doctor, doctor // taehyun
the other nurses think doctor kang is cold-hearted, but you know better than that
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wc: 6.4k
pairing: taehyun x reader
author’s notes: i've been watching resident playbook so it inspired this one. i also know nothing about working at the hospital but i did my best
tags/warnings: doctor!taehyun x new doctor!reader, "i hate everyone but you" trope, workplace jealousy, reader experiences scolding at work, lil bit of workplace favoritism, dr. kang vs taehyun, probably don't date your co-worker unless its taehyun.
Boyfriend on Demand Masterlist
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The automatic doors slid open with a quiet hiss, and the sterile scent of antiseptic hit you before anything else. It clung to the air, sharp and clean. You adjusted your badge, R1 printed in bold beneath your name, and tried to ignore the way your stomach twisted as you stepped fully into the hospital.
First day. You told yourself you were ready. You had survived med school, rotations, exams that felt designed to break you. But somehow, this felt different. This was no longer a learning experience but real life.
The walk up to your floor was nerve wracking. Fellow doctors rushing back and forth between patients, nurses organizing lab tests and orders. Amidst the noise, you can only focus on the sound of your feet clacking against the tile flooring.
“New resident?” You stopped and turned at the sound, finding a cluster of nurses gathered at the station. One of them, kind eyes, knowing smile, gestured you over.
You nodded, forcing a small smile as you approached. “Yeah. Just started today.”
A few of them exchanged looks. Not unfriendly. Their darting eyes between one another gave the impression they were worried. “Starting on this floor?” another nurse asked.
You nodded again, gripping the strap of your bag a little tighter. There was a brief pause before someone let out a quiet laugh. “Oh, good luck. Just wait until you meet him.”
Your brows furrowed. “Meet who?”
“The reason half the residents either toughen up or transfer out,” someone muttered.
“Hey,” the first nurse nudged her, but she didn’t exactly deny it. Instead, she turned back to you, voice lowering slightly. “Dr. Kang.”
The name settled heavily across you and the nurses. Barely a whisper but enough to change the atmosphere around you. She said it like it meant something, something you hadn’t learned the importance of yet.
“He’s…” she hesitated, searching for the right word. “Brilliant.”
“Terrifying,” someone else added.
“Meticulous,” another corrected.
“Nitpicky,” came a voice from the back. “Like, he’ll notice if your note has one extra space.”
A few quiet chuckles followed, but you could feel the undercurrent beneath it, respect laced with something sharper. “Cold,” the first nurse finished softly. “Not cruel. Just, don’t expect any warmth from him.”
Your pulse ticked up despite yourself. “Oh.”
“Just do your job, be thorough, and don’t take it personally,” she added, gentler now. “He’s like that with everyone.”
That didn’t help nearly as much as she probably intended. You swallowed, nodding again. “Got it.”
But as you turned away, heading further down the hall toward where orientation was supposed to be, their words echoed in your head. Cold. Nitpicky. Don’t take it personally. Great.
—
The conference room was already half full when you slipped in, a few other residents scattered across the seats. Some looked just as tense as you felt. Others tried and failed, to look relaxed.
You took an empty seat near the middle, smoothing your coat unconsciously. A comfortable chatter filled the space, tones still hushed as if the other residents were afraid to be too loud. You knew it would be an adjustment with this new job, awkwardness and anxiety was expected. But knowing the other senior doctors and nurses gave most of the new residents forewarning about Dr. Kang made your anxiety spike.
It wasn't long before the room went quiet. You didn’t see him walk in at first, you just felt the shift. Conversations cut off mid-sentence. Chairs straightened. Even the air seemed to still. When you looked up, you understood why.
Dr. Kang stood at the front of the room, posture straight, expression unreadable. There was nothing outwardly intimidating about him, no raised voice, no harsh movements, but something about the way he carried himself demanded attention. Precision. Control. He didn’t look as scary as the others describe, although looks could be deceiving.
His gaze swept across the room, sharp and assessing, like he could take you apart layer by layer in seconds. “Welcome,” he said, voice even. Not warm. Not cold. Just flat.
“You are here because you have met the minimum expectations required to begin training.” A beat. “That does not mean you are competent or ready to practice on your own.” A few residents shifted uncomfortably.
