabin, but as soon as the plane lifts off the ground, with the gentle shudder of ascent rocking the cabin, Wonwoo’s composure begins to falter. Within a few hours, his eyelids grow heavier with each passing mile, his head nodding once, twice, before it finally tips sideways finding comfort in Mingyu’s shoulder.

The iPad slips onto his lap, the screen fading to black as his breath evens out. Mingyu moves carefully, unwilling to disturb the quiet peace that’s settled over him, and with slow movements he eases the device away to set it neatly in the seat pocket. Then he reaches for the neatly folded blanket and gently drapes it over Wonwoo, smoothing it up over his chest and shoulders until the other man is cocooned in his seat.

Wonwoo shifts unconsciously and a small sigh leaving his lips, his head nuzzling ever so slightly closer against Mingyu as if seeking him even in sleep. Mingyu rests back, his own body forming a shield, letting the little weight remain there as around him the cabin dims into quiet of curtains drawn and other passengers lost in their own routines of books, screens or slumber.

Mingyu opens his laptop during the flight and starts to refine the slides for his presentation. The glow of the screen casts pale light across his face as he dives into the rows of data and diagrams, but every so often his gaze drifts sideways to the relaxed angle of Wonwoo’s face. There’s a looseness in his features, a softness that Mingyu rarely sees in the hospital but here, in this insulated world thirty-thousand feet above the ground, Wonwoo looks peaceful and unguarded.

Mingyu’s chest tightens at the sight and his eyes linger a moment too long before he bends slightly, careful not to disturb him, and presses the faintest kiss to his forehead. Just a whisper of contact, yet enough to stir a warmth in him that lingers.

It’s then that their little bubble is broken by the discreet steps of a flight attendant. She leans forward with professional grace, her voice low but clear. “Sir, do you prefer European or Asian breakfast ?”

Mingyu straightens immediately, snapping back into the present as if caught off guard. “European” he replies, “Thank you”

The attendant nods then gestures gently toward Wonwoo, still nestled close to Mingyu’s body. “And for your husband ?”

Husband. That word land with a sudden unexpected weight in his chest and heat rushes to Mingyu’s cheeks before he can even try to stop it. His mouth opens, ready to correct her, but nothing comes out and for a heartbeat too long, Mingyu can simply stares at her with his mind scrambling between denial and the weight of the possibility she has named aloud.

“He is just… uh—” Mingyu tries to say, then he clears his throat, “European for him too, thank you”

The attendant offers him a polite smile and slips away, leaving him rooted in his own place. The hum of the engines returns, the world resuming as if nothing happened but Mingyu stays frozen with his heart hammering and every nerve alive with that single word still echoing in him. He lowers his gaze to Wonwoo still fast asleep, his head heavy and warm against his shoulder, and a tenderness swells in Mingyu so fierce it’s almost unbearable. Terrifying, yes. But luminous too, like someone had dared to speak aloud the truth he hasn’t yet given himself permission to dream.

Mingyu tries to focus on his presentation for a little longer but tiredness soon gets the better of him. He snaps his laptop shut and leans back in his chair to let his eyes fall closed. The warmth beside him, the steady rhythm of Wonwoo's breathing, work on him like a lullaby, pulling him down into dreams that blur into nothingness and when he wakes up, many hours later, the light in the cabin has shifted.

The curtains are partially drawn, trays of breakfast dishes being served and the faint scent of coffee lingers in the air. Mingyu slowly stretches his shoulders and stiff neck, then blinks to look at Wonwoo this time very much awake beside him. A tray is balanced neatly on his table and he is cutting fluffy scrambled eggs with a knife while watching an animation movie on the setback screen in front of him. Its bright colors reflect faintly in his glasses and when he notices Mingyu stirring, the crease between his brows disappears and his lips curve into that small effortless smile that always manage to undo him.

“Did you sleep well ?” Wonwoo asks between bites.

Mingyu exhales a slow breath and nods. His own smile quirks at the corners, “Yeah… better than I expected”

“We’re flying over Europe now” Wonwoo says, glancing at the digital map flickering on the monitor. “Couple more hours and we’ll be there” his fork gestures vaguely at Mingyu’s untouched tray, set neatly to one side. “Your breakfast is right there. Don’t let it get cold because the eggs are honestly amazing”

Mingyu reaches for it, sliding the tray closer but the food is little more than an afterthought. His attention keeps straying sideways back to Wonwoo. The scene is so ordinary it shouldn’t strike him as extraordinary, yet it does. The quiet rhythm of it, the clink of cutlery, the soft soundtrack bleeding faintly from Wonwoo’s screen, the glow of morning light breaking through the small window. For a moment it doesn’t feel like a flight across continents but more like waking together in a home they haven’t yet built, as if this is just another morning in a life already shared.

Husband. The word from earlier, tossed so casually by the attendant, blooms again inside him threading through each heartbeat, filling the hollow spaces in his chest with something he can neither shake nor name. Wonwoo notices almost immediately the way his gaze is so lost in thoughts over his face. He pauses mid-chew, setting his fork down gently.

He tilts his head slightly, studying him with curiosity. “Why are you looking at me like that ? Do I have something on my face ?”

The question is simple but it pulls Mingyu’s breath taut in his chest. For a beat, he almost falters, almost hides behind some easy quip. Instead he chuckles, “No… no” Mingyu replies softly, “I just love you, you know that ?”

Wonwoo stills, the corners of his lips twitching then curving upward into something warmer. He leans closer, brushing a playful kiss against Mingyu’s lips. “I love you too” he murmurs, still a little shy to say it out loud, but Mingyu knows his feelings are real.

Mingyu’s lips curve helplessly into a smile as he finally lowers his fork to the tray. He spears a bite of the fluffy scrambled eggs Wonwoo had praised, tasting them almost absently. But it isn’t the food filling him rather the quiet warmth expanding in his chest, pressing against his ribs until every heartbeat feels amplified. Wide open, unstoppable. For the first time in years, maybe ever, he feels as if he isn’t just flying toward Zurich and the weight of his career but toward something far more vital and enduring.

Hours slip by in a blur of sky and cloud until at last the captain’s voice crackles through the cabin announcing their descent. The hum of the engines lowers, the tilt of the plane shifting. Mingyu glances out the window catching his first glimpse of Switzerland. Endless stretches of green valleys edged with snow-dusted peaks, a world so serene it looks carved out of a dream. Beside him Wonwoo stretches his limbs and together they buckle in as the plane dips through scattered clouds.

The landing is smooth, wheels kissing the tarmac with a muted thrum. Soon enough, they are on their feet, tugging down bags from the overhead compartments. The flow of passengers carries them into the glassy, high-ceilinged halls of Zurich Airport, where polished floors gleam beneath their steps. After baggage claim, Mingyu spots a man by the sliding doors outside, holding a placard with “Mr. Kim Mingyu” printed on it.

“What a fancy welcome” Wonwoo drawls as they approach the driver, his lips curving into that sly smile. “I feel like I’m dating a celebrity. Should I start practicing how to look effortlessly photogenic right next to you ?”

“I’m not sure the world is ready for you stealing the spotlight from me” Mingyu chuckles, nodding then toward the sign. “At least they spelled my name right. That’s already more respect than I usually get at conferences”

“Don’t be so modest. Doctors are like rockstars here, didn’t you know ? Nobel Prizes, big lectures, autographing textbooks and, of course, private chauffeurs holding your name like you’re headlining a concert”

“If this is the rockstar life, it’s missing the screaming fans. Unless… you’re volunteering to scream for me ?”

“Depends for what I’m screaming for” Wonwoo winks him, “Are you worth the noise ?”

“Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable” Mingyu rolls his eyes, though his ears are already turning pink. “I fly you across continents and you still edge me like this”

“I call it ‘keeping my boyfriend humble’” Wonwoo counters smoothly, already sliding into the back seat of the car with the grace of someone who’s very aware he’s won the round. His smirk is smug, his posture relaxed. “Don’t worry, rockstar. I’ll make sure your ego doesn’t implode before your big debut”

Mingyu shakes his head, climbing in after him. “At this rate, the only thing imploding is my sanity”

The car is sleek, its interior quiet and warm as they settle in. Through the tinted window, the city unfurls in elegant strokes, streets lined with orderly facades, glassy lakes catching the pale silver light of winter as beyond, distant, the Alps rise eternal with their peaks powdered in white delicate snow. Wonwoo leans into the seat, his gaze flicking between the beautiful scenery ahead and Mingyu by his side who’s unable to hide his awe. He watches the symmetry of the buildings, the water lapping gently at the quays, and though he would never admit it aloud, there’s something disarming about how romantic the city feels. Foreign, yes, but also strangely intimate.

Mingyu glances sideways more than once, enchanted at every turn, drinking in the subtle romance of the city around them. After a while the driver turns off the main road and the city gives way to winding paths that climb gently upward, leading them to a chalet that looks as if it has been pulled from a painting. Its wooden beams gleam warmly beneath the snow-dusted roof, smoke curling lazily from a chimney.

The place is luxurious yet welcoming, its entrance lit with golden lamps that promise both comfort and elegance. Inside, a pretty warmth rushes to envelope them, fragrant with polished wood and a faint thread of cinnamon lingering in the air.

Mingyu steps forward the reception desk to check them in, his fingers brushing lightly over the polished counter as slides their documents and ID cards. Around them, a few other guests linger in small clusters, lanyards already around their necks, conference packets tucked under their arms. Mingyu exchanges brief glances with some of them, polite nods, small half-smiles, the unspoken recognition of colleagues belonging to the same world.

Their suitcases thump softly against the wooden floor as the bellboy gently bows and retreats, leaving them in their private room after escorting them. Wonwoo closes the door of the suite and turns, his gaze sweeping across the space with such wonder. It’s not the typical hotel room, more like a retreat. The wide bed is arranged in soft white sheets and a conference welcome kit is neatly arranged on top with brochures, schedules, even a pen embossed with the Zurich logo.

Beside it, on a low round table, a bottle of champagne sits chilling in an ice bucket with two flutes catching the amber glow of the lamps. Wonwoo drifts further in, stepping in slowly and looking at the floor-to-ceiling windows open onto a veranda where a jacuzzi steams faintly in the winter air, overlooking rooftops that give way to the glint of snowy peaks.

The contrast is surreal, pure luxury wrapped in serenity, and all of it theirs. At least for the next few days.

“This is… something else” he mutters, more to himself than to Mingyu, as he sets his coat on the little couch.

He wanders toward the veranda, pressing his hand to the glass as if to test the reality of it. Mingyu is behind him and quieter lingers by the luggage. He sets his backpack down but doesn’t move to unpack, his gaze caught on the champagne, the brochures, the weight of expectation threaded into every polished detail. Wonwoo speaks something softly about the view but stops mid-sentence when he notices the way Mingyu’s shoulders slope, the way his fingers linger too long on the zipper of his suitcase.

“You’re not impressed” Wonwoo says gently, not a question but an observation.

Mingyu exhales in a sound that’s half a laugh, half a sigh. He sinks onto the edge of the bed and lowers his eyes, fingers fiddling with the strings of his hoodie. “It’s not that” he murmurs, “It’s just—” his hand gestures vaguely to the room, “All of this suddenly feels too much… for me”

Wonwoo’s brow furrows, then he licks his lips and crosses the room to sit beside him, close enough that their shoulders touch. “You don’t really believe it” he says quietly, “You’re nervous and that’s normal—”

“Wonwoo —” Mingyu cuts him off but his voice thins almost immediately, trembling around the edges. His hands knot together in his lap, knuckles whitening as he stares at the floor.

“You’re fulfilling your childhood dreams, Mingyu” Wonwoo says firmly before Mingyu can spiral further. “You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be and you know that”

“I patched a child’s heart with his own tissue because there was no other option. I didn’t know what else to do” his jaw tightens. “It wasn’t brilliance or some genius breakthrough. It was desperation. Seungyoun was dying on that table and I just… stitched and prayed. And now they’ve invited me to stand in front of the best surgeons in the world, to talk like I’m some kind of pioneer. What if I open my mouth and it’s obvious I don’t belong there ? What if they look at me and see exactly what I feel… someone who’s too young, too reckless, who just got lucky one time—”

The words tumble out in a rush but Wonwoo listens quiet.

“Min-ah, look at me” his voice cuts gently through the rising panic, reaching over to curl his hand around Mingyu’s, prying his clenched fists open. His thumb runs slow circles over the back of his hand grounding him. “Luck doesn’t get you invited to Zurich either doesn’t give a child another chance at life. That was your mind and your skill. You trusted your hands and instincts and chose to try when other surgeons, myself included, would have stepped back. That’s not recklessness, my love, that’s bravery. Do you know how rare that is ?”

“I didn’t sit there and think, ah, brilliant innovation, let’s test it. I panicked, I grabbed the only thing I had left”

“And it worked. You kept him alive” Wonwoo says calmly, “That was you, Mingyu. You”

For a moment Mingyu doesn’t respond and the silence that follows is heavier as if he is letting the words settle. His chest heaves with uneven breaths, his head bowed like the weight of it all might crack him in half.

“I’m so scared of failing” he murmurs, his voice barely more than breath and when he finally looks up, his eyes are glassy, rimmed with the sheen of everything he’s been holding back. “And I keep replaying all my mistakes in my head… like it’s on a loop. It’s becoming this… obsessive thought I can’t switch off”

Wonwoo leans closer, brushing his temple lightly with his lips. “Let me carry some of that weight with you” he whispers sweetly, “You’re here because you are an extraordinary doctor, Min-ah. And if you don’t believe it right this second, I’ll believe it for you until you can”

Mingyu swallows hard, the lump almost tightening in his throat. His hand twitches like he wants to reach out for him but instead he turns his face until his forehead rests against Wonwoo’s. Their noses brush, caressing softly in the narrow space between them, his breath mingles with his one, uneven at first then slowly finding a steady rhythm. In that fragile closeness, his panic quiets not really gone but tempered by the warmth of Wonwoo holding him.

Wonwoo presses the faintest and softest kiss to his lips and Mingyu lets out a shaky exhale into it as if relief has finally started to find him. Wonwoo lingers there, smiling against him before pulling back just enough to speak.

“You know what we’re going to do now ?” he asks, his tone lighter and a little playful, gently tugging Mingyu out of his heavy thoughts.

Mingyu blinks, “What ?”

“We’re going to order room service. Then we'll drink that expensive champagne they left for us, put on these bathrobes and afterward… we’re going to relax and enjoy that wonderful jacuzzi out on the veranda. Just the two of us, no worries. What do you say ?”

For the first time since stepping into the chalet, Mingyu’s lips curve into a real smile. It’s small at first, tentative, but then it deepens carrying on a quiet chuckle that loosens all the tension inside his chest. “Okay… seems fine” he breathes out, almost like surrender but softer like whole trust.

Wonwoo pecks his lips and slips into a rhythm that feels instinctive, kinda domestic. Mingyu watches him for a moment then he kneels by his suitcase, carefully pulling out the garments he’s been fretting over for days. One by one, he smooths his clothes across his lap before carrying them to the wardrobe, slipping the hangers neatly into place. His fingers linger on the fabric of his conference suit, black and well-ironed, as he takes his time to straighten the line of the lapels, brushing out invisible creases as if that gesture might calm his little chaos inside.

Across the room, Wonwoo has perched on the edge of the armchair with the hotel phone balanced against his shoulder. His English is halting but the syllables perfectly intelligible on his tongue. His tone remains polite and precise as he reads slowly off the menu card in front of him, repeating sentences when the receptionist asks, his brow furrowed in concentration. Mingyu glances over more than once, a quiet smile tugging at his mouth at the sight of Wonwoo so serious as if he were delivering a diagnosis instead of ordering dinner.

When the knock later comes at the door, it brings with it the clink of silverware and the faint aroma of something rich and savory. A waiter wheels in the trolley with its gleaming cloches and discreetly bows before leaving them in privacy. They change into the hotel’s soft bathrobes, the fabric plush against their skin, and settle at the small table by the balcony doors. Outside, the snow-dusted peaks stand quiet and eternal while inside, the air fills with the fizz of champagne being poured into flutes.

Dinner becomes less about the food — though it is exquisite, each dish unveiled with a lift of silver domes — and more about the laughter that spills between them. Wonwoo teases Mingyu about his meticulous way of cutting steak, Mingyu retaliates by pointing out the way Wonwoo wrinkles his nose when the champagne tickles too sharply. The hospital, the conference, the pressure of what’s to come, all of it fades replaced by the perfect bubble they create here, alone together.

Later, Mingyu eases into the jacuzzi on the veranda, the water hissing softly as it embraces him. Steam curls upward blurring the edges of the snowy world beyond, while the mountain air bites cool against his damp skin. The contrast is intoxicating, the sting of winter on his cheeks, the enveloping warmth lapping at his shoulders, undoing knots of tension he hadn’t realized were still wound so tightly. He tips his head back against the smooth edge, eyes fluttering shut, and for the first time since their arrival, he lets himself sink into comfort.

Behind him, through the glass, Wonwoo leans against the glass door with his phone pressed to his ear. He’s speaking Korean now, his voice measured as he shifts into the cadence of work and checks on his patients one by one to issue quiet instructions, pausing to listen as updates flow back from the doctors on duty. His brow furrows occasionally, the familiar lines of responsibility etching themselves across his features, but the mere sight of Mingyu half-lost in the haze of steam anchors him in a way the phone call cannot, reminding him that his world is more than duty, that love too has its place and it’s here, only a few steps away, waiting in the glow of the veranda.

When he finally ends the call Wonwoo exhales a relieved sigh, drops his phone drop onto the desk with a thud and slides the glass door open to step outside. The mountain air rushes at him sharp, needling his skin through the robe, and his bare feet walk softly against the wooden planks, sending little echoes into the quiet.

Mingyu opens one eye lazily as he approaches, a smile already tugging at his lips. “Did you survive your call ?”

“Yeah, it was Jihoon” Wonwoo replies, lingering at the edge of the jacuzzi and tugging the knot of his robe loose “He said everything’s under control. You were right, I didn’t need to worry so much”

“Told you” Mingyu hums, straightening slightly in the water. “Everyone’s alright ?”

“Everyone is perfectly fine” Wonwoo confirms, shrugging out of the robe.

The fabric slips from his shoulders in one smooth motion, leaving him bare-chested against the icy air. Mingyu’s gaze falters not up at his face but downward, lingering on the pale expanse of thigh, the clean lines of muscle revealed as Wonwoo steps closer. It’s unhidden, obvious, the way Mingyu’s eyes travel, and Wonwoo catches it as he feels heat crawl up his own neck despite the freezing air.

He huffs softly, more amused than flustered, before lowering himself into the steaming water. The heat envelops him instantly and Wonwoo crosses the short distance until he settles neatly in Mingyu’s lap. The shift makes water rise and spill faintly over the edge, the sound muted against the hush of the night.

“Jihoon also said—” Wonwoo continues, more intimate with the closeness of their bodies, “That Seungyoun’s getting better. He’s recovering faster than anyone expected”

Something eases in Mingyu’s face at that, relief visible even in the dim light. His arms move instinctively, one sliding around Wonwoo’s back, the other smoothing over his thigh under the bubbling water. “Hmm. I’m very glad to hear that” he murmurs, before leaning forward to brush his lips over Wonwoo’s in a fleeting kiss.

The hot water curls around them as Wonwoo molds closer against his body, chest to chest, knees bracketing his hips at their sides. Mingyu’s arms wrap around him, pulling him tighter, the heat of his skin almost indistinguishable from the warmth of the jacuzzi. Wonwoo shifts just enough to meet his gaze, the steam rising around them in slow ghostly ribbons.