“You will be expected to learn quickly. Mistakes will happen.” His eyes flicked briefly to someone in the front row. “Repeated mistakes will not.” Your fingers curled slightly in your lap. Okay. So the rumors weren’t exaggerated.
“As residents, you represent this institution. Sloppiness, inattentiveness, and assumptions will not be tolerated.”
Then, just for a moment, his gaze landed on you. And stayed there. It wasn’t long. Maybe a second. Two at most. But it felt longer. Something in his expression shifted, so subtle you almost thought you imagined it. His eyes lingered, just slightly, a quick look up and down your frame. It was like he was trying to place you.
He looked away as if nothing had happened, continuing without pause. “You will report to your assigned teams after this briefing.”
Your heart was beating faster than it should have been. Why did he look at me like that? You swallowed, forcing yourself to focus, but your thoughts kept circling back.
Cold, they said. Maybe. But that look didn’t feel like indifference.
—
Each day settled into a rhythm faster than you expected. Mornings blurred into a cycle of small, necessary tasks: reviewing labs, updating charts, tracking down signatures, delivering medications with a polite smile that felt just a little too rehearsed. It wasn’t glamorous, but it grounded you. It kept your hands busy, your mind focused.
Afternoons were different, your favorite part of the day. Afternoons were when you got to watch.
You trailed behind senior residents and attendings, standing just off to the side as they spoke with patients, made decisions, moved with a kind of certainty you were still trying to build. Sometimes they’d pull you in, ask a question, let you examine, let you try. Those moments felt like oxygen. By the end of your first week, you were starting to feel like maybe, just maybe, you could do this.
“Hey,” one of your co-residents whispered as you both leaned against the counter at the nurses’ station, stealing a rare moment of stillness. “Have you shadowed Dr. Kang yet?”
You stiffened slightly. “Not yet.” A few others nearby perked up immediately.
“Oh my God,” someone groaned. “He grilled me yesterday. Like, full interrogation over a progress note.”
“I heard he made Daniel redo his entire patient presentation because he said it was ‘careless,’” another added, making air quotes.
“It was one missing detail!” Daniel defended from across the room. “One!”
“That’s all it takes,” someone shot back. You let out a small, nervous laugh, though your stomach had already started that familiar twisting again.
“Well,” your co-resident said, clapping you lightly on the shoulder, “good luck. I think you’re scheduled to observe him this afternoon.”
Your heart dropped. “Me? Today?”
Your co-resident nods solemnly, “Today.”
—
You double-checked your notes three times before heading to the assigned floor, your steps just a little slower than usual. The hallway felt quieter here, like even the noise knew better than to linger.
Walking through the hall, you repeat to yourself like a mantra: Don’t be sloppy. Don’t miss details. Don’t—
“Dr.?” You turned quickly, almost too quickly. He was already there.
Dr. Kang stood a few steps away, hands tucked neatly into the pockets of his coat, expression as composed as ever. Up close, it was worse, sharper. His presence had a weight to it that made you instinctively straighten. His black hair cut neatly parting to reveal his forehead. A pair of glasses sit at the bridge of his nose. Even his scrubs seemed to be ironed flat.
“Yes—sorry—yes,” you managed, hoping your voice didn’t betray how nervous you suddenly felt. You briefly look down at yourself, in horror at how sloppy you felt in comparison to Dr. Kang. Your scrubs were wrinkled, hands marked with pen stains from taking notes, and you were sure your hair was halfway out of its ponytail.
His gaze met yours. And then, he froze. It was subtle. Anyone else might have missed it. But you were already hyper-aware, already watching for any sign of judgment, of criticism, and instead, you caught something else. A flicker in his composed nature. Something unguarded. His eyes stayed on you longer than necessary, like he’d forgotten, just for a second, what he was about to say.
“You’re the new R1,” he said finally, though it sounded more like he was reminding himself than asking.
You nodded. “Yes.” Another beat passed. You braced yourself for a scolding. But the sharpness you expected never came.
Instead, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. “You’ll be observing with me today.” Polite. Even. Not warm, but not cutting, either.
“Yes. Thank you,” you said quickly, relief threading through your voice before you could stop it.
Something in his expression shifted again, just slightly. Softer, maybe. Or curious. “This way,” he said, gesturing down the hall.