“You feel better now ?” Wonwoo whispers, brushing damp strands of hair away from Mingyu’s forehead with tender fingers. His voice is soft, coaxing, the tone he saves only for him.

Mingyu exhales, leaning into the touch with his eyes half-lidded. “Yeah… Better than before” he hesitates, eyes dipping for a moment with shame flickering at the edges. “Thank you. And— I’m sorry for panicking that way, it was untimely of me”

Wonwoo shakes his head immediately, his hands settling against Mingyu’s shoulders with a firm kind of reassurance. “Don’t apologize” he murmurs, tracing an absent line over his collarbone “You don’t have to be invincible all the time. Even the strongest people stumble but what matters the most is that you don’t walk through it alone anymore”

Mingyu swallows hard, his throat tightening with the swell of emotion that rises faster than he can contain it. “Sometimes it feels like I’m still that scared kid trying to prove myself. And now… being here in Zurich, with all of this happening, it’s like I’m standing on a stage I never thought I’d reach and I’m terrified of falling off”

Wonwoo’s expression softens. He leans in to circle his arms around his neck and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You won’t fall. And even if you stumble, I’ll be right there catching you”

Those words hover between them, sinking deep within heavier than the steam but also warmer. Mingyu's eyes rise to meet Wonwoo's. He scrutinizes him as if trying to memorize every line, every angle of his face, as if the truth resided in the softness of his look. Then slowly, almost hopelessly, his gaze lowers first to the curve of his cheek, then to the hollow of his lips slightly parted as he breathes. His heartbeat accelerates and something raw and uncontrolled releases in his chest.

"I love you" Mingyu murmurs reverently, like a prayer.

"I love you too" Wonwoo replies, shifting just enough to press his lips along his jaw. "You're going to be fucking amazing tomorrow”

Mingyu exhales a shaky sigh. “You really think so?”

“I know it. I’m sure of it”

The quiet certainty and confidence in his voice spark a fire deep inside Mingyu, burning away every trace of doubt. His hand lifts almost instinctively, a single finger tilting Wonwoo’s chin upward to guide him closer. Mingyu then kisses him hard and desperate, pouring every ounce of gratitude and need into the press of their mouths. It’s frantic, a collision of hunger that leaves no room for hesitation. Wonwoo inhales sharply against his lips, only to melt his mouth into a soft smirk. His teeth catch on Mingyu’s bottom lip in a teasing nibble, savoring the way he comes undone so easily beneath nothing more than a few words of praise.

“You’ll be the best, baby” Wonwoo breathes between kisses, his mouth ghosting over Mingyu’s with his words more intoxicating than the champagne they had shared earlier. “Every single person in that room will be wrapped around your finger”

Mingyu gasps into his mouth, his breath catching as the sound in the back of his throat is already turning into something dangerously close to a moan. His hands tighten their grip on Wonwoo's waist underwater, fingertips pressing against the clammy skin as if to anchor himself to that reassurance that has somehow become almost unbearable.

“Perfect…” Wonwoo whispers again, lips grazing his ear now in a tone dipping into something both soothing and provocative. “You’ll walk onto that stage and own it. All eyes will be on you”

“Wonwoo—” Mingyu chokes out, tilting his head back against the rim of the jacuzzi. His breath comes ragged now, every word of Wonwoo’s burrowing straight under his skin.

Wonwoo smiles against his throat, “You’ll make them see exactly what I see…” his hand slides lower to caress his pecs, “…why I love you so dearly”

Mingyu’s chest rises and falls faster, breathing becoming unsteady more and more as Wonwoo can feel it vibrate against his palms. His entire body shudders, his guttural moan pouring hotly into the night air. Mingyu pulls Wonwoo closer, opening his hands on his waist, crushing their mouths desperate for more. The water laps violently as he shifts ever so slightly, urgently seeking his body over his thighs, his back, pulling him deeper into his lap until their crotches and hard erections touch.

"Fuck me" Mingyu whispers as fragile as a plea.

"Show me first how brilliant you are, Min-ah” Wonwoo swallows his moans between the feverish kisses, “Show me”

The kiss that follows deepens, turning wetter and hungrier, as if neither of them can get close enough. Mingyu’s teeth catch lazily on his lower lip, tugging just enough to make him shiver before his tongue slips forward, meeting Wonwoo’s and coaxing it into a languid dance. Their mouths move together in an intoxicating rhythm, each caress drawing them deeper. Wonwoo lets out a low moan, his body pressing closer as his hips begin to roll against Mingyu’s lap, slowly rubbing his erect cock against his groin.

The steady drag of friction sends a shockwave through him and Mingyu lets out a moan for how beautiful he is. “Ah… shit—“ he says, perhaps a little too loudly but he really doesn't care if anyone nearby hears them.

His hand drifts lower under the water, until his palm settles against the firm outline of Wonwoo’s hard cock through the tight fabric of his swim briefs. The response in him is instant and electric. Wonwoo’s eyes rolls back as a sharp gasp slips past his lips. His body arches instinctively into the touch, hips seeking more and chasing the pressure with small restless rolls.

"Min-ah..." he moans, his head tips back as steam envelops his flushed skin. “Touch me more…”

Mingyu’s lips trail along the warm curve of his throat, his breath coming fast as his hand slips past his brief to wrap it around his cock. He tugs it gently firstly to stroke it harder a second later, his wrist moving up and down with his thumb rubbing the sensitive head.

Mingyu gets hornier seeing Wonwoo losing his composure and pulls back just enough to look at him. "Sit up there" he gasps, pointing to the edge of the jacuzzi. "Please... I want to suck you off, sit there for me”

Wonwoo shivers at the command but those sweet pleasing eyes leave no room for resistance. He climbs onto the edge of the jacuzzi as the water trickles down his body. The chill of the night air licks his damp skin, raising goosebumps along his arms and chest, but before the cold can settle, Mingyu is there sliding between Wonwoo’s parted thighs, with his fingers that easily find the edge of his waistband. The soaked fabric of his briefs yields under his hand, peeling away with insistence. Wonwoo holds his breath the moment his naked body is fully exposed to the crisp air but it all dissolves as soon as Mingyu lowers his head to take him into his mouth.

The first touch of his tongue draws a strangled moan from Wonwoo's throat, causing his fingers to fly through his damp hair and grip it tightly. "God... Min..." he moans, gasping a sound Wonwoo has never heard himself make before, rocking forward unable to look away from Mingyu bobbing his head on his cock and stroking it with the other hand.

It’s fucking magical the way he moans around him, sending sparks rumbling through every nerve. Wonwoo doesn’t know if he’s going to last as his body is reacting like this is the first time he has ever been touched, especially because Mingyu knows what he is doing, what he likes, swirling his tongue around the head and sucking immediately after to make Wonwoo swallow down another gasp like he’s choking.

His vision flashes white as he pants, “Fuck, fuck — Min… Oh my god” Wonwoo moans when Mingyu deep-throats him to the very bottom, making a gagging sound before pulling out in style, slowly sliding his tongue along the entire length from base to tip.

Mingyu pulls off at some point, spit dangling from his lips as he strokes him and takes a few breaths. “Is it okay ?” he asks, looking fucked out himself.

“Yes—" Wonwoo admits quickly, his stomach muscles contracting as Mingyu starts playing with his cock like it's his personal lollipop now, running the tongue over the slit at the head and kissing all the way down, puckering his lips so adorably.

“You taste so good” he murmurs hoarsely against him, “So fucking good”

Wonwoo looks down and nearly loses his mind the moment he meets Mingyu’s heavy-lidded but shining pleading eyes, as if he’s asking for permission and devouring him all at once. That look alone nearly unravels him, making his chest rises and falls sharply. “Don’t look at me like that… or I swear I'll fuck you out here and the whole cabin will hear you screaming my name"

Mingyu lets out a little chuckle and his mouth opens for his tongue to lick his head, "I thought you were more romantic than this"

The heat of it makes Wonwoo hiss through his teeth. It’s maddening, wet, soft, a worshipful drag that makes his head snap back, “I wish I was” he pants, "But I can’t help it when you're here sucking my cock like you were born for it”

Wonwoo groans, his legs tightening around Mingyu’s shoulders as he tries to keep still, but every nerve begs him to move, to thrust forward, to lose himself in the torturous rhythm of his throat pulsing around his cock. His fingernails dig into his milky thighs as he takes more of him, deeper, making a gagging sound that easily becomes music to Wonwoo’s ears.

The sight of him, the sound Mingyu makes, the feel of his velvety tongue on him. It’s all too much.

Wonwoo gasps and tips his head back, lips parting on a broken moan.

“Do you want to come ?” Mingyu asks, pulling back once more.

The question claws at his insides, temptation curling tight in the belly. “No…” Wonwoo replies, “Not like this. I want to fuck you properly, Min-ah, I want to come inside”

Mingyu tilts his head and rises himself up on his arms, his smirk lingers on his swollen lips as they brush Wonwoo’s, tongue teasing him with a sweep that makes the kiss burn hotter. “‘Properly’ sounds an awful lot like romance to me”

Wonwoo pulls him closer by the jaw and kisses him harder, pouring all his desire into the press of their mouths. “Go inside and undress for me” he commands once pulling back, his thumb stroking tenderly across Mingyu’s damp cheek.

The authority in his tone makes Mingyu's chest tighten with anticipation. A sly grin curves his lips before he rises from the water, droplets cascading down his broad shoulders, his skin glistening in the dim light. He moves toward the room with slow steps, every movement sensual as the strings of his briefs slip beneath his fingers. The fabric clings then falls away leaving him naked and Wonwoo's gaze follows every flex of his thigh muscles, every flex of his perfect back.

For a moment, Wonwoo lingers on the edge of the jacuzzi, simply taking in the sight of Mingyu's silhouette against the soft glow of the room. It steals the air from his lungs how handsome he is and it’s not just lust gripping him, but something deeper, burning and tender all at once. He loves him, God, he loves him so much it aches. Wonwoo finally stands up and enters the room too, the water drips onto his legs but he doesn't care slightly. He pauses only long enough to rummage through his bag and pull out a small bottle of lube that tosses onto the bed with a flick of his wrist.

Mingyu is drying his hair lightly with a towel when he hears the soft thud, turning his head as his eyes flick to the bottle, then back to him. That smile, mischievous, knowing, slowly spreads across his face. "You came prepared" he says.

Wonwoo closes the distance between them in two steps, his hand sliding up Mingyu's chest before tangling in his damp hair. His mouth claims his in a kiss that leaves no room for further teasing. It's fierce, consuming, and when he finally pulls back enough to speak, his lips brush against Mingyu’s in words charged with desire. "For you, I always am" he says sensually, his eyes darkened by hunger.

Their mouths crash together in a kiss that steals Mingyu’s breath, becoming overwhelming and desperate each seconds more, as if Wonwoo is intent on devouring every sound he makes. Mingyu stumbles back under the weight of it, lips parting to surrender to the rhythm of Wonwoo’s tongue, until the edge of the bed hits the back of his knees. He lowers himself onto the mattress with a soft thump, his hands splayed across the sheets for balance, but Wonwoo doesn’t give him a chance to breathe.

He follows him down, moving with predatory grace, his body pressing closer and crowding into his space. One knee sinks into the mattress and Wonwoo leans in as Mingyu instinctively shifts back, yielding until his spine presses against the pillows. The kiss however doesn’t relent, instead it becomes hot and wet, mingling breaths and whispered groans. Wonwoo’s hand cradles Mingyu’s jaw firmly, holding him there as if he could keep him captive with just the press of his lips.

When at last they part for air, a slick strand lingers between their mouths and Wonwoo’s eyes burn into Mingyu’s. Then he shifts higher, insinuating himself between his thighs that open without hesitation, spreading so prettily just to cradle him. It’s as natural as a flower reaching for the sun, every part of his body calling for him, welcoming him in. Mingyu’s cock twitches in interest and Wonwoo can’t help but move his gaze down to watch the beauty of his body so ready for him.

“You always let me in so easily” he murmurs against his lips, the ghost of a smile curving his mouth, “Did you stretch in the shower before? Did you touch yourself ?”

Mingyu pants in reply and nods, his cheeks flaring red in embarrassment.

“Of course you did, I should have known that” Wonwoo reaches down between them, prying open Mingyu’s legs to press two fingers against his hole, like he wants to test that theory.

“Wonwoo —”

“God, I wanna fuck you so bad. I wanna feel you pulsing around my cock”

Wonwoo presses his fingers forward just enough to make Mingyu’s body arches in response with a sharp gasp breaking from his lips. He squirms under the touch, his back bowing off the mattress as if he’s offering more of himself without even realizing it. The weight of Wonwoo above him anchors him even as his long fingers coax pleasure in places Mingyu had never imagined anyone could touch with such care. Their mouths find each other again, sweeter this time, in a kiss that lingers and deepens each shared breath more.

Wonwoo’s free hand frames Mingyu’s jaw, thumb sweeping along his cheek as if to steady him through the trembling while his fingers inside arch to caress his velvety walls, brushing on purpose his most pulsing spot. At some point, Mingyu doesn’t even realize, Wonwoo reaches for the lube resting within reach on the nightstand. The faint pop of the cap is followed by the cool slide of gel over his cock and hole and Mingyu shivers at the feeling, the anticipation winding tighter in his chest.

But Wonwoo doesn’t rush. Instead he leans down, scattering kisses across Mingyu’s whole body as if charting a map he wants to memorize. The dip of his collarbone, the curve of his chest, the trembling expanse of his stomach. Each kiss is feather-light but drags more shudders from him. Then Wonwoo lowers himself further, his hands guiding Mingyu’s thighs apart with a reverence that borders on worship. He spreads him open, creating space, before lifting one strong leg to rest over his shoulder. His lips hover just a breath away, close enough that Mingyu feels the heat of him, before he dips down and presses a kiss, then a little bite, against the tender inside of his thigh.

The sensation is dizzying, soft lips against sensitive skin, intimate in a way that makes Mingyu’s whole body clench. His hands fist into the pillow above him, knuckles white as he looks down at Wonwoo framed so beautifully between his legs.

He massages his cock and gazes at him, cheeks flushed red in excitement, his mouth half-open as the lube spreads along his whole length. Then, Wonwoo gives his thigh one last kiss and starts guiding himself to his hole. "Fuck, you're perfect..." he murmurs as he inserts the tip and sees how Mingyu's body opens for him, drawing him deeper where he belongs.

Mingyu gasps, head snapping back against the pillow. “Oh god, Wonwoo —” he moans at the intrusion, caught somewhere between ache and ecstasy. His hands clutch at the sheets, knuckles whitening, hips trembling with the effort of staying still. “Fuck. Fuck—”

“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay” Wonwoo soothes him immediately, kissing his thigh and pushing in slowly to give him time to get used to. “I’ve got you…”

Mingyu’s chest rises and falls in shallow bursts but he nods faintly, eyes squeezed shut as he tries to ride the sharpness of the stretch. Wonwoo strokes the tense muscle of his thigh with one hand, while the other intertwine their fingers together, thumb sweeping gently over the back of his hand. The more he speaks, the more Mingyu softens under him, his body learning the rhythm, adjusting, welcoming. His moans shift into something more desperate, needier, his hips twitching as he starts to chase the slow grind of Wonwoo’s movement.

“That’s it…” Wonwoo whispers, pressing deeper until finally he bottoms out, his whole body shuddering with the effort it takes to hold still. He leans in, dropping his forehead against Mingyu’s, their noses brushing so sweetly as he slowly moves his hips. “See how well you’re taking me, Min-ah… Fuck —”

Mingyu whimpers, the sound muffled against Wonwoo’s mouth as he drags him into a heated kiss back again. His lips part willingly, his tongue so greedy for it, kissing back like he’s drowning and Wonwoo is the air that keeps him alive. His hands fumble upward, clawing at his back as his leg crumples needing him closer, deeper. “Harder” he begs against his lips. “Wonwoo, fuck me harder”

Wonwoo groans at the request, at the sensual tone of his voice, and his restraint melts at the plea. He pulls his hips back just enough to thrust forward again, harder, deeper, again and again until it becomes a steady rhythm and the slide has Mingyu crying out without inhibitions. Slow, firm initial thrusts turn into stronger ones, each one pushing Mingyu against the mattress, his hands gripping the headboard as his body arches to meet him needily.

“Please, please, please…” Mingyu keeps babbling as a mantra, “Don’t stop —“

"You like to feel all of me, right ?” Wonwoo teases him,”You like me stretching you wide open, just for me, for my cock, shit, you feel so good” he pants, teeth catching Mingyu’s bottom lip before kissing him fiercely. His hand snakes beneath his thigh, lifting it higher, opening him wider to thrust forward again.

Mingyu shouts into heavens, his entire body vibrating as his fingers dig into Wonwoo’s shoulders, dragging crescent moons across his skin. His head tilts back, lips swollen from too many bites and kisses. “Fuck… I love you” he gasps, voice cracking as the bed creaks beneath them. “No one else—fuck—no one else could ever—”

“No one will ever—“ Wonwoo corrects him, not giving him the chance to speak further. He silences him with small thrusts but even sharper now, the water they hadn’t bothered to towel off still beads their skin mixing with sweat, lube, making every slide against each other slippery and urgent. Wonwoo pulls back just enough to look at him, really look at him. “You’re mine, Mingyu” he murmurs against his lips, thrusting deep enough to make Mingyu cry out. “Every part of you… is mine”

“Yours” Mingyu gasps, his voice cracking into a whimper. “Yours, yours —”

The words unravel into moans as Wonwoo pulls nearly all the way out only to slam back in with such force that the sound is punched out of Mingyu’s lungs. His entire body bows off the bed, a strangled cry tumbling free, and Wonwoo doesn’t stop. His rhythm turns reckless, driven not by restraint but by Mingyu’s desperate cries, by the raw need etched in every twitch of his hips.

Each thrust feels like it carves deeper than flesh, breaking him open until there’s no space left between them. Mingyu clings to him, nails dragging down his arms, his back, every gasp a plea and every moan a prayer. But suddenly, though, Wonwoo pulls himself out. His chest heaves as sweat drips down his chest and temples, body trembling from the effort of holding his own release.

His hands fly to Mingyu’s waist, urging and frantic. “Ride me” he pants and commands, “Ride me, angel. Please”

Mingyu doesn’t hesitate. He moves with a kind of desperation that mirrors his own, swinging a leg over him and sinking down onto Wonwoo’s cock in one slick breathless slide. His head falls back with a guttural moan, his thighs trembling as he takes him to the hilt, body stretching around him like it was meant for this purpose only.

“Fuck—” Wonwoo chokes, his eyes rolling shut at the tight searing heat of his hole swallowing him. His hands clamp around Mingyu’s narrow waist, grounding him but mostly guiding him. “God, you’re so fucking beautiful… so perfect while sitting on my cock—”

Mingyu starts to move slow at first, then faster, chasing the sweet spot that makes stars burst behind his eyelids. The bed creaks beneath them, the whole cabin might hear their cries but Wonwoo doesn’t give a damn as their bodies colliding in a messy symphony of wet sounds and breathless moans. The world shrinks to the desperate grind of hips, the way Mingyu’s hair sticks to his damp forehead as he rides him harder and faster.

Wonwoo looks at him through half-lidded eyes, his chest tight with awe even in the haze of lust. Mingyu is a vision above him, head tossed back, lips swollen, every line of his body taut with pleasure. He grips his waist tighter, lifting his hips to meet every drop with sharp devastating thrusts. Mingyu cries out, the sound dissolving into something raw as his hand flies down between his legs to wrap around himself. His strokes are frantic, his cock so needy, his entire body trembling on the precipice.