You fell into step beside him, careful to stay half a pace behind. Your mind raced, flipping through everything you’d heard, everything you’d prepared for. But as you moved from patient to patient, something didn’t add up.
He was precise and focused. Every question intentional, every movement efficient. But when he spoke to patients, his tone lowered just a fraction. When he corrected you, because of course he did, it wasn’t harsh. Just direct.
“Include the patient timeline next time,” he said once, glancing at your notes. “It provides more context when you submit the final report.”
You blinked, surprised. “Right, okay. I will.”
No bite. No edge. Just simple instructions. And every so often, you caught him looking at you again. Not critically. Not like he was waiting for you to mess up. But like he was trying to understand something he hadn’t expected to find.
By the time you stepped out into the hallway again, your pulse had finally started to settle. That hadn’t been what you expected. At all. “Hey!” your co-resident rushed up almost immediately. “Well? How bad was it?”
You hesitated, glancing back briefly toward where Dr. Kang had disappeared. “He wasn’t,” you admitted slowly. “Bad, I mean.”
“What?” they stared at you. “No way.”
You shook your head, still trying to make sense of it yourself. “He was actually really clear. Strict, yeah, but not…” you trailed off.
“Not terrifying?” someone offered.
You huffed a quiet laugh. “Not like you guys said at all.”
They exchanged skeptical looks. “Give it time,” Daniel muttered. “He will find something to complain about soon.”
Maybe. But as you replayed the afternoon in your head, one thing stood out more than anything else. The way he had looked at you. Like something had started. And you had no idea what it could be.
—
It started subtly, at first, you didn’t even notice the pattern.
“Excuse me, Dr.,” a nurse called one afternoon, catching you just as you were finishing up charting. “Dr. Kang asked if you could assist on rounds.”
You blinked. “Me?”
She nodded like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Room 312.”
You gathered your things quickly, trying not to overthink it. Maybe it was just scheduling. Maybe the other residents were busy. Still, when you stepped into the room and saw him already there, his eyes flicking up almost immediately to find you, it didn’t feel random.
“You’re here,” he said simply. The slightest smile crossed over his face.
You nodded, a little breathless from hurrying. “You asked for me?”
He pauses, hands that were once shuffling through a patient file halt in place. “Mm,” he replied, like it didn’t mean anything more than a simple affirmation. But his eyes never left yours.
—
Then it happened again. And again. Different days. Different patients. Same quiet request: to have you assist during his rounds. At some point, your co-residents started noticing.
“You’re kidding,” Daniel said one afternoon, staring at you like you’d just admitted to something unbelievable. “He asked for you?”
You frowned. “What’s the big deal? He probably just needs help.”
“No,” someone else cut in immediately. “He never asks for specific interns. Normally, we just get assigned.”
“I don’t know,” you shrugged, trying to play it off even as a small warmth crept up your neck, “I’m still R1, I'm probably not as busy as some of you guys.” They didn’t look convinced. You didn’t let yourself think too hard about it either.
—
The first time he handed you coffee, you almost didn’t take it. You had just stepped out of a patient’s room, shoulders tight, mentally running through everything you still needed to finish, when he approached from the end of the hall.
He stopped in front of you, holding out a cup. “For you.”
You blinked, looking from the coffee to his face to see if this was some kind of joke. His face remained neutral. Nervously, you respond, “Oh…no, I’m okay,”
“Take it,” he said, not unkindly. Just firm. He holds the cup out closer to you.
You hesitated a second longer before accepting it. “Thank you, Dr. Kang.”
He held back a small smile, “It’s been a long morning, feel free to take a quick break to drink that,” he added, already turning slightly as if the conversation was over.
You stared down at the cup. He noticed that? Weird. Nice of course. But weird.
—
Lunch happened the same way. A small bag set down beside you while you were buried in notes. You look up to see Dr. Kang above you. He scans you for a moment, “You haven’t eaten yet.” He doesn't ask it as a question, instead an observation.
You set down your pen, startled. “I was going to, after I finish-”
“Eat now,” he said. Again, not harsh. Just certain. He slides the bag closer to you.
You exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking your head. You grab the bag and peek inside, “You’re kind of bossy, you know that?”
There was the faintest pause. “I’m aware.” But something about the way he said it, low, almost amused, made your chest feel oddly light.