“W-Won—” Mingyu gasps, voice breaking. “I—I can’t—”

“Come for me” Wonwoo growls, pulling him down harder against his thrusts. “Let go, my love. Come on, let go—”

The words unravel Mingyu, driving him to the very edge. His cry shatters in the air as release rips through him, spilling hot cum across their stomachs as his body clamps down around Wonwoo in waves of pleasure. He jerks in Wonwoo’s lap, trembling violently, his hand still pumping himself through the aftershocks as his voice stutters into incoherent moans.

Wonwoo loses it then, the sight of him — so undone, desperate, utterly beautiful — pushes him over his own limits. His rhythm falters, hips snapping up once, twice, before his own orgasm hits and crashes through him. His groan is guttural, spilling from deep in his chest as he empties his seed inside Mingyu, clutching him tight as if anchoring himself to earth.

For a long endless moment, they remain tangled in the haze with their bodies shaking, breaths colliding, sweat and love binding them together. Mingyu collapses forward with a shaky gasp, his chest pressed against Wonwoo’s with his skin slick and hot from exertion. His body still quivers from the aftershocks, each tremor rippling through him as if his release lingers, refusing to let him go just yet. Wonwoo catches him instantly, strong arms wrapping around him, pulling him down so their bodies slot together, messy and exhausted but perfectly aligned.

Wonwoo peppers soft kisses across Mingyu’s damp temple, his hair sticking in unruly strands to his forehead. “Are you okay ?” he gently asks, caressing his back.

“Yeah…” Mingyu exhales a half-delirious laugh, his lips brushing against Wonwoo’s throat to leave him small love bites. “That was… god, I don’t even have words…”

Wonwoo chuckles softly and tips Mingyu’s chin up with a gentle finger to kiss the corner of his swollen lips. “It was good, wasn’t it ?”

Mingyu huffs in embarrassment, “It was amazing”

They shift on the bed eventually, finding a more comfortable position. Mingyu hisses faintly at the emptiness he feels when Wonwoo slips out of him gently but he soothes him immediately as he reaches for the blanket crumpled at the edge of the bed.

Wonwoo pulls it over them both, cocooning them in warmth despite the faint chill of the mountain air drifting in from the veranda. Mingyu curls closer, his head resting on his lover’s chest to listen to the steady thrum of his heartbeat like it’s the only thing that matters. Wonwoo strokes down his spine slowly, his fingers wander in idle patterns and mapping each vertebra, every dip and hollow, as if he’s memorizing Mingyu’s body with the same precision he memorizes surgical notes.

For a long time neither speaks but only the sound of their breathing fills the room, gradually syncing into the same rhythm.

Mingyu sighs, the sound small and utterly content. “You’re so dangerous, Jeon Wonwoo” he murmurs, his lips brushing Wonwoo’s collarbone.

“Dangerous ?” Wonwoo chuckles amused. “That’s a first. Most people say I’m boring”

“Boring doesn’t make me forget my own name”

Wonwoo laughs softly low in his chest, “So, better say I’m unforgettable now ? Fine, I’ll take that”

“Unforgettable and unfair” Mingyu mutters, raising himself on one arm to be able to look at him in the eyes. “How am I supposed to focus tomorrow when all I can think about is you ?”

“You’ll focus because you’re brilliant” Wonwoo answers smoothly, brushing a strand of hair off his forehead. “And because if you don’t, I’ll fly back to Seoul and tell your mom you skipped out on the most important conference of your life because of a man”

Mingyu bursts into laughter, burying his face against his chest. “Not just any man, though”

"She'll hate me for this" Wonwoo smiles, kissing his temple. “But luckily for you, I happen to love you enough to keep you motivated”

Mingyu hums against him, voice muffled. “I still don’t know what I did to deserve it”

Wonwoo cups his face gently, tilting it so their eyes meet. “You exist” he whispers. “That’s all it took.”

For a long moment Mingyu just stares at him before breaking into a crooked smile. “God, you’re so sappy”

“And you love it” Wonwoo kisses him again. “Besides, you started it with the whole ‘sappy’ thing. I’m just evening the score”

Mingyu groans dramatically, dropping back onto the pillows, covering his face with one hand. “I walked right into that one”

“You did” Wonwoo pries his hand away, threading their fingers together. “But you also walked into my life and look where we are now. We started from college classes and ended up here, in Zurich, in this ridiculously expensive chalet after what’s probably been the best night of my life”

“Best night of mine too” Mingyu smiles softly, pressing their joined hands to his lips for a lingering kiss. “Promise me there’ll be more like this”

“More nights, more mornings, more everything” Wonwoo replies, his gaze softens almost shy. “You’re stuck with me, Min-ah”

A fond boyish grin spreads across Mingyu’s face, yet beneath it lingers a flicker of disbelief, as though joy this full can’t possibly belong to him, as though he half expects to wake and find it all imagined. But Wonwoo is here, warm and real, and Mingyu clings to that truth with all his being. He tugs him closer until their bodies press together beneath the blanket, the fabric rustling faintly, their shapes molding into one another with the ease of something inevitable.

Beyond the windows, the mountain air grows colder under the night sky, frosting the glass in a thin breath of condensation. But inside, beneath the cocoon of blankets, there is only warmth like a whole sanctuary stitched from delicate touches and their steady heartbeats. Mingyu buries his face in the crook of Wonwoo’s shoulder, inhaling deeply the scent of his skin. Wonwoo presses his lips into his hair, letting his hand wander slowly down the smooth line of his warm back.

Neither of them linger in further conversation, they don’t need to, but the silence around them isn't empty either rather it resonates with unspoken promises. The fragile certainty of two people finding home in each other’s embrace.

Sleep drifts over them in waves, reluctant at first, as if they are unwilling to surrender the moment. But eventually it claims them fully, pulling them under together, wrapped in the same breath, the same warmth, the same dream.

So the night holds them, cocooned in warmth, in love, and the quiet that just precedes the morning light that will soon pour over the mountains.

Chapter Text

"Stay with me, no matter in what moment
Let's become the same light, the same shadow
In whatever place, I'll hold you"

“…he presented with cyanosis and recurrent episodes of hypoxia consistent with an uncorrected diagnosis of Tetralogy of Fallot in the neonatal period…”

Mingyu’s voice is low as he replays in whispers his speech, the english cadence of each sentence shaped by hours of study and practice. He stands in front of the tall mirror of the chalet bedroom, the early morning light spilling pale and golden through the sheer curtains, casting beams onto the floor. Outside, the snow rests quietly on the rooftops, while inside, the only sound bouncing off those walls is his hoarse voice and the faint rustle of his clothes as he gets dressed.

His white shirt is impeccable and perfectly pressed, the cotton is cool against his skin as he slides his arms into the sleeves. The fabric settles neatly over his broad shoulders, Mingyu pauses just a moment to smooth out the edges of the collar, his fingers lingering there for a second before moving on to the trail of buttons.

“…Standard approaches were deemed too risky due to the fragility of his structures…” he murmurs, his presentation shifting from a clinical explanation to a practical image as he fastens the buttonholes one by one, the open V on his chest slowly disappears to the rhythm of his words marking the one of his dressing.

When the last button is secure, Mingyu presses his palms down the front of the shirt smoothing it flat. He then tugs the cuffs into place, fingers fumbling for a moment with the tiny buttons in a rare clumsiness that betrays instead the little tremor in his hands. In the mirror, a tall elegant man stares back at him. Mingyu forces himself a slow deep breath, lifting his chin and straightening his spine until his reflection looks like the confident surgeon he longs to embody.

The tailored trousers follow the lines of his long legs, the fabric brushing his thigh as he zips them on and slides a belt through its loops before buckling into place. Shoes come next, polished leather on his feet catching the pale spill of morning light, and piece by piece, his reflection sharpens on definition, until the man in the glass is not the boy who once doubted himself but the doctor everyone in Zurich has come to see.

“...An autologous patch was created, fashioned from the pericardial tissue...” the words slip from his mouth like second nature, practiced into muscle memory by now. Yet beneath the starched collar, beneath the impeccable hair and clean lines, anxiety still thrums in him. Each extra breath feels too loud in that quiet room as he realizes he is dressed for the stage, for recognition, but inside, he is still just Mingyu from Anyang, willing his racing heart to steady before the world turns to look at him.

He takes the tie at last and puts the cloth around his neck, “…and the defect was closed with…” Mingyu murmurs but suddenly his voice falters, his reviewing rhythm stuttering. His brows knit as he searches his memory, the next line of his speech slipping into the stream of thoughts. “What I sewed it with…” Mingyu mutters, frustration creeping in around the edges.

“With a continuous running suture” a familiar voice completes gently from the doorway.

Mingyu head lifts at the sweet sound, watching Wonwoo stepping into the room with unhurried grace. His tailored suit is a soft shade of dark gray and it flatters every lines of his well-built body. His hair is parted cleanly, with two soft tufts falling loose against his forehead in the way Mingyu always adored, while the thin round frames of his glasses catch the morning light, sharpening the warmth of his cat-like eyes.

Mingyu can’t help but stare at his beauty, caught between his nerves and the awe of having him there. He has been piecing himself together in front of the mirror, fastening each button, tugging each seam into place that would make him look the part of that serious world. But all the layers, the practiced composure, had felt brittle until Wonwoo walked across the room and filled the space with his quiet presence. Suddenly the act of holding himself together feels less lonely and less fragile.

Wonwoo crosses the room and stops in front of him, close enough that the scent of his cologne folds into the sharpness of Mingyu’s nerves. He lifts his hands, slender fingers brushing the fabric over Mingyu’s chest before sliding upward to the silk of his tie. With precision and care, he adjusts the knot, tugging and smoothing the fabric until it lies perfectly centered. The gesture is intimate in its simplicity, a quiet reassurance that slips deeper than Mingyu’s clothes.

“How are you feeling ?” Wonwoo asks at last, his voice soft enough to keep the moment cocooned between them.

Mingyu swallows hard, the knot of the tie suddenly feeling tighter despite Wonwoo’s careful touch. “Like I’ve spent weeks preparing for this moment and somehow it still feels like I’m not ready. I’ll probably trip over my own words or maybe hide in a hole before the second slide”

Wonwoo chuckles, smoothing over the silk one last time. His palm lingers against Mingyu’s chest, right over the frantic rhythm of his heart. “You won’t” he says simply, leaving no room for argument. “They’ll see you for the incredible surgeon you’ve already proven yourself to be”

“What if they ask me a question I can’t answer? What if my work… isn’t enough outside Seoul ?”

Wonwoo’s fingers tap lightly against his chest. “If they ask you questions you don’t know, then you’ll learn the answer right away” he replies, “That’s what makes you extraordinary, Min-ah, you never stop trying even when the road looks impossible. And that’s exactly what all those people will see today on that stage”

Mingyu huffs out a breath. “You make it sound so simple”

“It is simple” Wonwoo counters softly. His hand slips lower, weaving their fingers together until Mingyu’s restless grip is tethered in his own. “You think too much about failing when all I’ve ever seen is you rising. Again and again. Do you know what it feels like, watching you doing your job ? Like watching someone do exactly what they were born to do”

The words still Mingyu, who pulls his gaze upward and look at Wonwoo to see the sincerity burning in his eyes, the silent conviction that keeps him grounded. His throat strains to say something he doesn’t trust himself to speak, his breath falters glassing over with emotion, and Wonwoo notices.

Of course he does.

He leans in, brushing the softest kiss against Mingyu’s temple. “You just have to walk in there and be yourself. That’s already more than enough”

Mingyu closes his eyes, a little overwhelmed by all the situation, and lets his forehead fall against Wonwoo’s. Their noses brush faintly in the small space between them, his hands rise clumsily to frame Wonwoo’s face, gratitude and nerves and love all tangled together in his touch.

“If I get through this today, it’ll be because of you” he murmurs.

“No, you’ll get through this because you’re you” Wonwoo smiles, "But I’ll be right there in front row, making sure you remember it”

For the first time all morning, Mingyu exhales a small laugh that uncoils some of the tightness from his chest. He lets his arms slip fully around Wonwoo, pulling him close until the world outside shrinks down to nothing but the warmth of his embrace.

“Can you help me review some questions ?” he then asks quietly, “Let’s pretend you’re one of the commission members. Ask me for some clarification, and be mean”

Wonwoo tilts his head, his lips twitch slightly. “Alright —” he says, his professor-voice slipping fast into the part and sharp enough to make him straighten on instinct. “Describe me, precisely, Seungyoun’s case and what made it so difficult. And don’t stand in front of me like a nervous intern, you’re the one who experimented this technique. So own it”

Mingyu lets out a weak laugh and shakes his head, but instead of complying, his lips curve with mischief. “I take it all back, this is a very bad idea…” he says, “You’re so terribly sexy, I might actually get on the stage with a boner in my trousers”

Wonwoo’s stern facade cracks instantly, his brows lifting in disbelief before he scowls in mock outrage. “That’s very inappropriate of you, Dr. Kim” he scolds but his lips are already twitching. “Do you plan to bribe the commission president this way ? Because I don’t think it’ll work”

Mingyu chuckles and leans closer until his breath brushes against Wonwoo’s cheek. His hands slide down to circle his hips, pulling him flush against him. “Maybe not the president —” he teases, his voice dipping, “But it seems to work on this pretty professor I have in front of me right now”

“Hmm” Wonwoo smiles and before he can fire back, Mingyu closes the distance and kisses him with a laugh caught between their mouths. It’s playful, heated, his grin breaking the kiss just long enough to nip at his bottom lip before pulling him back in. Wonwoo huffs against his lips, “You’re impossible…” but his arms loop around Mingyu’s shoulders anyway, tugging him closer, kissing him back with a soft hunger that could make the rest of the morning slip away.

Mingyu detaches reluctantly from his lips and a shaky laugh escapes him as a reminder that he can’t get lost in him completely, not yet. “Okay… the question” he murmurs, drawing back just enough to catch his composure.

The change in his tone is subtle, the easy playfulness now folding into something more focused. “Seungyoun is a five-year-old boy diagnosed with Tetralogy of Fallot” he begins calmly, though his thumb still strokes over Wonwoo’s hip unconsciously. “The complication lies in the timing. Usually, corrective surgery is performed shortly after birth when the tissue is more adaptable and before irreversible damage sets in. But in his case, because of the rural conditions he grew up in and his family’s lack of access to healthcare… he carried the defect untreated for five years”

Wonwoo nods once, his professor’s mask still in place though his eyes gleam. “Very good. Now. Why was a standard Gore-Tex patch contraindicated in his case ?”

Mingyu licks his lips, his brain sparking into motion. “Because his pericardial tissue was unusually fragile and synthetic material posed a high risk of dehiscence and infection. The autologous option gave us better integration and reduced rejection risk”

“Mmh” Wonwoo’s arms tighten against his neck, though his smile deepens imperceptibly. “And how did you prepare the autologous patch to ensure durability ?”

“I treated the pericardial tissue later with a solution that would help to increase tensile strength and resistance. Trimmed it to the precise dimension of the defect, ensuring overlap margins for secure suturing”

“Excellent” Wonwoo nods again. “What suture technique did you use ?”

Mingyu swallows, then finds the answer waiting at the edge of his nerves. “Interrupted pledgeted sutures. It distributes tension evenly and reduces the risk of tearing the delicate margins”

“What was the child’s outcome, Dr. Kim ?”

“He survived without any complications” Mingyu replies confident. “His oxygen saturation rose to near normal within hours while his heart carried him forward and stable for the following days”

For a beat, silence stretches between them. Mingyu’s breathing comes faster but his gaze doesn’t waver anymore. Wonwoo lets the professor mask fall and a soft smile spreads all over his face. “See ?” he says so obvious, “You answered every question without faltering, which means all the spotlight will be yours”

“Mmh, don’t be so sure” Mingyu teases him, pecking his lips. “You’re so beautiful today I’m sure I’ll have to fight for their attention. Half the room will probably be wondering how I managed to bring someone like you with me”

“Ah admit you like the idea of showing me off” Wonwoo hums, playing along. “Like ‘look, not only did I stitch a heart, but I also stole one’”

Mingyu laughs and slips his arms around Wonwoo’s waist, pulling him close until the wool of their suits brushes. “You’re not wrong” he confirms, voice turning softer and more intimate. “I do want to show you off. Maybe it’s selfish but I like the idea of everyone knowing you’re mine”

“Mmh, possessive. I like it…” Wonwoo’s lips twitch into a sly smile, “But don’t get distracted too much, superstar, you’ve got lives to impress out there. Do well up there and I might consider giving you a reward later”

Mingyu groans so dramatic and his head drops against Wonwoo’s shoulder as if the weight of temptation alone might undo him. His laughter rumbles into his neck before he pulls back, nerves already lighter than they were minutes before. “That’s actually a very good motivation”

Wonwoo’s expression softens, affection smoothing the edges of his teasing. He taps Mingyu’s chest lightly, “The driver is waiting for us downstairs” he says, "We should go before they think the famous Dr. Kim got cold feet”

Mingyu nods, grabbing his jacket and coat from the bed, though his hand lingers at the small of Wonwoo’s back until the last possible moment. “Okay, okay —” he says exhaling a deep breath, “Let’s go”

They step out of the chalet into the crisp morning air, the faint crunch of snow under polished shoes marking their leaving. The driver stands waiting by the sleek black car, hinting a polite nod as soon as he sees them, door opened and ready to welcome them.

The ride begins smoothly, the car gliding down winding roads flanked by pines still dusted with powdered white. The tower peaks in the distance, rising into pale skies, while the lake below glimmers faintly under the weak winter sun. Inside the vehicle, warmth cocoons them but Mingyu’s body is tense. His long frame leans slightly forward, hands clasped, shoulders too rigid for comfort. His eyes track the scenery passing by in silvery streaks, though it’s clear he isn’t really seeing it.

Wonwoo notices the way his chest rises in measured shallow breaths, the restless tap of his heel against the carpeted floor. Without a word he reaches across the seat, finds Mingyu’s hand and threads their fingers together. The contact is steady and Mingyu turns his head for the briefest glance, his throat working as if he wants to speak but he doesn’t say anything. He simply tightens his grip with his palm damp but firm in Wonwoo’s. The reassurance hums silently between them for the rest of the ride, the weight of panic balanced against the quiet strength of presence.

When the car finally pulls into the forecourt, the Kongresshaus rises before them stately and solemn in its architecture. Its white facade gleams faintly in the light, columns standing tall against the edge of the lake, the water behind it like a sheet of glass that reflects the pale sky. The entrance bustles with life as men and women step out of their own chauffeured cars with briefcases in hand, coats buttoned tight and lanyards already hanging from their necks.

Mingyu steps out of the car and buttons his jacket with a precise flick of his fingers, adjusting the fall of his lapels as his gaze sweeps the crowd. Conversations in multiple languages ripple through the air as doctors, researchers and surgeons move easily in and out of the building.

The mere sight makes his stomach twist. His throat tightens and for a moment Mingyu feels suspended between the towering presence of the venue and the sea of brilliant minds streaming toward its doors. The Kongresshaus is immense inside with ceilings arched high, chandeliers gleaming with elegance and light spilling over polished marble floor. The conference room itself feels more like cathedral than a hall, solemn and sacred, with rows of tiered seating stretching upward, each chair occupied by a brain that seems more experienced and confident than his own.

The atmosphere of the conference is charged with expectation and Mingyu feels it press against his ribs as he enters. Inside the grand foyer of the building, clusters of prominent figures — authors of papers he studied in residency, innovators whose names have long lived in his textbooks — move around him mingling over slender flutes of champagne and glasses of white wine. They nod to one another, shake hands, pause to exchange greetings and Mingyu perceives those presences quite intimidating but, yet beside him, a warm hand still lingers on his back, steady enough to remind him he is not alone.

Silver trays glide effortlessly through the crowd, carried by attendants in black uniforms offering small hors d'oeuvres that vanish almost as quickly as they appear. Tables draped in linen line the room, stacked neatly with programs and brochures embossed with the conference’s crest. Wonwoo drifts toward one of them and curiously takes a booklet in hand. The cover gleams under the light as he flips it open, scanning through the list of speakers and sessions.

His eyes catch one particular line, “Dr. Kim Mingyu — Seoul National University Hospital, South Korea” and a soft smile appears on his lips reading his name. Below it, a succinct summary of what he would have presented: “A novel approach to pediatric cardiac repair utilizing autologous pericardial patching in cases of late-diagnosed congenital heart defects”

Wonwoo's chest swells with a pride too great to contain. His fingertips trail lightly over the glossy page, lingering on Mingyu’s name as if feeling the ink might help him grasp that the recognition and prestige are real. He glances at him sideways and Mingyu is standing there, imposing yet strangely still, with his shoulders tensed beneath the tailored lines of his suit.

Their seating is arranged at the very front of the vast hall, a privilege reserved for speakers and their guests. In front of them the stage stretches broad, dominated only by a podium, a massive screen and the weight of hundreds of unseen gazes that will soon converge on it.

Mingyu folds his body into the seat with a stiffness that betrays the turmoil churning in his stomach. The chatter of the room surrounds him but he barely registers any of those words. His gaze drifts ceaselessly from the grandeur of the chandeliers to the thick programs clutched in the hands of attendees, to the polished shoes of the men and women who seem so full of themselves. His jaw tightens, his hands fidget on his lap and the awe in his eyes is undeniable but so too is the fear.

Wonwoo looks at him silently and sees his wonder, the nerves, but also the quiet determination that has always carried him through. He flips another page of the glossy program, scanning the schedule of morning lectures, and his eyes catch on a name familiar even outside their own specialties. He glances subtly across the room and his gaze lands on an old man in a charcoal suit, his silver-rimmed glasses perched low on the bridge of his nose, speaking animatedly with two colleagues near the aisle.

“Oh my god” Wonwoo murmurs suddenly, his voice lifting with unguarded excitement. “That’s Dr. Liang Wei”

Mingyu follows Wonwoo’s line of sight and his eyes land on the older surgeon who’s laughing politely, surrounded by a small cluster of attendees. Wonwoo’s tone turns almost reverent himself. “He has published dozens of groundbreaking papers on regenerative tissue scaffolding, especially in congenital heart reconstruction. Half the modern techniques we use now trace right back to his theories”

Mingyu’s breath catches before he even realizes. His pulse stutters in his throat, the world narrowing to that one figure across the room. “God… I— I’ve read his articles” he mutters under his breath. “I… cited him in my thesis. And now I have to stand there and talk in front of him ? Oh my — he’s going to hear my case and think I’m insane. He has spent his whole career perfecting tissue scaffolding and I used pericardial tissue because I was out of options. What if he thinks I butchered the protocol ?”

“I think he’s going to listen and realize you did exactly what he has been advocating for all these years. Adaptation, using what you have to make something new. You took a risk to save a child’s life and I’m sure he is going to respect that, maybe even admire it”

“You really think so ?”

Wonwoo nods. “Dr. Liang has spent decades preaching about surgical intuition, about how real innovation comes from trusting the hands and not just the textbooks. And that’s exactly what you did. If anything, he might pull you aside afterward and argue details but trust me, he’ll see the brilliance in what you did”

Mingyu lets out a long nervous exhale, “I’m so anxious I might throw up”

Wonwoo chuckles quietly, leaning closer to his shoulder. “No, you won’t. You’re going to stand up there and remind every single person in this hall why you’re the best”

Those encouraging words fall between them like a balm, so private and grounding in the middle of the crowded room. Mingyu takes a deep breath and the tension in his chest breaks just enough for air to come though his lungs. He turns his palm up, fingers seeking Wonwoo’s, and when their hands meet, the tremor finally steadies as that hold draw more strength from him.

Mingyu’s expression softens, the corners of his mouth lifting into that intimate smile reserved for him only. He mouths an imperceptibly “I love you” but the sentiment hums between them like a steady pulse. Wonwoo catches it instantly, his own lips curving as he tilts his head ever so slightly, whispering a quiet “Love you too” that doesn’t need sound to be heard.

“By the way —” Wonwoo then murmurs, leaning a little closer. “Jeonghan sends you his best wishes. He texted me before, when we were in the car, he said he and Jihoon are going to watch the live stream from the hospital. They told me to take pictures, so be prepared to pose later”

That draws a quiet laugh from Mingyu, “That’s… actually really nice of them” he says, shaking his head in disbelief, the tension in his chest softening just a little.

“They’re all cheering for you, you know” Wonwoo smiles, "The whole department might be crowded around a screen right now”

The thought of all his colleagues and friends supporting him across the time-zone warms his heart. Mingyu feels his chest full of gratitude, the one that blurs his eyes and tightens his throat in pure commotion. He opens his mouth to reply, to make some shy joke about how ridiculous that pictures would turn out, but before he can, the lights in the hall dip slightly and a ripple of applause sweets through the audience.

Onstage, a man approaches the podium with confidence. Distinguished and self-assured, he stands beneath the lights that catch the silver strands in his hair. His dark blue suit is perfectly tailored, the conference badge pinned neatly to his lapel. He smiles at the audience and bows, welcoming everyone so warmly. He also clears his throat gently to the microphone and when he speaks in English, his accent is vaguely German.

“Good afternoon, esteemed colleagues, honored guests and distinguished speakers” he begins, his tone carrying effortlessly through the acoustics of the grand hall. “It’s both a pleasure and an honor to welcome you to this year’s International Congress on Cardiothoracic Innovation here in Zurich. Over the next three days, we will celebrate breakthroughs that redefine the boundaries of cardiac surgery. We will gather not merely as practitioners, but as pioneers bound by a shared purpose to advance what medicine can offer to the human heart”

He pauses, allowing the weight of his words to settle over the audience. “Today” he continues, “We’re gonna celebrate progress born of persistence from the first mechanical valves to bioengineered grafts, from congenital repairs to transplant innovation, every breakthrough represented here is the culmination of countless hands and minds working in harmony. You will hear the stories behind those achievements, stories of courage and discovery”

A murmur of acknowledgment ripples through the audience, a soft applause, polite but genuine.

“This year —” he says, glancing briefly toward the digital screen behind him where the conference emblem glows in muted gold, “We will feature discussions and demonstrations across three major fields: regenerative cardiac tissue engineering, minimally invasive surgical robotics, and the long-term integration of artificial grafts in pediatric care. Our aim is not only to present what has been achieved, but to ask what comes next. Because, as we all know, the true measure of progress lies not in what we’ve accomplished but in the questions we dare to ask”

He smiles faintly, “Our speakers this year come from over forty countries. And I hope this space, for the coming days, might be a home for curiosity, humility and courage. To those presenting, I wish you to always have this hunger for medicine. To those listening, I wish you inspiration”

Applause fills the hall in reverent wave that grows and echoes beneath the high glass ceiling. Mingyu claps with everyone else, though his heart is thudding unevenly, his chest tightening at the gravity of it all. Wonwoo glances at him from the side and catches the flicker of awe and fear in his eyes, the realization that he is about to step into this world not as a spectator but as a contributor.

The president smiles again, gesturing to the large screen behind him where the day’s schedule begins to scroll. “And now, let us begin” he says, “Our first session will explore innovations in surgical reconstruction and adaptive tissue grafting. Please join me in welcoming our first speaker of the morning, Dr. Henrik Larsson, from the Karolinska Institute of Stockholm”

Applause fills the hall as a tall man with blond hair and wire-rimmed glasses rises near the center aisle, straightening his jacket as he makes his way to the podium with confidence. His smile is modest but assured, the kind worn by someone long accustomed to that type of attention.

“Thank you” Dr. Larsson begins, “It’s an honor to be here among such inspiring colleagues”

The lights dim slightly as his slides come to life on the towering screen behind him showing vivid renderings of microvascular grafts, fluid diagrams of neonatal hearts, close-up images of artificial conduits. He speaks of microvascular elasticity and cellular responsiveness, his words flowing in a rhythm so precise it’s almost musical.

He gestures gracefully toward a diagram, describing how his minimally invasive neonatal reconstruction system has reduced recovery times by over thirty percent. “Our aim —” he explains, “Is to bring the same surgical efficiency we achieve in adult procedures to infants”

Mingyu listens spellbound, his pen gliding across the small notebook in his lap. The nib lightly scratches the paper as he notes each tiny number and probabilities but he actually can't help but admire the man's composure, the way Henrik commands the stage with elegant mastery. Every pause seems intentional, every breath considered. Mingyu wonders if he'll sound like this too when it’s his turn.

The presentation concludes after nearly half an hour with a surge of interest from the audience, a low murmur of appreciation followed by respectful applause. Henrik Larsson leaves the podium without any questions from the general committee, nodding to the president before returning to his seat. Mingyu applauds along with everyone else, the sound echoing like a heartbeat in the high-ceilinged room.

Wonwoo leans slightly toward him. "Very interesting, isn't it ?" he murmurs.

Mingyu exhales, his gaze still fixed on the dark screen where the last slide fades. "Incredible" he says softly and even though he smiles, his heart beats faster partly from admiration, partly from anticipation of what's to come.

The next speaker is Dr. Kavita Mehra, a pediatric cardiac surgeon from Mumbai whose presence commands instant attention. Her voice carries through the hall with effortless clarity while on the vast screen behind her, slides burst to life in vivid color showing intricately labeled diagrams of stem-cell scaffolding, microscopic close-ups of cellular regeneration, time-lapse images of delicate tissues knitting themselves whole again.

“We are not replacing” her hands move with passion as she speaks. “We are teaching the body to rebuild itself. Every child’s cell holds the blueprint for their own recovery”

A murmur of admiration ripples through the audience and Mingyu feels in his own chest a swell of awe tightening somewhere between his ribs. The science is astonishing but more than that, it’s the real devotion to that job moves him the most. For a moment his nerves give way to something gentler and Mingyu starts getting used to that good feeling of being there among so many brilliant minds.

Between presentations, attendants move through the aisles refilling water glasses, straightening programs. The low clink of glass mingles with the murmur of polite conversation and the projector hums softly as sponsor logos glide across the screen. Wonwoo nudges Mingyu with a quiet smile, handing him a glass.

“They’re all amazing…” Mingyu murmurs, his voice low with a mix of wonder and disbelief.

Wonwoo doesn’t answer, he only smiles and squeezes Mingyu’s knee in a reassuring gesture.

The program continues as the morning slowly unfolds. A Brazilian researcher follows after a short break, demonstrating post-operative imaging techniques that map recovery in three dimensions. After him, a German specialist presents a revolutionary AI-assisted surgical planning model, her tone sharp as she explains the images behind her glowing with blue data grids and pulsing heart scans.

With each new name announced, another ripple of applause washes through the audience. Each new presentation pushes Mingyu closer to his own moment, to the realization that soon his name will echo through this same room. The air feels thicker and thicker, his heartbeat faster, the notepad on his lap forgotten entirely. He wipes his palms discreetly against his trousers and Wonwoo brushes his fingers discretely and Mingyu, in reply, holds his hand entirely, focusing on that touch like it’s an anchor in the middle of a storm.

He feels his pulse accelerate when the moderator returns to the podium, flipping to the next name on the program. “And now, let’s have the pleasure of welcoming a young and innovative voice from Seoul National University Hospital in South Korea. His pioneering approach to pediatric cardiac reconstruction has captured the attention of the international community for its creativity, its courage, and its extraordinary success. Please join me in giving a warm round of applause to Dr. Kim Mingyu”

The sound of his name hits like a rush of wind through his chest, a punch in his guts and for a moment, the clapping hands are distant, distorted, like something underwater. His pulse thrums in his ears, the lights, the faces, the enormity of it all blurs into a single suspended instant. Mingyu can feel it now, the weight of hundreds of gazes on him, the quiet electricity of expectation, but Wonwoo familiar touch on his back grounds him.

He turns toward him but Wonwoo just gives him a small nod and the proudest smile ever. “Go” he simply whispers, nothing more, nothing less.

Mingyu exhales a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding, then he stands up from his seat and the sound of applause swells around him even more, following him all the way to the stage. Each step feels impossibly long but soon the nervous boy inside him gives way to the confident surgeon who has earned this moment. Mingyu adjusts his jacket, his polished shoes clicking softly on the floor as the lights wash over him in a pale glow. By the time he reaches the podium, his pulse is a drumbeat in his ears, and the sea of faces in front of him no longer feels like an ocean ready to swallow him but a tide he might learn to move with.

“Good morning, esteemed colleagues” he begins, his voice trembling shyly at first. “It’s a honor for me to be here. My name is Dr. Kim Mingyu, I’m a cardio-thoracic pediatric surgeon from Seoul National University Hospital and today I’ll be presenting a case involving Tetralogy of Fallot in a 5-years-old patient which an uncorrected diagnosis has been carried on since birth”

Mingyu glances briefly on the notes in front of him before lifting his eyes. “The patient, Seungyoun, came with his parents to the emergency-room one day in a respiratory distress, presenting chronic cyanosis and progressive hypoxia. After determining, through imagination, that this was an untreated case of Tetralogy of Fallot, and knowing that the tissue integrity was significantly compromised, standard surgical approaches were deemed the only solution for his survival, although too high-risk due to the weakness of the structures”

He clicks the remote in his hand and the first slide lights up the massive screen behind him. Diagrams of the malformed heart, oxygen levels plotted on neat graphs. "Intraoperatively, the team and I determined that prosthetic materials posed an even greater risk due to the potential for infection and tissue fragility. At that point, under significant time constraints, the decision was made to create an autologous pericardial patch by harvesting the patient's own pericardium to reconstruct the right ventricular outflow tract”

The audience listens intently as Mingyu clicks the remote again to show schematics of the heart and surgical cross-sections annotated with precision. He moves through each explanation with care, every word very measured. “The pericardium was treated with glutaraldehyde to stabilize the fibers then shaped and sutured to close the defect. The suture line was extended toward the pulmonary annulus, forming a modified transannular patch. We prioritized maintaining elasticity and optimal flow, compensating for the absence of standard support materials”

He clicks again for another image of the procedure. “The operation lasted six hours. Intraoperative monitoring showed immediate improvement in oxygen saturation while postoperative recovery was uneventful. No arrhythmias, no rejections, further evaluations confirmed satisfactory flow dynamics with no residual shunting and the patient was extubated within twelve hours”

A brief pause follows as Mingyu takes a sip of water, steadying the faint tremor in his hands. “At three-days follow-up, echocardiography revealed excellent adaptation of the patch with early tissue integration. At two weeks, there was no sign of aneurysm formation or fibrosis” his tone softens, reverent almost. “The heart, as you can see here, had healed around what was once its own covering. The pericardial tissue became part of what it was protecting”

The room is utterly still. Faces tilt upward toward the image on the screen showing a small heart, resilient and whole again. Mingyu swallows, pushing through the weight in his throat. “This approach, using autologous tissue instead of prosthetics, isn’t new. But sometimes innovation is recognizing what the body itself can offer us. The pericardial patch allowed us to rebuild without introducing foreign material, and in doing so, minimized long-term complications. The boy’s recovery reminded us that sometimes the simplest choice, using what’s already there, can lead to the most profound outcome”

The final slide fades into a picture of Seungyoun, the boy was sitting up in bed with a bright smile lighting his face and a small soccer ball in his hands. “He'll return to play soccer very soon, we’ll be looking forward for him to realize his dream of becoming a professional" Mingyu’s lips lift faintly in a smile, ”And that, for me, is the success that matters most”

For a moment there's only silence, then slowly, the entire room erupts in applause. It starts softly, one person, then two, before turning into a wave of sound that echoes against the high ceilings and glass walls. It's thunderous, unstoppable, and Mingyu can't help but stand there, petrified and moved, breathing heavily while his heart pounds in his ears. He blinks several times but the tension suddenly melts away as his chest expands with an emotion too great to describe.

Mingyu bows to the audience with a hand on his heart, deeply touched by the standing-ovation, and as he straightens, his eyes instinctively meet Wonwoo’s in first row who is standing and applauding him, smiling as if he's never been so proud of anything in his life.

The moderator then opens the floor for questions and the low murmur of movement fills the hall as people lean forward ready to raise their hands.

Mingyu grips the edge of the podium to steady himself, his pulse still racing from the adrenaline of speaking. A man in the third row stands first, a middle-aged surgeon with a clipped British accent, asking about post-operative fibrosis rates compared to prosthetic repairs. Mingyu answers fluently, his tone even precise, explaining that the autologous patch demonstrated less long-term inflammatory response and greater integration based on his follow-up imaging. The man nods, impressed.

Another question follows, from a woman at the far end of the room, an Italian researcher in tissue biomechanics who asks whether the pericardium’s elasticity presented challenges during suturing. Mingyu gestures to the slide still glowing on the screen, detailing the process of controlled reinforcement with the solution and the delicate balance between flexibility and structural stability.

Then, from the center of the audience, a hand rises. Mingyu’s eyes follow the movement and he freeze on the spot recognizing the figure.

It’s Dr. Liang Wei.

The renowned Chinese cardiac surgeon sits poised, his expression unreadable. “Good morning, Dr. Kim” he begins politely, “Your technique is absolutely impressive, both elegant and daring. But I was wondering, why, in your view, is this case so unique compared to other similar surgeries ?”

It sounds a simple question, almost benign, but Mingyu feels the weight behind those words, the kind that can test not only his knowledge but his whole composure. His throat tightens and for a split second, the old fear surges again. What if he fails here, now, under Liang Wei’s gaze ?

He exhales slowly, grounding himself in the silence. Then he licks his lips nervously, “I think it’s because this case wasn’t just about an anatomical defect but it embraced a whole adaptation’s issue” he explains, “We weren’t working with untouched tissue but dealing with a heart that had been forced to survive under extreme conditions for years. Hypoxia, fibrosis, altered flow dynamics, every surface we touched was thinner, weaker and every suture carried the risk of tearing through. This wasn’t standard repair but more like a reconstruction of something that had already learned to survive, no matter how fragile that survival was”

A ripple of interest moves through the audience. Liang’s head tilts slightly as his eyes narrow in focus. “And yet —” he continues, “You chose a pericardial autologous patch rather than a synthetic conduit. Was that purely clinical reasoning, or was there… intuition involved ?”

The question catches Mingyu off guard and he lets out a small breath before answering, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “Both” he admits, “Clinically, it reduced infection risk and encouraged better adaptation. But in the operating room, I’ve learnt with practice to listen to the tissue, to the rhythm of the heartbeats and my instincts, at that moment, told me that using the body’s own material wasn’t just the safest choice but also the right one”

In the silent room, Dr. Liang’s lips curve upward in a subtle approving smile. He nods once, firmly. “Excellent answer, Dr. Kim. Congratulations” he says and the approval in his voice carries the kind of praise surgeons wait entire careers to hear.

Mingyu bows his head in gratitude as applause rises again, stronger now, rolling through the hall like a wave. But beneath it, there’s something heavier in his chest that trembles and demands to be spoken. His fingers brush the edge of the lectern and his eyes wander through the audience until they find Wonwoo’s once more. His expression is radiant with pride, his hands coming together in quiet claps meant only for him. Mingyu exhales all the tension draining from his body and leans a little closer to the mic.