You didn’t question it too much. He was your attending doctor. Maybe this was just how he mentored R1’s. Strict, observant, and surprisingly considerate.
—
And then there were the notes. They started appearing tucked between your charts or clipped neatly to your clipboard.
Include differential earlier—shows clinical reasoning.
Good patient interaction. Maintain that.
Double-check medication timing.
Short. Precise. Always in his handwriting. At first, you assumed he left them for everyone. Until you noticed no one else ever seemed to get them.
“You’re getting feedback notes?” your co-resident repeated, incredulous. She peer over, scanning the note. “From him?”
You glanced down at the paper in your hands, then back up. “Is that not normal?”
She shakes their head, clearly in shock. “No, not at all.”
At a loss for words, you can only respond, “Huh.”
You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. That it was just mentorship. That the small things: the coffee, the lunches, the way his eyes softened just slightly when he looked at you, were just coincidences.
And besides, he was kind of cute. In a quiet, composed, slightly intimidating way. But that didn’t have to mean anything either.
—
It was a bad day that finally broke you. The senior resident you’d been assigned to that morning had been unforgiving. Every answer you gave felt wrong. Every attempt to explain yourself was cut off, corrected, or dismissed entirely.
“You need to be faster,” he said sharply at one point. He had asked you to stand out into the hall to scold you. “You’re hesitating too much.”
Ashamed, you wring your hands in front of you. “I just wanted to make sure I had the full—”
“You won’t have time to ‘make sure’ in real cases,” he interrupted. “You either know it or you don’t.”
By the time you were dismissed, your chest felt tight, your thoughts tangled in a frustrating loop of not enough, not fast enough, not good enough. You made it halfway down the hall before the sting behind your eyes became too much. Not here.
You ducked into an empty supply room, shutting the door quickly behind you. Your hands came up to your face, pressing hard against your eyes as you tried to steady your breathing. It was stupid. You’d been through worse. So why did this feel like so much?
A shaky exhale slipped out before you could stop it. You wiped at your face quickly. Once. Twice. “Get it together,” you muttered under your breath. “You’re fine,”
The door opened. You froze. Of course. Of course someone would walk in now. You turned quickly, already scrubbing at your eyes again. “Sorry, I’ll just,”
You stopped. It was him. Dr. Kang stood in the doorway, hand still on the handle, gaze fixed entirely on you. And just like the first day he stilled. Not awkward. Not uncomfortable. Just extremely attentive.
You swallowed, forcing a small, embarrassed laugh. “ Don’t worry. I’m fine. Just a long morning.”
You moved to step past him, hoping he’d let it go. He didn’t. “Stay,” he said quietly. Not an order. Something softer.
You hesitated. “It’s nothing,” you tried again, not quite meeting his eyes this time. “Just messed up a few things.”
A beat of silence. Then the door clicked shut behind him. “You didn’t,” he said.
You frowned slightly, looking up. “You don’t even know what happened.”
“I know how you work,” he replied.
Simple. Certain. It shouldn’t have hit as hard as it did. Your throat tightened again despite your best efforts. He wasn’t pushing, but something about his stare drew the words out. “Dr. Kim scolded me. He said I hesitate too much,” you admitted, voice quieter now. “That I’m too slow.”
Dr. Kang’s expression didn’t change much, but something in his eyes sharpened. “Hesitation,” he said slowly, “is not the same as carelessness.” You blinked. “You take time to think,” he continued. “That is not a weakness. It becomes one only if you let it stop you from acting.”
His tone wasn’t condescending. It wasn’t dismissive. It was steady. Grounding. “You’re still learning,” he added. “Speed comes with repetition. Judgment comes with understanding.” A brief pause. “You are building both.”
The tightness in your chest eased, just slightly. “I just,” you exhaled, shaking your head. “I don’t want to fall behind.”
“You’re not,” he said immediately. No hesitation or doubt. And somehow, that mattered more than anything else he’d said.
You let out a small, shaky laugh, wiping at your face again. “Sorry. This is kind of embarrassing.”
“It’s not,” he said.
Your hands stilled. He stepped a little closer, not enough to crowd you, just enough to be there. Present. “You’re allowed to have difficult days,” he said quietly. “They don’t define your ability as a doctor.”
For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, almost hesitantly, you smiled. “Thank you,” you said, softer now.
Something in his expression shifted again, that same subtle softness you’d been noticing more and more. “Take a few minutes,” he said, stepping back toward the door. “Then come find me.” You nodded. He paused just before leaving, glancing at you one more time.“And make sure you eat something,” he added.
A small laugh escaped you despite everything. “Yes, Dr. Kang.”
He smiles, “Taehyun.”
“What?” Your head tilts trying to understand.
“Dr. Kang is too formal. You can call me Taehyun.” The door closed behind him. And for the first time that day, you felt like maybe you weren’t failing after all.
Later, when you returned to your station, you found a familiar slip of paper waiting on your clipboard.
You’re doing better than you think.
You stared at it for a long moment. Then carefully folded it, tucking it somewhere safe.
—
It didn’t take long for people to notice. At first, it was just looks: quick glances when your name came up on the schedule beside his. Quiet pauses when a nurse called for you specifically during his rounds. Then it turned into something harder to ignore.
“You’re with Dr. Kang again?” Daniel asked one afternoon, not even trying to hide the disbelief anymore.
You glanced up from your notes. “I guess.”
“That’s not normal,” someone else muttered.
You forced a small shrug. “Maybe I’m just assigned where I’m needed.”
But even as you said it, you could feel the shift in the room. It wasn't a curiosity anymore. It was something harsher.
—
The comments started offhand.
“Must be nice.”
“Some people get all the attention.”
“Wish I had that kind of mentorship.”
They were said with smiles. Light tones. Easy to brush off if you wanted to. So you did. At least at first. But then came the day you walked into rounds and felt it immediately. Tense. Wrong.
The senior resident leading that morning barely acknowledged you beyond a curt nod. When it was your turn to present, he didn’t let you finish a sentence before cutting in. “You’re missing key details.”
Frustrated, you furrow your bow, “I was just getting to—”
“You should’ve started with that.” He nearly shouts back. A few of the others exchanged looks. No one said anything. Your hands tightened slightly around your tablet. “Continue,” he said flatly.
You did. Carefully. Deliberately. He still wasn’t satisfied.
Arms crossed, he lists his complaints, “Too slow.” “Unclear.” “Be concise.”
Each word landed heavier than it should have. By the time rounds ended, your chest felt tight again, like earlier that week in the supply room. Only this time, it wasn’t just frustration. It was total embarrassment.
You made it back to the nurses’ station, setting your things down a little more forcefully than intended. “Rough morning?” someone asked.
You didn’t answer right away. Before you could, someone else spoke up. “Well,” another voice chimed in, just loud enough to carry, “you can’t expect Dr. Kang to hold your hand all the time.”
A few quiet snickers followed. You froze. “That’s not,” you started, but your voice felt thinner than you wanted.
“Relax,” Daniel added, leaning back in his chair. “We’re just saying, don’t get used to special treatment.”
“I’m not getting special treatment,” you said, more firmly now.
“Then why does he only ever ask for you?” someone shot back.
Silence. You didn’t have an answer for that. Not one that didn’t sound exactly like what they were implying. “I just do my work,” you said finally, quieter now.
“Sure,” came the reply, unconvinced.
The heat creeping up your neck wasn’t just embarrassment this time. It was also frustration. Because you knew you worked hard. You knew you earned your place here. But suddenly, it didn’t feel like it mattered.
“You’re wrong.” The voice cut cleanly through the tension. Everything around you stilled. You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. But you did anyway.
Dr. Kang stood a few steps away, expression composed, but his gaze wasn’t neutral this time. It was cold. Focused. Not on you, but on them.
“No one is receiving ‘special treatment,’” he continued, voice even but unmistakably firm. “Assignments are made based on performance and need.”
No one spoke. Almost everyone kept their head down, afraid to look at Dr. Kang in the eye.
Breaking the silence, Daniel shifted uncomfortably. “Dr. Kang, We were just joking—”
“It didn’t sound like a joke.” He was stern. You’d never seen him like this, not even directed at others. “If you have concerns about your training,” he went on, “you can address them with me directly. Not through comments that undermine your colleague.”
The senior resident from earlier avoided his gaze entirely. “Understood,” he muttered.
Dr. Kang’s eyes flicked briefly across the group, making sure the message settled. Then, just as quickly, the tension in his posture eased. “Return to your work,” he said.