“If I can take just one more minute of your time —” he says, confident and clear, while the murmur of the audience softens instantly. “This work… the surgery, the research, the endless nights of trying to make sense of the impossible, it was never just mine. It was born out of a team of people who refused to give up even when it felt easier to”

Mingyu glances down briefly, collecting himself. “So I want to thank the people who carried me here and that surely are watching me right now: Dr. Hong Jisoo, who stood beside me in the operating room through the longest hours. Dr. Yoon Jeonghan, whose precision and calm saved me from my own doubts more than once. And Dr. Lee Jihoon, who fought to make sure this procedure got the approval it needed. Without them, none of this would have reached the light of day”

A polite wave of applause rises again but Mingyu isn’t finished with his speech. He scans the front row and looks at Wonwoo with the dearest smile ever on his face.

“And… I wouldn’t be honest if I didn’t thank the person who’s been my anchor through all of it, Dr. Jeon Wonwoo, my partner in work and in life” Mingyu says at last, the microphone catching the faint waver in his voice, deepening with emotion he no longer bothers to disguise. “There were moments, many of them, when I was ready to give up, when the failures felt heavier than the purpose. And every time, he was the one who reminded me why it mattered. He believed in me when I couldn’t believe in myself. He reminded me that healing isn’t just what we do… but it’s also what we are”

A hush settles over the room and slowly the applause deepens, spreading from the front rows outward, punctuated by a few murmurs of admiration, surprise and approval. The hall brightens with warmth, Wonwoo lowers his gaze for a moment as a helpless smile tugs at his lips as much as tears blur his vision. When he looks up again, Mingyu is still watching him and a flicker of something unspoken passing between them, gratitude, pride, love, everything that words can’t really quite contain.

Wonwoo’s hand rises almost instinctively to his chest in acknowledgment and then he bows his head in a gesture full of quiet reverence. From the podium, Mingyu’s lips curve into a trembling smile. “Thank you, Dr. Jeon” he finishes, his voice breaking gently on the word. “Thank you for listening, for believing, and for sharing with me not just a case but a whole piece of my life”

Mingyu bows deeply and steps away from the microphone in the middle of the applause, his lungs feel fuller, lighter, as if something inside him has finally settled into place. He descends from the stage with his pulse still drumming in his ears, and when he reaches the front row, Wonwoo is already on his feet waiting for him.

His eyes are glassy with pride, Mingyu steps forward to close their space and wraps his arms tightly around him. The rest of the hall disappears in that warm embrace. Mingyu exhales against his shoulder and his hand comes up to rest at the small of Wonwoo’s back, fingers pressing lightly through the fabric of his suit as if to reassure himself that this, this warmth, this solidity, everything is real. The scent of Wonwoo’s cologne grounds him in something intimate and Mingyu leans down to brush his lips against his forehead in a reverent kiss, eyes closing briefly to shut out all the applause, the noise, until what remains is just the thrum of Wonwoo’s heartbeat against his chest.

The conference flows in a haze of adrenaline and sweet golden pride. Presentations continue as one after another, new voices approach the microphone, new discoveries are presented on the monitors, but for Mingyu everything seems to move at a slightly different pace now. The pressure that had weighed on his chest for weeks has now eased, replaced by something lighter as if the air itself vibrates with the glow of triumph.

When the last speech concludes and the polite applause fades in the air, the large glass doors on the sides of the conference room open to reveal a different world, a reception hall transformed into a gala brunch. Warm light pours through the tall arched windows overlooking the wonders of the lake, the late morning sun glistening against the ripples of the azure water. Crystal chandeliers cast their light on the marble floors and on the soft tablecloths decorated with ivory patterns.

The distant murmur of the guests’ voices mingles with the sweet notes of a live jazz-ensemble hidden in a corner with the elegant playing of a pianist, the gentle sigh of a saxophone.

The tables are set with silver trays of fresh pastries and fruit from every corner of the world, delicate towers of sandwiches, salmon glistening under glass lids, cheeses arranged with almost obsessive precision. There are buffets for every taste and the air carries the faint aromas of roasted coffee, warm bread and sweet citrus glaze. Waiters move silently among the guests, refilling glasses with champagne and offering intricate desserts.

Mingyu moves through it all like a man half-dreaming, yet fully alive. As he passes, all faces turn to smile and have a glimpse of that extraordinary surgeon who has caught everyone's admiration. A small crowd gathers near him as fellow doctors and researchers approach one after another. Some offer handshakes firm with respect, others exchange business cards with eager professionalism murmuring compliments about his surgical technique, his presentation, his whole composure. Mingyu responds with humility, his smile is modest but radiant, his posture so effortlessly graceful even as the attention threatens to overwhelm him.

Flashes flicker as conference photographers move between the tables, snapping quick shots. Mingyu is called to stand between two senior surgeons first, then next to the event director, smiling widely with his name-tag glinting faintly against his suit. He laughs among all of them, adjusts his tie and strikes a pose in front of the camera, his nervousness now replaced by a natural confidence that catches the light just right.

Across the room, Wonwoo looks at him lingering by the bar. His elbow rests loosely on the polished counter, the stem of his wine glass balanced delicately between his fingers. The crystal catches the chandelier’s light, scattering faint shards of amber across his knuckles as if even the glass was conspiring to make the moment glow softer. He swirls the liquid absently, not really tasting it, as his attention is elsewhere, fixed on the man who has somehow managed to outshine the entire room.

Mingyu stands a few paces away from him, in the middle of a growing circle of people orbiting around him like moths. From where he stands, Wonwoo can see how his smile widens, the way his eyes gleam when he listens, how his hands move when he explains something. There’s a rhythm to his gestures and whoever knows him can tell that he isn’t performing, he’s just being magnetic in a way that can’t be taught.

Wonwoo takes a slow sip of wine and chuckles softly as he remembers the same Mingyu who was fumbling through nerves and doubts in the cabin few hours ago, who was whispering his presentation in front of the mirror, afraid to look at his own reflection for too long. And now here he is, laughing with world-renowned surgeons, shaking hands with researchers whose papers they once studied together late into the night.

It feels surreal, but more than that, it feels right.

Because that’s exactly where Mingyu belongs.

There’s something luminous about him now that doesn’t own only to the sterile white of operating rooms or the intimacy of the quiet nights they’ve shared. Wonwoo feels the realization like a soft ache behind his ribs. He doesn’t feel the need to protect him anymore. There’s no trace of the old worry that used to twist in his stomach whenever Mingyu stepped into something new. All that’s left is pride, bone-deep one that fills his chest until it almost hurts.

Watching Mingyu laugh under the chandeliers, with his dark suit that catches the light like silk, Wonwoo thinks that if the world were to stop in that instant, it would still be enough. Because in this crowd of brilliant minds and grand titles, Mingyu isn’t just one of them but rather he stands out, effortlessly, beautifully.

Absolutely undeniably.

Mingyu bows politely to the last of his colleagues, shaking a few final hands before stepping away from the cluster of people. His smile lingers genuine but it gets even softer when he turns and his gaze finds what it’s been searching for all along. Wonwoo still leans by the bar, his expression is an easy mix of amusement and warmth, and when he finally reaches him, Mingyu slips effortlessly into a playful tone and different role.

“Excuse me, Doctor” he says, the corner of his mouth twitching upward, “Are you new here, perhaps ? I don’t think I’ve seen you around before”

Wonwoo chuckles, shaking his head with mock disbelief. “Oh, please —” he murmurs, swirling the wine in his glass. “I wouldn’t dare disturb the celebrity of the moment. I heard he is far too important to be seen talking to mere mortals like me”

“Celebrity, huh ? Sounds exhausting” Mingyu grins, leaning a hand on the bar beside him. “All the flashing cameras, the adoring fans…” he pauses, pretending to think. “You wouldn’t happen to be one of them, would you ?”

“It depends” Wonwoo replies, “If I were a fan, I’d ask for a picture, maybe an autograph but I’m afraid your agent might disagree”

Mingyu laughs, the sound spilling easily from him. “Are you trying to flirt with me, Doctor Jeon ?”

Wonwoo tilts his head in mock thought, drawing out the pause just to watch Mingyu’s mouth curve. “Tempting, Dr. Kim, but I can’t” he admits, “I’ve got a very jealous boyfriend at home”

Mingyu leans in slightly, lowering his voice as if confiding a secret. “He is really stupid then —“ he says as his hand slips to rest against Wonwoo’s hip, fingers tracing the fabric of his suit. “To leave such beauty standing here all alone like this”

Wonwoo tries to suppress his laugh but fails, “Silly” he whispers, and before Mingyu can respond, he leans forward and presses a fleeting kiss to his lips, barely more than a brush but enough to stop time for a second.

When they part, Mingyu doesn’t step back. His thumb drags along the edge of Wonwoo’s hip, his gaze searching his face, softer now beneath the teasing. “You okay ?” he asks, low enough to be lost beneath the soft hum of jazz.

Wonwoo’s smile lingers as he sets his glass aside. “Yeah” he replies, “You ?”

Mingyu nods with a breath that slips past his lips, halfway between laughter and relief. “Yeah… I can say that I’m happy”

“How happy ?” Wonwoo’s tease never quite leaves.

“So happy” Mingyu replies at last, the corners of his mouth softening into that smile that never fails to reach his eyes. Nearby, the pianist’s fingers slow into a languid rhythm, the saxophone weaving in with a gentle sigh. The melody feels warm intimate and Mingyu straightens, his shoulders relaxing as he holds out his hand, palm open in invitation. “Come dance with me”

Wonwoo laughs under his breath, glancing toward the small open space near the band where a few couples sway to the beat. “Here ? In front of all your adoring fans ?”

“Let them watch” he grins, “Maybe they’ll understand what inspiration actually looks like”

Wonwoo shakes his head in mock defeat and places his glass down on the bar, slipping his hand into Mingyu’s waiting one. Their fingers find each other easily and Mingyu’s grasp tightens just enough to ground them both. He leads him onto the dance floor and the world around them seems to fade at the edges — the hum of conversation, the clink of cutlery, even the faint applause from another corner of the room — until there’s only the soft melody and the rhythm of their steps.

Mingyu’s hand finds the small of Wonwoo’s back, guiding him gently, while their other hands stay joined. Wonwoo rests his free one on Mingyu’s shoulder as they begin to sway in slow movements. When Wonwoo looks up, Mingyu is already watching and smiling at him.

“I’m so proud of you” Wonwoo says softly, his voice barely rising above the music. “Of who you are, of everything you’ve done today… and of the person you’ve become”

Mingyu blushes, his hand pressing slightly firmer against Wonwoo’s back. “If I am anything worth being proud of” he murmurs, “It’s because of you”

“That’s not true”

“It is” he insists, sincerely. “You’ve been there through every single thing I’ve done. Every all-nighter we pulled in uni, you were always the one keeping me awake throwing erasers at my head when I started nodding off over pharmacology textbooks”

“Yeah…because you were the only one I could study with” Wonwoo’s lips curve faintly, his eyes shining with the memory. “The brightest in the class, they said, and professors regularly put us to do group projects together. It has always been us if you think about it”

“Those nights really shaped me…” Mingyu chuckles amused, “The competitive spirit that kept us alive back then… the way you always challenged me to be better even when I hated you for it” he smiles, “We were so young, so arrogant, thinking we could outsmart the world but somewhere in all that chaos you became my reason to keep going. Every surgery that almost broke me, every case that kept me awake till dawn, you were there. You saw me at my worst and believed in me when I couldn’t”

Wonwoo’s lips part as if to argue but the words don’t properly come out as the look on Mingyu’s face so open, so full of tenderness, leaves him completely breathless. Mingyu leans in slightly and their eyes closes, their noses brush in the softest movement, so small yet so intimate, it could almost be a kiss.

“So thank you, Jeon Wonwoo” he whispers barely a breath. “For being the reason I made it this far”

Wonwoo’s throat tightens as emotion catch there like a knot that refuses to loosen. “Without your love that never made me feel lonely… that waited for me when I didn’t even know what I was reaching for… I probably wouldn’t be here either” he murmurs, pausing as if to steady himself. “You think you’re the one who needed saving but you never realized how much you’ve done for me, Mingyu. You’ve always been this… burning light that I could find no matter how dark everything else got. Even when the nights were endless, when work swallowed me whole, you were there for me constantly. And I always knew… that I could fall apart in any moment and you would still there holding me, despite everything”

Wonwoo pauses and licks his lips nervously, his gaze lifting to meet Mingyu’s “All these years… you taught me how to stay. How to believe that the world doesn’t fall apart just because we stumble. You’ve always been braver than me and that same bravery… gave me permission to be vulnerable. And to love you like this” he smiles faintly, eyes shimmering with affection. “So don’t thank me. You made it this far because you earned it and you fought for it. But I’m so damn proud I got to be the one beside you while you did”

Mingyu’s lips curve, trembling just slightly as he presses a kiss to the corner of Wonwoo’s mouth. “Then I guess we saved each other in the long run…” he murmurs.

Wonwoo smiles softly against his skin and the sound of his chuckle feels like a promise made to be kept. For a moment everything else fades into background as they stand in the middle of the dance floor, swaying gently to the rhythm of the jazz music with their hands clasped and breaths mingled as one. It’s just the two of them with the whole world watching and yet somehow entirely alone in that quiet beautiful orbit.

Wonwoo’s arms loop comfortably around Mingyu’s neck, his thumb brushing against the soft hair at the nape of it. His eyes trace the line of his jaw, the gentle flush still painting his cheeks from too much praise and champagne. “Do you realize that now all the hospital knows about us ?” he asks with a tease.

Mingyu’s mouth curls into a smirk. “Do you mind ?”

“Actually, no” Wonwoo replies, “I think I’m… happy about it”

“You think ?” Mingyu echoes, his grin growing. “So you’re telling me you liked the thrill of all that secrecy, all the stolen glances in the ward, the suspiciously long coffee breaks in your office ?”

“I just liked being with you, privately” Wonwoo chuckles, “But I admit, it’s nice knowing now. Dr. Cho can finally stop giving you the googly eyes every morning”

“Ah, so you are jealous” he teases.

“I’m not” Wonwoo replies but his smile betrays him.

“Mm, sure” Mingyu hums with a smirk, “As if you didn’t glare at her the other day in the locker room just for calling me by my name”

Wonwoo gasps in mock offense, “I did not glare at her!”

“You did. You almost burned a hole in her coat”

Wonwoo huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. He slides his fingers up into Mingyu’s hair, gently tugging until their eyes meet again. “I’m not jealous” he says again, softer this time and more intimate. “I’m just… the luckiest man alive. How can I be jealous of other people when I already have you ?”

Mingyu smiles and tightens his hold around his waist, pulling him closer until there’s no space left between them. “Then I believe we’re both the luckiest here” he murmurs, his breath brushing Wonwoo’s lips before touching them in a sweet kiss.

The music swells around them, saxophone and piano weaving through the low hum of laughter and clinking glasses. Under that golden light, they still move together wrapped in a warmth that feels very much like forever but after few more hours the melody echoes faintly as they step out into the crisp evening air. The city glows in the distance, frost glinting on the pavement, their breaths rising in pale clouds as they walk hand in hand toward the waiting car.

Mingyu is the first to stumble, bumping gently into Wonwoo’s shoulder which only sets them both laughing harder. By the time they reach back the chalet, they are weaving through the corridor like two notes caught in the same song. They keep hold of each other as they climb the short flight of stairs, Mingyu spinning Wonwoo once, clumsily but with such enthusiasm that Wonwoo can’t help but laugh for the way his coat flaring as he twirls. They lean into each other, half-dancing, half-stumbling down the hallway until they reach the door. Mingyu fumbles briefly with the key, both of them shushing each other between giggles, before the lock finally clicks open.

As soon as they step inside, Wonwoo exhales a long, dramatic sigh of relief and kicks off his shoes, one after the other. “Oh my god, I couldn’t wait to remove them” he mutters, flexing his toes.

Mingyu chuckles and tugs loose the knot of his tie, the black silk slipping finally free from his hands. He tosses it aside carelessly and unbuttons the top of his shirt, rolling his shoulders as if shedding the last of his tension.

The room greets them with its faint scent of woodsmoke and the muted but romantic hush of snow beginning to fall outside the window. Wonwoo crosses the room and slumps onto the couch, the soft cushions sinking beneath him. Mingyu follows soon after, a content sigh escaping him as he collapses beside him, limbs heavy with the kind of exhaustion that comes only after too much excitement and too many toasts. He then shifts and lies down, his head finding a cozy home in Wonwoo’s lap.

“It was a beautiful day” Mingyu murmurs, his voice low and sleepy as a faint smile ghosts across his lips.

Wonwoo hums and nods in agreement, while his fingers start to card gently through Mingyu’s hair. “Really beautiful…” he whispers as his gaze drifts toward the window to look at the snow that has begun to fall in soft swirling flakes.

The silence that follows is so tender and homey, filled with the quiet pulse of their shared contentment. Wonwoo keeps stroking Mingyu’s hair, feeling his breath becoming slow, his body sinking heavier against him. “Do you want to wash up first ?” he absently asks after a few minutes but from Mingyu no answer really comes. “Min-ah ?” Wonwoo then tries again but when he glances down at him, on his lap, Mingyu is already fast asleep.

His beautiful lashes brush against his cheeks, his mouth is parted in the softest sigh as the exhaustion of the day — of the nerves, the speech, the celebration — has finally caught up to him.

Wonwoo’s heart swells at the sight and he bends down to brush a tender kiss against Mingyu’s forehead. His lips linger there for a heartbeat longer than necessary and when he leans back into the couch, his gaze drifts once more to the window to look at the peaceful snow painting the evening all white.

There, in the quiet glow of that beautiful room, with Mingyu asleep in his lap and the world outside softened by winter, Wonwoo sits still with his soul at peace.

Content, full and quietly in love.

Chapter Text

"I hope you don't mind
That I put down in words
How wonderful life is
While you're in the world"

The sound of suitcases wheels rolling over gravel breaks the stillness of that morning still shrouded in light fog. Their warm breath ghosts into the cold as they walk, curling upward in rivulets of white smoke before dissolving in the still-too-thick air. Frost halos the edges of the wooden steps, the boards damp with dew, and the faint scent of pine and resin waft prominently from the nearby hills.

The path ahead glistens faintly with melted snow, bordered by dark tree trunks and crushed tree-needles. At its end the sleek black company car awaits for them, its polished surface catching the faint dawn light. The driver, clad in leather gloves, moves silent as he helps them loading the suitcases into the rear trunk. The thud against metal echoes across the valley and the sound seems final, like a chapter finally closing.

Mingyu slows his steps and turns halfway up the slope, tracing with his eyes the outline of the chalet above them.

The windows are now shuttered, the curtains drawn tight. Only a thin strip of light shines behind the glass of the veranda as if to recall the last vestige of warmth and laughter that filled the space just the night before. The smoke no longer rises from the chimney and even the snow on the balcony railing seems undisturbed. Beyond the roof the mountains loom, vast and silvery, with their peaks veiled in morning mist. From somewhere further down the valley comes the soft tinkling of bells announcing the new day rising in its slow passage.

The quiet presses in, in its beautiful ache, like a goodbye that feels too large for words.

Mingyu slips his hands into the pockets of his coat and sighs deeply as his fingers brush the folded edge of his boarding pass. The cool metal of his watch touches his wrist like a silent reminder that, no matter how much his heart resists it, time keeps moving and it doesn’t wait for his melancholy to soothe.

He takes just a few more minutes for himself to think back to everything that has happened in those days. He recalls in his memory the conference hall, with its vast glass walls glimmering with light. The trembling in his voice as soon as he went up on the stage, the roar of applause that followed after his speech, the moment the spotlight turned from a terrified boy to a gratified man.

Mingyu remembers also the warmth of that night. The wine shared in half-laughter, the snow falling quietly beyond the windows, the soft hiss of the fire burning low as Wonwoo cross-legged on the couch looked at him with a tender smile while gently stroking his hair.