And just like that, it was over. People moved again. Quietly. A little more carefully than before.
Daniel cleared his throat. “Hey.” You looked at him. “Sorry,” he said, not quite meeting your eyes. “That was out of line.”
A few others nodded in agreement, murmuring similar apologies.
You hesitated, then gave a small nod. “It’s fine.” It wasn’t entirely. But it was better than nothing. You exhaled slowly, trying to shake off the lingering weight in your chest.
“Dr.” You turned. He was looking at you now. Not sharp or critical. Concern filling his gaze. “Walk with me,” he said.
You fell into step beside him, the hallway quieter now, your thoughts still catching up to what had just happened. “You didn’t have to do that,” you said after a moment.
“Yes, I did.” You glanced at him. He didn’t look at you right away. “They were undermining your work,” he added. “That affects your training.” Professional. Measured. But there was something underneath it. Something just a little more personal than he was letting on.
“I can handle it,” you said, though your voice softened slightly.
“I know,” he replied. That made you pause. “I still won’t ignore it.”
Your chest tightened, just a little. Not in a bad way. He was so caring, and something about that made you nervous. “Thank you,” you said quietly.
He nodded once, like it was nothing. But as you reached the end of the hall, he slowed slightly, glancing at you. “Your presentation this morning,” he said, “was thorough.” You blinked, surprised. “You hesitated,” he added. “But your reasoning was correct.”
The corner of your mouth lifted before you could stop it. “I’ll work on the hesitation.”
“You will,” he said. Not a question. Not a doubt. A quiet certainty.
And as he turned to leave, you realized something had shifted again. Not just in how others saw you. But in how you saw yourself and how you saw Dr. Kang.
—
Back at your station, another note waited on your clipboard.
Clarity improves with confidence. You’re getting there.
You held it for a moment longer than necessary before tucking it away. Carefully. Like the others you’ve slowly begun to collect.
—
The shift dragged longer than it should have. By the time you finally signed off your last note, the hospital had quieted into that late-night stillness, dimmed lights, hushed voices, the steady hum of machines filling in the gaps. Your body ached in that dull, familiar way, exhaustion settling deep in your bones.
You rolled your shoulders as you stepped outside, the cool night air a sharp contrast to the sterile warmth you’d been in all day. Home. That was all you wanted.
You adjusted your bag and started toward the bus stop, already mentally mapping the route, the transfers—
“Dr.” You paused and turned to follow the voice. Of course. Dr. Kang stood a few steps behind you, coat draped neatly over his arm, tie slightly loosened for once. He looked different like this. Less clinical. Still composed, but not as untouchable. “You’re heading home?” he asked.
You nodded. “Yeah.”
A brief pause. His gaze flicked toward the street, then back to you. “I can drive you.”
You blinked. “Oh—no, it’s okay,” you said quickly. “I usually take the bus. It’s not too bad.”
“I know.”
That made you pause. “You know?”
“I’ve seen you leaving a few times,” he said simply. Your heart did a small, confusing flip. “It’s late,” he added. “I’m going in the same direction.”
You hesitated. You should say no. Probably. But your feet didn’t move. Instead, you clear your throat, “Are you sure?” you asked.
“Yes.”
There wasn’t much room to argue with that. “Okay,” you said finally. “Thank you.”
—
The car ride started quiet. Not uncomfortable, just unfamiliar.
You sat in the passenger seat, hands folded loosely in your lap, watching the city pass by in streaks of light. You weren’t used to this version of him. Not outside the hospital. Not without a patient chart or a question to answer.
“You did well today,” he said after a while.
You glanced at him. One hand rested over the top of the steering wheel, the other resting on his thigh. You could feel your face heating up. “Even with everything earlier?”
“Yes.” Simple. Immediate.
You smiled faintly, looking back out the window. “Thanks.”
Silence settled again, but it felt different this time. Like there was something unspoken between you two. You noticed the way his grip on the steering wheel shifted slightly. The way he seemed to start to say something, then stopped.
“Dr. Kang?”
He exhaled quietly. “Remember. You can call me Taehyun.”
Your breath caught, just slightly. “Oh,” you said, a little thrown off. “Okay, Taehyun.” Hearing his name out loud like that felt strange. Too familiar. Too real.
The car slowed as he pulled up near your stop, your usual one. He remembered. Of course he did. He didn’t unlock the doors right away. Instead he turned slightly toward you. And for the first time since you’d met him, he looked uncertain. “I need to tell you something,” he said.
Your chest tightened, unsure at what he could possibly say. “Okay,”
A beat passed. He closes his eyes a second, recentering himself. Then he blurts it out, “I like you.” Just like that. No buildup. No softening. Completely straightforward. Completely him.
Your brain stalled. When the words finally process, “Oh.” Brilliant response.
His gaze stayed on you, steady, but there was something beneath it now. Something more vulnerable than you’d ever seen from him. “I didn’t intend for it to happen,” he continued, quieter now. “It’s not appropriate. Given the setting. Your position.” Your heart started beating faster. “But it hasn’t changed anything about how I evaluate your work,” he added quickly. “Or your training. I’ve been careful about that.”
“I know,” you said, the words coming out softer than you expected. Because you did. He had always remained professional despite the helpful notes and the lunches.
He swallowed slightly, jaw tightening just a fraction. “I find myself looking for you during the day. Noticing when you’re not there.” A small pause. “Wanting to make sure you’ve eaten. That you’re not overwhelmed.” Your chest squeezed. “I respect your judgment,” he went on. “Your attention to detail. The way you think through cases.” His voice dipped slightly. “The way you care.” You stared at him. This was not the cold, untouchable attending everyone warned you about. “I’ve tried to ignore it,” he admitted. “But I can’t anymore.”
Silence. Your thoughts scrambled, trying to catch up. “You like me,” you repeated, a little breathless.
“Yes.”
Another pause. Not wanting the silence to grow, you respond, “Oh.”
He huffed the faintest breath of something that almost sounded like a quiet laugh. “You’ve said that twice.”
“I know,” you said quickly, pressing your lips together. “I just, this is unexpected.”
“That’s fair.”
You ran a hand lightly over your face, trying to process. “I mean, this is kind of,” you gestured vaguely between the two of you, “complicated.”
“Yes.” He nods.
“At work—”
“It would remain professional,” he said immediately. “No one would know unless you wanted them to.”
You looked at him again. “You’ve thought about this,” you said.
“I had to.” Of course he did.
That made something in your chest soften. “And if I said no?” you asked quietly.
His expression didn’t falter. “Then nothing changes,” he said. “Your training continues exactly as it has. I don’t make this your burden.”
Your throat tightened. God. Why was that kind of reassuring? You exhaled slowly, looking down at your hands. Because the truth was, you didn’t hate the idea. Not at all. You thought about the coffee. The lunches. The notes. The way he stood up for you. The way he saw you.
“I don’t know,” you admitted.
He gives you a rare smile, “That’s okay.”
“I need to think about it.”
“You should.”
You let out a small breath, then glanced back at him, a hint of a smile tugging at your lips. “You’re not as cold as everyone says.”
Something flickered in his expression. “I’m aware,” he said quietly. “Just not with you.”
Your heart did that thing again, a backflip in your chest. “That’s a little unfair,” you murmured.
“Probably.” Silence scratches between you. Then, his voice softens, “Will you think about it?”
You nodded. “Yeah. Yes.”
This time, when he unlocked the doors, you didn’t move right away. Just one second longer to sit with him. Before stepping out.
“Goodnight…Taehyun.”
He watched you carefully. A smirk growing on his face. “Goodnight.”
You closed the door, starting toward your place, but your thoughts were anything but settled. Because somewhere between the hospital halls and this quiet street things had changed. And you weren’t sure you wanted them to go back.
—
A few days had passed since Taehyun drove you home. It hadn't been awkward or distant. Things just felt careful between you two.
Nothing about your dynamic at work had changed on the surface. He was still composed, still precise, still the same attending everyone else knew. And you, still the R1 trying to keep up, still learning, still growing.
But underneath it there was something waiting. Unspoken tension. Every glance lingered a second longer. Every quiet moment felt like it carried more weight than before.
And you had been thinking. A lot. By the time your break finally rolled around that afternoon, you had already made up your mind.
You just needed to say it. You stopped by the café first. It felt strangely nerve-wracking, ordering something you’d seen him get a dozen times before. It’s just coffee, you told yourself. Still, your fingers tightened slightly around the cup as you made your way back through the halls.