It seems absurd to him how many beautiful memories could live inside such a small pocket of time. Mingyu arrived in Zurich desperate to prove himself to the others, to the world, maybe even to the man in the mirror, and he is leaving now with a sense of gratitude in his chest that doesn’t need applause or recognition anymore to be real.

He draws in a breath as the air sharp clean his lungs, then exhales watching the vapor fade in front of him, that city folding itself neatly into his heart as a place Mingyu will always carry fondly with him. Everything assumes suddenly a wonderful emotional core, cinematic in someway, but soon his lover’s melodic voice draws him from his thoughts to bring him back to reality.

“Are you ready ?”

Wonwoo stands right next to him, his brown coat is buttoned up to the throat while knitted white gloves are fitted neatly on his hands that always freeze. The cold has flushed his cheeks and the tip of his nose in a faint pink, wisps of breath rise from his lips like smoke as he speaks. There’s no hurry in his gentle tone, as always, only the familiar warmth that sounds like a sweet invitation rather than a question.

Mingyu looks at him and for a heartbeat his whole world stills. The pale morning light glides softly across Wonwoo’s face, tracing the elegant line of his jaw, the faint curve of his mouth. A light breeze stirs, ruffling a few strands of hair across his forehead before they fall back into place. Mingyu can’t quite tell whether the warmth blooming in his chest comes from the fragile sunlight or from the steadiness in those dark eyes that always seem to find him wherever he is, anchor him whenever he is struggling, making everything else simply unimportant.

He blinks several times then he forces to put a small smile on his face. “Yeah… let’s go” he breathes at last, though the words sound unconvincing even to his own ears.

Mingyu, though, still doesn’t move from that spot as something in him resists the finality of leaving. His gaze returns one last time to the cabin and for one suspended moment, he wishes to stay there for a little bit longer, to be back inside drinking a cup of coffee in bed with Wonwoo, to watch the fire paint his face in beautiful amber shades. The memory is still close enough to touch, yet already slipping away, fading into the thickening mist until the place itself seems to dissolve into a dream he’s reluctant to wake from.

At last, Mingyu turns and there is Wonwoo waiting for him by the car. One gloved hand rests lightly on the open doorframe, the other tucked into the pocket of his long coat. A pale thread of vapor escapes his lips with each breath, and when he looks up, the faintest smile curves at the corner of his mouth reassuring him with an unspoken promise that coming back home isn’t an ending at all but maybe the beginning of something even more beautiful.

The sight alone, Wonwoo’s calm presence in that still-gray morning, steadies Mingyu better than any comfort words could ever done. And saying so, they slip into the back seat side by side while outside the driver closes the trunk with a muffled thud, circling then to the front to start the engine.

The vehicle begins to roll forward, wheels crunching over the frost-hardened gravel, and through the rear window the chalet recedes into the fog. First the roofline fades, then the carved balcony railing, until nothing remains but white air and the faint memories echoed by silence.

Mingyu leans back and his temple brushes the cold glass of the window. The road winds down the city, unfurling into the valley that opens in front of him in a patchwork of frost, water and glassy reflection. Zurich unfolds in reverse, bridge by bridge, turn by turn, as if retracing their own story backward toward its next chapter. Beside him, Wonwoo sits in silence with his hands folded loosely in his lap. The soft hum of the car and the rhythmic sway of the ride create a hush between them alive with understanding, a kind of peace that only comes when everything that truly matters has already been said.

As expected, the airport welcomes them with its usual frantic pace made up of sharp beeps of scanners and loud chatter of half-asleep travelers rushing from one side to another desperately searching for their gate. Mingyu and Wonwoo, however, are well ahead of schedule and go through the practiced ritual of check-in, baggage drop-off and security lines with great calm, almost with the echo of Zurich's tranquility still faintly enveloping them.

The duty-free shop offers its own little distractions in the meantime. The glimmer of luxury perfumes, the stacks of chocolates wrapped in gold foil, the polite chaos of people deciding on last-minute gifts. Wonwoo pauses briefly near a liquor shelf, reading the labels with curiosity, as Mingyu instead checks carefully the departures board.

When they reach the gate, the sky beyond the glass is a brilliant blue, the perfect weather promising a smooth and pleasant flight. Mingyu sits on a sofa waiting to board, his shoulders sinking a little under the weight of return. He's not exactly sad, just a little overwhelmed by his own emotions, by that soft ache that comes from knowing something beautiful has reached its natural end. He exhales through his nose while Wonwoo has disappeared somewhere into the crowd, returning after a moment carrying a warm paper cup and a small bag that smells of fresh butter and sugar.

“Pan Suisse” he says simply, handing it to him. “We couldn’t leave without having it one last time. And I got you an Americano. Already sweetened”

Mingyu looks up and his eyes soften. “Thank you”

“I know you crave sweets when you’re nostalgic”

Wonwoo offers him a gentle smile and doesn’t press further, doesn’t ask what Mingyu is thinking about. He just sits beside him, flipping absently through a magazine, giving him the quiet space to feel whatever he needs to. The comfort of his presence is grounding like gravity and Mingyu is grateful for his respect. He opens the bag and breaks off a corner of the pastry, offering a piece to Wonwoo before tasting it himself. The sugar melts on his tongue instantly, the bite brings him a familiar joy of those morning caught between the sheets in sleep and sweet sunrise.

By the time they board, the morning has ripened into full light. The metallic sheen of the runway reflects against the plane’s fuselage as they walk down the jet bridge, the scent of coffee giving way to that faint sterile tang of recycled air. Inside, the attendants move down the aisles and luggage are shifted into overhead compartments. Wonwoo finds their seats near the window and settles first after stowing their bags, drawing the thin airline blanket over their laps.

He reclines his seat slightly and exhales softly while Mingyu, by his side, mirrors his same motions, his body finally beginning to unwind after days lived in high pulse and adrenaline. When he turns his head, Wonwoo’s eyes are already half-lidded and a calm smile rests on his lips as if he’s floating somewhere between waking and sleep. Mingyu feels his own heart slow in response and their hands find each other between the seats, fingers threading like it’s a second nature by now. Wonwoo’s thumb moves in slow circles across Mingyu’s skin, while outside, the clouds thicken, soft and endless, as the plane climbs higher.

The world beneath disappears entirely as up there, there’s no horizon but only the seamless blend of light and distance dissolving into stillness.

The cabin starts to dim into near twilight, lulled into the rhythm of altitude. Curtains are drawn, screens glow faintly with movies half-watched. A few passengers sleep with their heads tilted against their seats and mouths slightly open, others sit cocooned under blankets, their faces lit faintly by the ghostly blue of tablet screens or the silver sheen of open magazines.

For the first few hours, Mingyu hasn’t moved in a long while. His posture is relaxed but his gaze stays fixed on the oval window, unfocused, as if his eyes are tracing all the clouds’ irregular outlines. Wonwoo watches him for a moment, hard to tell if he is daydreaming or just remembering, studying the faint lines of his features and the way the light catches the rise and fall of his chest.

He leans closer, his voice barely more than a murmur under the white noise of the engines. “Are you scared of going back to Seoul ?” he asks finally.

Mingyu turns his head slightly, caught off guard by the question that floats between them without judgement. He hesitates a moment before answering, “No… Not scared” he replies, “Just… I don’t know. A little overwhelmed, maybe. Excited to go home, to see everyone again. But…” he pauses, glancing out at the clouds again. “I wish it could last a little longer”

Wonwoo tilts his head to meet his eyes. “Are you talking about the conference ?”

But Mingyu shakes his head, “No, not that” he trails off, searching for words that could possibly contain what he feels. “Just this. You and me. The quiet we had for ourselves… it felt like breathing for the very first time”

“We deserved a little time-off” Wonwoo’s eyes soften, the smallest smile curling his lips, “And maybe that’s how it’s supposed to feel”

“Maybe…” Mingyu leans back, sighing deeply. “I used to think home was a place… Seoul, the hospital, the routine, even Anyang sometimes. But lately it feels more like… moments. Like that morning in the chalet when you were half-asleep and I couldn’t stop staring at you, or seeing you smiling when you found that little apricot jam you love so much at the breakfast table. It’s stupid, but —” he pauses, licking his lips. “It felt like I carried home inside me because you were there”

Wonwoo listens to his words in silence without interrupting, feeling that unmistakable affection almost aching his chest. His eyes never leave Mingyu’s face, in that moment marked by a sadness and a hint of worry hard to ignore.

He shakes his head, smiling under his breath. “You’re not supposed to say things like that when I can’t kiss you properly”

That earns a quiet chuckle from him, the first real one since they boarded. “I can’t help it. Thirty thousand feet in the air makes people emotional, I guess”

Wonwoo takes his hand to intertwine their fingers and kisses his palm sweetly. “I’m sure there will be other moments like this…” he then says, gentler now. “More flights. More nights for us. More places that’ll feel like ours”

The word ours lands like a soft punch to Mingyu’s heart. It’s small but it hits him with the familiar warmth that sometimes makes even breathing feel too full. “Yeah… I think so”

“Besides —“ Wonwoo’s lips curve into something teasing, the kind of smile that always manages to pull Mingyu back from the edge of melancholy. “You're famous now, remember ? They will want you everywhere, probably will be fighting over who gets the honor to have Dr. Kim Mingyu at their next symposium” he chuckles, leaning closer until Mingyu can feel the warmth of his breath. “And I’ll be there following you, stealing hotel shampoo and pretending I’m your overworked manager”

Mingyu laughs softly at the scenario, resting his head against the seat. “You’re so silly”

“Maybe I am” Wonwoo admits with a mock shrug, then the humor fades into something gentler. “But I’m also serious. This is just the start for your career, for your life. You’ve built something incredible there and it will only keep growing and growing because everyone out there saw how amazing you are. I assure you, Min-ah, that going home won’t change that, if anything, it’ll make it stronger”

“I know” Mingyu murmurs, “It’s just that everything feels so fragile right now. Like I’m afraid that if I blink, I’ll wake up and it will all be gone”

“This trip to Zurich will eventually fade into memory but it will still live inside you because it gave you an amazing experience to be grateful for. Every place we go leaves a little trace, you can carry it in your heart, learn from it… or even they change you in ways you’ll only understand later”

Mingyu studies him for a moment, realizing that the words don’t sound like advice anymore, that Wonwoo isn't just speaking for him but also for himself. "What have you learned from it ?" he then asks, "I feel like… something is bothering you too"

Wonwoo hesitates and lowers his gaze to look at their fingers fitting perfectly together. He doesn’t respond right away, he rather takes his time and Mingyu respects that. His pupils trace the faint reflection of the cabin light on the window, where the blurred glow of the sun spreads across the clouds like soft silver. He inhales slowly, his chest holding breath for a mere second.

“Seeing all those people there…” he begins, “Seeing you on that stage so confident… made me think about what I want to do in the future. And it’s actually… so weird, you know, to talk about future at our age as if we hadn't built this path ourselves” a quiet laugh slips from him before his tone softens again. “Myungsoo always used to tell me that at some point of my life I’d have to make a step back. That I should stop to listen to inner self and explore what I’m passionate about beyond the hospital, before… I burn out and forget why I even started”

At the mention of Myungsoo, Mingyu’s eyes flicker with quiet understanding. The weight of that name lingers between them, familiar and heavy with unspoken memories Wonwoo will never voice but he knows he is so fond of.

Mingyu looks at him attentively, his thumb brushing over the back of Wonwoo’s hand grounding him. “Are you…” he tries to ask, hesitant, even careful, “…thinking of stepping back from surgery ?”

Wonwoo’s lips twitch into a tender smile. “No… I could never” he replies, “Not yet, at least. Surgery is too much a part of me, it’s the language my hands know best, but lately… I’ve realized how much of myself I’ve poured into it. I’ve made my life revolve around the hospital as if every minute outside the operating room was somehow a waste. And yet… maybe it’s the opposite, maybe Myungsoo was right and I should start to give back a little of what I’ve received till now”

Mingyu senses his tension and gives him all his devoted attention, his expression is soft and open in a way that always makes Wonwoo feel seen. He, indeed, nods there in front of him, as if to give himself courage to speak more, and takes a deep breath before looking up into Mingyu’s eyes.

“I— I want to teach" he says at last, and the words hang in his mouth for a moment before they glow with quiet conviction. “I want to... guide young doctors, prepare them, show them that my precision isn't about being perfect but about being human first. I've realized that it's not enough for me to save lives… I want to also teach others how to do it, how to survive without losing themselves in the meantime"

Mingyu feels his chest swelling with pride. “You’d be incredible” he says, sincerely. “You’ve always had this way of making people feel safe, of making them believe they can do better. You have patient, Wonwoo, explain things like they matter and I can already picture your students hanging onto every word, terrified to disappoint but eager to learn so much from you” he pauses, letting a faint smile bloom on his lips. “Though, to be fair, I can also see you scaring the residents half to death on their first day… and then showing up the next morning with cookies like nothing happened”

Wonwoo bursts in a chuckle, "I don't think I could be that kind of professor"

“No…” Mingyu replies softly, “You would be the one that makes them fall in love with medicine. Like you did with me, in every way"

Wonwoo blushes, his teeth catching the inside of his cheek before his mind begins to swirl with doubts and uncertainties, "Don't you think that... it's a crazy idea of me ?” he then asks, “Leaving the operating room for classroom ? Trading scalpels for lectures ?”

“I think it’s brave” Mingyu replies after a moment, “You’re not turning your back on what you love, anyway, you’re just learning to love it differently in a way that won’t consume you. You’ve spent years giving every part of yourself to your patients. Maybe now it’s time to give that same care to people who’ll carry your lessons forward” he tilts his chin up, searching Wonwoo’s eyes until they meet. “If teaching stirs something in you, that quiet pull in your chest, then follow it, my love. You’re the one who taught me to trust my instincts. That’s how I’ve always known when something truly mattered”

A quiet exhale slips past Wonwoo’s lips and he leans forward for comfort, until their foreheads rest together in the soft brush of skin that ground him in a way words never could. For a moment, he just breathes there, eyes half-closed, his voice trembling when he finally speaks again.

“I’m scared to death of changing” he admits, the confession spilling out like something he has been holding too tightly. “I’ve built my life around the idea of control, of knowing what comes next, of having purpose. But lately… I feel like I’ve been chasing time instead of living it and that terrifies me”

Mingyu feels the faint tremor in his breath and his heart clenches with tenderness. He brushes his nose against Wonwoo’s in a soft reassurance before pressing a lingering kiss to his forehead.

“You’ll still be the same man who saves lives, who makes people feel better” he whispers, his thumb tracing small circles over his cheek, “And you won’t be doing it alone because I’ll be there with you. Every step you take, every time you start doubting about yourself. When the day feels heavy, when the students frustrate you or you feel like you’re not reaching them. I’ll be there for you, always”

Wonwoo listens to him and nods before closing the little space between them to press a lingering kiss to Mingyu’s lips. “Thank you” he murmurs against his mouth, barely a breath. “Your support means the world to me”

You mean the world to me.

Mingyu closes his eyes, letting the softness of Wonwoo’s lips anchor him for a bit more. The kiss deepens slowly, without haste, not hungry at all but full of everything they’ve built together so far and that he hopes they'll continue to build in the nearest future. Their breath mingles in the dim hum of the cabin, the world shrinking to the press of lips and the quiet pulse of shared love. And when Mingyu finally draws back, his eyes are still closed for a moment longer, as if reluctant to let go of the peace between them. Then he opens them and smiles, tender and sleepy, brushing a final kiss to Wonwoo’s hand before resting it gently against his chest.

“Tell me about your plans” he murmurs, voice roughened by sleep but laced with curiosity. “I want to hear them”

Wonwoo chuckles softly, in that warm laugh that always finds its way to Mingyu’s heart first. He settles back against the seat, his gaze distant but alight as he begins to talk. He speaks quietly not to disturb the other passengers, his voice like gentle melody as he tells Mingyu about his vision for the classroom and the kind of professor he wants to be.

The one who listens, who teaches empathy as much as technique, who gives his students the confidence to fail and try again.

Wonwoo talks about transforming the residents’ rotations into something more human and less mechanical, teaching them not just to perform surgery but to care about the patient and what they’re doing in that moment. He describes the small details that excite him, the lessons he’s imagined, the mentorship programs he hopes to create, the ways he will help new doctors find their footing the same way his mentors once did for him.

Mingyu listens in silence, almost afraid to interrupt the moment, watching Wonwoo's eyes light up with every idea, his hands moving unconsciously as he speaks so full of life and determination. It seems almost unreal to see him like this. The same man who, not long ago, struggled with doubt and anxiety, who once feared he had lost the spark that made him who he was, here he is, rediscovering himself, transforming fear into something luminous that makes him happy.

Pride wells up in Mingyu’s chest and he smiles at him tenderly, the kind one that starts deep in the heart before even reaching the lips. The cabin light shifts faintly as the plane glides through a brighter patch of sky, and for a while, the world feels suspended in that glow with just Wonwoo’s low, steady voice, the dull hum of the engines beneath it, and Mingyu’s quiet realization that he has never loved him more than in this moment.

At some point sleep beings to tug gently at his edges. Wonwoo notices the subtle shift, the way Mingyu blinks slower, and without a word he welcomes him into his arms. Mingyu moves closer and nestles against his chest, his arm slipping around his waist holding him loosely. Wonwoo smiles faintly and his own hand finds its way through Mingyu’s hair, combing gently the strands in the same patient rhythm he had used the night before in the chalet.

The motion is slow, tender, and Wonwoo’s gaze drifts to the small oval window beside them. Beyond it, clouds stretch endlessly in shades of white and silver, moving like quiet tides beneath the faint glow of the sky. He watches them until his eyelids grow heavy too, lulled by the warmth and Mingyu’s heartbeat pressed against his ribs. His fingers still in his hair while his own breathing slowly falls into the same rhythm until he knocks the door of the dreams’ world.

Somewhere between sky and earth, suspended in that quiet light and motion, they drift together into sleep through the entire flight, undisturbed, with the world outside moving on while they rest cocooned in their small pocket of stillness.

Their eyes open when the cabin lights flicker on and the pilot’s voice announces through the speakers their descent. Mingyu blinks awake still half-dreaming, the faint vibration of the plane easing him back into reality, while Wonwoo stirs beside him, a quiet hum escapes his throat as he stretches his limbs and glances toward the small oval window where Mingyu is already leaned in to peer through the glass.

Below them, Seoul gives them the welcome back home in a beautiful scenery of illuminated skyscrapers. The city looks alive in a way Zurich never did, always so noisy, sometimes even imperfect, but beating with familiarity. the plane glides over headlights threading through highways, the Han River barely lit by the bridges. It feels strange and yet deeply comforting be back here, as if time had folded to bring them to where everything started.

The seatbelts click open as soon as the wheels touch the runway and Wonwoo looks at Mingyu with a tired smile, still wrapped in the quiet disbelief that the journey is really ending. The familiar Korean hums through the intercom and attendants bow politely as the cabin fills with the soft shuffle of people gathering their belongings. Mingyu wears his coat and reaches up to retrieve their bags from the overhead compartment while Wonwoo folds the blanket neatly, always so meticulous, even when it’s not his task.

The air of the terminal fills their nostrils with the typical airport faint scent of blended coffee and fast food. Mingyu and Wonwoo move side by side down the long corridor toward immigration, the wheels of their carry-ons humming over the tiled floor as, around them, voices overlap in a steady chorus. Families calling out to one another, announcements echoing from the ceiling speakers, footsteps weaving in every direction. It’s a nice chaos, and after the quiet serenity of Zurich, Seoul for the first time feels alive and comforting in its imperfection.

It feels theirs. So flawed, busy and endlessly moving, just like them.

At baggage claim, Mingyu stands next to the carousel with his eyes a little heavy as he waits for the suitcases. Wonwoo yawns silently by his side, leaning against his shoulder to nuzzle in sweet comfort. They don’t speak during the wait, both of them are a little dazed from the journey, a little warmed by the comfort of each other's presence. And when their bags finally appear, Mingyu reaches out and pulls them down one by one, as together, without hurry, they head toward the arrivals gate shortly after.

The automatic doors part in front of them as soon as they step out and Wonwoo blinks against the sudden brightness expecting the usual blur of strangers, but instead, among the endless flow of faces and placards, something familiar catches his eyes.

A flash of movement, a voice breaking through the hum of the crowd. “Boys!” it loudly calls and Wonwoo jerks his head up to see his parents standing side by side behind the barrier.

Haewon waves her arms wildly as soon as she sees him, while his father, just behind her, laughs and waves at him but more discreetly. Next to them, Mingyu’s family stands together too. His mother’s eyes shimmer with tears she doesn’t bother to hide while Minseo bounces on her heels, barely able to contain her excitement. In her hands, she clutches a bouquet wrapped in white paper, yellow tulips and eucalyptus, slightly uneven but heartfelt. Even Mingyu’s father is there, standing a step apart with his hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable until it slightly softens the moment Mingyu’s gaze finds him.

For a moment, neither Mingyu nor Wonwoo can move. Then everything bursts into motion all at once. Wonwoo’s mother reaches them first, sweeping both men into her arms before they can even react.

“You’re finally back!” she says with such pride. “My wonderful doctors, look at you both!”

“Mom, what are you both doing here ?” Wonwoo laughs through his blush, his voice breaking slightly as he hugs her tightly. “I thought you were going to wait for me at home”

"We came to welcome the best doctors in the world!” his father cuts in, beaming as he pats Wonwoo’s back with hearty affection. “And I’m not exaggerating, Mingyu-ssi, you were brilliant in Zurich. My wife and I watched the whole thing, the presentation, the interview, everything!”

Mingyu blushes to the tips of his ears, ducking his head as he bows politely. “Thank you, Mr. Jeon” he says, embarrassed and stammering. “It’s above all an honor for me to finally meet you—”

Mingyu doesn’t even have time to process other words that his mother’s arms envelops him too, squeezing him so tightly he can barely breathe. “My child!” she says against his shoulder, her voice trembling with pure love. “Oh god, you have no idea how proud I am. You were so beautiful on that stage, I cried so much seeing you there!”

Mingyu freezes for half a second, caught between embarrassment and overwhelming tenderness, then he melts into her sweet embrace. He closes his eyes inhaling the familiar scent of her perfume, that faint floral note he has known since childhood, the smell of safety.

“Thank you, Eomma” he murmurs into her hair. “I wish you were there. I missed you”

“I missed you too, my boy” she whispers, pulling back just enough to cup his face in both hands. Her palms are warm, slightly trembling as if she is holding back her happiness. She looks at him for a moment before leaning in to press a kiss to each cheek. “You did so well. I knew you would”

Minseo appears next to them, bursting through the little circle, grinning so wide her cheeks flush pink. She thrusts the bouquet into his chest, bouncing on her toes. “You looked amazing on that livestream!” she says proudly.

“Did I ?” Mingyu laughs, half from embarrassment, half from pure joy of hearing it. “You actually watched it ?”

“Of course I did!”

Mingyu groans and ruffles her hair, earning an exaggerated squeal of protest as his sister ducks away swatting at his hand. Their mother laughs seeing them bickering and, for a heartbeat, it feels like the happiest thing in the world being surrounded by them again. Mingyu’s laughter, though, eventually fades when his gaze catches on his father standing just a little apart behind them. Suddenly, it’s as if all the noise around him — the sound of rolling luggages, the laughter of his mother and sister — slips into a distant hum, his breath stirring in his chest but doesn’t quite make it out.

He hasn’t changed much since that last terse encounter at the hospital. The same neat hair, the same proud posture and quiet command of space, still impeccably dressed and with that attitude of self-possession that had always seemed unshakable. And yet, there’s something different this time as his features don’t carry the distant authority that used to scare him as a child but a quietness that smoothes all his edges.

Mingyu stands there looking at him with the suitcase handle gripped tightly in his hand as every possible version of this moment flashes through his mind in words rehearsed and discarded, what he might say, what he might hear, whether pride or disappointment would win out again. All the years of silence and half-spoken frustration condense into one heartbeat, Mingyu draws in a deep breath and his mother’s smile falters as soon as she follows his gaze but she doesn’t intervene.

His father starts to walk towards him. Not with the authority that used to fill every room he entered, but slowly, cautiously, as if testing that still-so fragile bridge between them. Each step is measured and when he finally stops in front of him, the air between them hums with the weight of everything unspoken. They’re almost the same height now, Mingyu can't help but notice how that imposing presence that once frightened him, now it's at his exactly eye-level.

“Congratulations, son” he speaks, a little rough around the edges. His eyes stay fixed on him, though he can sense that there's a little flicker, the raw effort of a man swallowing his pride to make room for a hint of tenderness.

Mingyu feels his mouth going dry, “Thank you” he manages to reply even though the words burn down his throat.

His father’s expression shifts then, his jaw loosens, his shoulders ease and a deep breath leaves his chest like a final sound of release after too many years of holding in too much. Unexpectedly he opens his arms, it’s not wide, almost uncertain and not theatrical, but for Mingyu that gesture feels monumental.

His vision blurs, his breath catches in his lungs and for an instant all the years of distance and pride completely collapse.

Mingyu steps forward and lets himself be pulled in that embrace which is solid, grounding. His father’s hand finds the back of his head, fingers curling gently in that same awkward and wordless way of show affection he used to have when he was a child, one that always meant I swear I care about you, even if I don’t know how to say it.

Around them, the noise of the terminal fades into something reverent. His mother turns away discreetly, wiping her eyes and pretending to look elsewhere. Minseo presses the bouquet against her chest and looks at them smiling through trembling lips. A few steps behind, Wonwoo watches in silence the tender scene unfolding in front of his eyes, his own chest tightening at the reunion that feels like a small miracle after years of distance.

When they pull apart, Mingyu’s father clears his throat and straightens his coat with composure but his eyes are damp, betraying him. “You did well” he says simply and Mingyu nods at him, unable to speak due to emotion that gets stuck between his lips. The man pats his shoulder in a powerful touch before stepping back, allowing him space to breathe, and though there are no cameras this time, no applauses or spotlight shining on him, Mingyu feels that moment like the greatest standing ovation of all his life.

Wonwoo looks at him surrounded by his affections and feels that everything is finally in balance. And when their bubble opens, allowing the world around them to see, their families overlap, exchanging greetings, laughter and small bows. Wonwoo's mom holds Mingyu's arm like a proud mother-in-law, showering him with compliments and telling him how wonderful he looked on that stage, while Minseo shyly greets Wonwoo who returns the politeness and respect by bowing to Mingyu's parents as well.

In the middle of all that love, Mingyu and Wonwoo share a tired smile and an emotional glance, realizing that after everything, they are back where it all began. And somehow, this time, it really feels like the start of something new.

“We should all go to dinner together” Haewon suggest, her voice bright with excitement. “To celebrate our boys!”

Mr. Jeon immediately nods beside her. “Yes, there’s a restaurant not far from here” he adds thoughtfully, glancing around at the group. “They make an amazing galbi-jjim, slow-braised and tender, just the right meal for a proper welcome back home!”

“I’d be very happy to” Mrs. Kim replies, her smile radiant as she reaches for Minseo’s shoulder, who nods eagerly beside her, already excited for the food. “Jinho, dear —” she says, turning toward her husband, “What do you say ?”

Mr. Kim pauses and his gaze shifts toward Mingyu and Wonwoo. His expression stays composed, very measured, but then the corners of his mouth tugs into a half-polite smile and he nods. “I think… it’s a wonderful idea”

“Perfect, then! Dinner it is” Haewon beams, clapping her hands together once.

The decision comes easily after that, with the kind of natural harmony that always seems to arise when good company meets good intentions. Their parents begin to chat animatedly, discussing directions, parking and whether a reservation is necessary, while the boys, side by side, silently observe the scene, exchanging glances and sweet smiles. Neither says it out loud but the thought is the same. After so many hours at the airport, they're just too exhausted to even think, longing for a good night's sleep, but the idea of ​​dining surrounded by their families is in itself a kind of peace they simply can't refuse.

At the curb, they part ways with a soft brush of hands, each heading toward their respective cars. Mingyu with his parents and sister, Wonwoo with his mother and father, weaving through the evening traffic as Seoul’s skyline opens in front of them in its familiar chaos gleaming against the dark.

When they reach the restaurant, they sit down and immediately get into the excitement of dinner. The room echoes with conversations, the clinking of cutlery and bursts of laughter from the other families gathered together. Wonwoo is the first to ease into the atmosphere, smiling easily as Mrs. Kim takes to him with maternal warmth, asking about Zurich, about the conference, about how Mingyu managed to eat at all with all the stress. Wonwoo answers with quiet charm and her laughter rings bright offering him extra side dishes every now and then, refilling his water glass herself as if he were already part of the family.

Across from them, Minseo chats animatedly, showing pictures from her phone of the livestream and scrolling through clips from the hospital’s social media page. Wonwoo leans in with genuine curiosity, commenting with warmth that makes her beam. Beside them, Haewon reaches across to hold Mrs. Kim’s hand, the two mothers exchanging easy compliments and stories, slipping quickly into that rare comfort only kindred spirits find. Mrs. Jeon doesn’t forget to express her pride in both their sons, and her voice, calm and sincere, carries a quiet admiration that draws a smile from everyone at the table.

Mingyu sits a little more stiffly. His laughter, when it comes, is subdued as his eyes wander every so often toward his father seated right in front of him. Mr. Kim listens more than he speaks, his gaze occasionally drifting toward his son, not with judgment this time but something closer to reflection. His chopsticks rest forgotten on his plate half the time, his posture formal but not cold at all. When he speak, it’s mostly small remarks, and Mingyu answers politely, trying to bridge the silence between them even though there’s still a fragility to it, as if one wrong word might send them both retreating into old habits.

Wonwoo notices how nervous Mingyu is and, beneath the tablecloth, his hand slides discreetly to close the gap between them, finding his fingers to intertwine them in a grounding touch. Mingyu glances sideways and the tension in his shoulders eases a little, his thumb brushing Wonwoo’s in silent thanks.

Breaking the brief lull, Wonwoo looks up from his bowl and glances across the table. “How are you after the surgery, Mr. Kim ?” he asks gently, “Everything healed well ?”

The older man blinks surprised by the direct question. For a moment his posture stiffens in the old habits of formality but then he nods and shows a faint smile — Mingyu’s same one — tugging the corner of his lips.

“Better” he simply replies, his tone appearing reserved as if he’s not used to being asked with such genuine care. “Very good, actually”

Minseo leans forward with a conspiratorial grin, “He stopped smoking” she announces in a stage whisper, earning a startled laugh from him. “And he even started going on morning walks!”

“Ah, she gives away all my secrets” Mr. Kim lets out a chuckle, shaking his head. “But I owe that to you, Dr. Jeon”

Wonwoo blinks, caught himself off guard this time. “Oh no— just Wonwoo, please. No need to address me in that way” he says shyly.

Mr. Kim nods once, “Then it's just Jinho for you” he replies with a touch of warmth that wasn’t there before. He turns slightly toward Wonwoo’s dad now with a hint of admiration in his eyes despite his stoic facade. “It was him who operated on me, you know!” he says in awe himself, “Your son saved my life!”

Mr. Jeon’s eyes glisten with pride for Wonwoo, Mrs. Kim clasps her hands together in quiet astonishment for the beautiful moment they're sharing. Wonwoo lowers his gaze, flustered but smiling shyly, while Mingyu looks at his father and sees, maybe for the first time, not the man who demanded perfection but the one who is learning to be grateful little by little.

The conversation between them resumes brighter and brighter as voices layer over one another like gentle music. Mingyu’s chest loosens a little as the air around the table feels itself lighter, and even though the clatter of empty plates and hum of laughter fill the restaurant the most, what he feels clearly in his chest is the warmth of that small moment. His father’s presence back into his life and Wonwoo’s hand still holding his under the table, anchoring him to the present.

Dinner stretches long into the evening between half-finished bottles of soju, the soft golden light from the paper lampshades casts a warm glow across everyone’s happy faces. Mrs. Jeon is teasing Minseo about her bouquet-making skills while Haewon and Mrs. Kim exchange recipes across the table. Mingyu leans back in his chair, full and content, and amid all the chatter, he glances sideways at Wonwoo reaching out to brush his wrist in a silent signal that he wants a moment.

Wonwoo turns curious and Mingyu leans closer to his ear to speak. “I want to go home…” he murmurs with an amused chuckle, his voice low meant for Wonwoo only. His forehead dips until it rests briefly against his shoulder in a small, tired gesture that feels more intimate than any kiss.

Wonwoo lets out a soft laugh, the sound vibrating through his chest where Mingyu’s head rests. “You’re tired, huh ?” he teases gently, glancing sideways at him.

“Mh-mh” Mingyu nods, with his eyes half-lidded and lips curling faintly. “Wanna sleep at mine ?”

His expression gets touched by both fondness and a hint of amusement. He is just not ready to let him go. “Aren’t you tired of having me around ?” Wonwoo asks, amused.

Mingyu shakes his head, acting like a big child. “Not yet” he pouts.

Wonwoo’s smile softens and he stoles him a little kiss on the forehead when no one is watching, “Okay…” he says at last, a little quieter, “I have to pick up all the stuff I left to your place before we flew to Zurich, anyway”

“Your toothbrush, two sweaters, your pillow and about four books stacked on my nightstand”

Wonwoo nods his head, “Just the essentials”

Their laughter mingles quietly between them like a private melody threading through the low hum of conversation around the restaurant. It’s a sound no one else notices but one that wraps around them with so much love and comfort. Eventually the dinner comes to an end when Haewon points out that the boys are tired from the long trip and, as much as they all want to pamper them a little more, they need to let them go to properly rest. Outside, the night air greets them with a gentle coolness and they exchange warm hugs with their families, promises of another dinner soon and a few lingering looks from their parents who seem quietly happy to see them together.

Soon after, they slip into the back seat of a taxi. The hum of the engine and the rhythmic blur of the city lights through the window lull Mingyu into drowsiness. His head dips once, twice, before Wonwoo chuckles and gives his arm a gentle shake. “Hey —” he murmurs, amused. “Don’t fall asleep just yet, baby. We’re almost there”

Mingyu hums in half-conscious agreement, eyelids fluttering open just as the car pulls to a stop. The short walk to his apartment feels heavier than usual with the travel fatigue on his shoulders but also comfortable when, in the elevator, their silence fills the space with the kind of peace that needs no further words.

Once they enter the apartment code, the familiar scent of home immediately envelops them soothing their nerves. Wonwoo moves through Mingyu's house without any more shyness, like someone truly returning to a place he has always belonged to. He takes off his shoes, leaving them carefully by the door, then his coat on the hanger, turns on the lights and crosses the living room to open the curtains letting the faint light of the city and a cool breeze filter in as he opens the windows.

Mingyu pauses at the doorway and crosses his arms over his chest, watching with a sinking heart the way Wonwoo moves effortlessly through the space, so at ease and unhurried. For a moment, something in the scene tugs at his mind as if a thought has taken root before he can even stop it. He fantasizes and pictures coming home to this sight every day, he can hear in his ears already the soft clatter of cups during breakfast, the water running down from the shower early in the morning, Wonwoo’s calm presence that fills his day without asking for anything in return.

It feels impossibly ordinary, and yet, in that ordinariness, something in him folds open. The quiet wish to stay, to end his days like this, together, no matter what the world demands beyond these walls.

Mingyu shakes his head, getting back to reality, and stretches his back with a groan, collapsing onto the blue couch shortly after to feel every muscle in his body sighing with relief.

Wonwoo joins him half a hour later, holding two steaming mugs of tea in his hands. He sets them on the coffee table to cool before climbing on the couch too, over him, with his knees bracketing the sides of Mingyu’s hips. There's a naturalness to the gesture, intimate and playful yet familiar, and Mingyu's hands easily find his hips, caressing them from under his sweater.

“Be honest —” Wonwoo says in a tease, “Are you the kind of person who unpacks as soon as you get home, or does it take days before you even look at your suitcase ?”

Mingyu tilts his head back lazily, his lips quirking into a smile. “I’ll unpack right away” he answers without hesitation. “You don’t ?”

Wonwoo shakes his head, “Nope. I wait until I have absolutely no clean clothes left. That’s my threshold for responsibility”

Mingyu laughs softly, brushing his fingers along the back of Wonwoo’s thigh. “You’re usually so manic, I never would’ve guessed”

“Oh, you have no idea how different I am outside the hospital” Wonwoo whispers before leaning down to kiss him softly.

The room is quiet around them, just the sound of the city outside, the soft whir of the window fan and their breathing syncing again in the calm of being home. Their lips move slowly over each other, the sound of their kisses barely echoing in that sweet silence, and when they break, Mingyu doesn’t look away but he indulges and takes his time to simply look at him. He traces the curve of Wonwoo’s mouth, the little shadow beneath his eyes, the way the lamplight glows across his pale skin.

It hits him all at once, the quiet weight of how much he loves him, how much he needs him woven into the ordinary rhythm of his days.

“I love you to death” Mingyu says finally, the words slipping out low and rough, unlike the playful confessions before.

There’s something behind them that lands deeper and Wonwoo’s breath catches in his throat, feeling the intensity of being loved so openly. “I love you too…” he replies barely above a whisper, and he leans in again, their lips meeting in a lingering kiss that feels more like a promise than a touch.

Mingyu stays close with his forehead against Wonwoo’s and his voice trembling slightly. “I’m serious…” he says, “During these days I realized that no matter where I go… conferences, hospitals, new countries, it’s always you I end up thinking about. Not the place, not the work… just you. You’ve been there through my everything, in every my memory that actually matters. And I think —” he pauses, smiling faintly, as if the words are too much and yet not enough. “I want my days to keep looking like this for the rest of my life. You, me, talking about nothing, falling asleep together. That’s what I want to come back to everyday”

Wonwoo blinks, his lips parting slightly, his chest tightening with the kind of warmth that steals breath before it gives it back. He cups Mingyu’s cheek and presses another kiss to his mouth, overflowing with everything words can’t hold. Then he smiles and just stares at him for a moment longer, eyes flicking between his earnest face and the faint tremor in his own hands.

“I want all of that too…” he says after a breath, his mouth twitching into a crooked smile. “But don’t ask me to marry you right now, Kim Mingyu, because my answer is no”

Mingyu bursts out laughing, so full and hearty, it fills the whole room. “Don’t you want to marry me someday ?” he teases him, leaning back just enough to catch his expression.

“I haven’t said that” Wonwoo blushes but his happy smile gives him away. “I said I don’t want to do it now. It’s too soon”

Mingyu smirks — he actually agrees — and nuzzles on his cheek while Wonwoo's arms circle his neck for more closeness. “Then what if I asked you to move in with me first ?” he whispers into his ear.

Wonwoo feigns surprise, “Wow, skipping from marriage to cohabitation ? You really are bold, Dr. Kim”

Mingyu chuckles amused. “No but, seriously, what do you think ?”