You found him where you expected, at the workstation, reviewing something on the screen, posture as focused as ever.
For a second, you hesitated. It was now or never, “Taehyun.”
He looked up immediately. And just like always, there it was. That subtle shift. That quiet attention reserved only for you.
You held out the cup. “I figured it was your turn,” you said, trying, and only half succeeding, to sound casual.
He blinked. Actually blinked. A surprised look on his face. “You got this for me?”
You nodded. “Yeah.”
He pauses. Then he reached out, taking it from you carefully, like it mattered more than it should. “Thank you,” he said, softer than usual.
You smiled a little. “You’re welcome.”
A beat passed. “Are you on break?” you asked.
Taehyun shuffles some of the paperwork he had been reviewing aside, “Yes.”
“Come with me?” you motion your head to the side, hoping he could read between the lines.
There was no hesitation this time. “Okay.”
—
The outside seating area was quiet. Tucked away just enough from the main flow of the hospital, it felt like a different world. Sunlight filtering through, a light breeze cutting through the usual sterile air.
You sat across from each other at one of the small tables, cups resting between you. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then you let out a small breath, glancing down at your drink before looking back up at him. “I’ve been thinking,” you started.
His posture shifted, subtle, but attentive. “So have I.”
You huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah, I figured.” Another small pause. You could see the silence eating away at him. “I’m interested.” The words came out easier than you expected.
His expression stilled, not cold, not unreadable. Just focused entirely on you. “You are?” he asked, like he needed to hear it again.
You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah.”
Something in him softened, not outwardly dramatic, but enough that you felt it. A quiet exhale left him, like tension he hadn’t realized he was holding finally gave way. “I meant what I said,” he replied. “About keeping things professional. About not letting it affect your training.”
“I know,” you said. “That’s kind of why I,” you shrugged lightly, “why I’m okay with this.” A flicker of something warmer passed through his eyes. “And,” you added, a little more playfully now, “I knew you weren’t as cold as everyone says.”
His brow lifted slightly. “Is that so?”
You leaned back just a little, smiling. “Mm. I mean, you bring me coffee, make sure I eat, leave me notes,” you tilted your head, teasing, “pretty sure that qualifies as sweet.”
A brief silence. Then, almost under his breath, “That’s only with you.”
Your heart skipped. You tried to play it off, but your smile softened anyway. “Yeah, I figured.”
—
The walk back inside felt lighter. Not easier, because there was still risk, still something delicate about what you’d just agreed to but it felt right. Like something had settled into place. You walked side by side, not quite touching, but close enough that you were aware of him in a way you hadn’t been before.
At the end of the hallway, near a quieter, unused corridor, your steps slowed. So did his. You weren’t sure who stopped first, just that you both did.
The space felt still. Private. You looked up at him.
He was already looking at you. Not like before. Not like Dr. Kang, an attending assessing a resident. But as Taehyun. “You’re sure?” he asked quietly.
You nodded. “I am.” A small pause. Then, quietly you ask “You?”
His answer didn’t come in words. He stepped closer. In the privacy of the hall he pulls you close to him, pausing before allowing his hands to snake around your waist. Your breath caught slightly as the distance closed, your heart beating just a little too fast for how still everything else felt.
Slowly and tenderly he leans in and kisses you. His lips start gently, his soft side fully on display. A side that no one else knows. Your hand instinctively curled slightly against his coat, grounding yourself in the moment as you leaned in just a fraction more. It wasn’t rushed. It was soft and sweet. When he pulled back, it was slow, like he didn’t want to break it too quickly. For a second, neither of you moved.
Then you let out a soft breath, a small, almost disbelieving smile forming. “Okay,” you murmured.
Something in his expression shifted, relief, maybe. Or something deeper. “Okay,” he echoed.
Footsteps echoed faintly from down the hall. Reality creeping back in. You both stepped back, not abruptly, just enough to maintain professional distance. But the air between you had changed completely.
You glanced at him once more, a quiet smile lingering. “Back to work, Dr. Kang?”
A hint of something almost amused flickered in his eyes. “Yes,” he said. Then, just a little softer, a voice just for you, “I’ll see you later.”
Your heart is full in your chest. “Yes, later.”
Uh oh! You have reached your time limit dating Taehyun. You may now return home or choose another boy!
return home || meet the next boy!
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