“Hmm…” Wonwoo mutters, pretending to think about it. "That's an interesting proposal... but I should warn you, I'm messy. And I can't cook. I'm a complete disaster, actually, and you'll probably regret it the first week"

“If you can’t cook, I’ll cook for us both” Mingyu replies instantly as if that’s the easiest deal in the world. “Try again, Jeon”

Wonwoo squints at him, feigning suspicion. “I also have so many books, really tons of those”

Mingyu chuckles. “No problem, we’ll buy a bigger bookcase”

“I have weird sleeping habits. I sometimes read until 3 in the morning and leave the light on”

“I’ll sleep through it. Or just join you in the reading”

Wonwoo bites back a smile, leaning a little closer. “What if I wanted to adopt a cat instead ?”

Mingyu’s grin widens, eyes glinting. “Then it means we’ll have a cat”

“What if the cat doesn’t like you ?”

“I’ll work hard to win it over with treats”

Wonwoo chuckles, shaking his head. “And if I wanted to adopt… let’s say, another cat ?”

“Then we’ll adopt the entire colony” Mingyu says, leaning forward until their lips touch. “I’m not afraid of a little chaos in this house, you know”

Wonwoo laughs again and his voice drops to a murmur. “You have no idea what you’re signing up for”

“Oh, I think I do” Mingyu whispers back. “But I still want to”

For a moment, they just look at each other as the laughter still shimmering between them, fades into something quieter and deeper. Then Mingyu leans in and kisses him, tasting of future, of warmth and promise all once, and when they part, Wonwoo’s cheeks are flushed pink, his voice on his lips barely a whisper.

“Okay” he says finally, unable to hide the bright smile. “I’ll move in with you”

Mingyu smiles and kisses him again, tightening his grip around his torso. Wonwoo tilts his head into the kiss and a mischievous glint appears in his eyes. “Do you have any conditions for living together ?” he asks then, already expecting ridiculous answers and requests.

Mingyu hums thoughtfully, pretending to consider it like a serious negotiation. “Conditions, you say…” he repeats, tapping his chin. “Well, for starters, I want us to actually spend time together. Not just share a roof and wave across the corridor. Time beyond our shifts, so it means going out on dates”

Wonwoo nods solemnly, playing along. “Reasonable enough. Anything else ?”

“And… ” he leans closer, dropping his tone low, “We should have sex at least twice a week”

“Twice a week ? You’re setting the bar low, Kim Mingyu” Wonwoo playfully cuts in, making his smile widen. “We’ll have lots lots of sex”

“But the cats stay outside the door. I don’t want them judging us”

“They’d judge you specifically. They will love me”

“Fair…” Mingyu admits with a chuckle, then his voice softens, the humor easing into something more tender. He looks at Wonwoo for a long moment before continuing quietly, “I also want… dinners with our friends here. Areum and Jungkook, Jeonghan and Cheol, Jihoon, Joshua, Seokmin… all of them. I want this place to feel full, you know ? I want us to celebrate Christmas together”

Wonwoo blinks, caught off guard by the unexpected turn. “Since when does Areum have a boyfriend ?”

The sudden shift makes Mingyu laugh, “For a while now, actually, and they seem perfect together. Her son loves Jungkook”

“He’s that fond of him already ?”

“Apparently” Mingyu says, grinning. “He told me he wants to ‘keep him forever.’ I think that’s the official stamp of approval”

Wonwoo laughs quietly, his thumb brushing along Mingyu’s jaw in a gesture so casual it almost feels like instinct. “So Christmas huh ?” he says getting back to the main topic, “You’re really thinking about all this ?”

“Yeah. I guess I am” Mingyu admits after a beat, nodding slowly. “I just like the idea of having everyone here filling our house with noise and food and… life”

The word settles softly and Wonwoo feels it in its weight and quiet sincerity. He studies him with his grin turning soon into something gentler. “It would be nice” he agrees. “Having everyone around. Our friends… and maybe even our families too. Their first meeting tonight went… surprisingly well”

Mingyu lets out a low laugh. “Yeah, that was a win”

“My dad couldn’t stop talking about how handsome and polite you were. And your mom practically smothered me with food. I think that counts as approval on both sides and a pretty solid start”

“That’s true” Mingyu nods, thinking back to the nice evening spent at the restaurant. “They did get along well, didn’t they ? My mom and yours looked like they had known each other forever”

“They’re probably already texting” Wonwoo says with mock suspicion. “Talking about us as we speak”

“God, you’re right. Planning holidays and group trips without even consulting us” Mingyu laughs, “Even though… I could live with that, you know” he admits, his eyes crinkling as he looks at him, and for a fleeting moment, the image he conjured earlier returns in his mind. The house full of voices, of the table crowded, Wonwoo’s laughter echoing through the room, the feeling of being home, the feeling of being together.

Future plans, future pets, future kids.

Wonwoo catches the faraway look in his eyes and nudges him lightly. “You’re doing it again”

“Doing what ?”

“Thinking too much”

“I promise it’s a good kind of thinking” Mingyu smiles faintly.

Wonwoo leans in and brushes his lips against his, their smiles meeting halfway. “Fine, then keep it” he whispers. “Just don’t plan Christmas without me. I like setting up the tree and the stockings”

Mingyu chuckles. “Will you make me dress up as Santa too ?”

“Obviously” Wonwoo says, deadpan. “It’s tradition now. You’d be the tallest, fittest Santa in history”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Mingyu laughs, pretending to tug on an invisible beard.

“It was meant to be one” Wonwoo murmurs softly.

Mingyu reaches up and cups the back of his neck to pull him close until their lips sweetly touch. Their laughter fades into a quiet stillness and the more he looks at Wonwoo, the more Mingyu realizes that the future he has always imagined, isn’t some faraway dream but the glimpse of a life that is taking shape and setting right there in front of his eyes.

That night, Wonwoo falls asleep in that new place he can finally call home. The bedroom is dimly lit when he gets under the covers, bathed in the soft amber light of the bedside lamp that creates around them such a beautiful and intimate atmosphere. The window is ajar just enough to let in the murmur of the city, the sheets smell faintly of cotton and lavender, the same scent of Mingyu's skin, and an inexplicable warmth, coming from his heart, envelops him like something Wonwoo seems to be finally worthy after so many years of hard work.

Beneath the heavy blankets, Mingyu’s arm rests around his waist in a loose embrace, his breath steady against the back of his neck brushes his skin in a soft reminder that he is not alone anymore.

The weight of that touch, so casual but so constant, anchors him in a way nothing else ever has and for the first time, safety doesn’t feel like silence or solitude but like the quiet closeness of sharing a simple heartbeat with the love of his life resting by his side. Wonwoo closes his eyes, letting the hush of the room settle into him, and as the faint scent of clean linen fills the air, the unfamiliar space reshapes itself into something that feels entirely his, entirely theirs. He drifts off with a smile curving his lips, realizing in that quietness that he has never felt so completely loved till now.

The following days unfold in a blur of slow mornings and small discoveries. They take advantage of those still off-days from work to suspend themselves in that rare space between one chapter and the next, which they fill right away with the beginning of their future plans.

They browse furniture stores side by side, a little too seriously for two people who only just decided to live together. Mingyu has opinions about everything — marble textures, lighting fixtures, the “psychology of rugs” — and he moves through the aisles like he’s designing a cathedral instead of a kitchen, explaining with conviction why this countertop will reflect the light better, why that rug will be ideal for their cats. Wonwoo trails after him with his tiny cart, equal parts amused and charmed, pretending to roll his eyes while secretly admiring how much heart Mingyu pours into every detail.

Each day takes on a rhythm that feels incredibly natural to them. Breakfast together at the kitchen table, half-dressed and still yawning, with the smell of coffee filling the air and delicious toast with jam and honey served on new ceramic plates. Afternoons spent unpacking Wonwoo's boxes and cheerfully arguing about which book goes where and in what specific order. Evenings that end with small reprimands about toothpaste caps left open or debates about clinical cases while they cuddle up on the couch watching an unrealistic hospital TV series.

There's no grandeur in any of it, no dramatic change in their lives, only the quiet joy of ordinary days unfolding side by side, the growing ease of being together at any hour without ever getting bored. They fall into habits that build themselves naturally. Grocery runs that turn into playful debates over brands of cereal, dinners out where conversation drifts easily from work to nonsense to serious topic back again, the small wait before one returns from the gym so they can share a meal together.

It’s not about passion that burns or gestures that astonish, but about the subtle grace of knowing when to pour the extra cup of coffee, how to read a sigh without asking. It’s just the sound of two lives slowly learning to move in the same space. And somehow, it’s that very simplicity that feels miraculous. The constant and ordinary happiness that becomes the most extraordinary thing they’ve ever known.

The morning of their return to the hospital, a quiet tension hums beneath Wonwoo’s calm exterior.

The city is still half-asleep when they step out home, dawn spilling faint light over Mingyu’s car windshield. Wonwoo adjusts the cuffs of his shirt twice before sitting down, fingers fidgeting with the strap of his watch now. He’s nervous to know if something has changed, if the familiar rhythm of the hospital will still feel like home, if the spark that once defined him as a surgeon still burns or if it has dimmed while he was away. There's also that more silent fear of how his choice to slow down will be perceived, whether it might spark prying questions, or worse, hasty judgments.

Mingyu notices the whirlwind of his thoughts, of course he does. He always does.

But he doesn’t say anything at first, just drives through the early traffic with one hand on the wheel and the other resting open between them. When Wonwoo finally lets his fingers slip into his, Mingyu brings their joined hands to his lips, pressing a slow kiss to his palm.

“Everything will be fine” he says softly, no reassurance forced, no words of pep or reason. Just calm certainty as if saying it, makes it true consequentially. Wonwoo turns his head toward him, and even though he doesn’t speak, the quiet gratitude in his eyes is enough.

By the time they reach the hospital, the world is by now fully awake. The familiar glass facade gleams beneath the morning light and the automatic doors slide open with their usual whisper. As they step inside a few heads turn, colleagues and nurses greet them with warm curiosity in a mix of smiles and knowing glances. Wonwoo feels it, the weight of being seen, the subtle shift in how people look at him now, not only as Dr. Jeon but as someone returning from something meaningful, perhaps ever-changing.

The strap of his old leather bag fits agains his shoulder like muscle memory as Wonwoo walks beside Mingyu through the corridor. The smell of antiseptic, the faint echo of machines, the clipped conversations at the nurses’ station, all of it wraps around him like a strange comfort and Wonwoo exhales slowly, almost unconsciously, as if his lungs remember perfectly this air.

Inside the staff lounge, Jihoon is the first to spot them. He stands up from his chair, smoothing the front of his white coat, and walks over them with that reserved smile that never needs to be loud to be sincere. “Welcome back, guys!” he says, hugging them and clapping Mingyu lightly on the shoulder. “You have no idea how the hospital felt strangely quiet without you two”

Mingyu chuckles, “Just admit that you missed us”

“Let’s say that… it’s good to have you back” Jihoon says with a small smile, “I watched your presentation, it was amazing. Your phrasing on that last case study was brilliant and the way you handled that Q&A session with Dr. Wei, my god, you were completely in control. Sincerely, congrats”

Mingyu bows his head slightly, smiling with genuine gratitude. “Thank you, hyung. It means a lot to me, really”

Jihoon’s lips twitch with pride then his gaze shifts toward Wonwoo. The warmth in his eyes softens even further, the praises fading into something gentler now. “I see you well”

Wonwoo smiles back, genuine. “Yeah, the little getaway definitely recharged me”

Jihoon nods, as if he expected that answer or perhaps hoped for it. “You look more at ease” he observes. “Less… weighed down”

“I think I needed a reminder of why I love this job” Wonwoo says softly, he doesn’t deny that.

There’s a pause filled with the quiet understanding that only years of shared work and friendship can bring. Jihoon doesn’t ask for details, doesn’t pry into what might have changed between them or what brought that brightness back into Wonwoo’s eyes. Instead, he just smiles again.

“Well —” he says, tone lightening again, “Don’t get too comfortable. I already warned the residents that you’re both back and they’re preparing their best questions to torment you”

Mingyu groans dramatically. “Fantastic” he mutters. “Back for five minutes and I’m already on trial”

“You wouldn’t have it any other way” he says and Wonwoo laughs quietly by his side. Jihoon glances at him, pleased to see that sound, that unguarded laughter, is back in his friend. “Go change now, I'll wait for you later for a coffee”

“We will not miss it”

Wonwoo looks at him walking away and in that moment, as he glances around the same walls, the same faces, the same rush of life flowing through the corridors, something inside him feels profoundly different. He realizes that nothing essential has really changed. The hospital still breathes with the same restless energy, the same pulse of life and urgency that once consumed him completely. But Wonwoo feels he has changed, instead, and maybe this is what coming back truly means. Not returning to what he was, but to what he loves, only with new eyes and the perception of a completely different world.

The same old locker room hums faintly later with the sound of lockers closing, zippers dragging, the shuffle of sneakers against tile. Wonwoo stands by the bench, slipping into his scrubs with meditative movements even though the subtle tension in his shoulders betrays his nerves.

Mingyu notices his quietness, even as he ties the drawstring on his uniform pants, his eyes flicking sideways toward him. “Are you okay ?” he asks softly.

Wonwoo exhales a deep breath, forcing a smile. “Yeah. I’m just… a little nervous” he pauses, adjusting the badge clipped to his chest. “I still have to talk to the medical director about my decision”

Mingyu leans against the locker, crossing his arms. “You’re not hurting anyone, you know” he says gently. “You’ve done more for this hospital, for your patients, than most people could dream of. You deserve to decide what kind of doctor you want to be next”

Wonwoo’s gaze softens, the tension in his jaw easing a little. “You always make it sound so simple.”

“That’s because it is” Mingyu replies, stepping closer. “Your future matters as much as the lives you’ve saved. Taking a step back doesn’t make you less, it just means you’re ready for something different”

Wonwoo swallows hard, feeling that familiar swell of gratitude, that quiet recognition that Mingyu truly sees him for the person beneath the sterile gloves. He nods once in a small gesture of understanding and Mingyu smiles, dipping his head to press a soft kiss to his forehead first, then before he can stop himself, his lips brush against Wonwoo’s in chaste peck that tastes like the promise of a calm morning.

And it’s in that exact moment that the door swings open.

“Oh my God —” Jeonghan groans dramatically, loud enough to echo down the hallway. “Don’t tell me that now I’m forced to watch you two secretly making out in the corners of the hospital ? That’s disgusting”

The words hang in the air for half a second before Mingyu bursts into laughter, “Look who’s talking!” he recalls while next to him Wonwoo hides his face behind his hand, grinning helplessly.

Jeonghan runs towards them and throws his arms open wide. “Come here, you scandalous nasty idiots” he laughs, pulling them both into a warm exaggerated hug. “And you —” he points at Wonwoo, “— you should be ashamed of yourself for keeping this juicy gossip away from me”

Wonwoo rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment. “In my defense, I can say it all happened very fast”

“Fast ?” Jeonghan scoffs. “You’ve been hating-flirting with this guy since residency. The only thing fast is how long it took you two to finally do something about it!”

“He’s not wrong at all” Mingyu admits, earning a playful elbow from Wonwoo.

The door swings open again behind them and in come Seungcheol, Jun and Seokmin, the latter already grinning ear to ear. “Well, well, if it isn’t the hospital’s new power couple” he declares dramatically, dropping his bag on a chair. “We were wondering when you two would finally make it official. Took you long enough!”

Jun groans, half laughing. “God, we’ve been suffering in silence waiting for this!”

“It was about time” Seungcheol says, shaking his head with a mock. “Honestly, the whole department has been betting on when this would happen”

Mingyu laughs, rubbing the back of his neck in cheeks faintly pink. “I hope no one lost too much money”

“On the contrary” Jun says, leaning against the lockers with a sly grin. “Most of us saw it coming from a mile away. You two look good together, and I don’t just mean that because you’re both freakishly talented and unfairly handsome. It’s almost rude, really”

That earns a round of laughter and the energy in the room suddenly shifts into something so easy and playful. “But tell me more, how was Zurich ?” Seungcheol then asks, curious.

“Intense” Mingyu huffs, “But amazing. So many brilliant minds, some incredible cases presented. I learned a lot”

“He says that like he didn’t crush it himself” Wonwoo interjects, glancing sideways at him with that small, proud smile that makes Mingyu’s heart swell.

“Crush it ?” Jeonghan scoffs, placing a hand over his heart dramatically. “He obliterated it. Please, have mercy, Kim Mingyu, some of us are just trying not to spill coffee on patients before noon!”

That sends Seokmin into a fit of laughter and even Jun grins as he pulls on his scrub cap. Jeonghan then starts joking about how Mingyu and Wonwoo should have a “no PDA within a ten-meter radius of the operating room” rule, the same one he has with Seungcheol.

“I’m warning you guys, spare us the trauma”

But Mingyu doesn’t miss a beat. “Then I guess we’ll have to move hospitals” he deadpans, earning another round of laughter that echoes down the hall.

For a few moments, everything feels blissfully the same — the same jokes, the same teasing, the same easy affection — but underneath, there’s a quiet shift, the quiet happiness of seeing two people who have found peace, who have survived storms and come out just standing side by side.

The others notice it, even if no one says it out loud. Wonwoo’s eyes are calmer now, his smile easier and as they all file out toward the ward, Seokmin claps him on the back. “Seriously though —” he says, his voice genuine now beneath the humor. “It’s good to have you here again”

Wonwoo smiles, he really smiles. “It’s good to be back” he replies and for the first time in a long while, he truly means it.

The chatter of their friends trails behind them like a fading echo, dissolving into laughter that melts into the steady hum of the hospital. One by one, the doctors branch off toward their respective wards, promising to meet again at lunch or during the next surgery. The rhythmic click of shoes scatters down the corridors until only Mingyu and Wonwoo remain, surrounded by the familiar pulse of monitors and the low murmur of life continuing just as it always has.

For Wonwoo, though, everything feels quietly renewed. The walls, the rush, that disgusted scent of antiseptic, it’s all the same yet touched by something softer. His hospital, his dearly beloved chaos with its blue walls and constant movement, feels like home again. Mingyu looks at him wandering among his thoughts with the calm settling over his features, and walks beside him.

His hand brushing briefly against his back, “I love to see you like this” he says after a quiet beat, his smile is soft, tender in the way it always is when it’s just for him. “You have a light in your eyes I haven’t seen in a while”

Wonwoo turns his head, meeting his gaze, and a knowing smirk curves his lips. “That’s because I’m happy” he replies and the truth of it fills the space between them more powerfully than any other declaration.

Before Mingyu can say more, a nurse rounds the corner with a clipboard clutched to her chest. “Dr. Kim, Dr. Jeon —” she calls out, slightly out of breath. “There’s a patient in room four who needs both your consultation”

“Sure, we’ll be right there” Mingyu answers without hesitation, already taking a few steps forward but he pauses when he notices Wonwoo hasn’t moved.

Something makes him turn back, maybe instinct, maybe habit, and when he does, Mingyu finds him standing still in the corridor with the morning light spilling through the window, catching on his face like it has been waiting just to touch him.

He looks at him with his heart so full and extends his hand toward him, palm open. “Are you coming ?”

Wonwoo looks at him for a heartbeat, a single suspended breath, and then his smile blooms on his face carrying every memory of what they’ve been through to reach this moment. He takes Mingyu’s hand without hesitation. Their fingers fit together like something inevitable, like a promise finally at rest, and side by side they walk toward the ward with their steps falling into the same quiet rhythm.

Mingyu glances at him more than once, unable to stop himself from looking at the way Wonwoo’s coat moves lightly as he walks, the calm in his stride, the quiet confidence that now radiates from him like light itself.

It’s always been this way since college, since the sleepless nights spent side by side in lecture halls, since the first time they crossed those corridors as doctors, since the first time they had smiled to each other, and through every storm that followed in their crazy lives.

Together, as it always had been.

Mingyu watched him.

And Wonwoo let him watch.