The Fun Sun
Wonwoo x f! Reader | Single Dad x Teacher
Mature | Explicit | MDNI
After choosing the peace of fatherhood over the roar of the stage, a former idol finds his simple life electrified by a vibrant teacher who sees the powerful man hidden beneath his quiet soft 'dad' image.
Part 2
The amber sunlight slanted through the high windows of Shining Diamonds Daycare, painting long, lazy rectangles across the freshly mopped linoleum floor. The air smelled of wax crayons, wood polish, and the faint, clean scent of baby soap. Silence. A rare, precious commodity in a place usually buzzing with the chaotic joy of toddlers. You perched on a tiny, bright blue plastic chair, your knees tucked up almost to your chest, feeling that familiar burst of end-of-day energy despite the quiet.
Across from you, on a chair identical in size but dwarfed by his presence, sat Jeon Wonwoo. Miguel’s dad. He looked like a gentle giant folded into a child’s world, wearing a soft, oversized charcoal cardigan that swallowed his frame. His thick-rimmed glasses were clean, his dark hair slightly messy, and his hands were folded politely on his knees. The picture of an unassuming, slightly weary single dad. You’d exchanged pleasant nods at drop-off and pickup a handful of times, but he was a ghost—always slipping in and out with a quiet, polite smile, never lingering for the gossipy chatter that clung to the other parents. Other teachers would pause when he passed, their eyes following him down the hallway. You didn’t get it. Sure, he was tall. And objectively, very good looking. But there was something else in their gaze, a weird, lingering reverence you couldn’t decipher.
You leaned forward, your chin resting in your hand. Your paint-stained overalls and the messy ponytail escaping its elastic band were a stark contrast to his neat, muted aesthetic. “So,” you began, your voice cheerful in the hushed room, “I wanted to show you something amazing from today’s playtime.”
You slid your phone across the low table, the screen already glowing with a video. “Watch.”
The video played. Little Miguel, his face a picture of serious concentration, was leading a group of four other toddlers in what appeared to be a flawlessly synchronized dance routine. They stomped, clapped, spun in little circles, their movements surprisingly coordinated for three-year-olds. Miguel was at the front, his tiny arms cutting through the air with precise, high-energy gestures. It was adorable, hilarious, and oddly professional.
You laughed, a bright sound that bounced off the quiet walls. “See? I mean, the stage presence! The leadership! I’ve never seen a kid command a ‘toddler troupe’ like that.” You grinned up at Wonwoo, teasing. “Were you a theater kid? Or is there a secret performer gene in the family I should know about?”
Instead of a dad-joke or a sheepish grin, Wonwoo went incredibly still.
His gaze stayed locked on the phone screen, but his expression shifted. The soft, tired-dad look evaporated. A flicker of something intense and melancholic crossed his face—a sharp pang of memory, a deep, resonant pride that seemed to ache. His jaw tightened slightly. The room’s quiet suddenly felt different, charged.
When he finally looked up from the screen, his eyes found yours. The “tired dad” was gone. Replaced by a sharp, piercing focus that made your breath hitch in your throat. His gaze was heavy, deliberate, seeing you in a way he never had before.
He answered. His voice had dropped an octave—a low, resonant rumble you could feel in your own chest, a vibration that seemed to travel through the table. “He gets it from his mother.”
The words were simple. But his eyes, fixed on yours with an unwavering intensity, felt far too heavy for a parent-teacher meeting about dance routines. They held a story, a pain, a depth you couldn’t begin to understand.
A flush warmed your neck. You nodded, suddenly aware of the vast space his quietness had been filling. “Oh. Right.” You reached for your phone, your fingers extending to retrieve it from where it sat near his large, folded hands.
As your hand moved, the side of your pinky brushed against his knuckle.
He didn’t pull away immediately.
His skin was unexpectedly warm, a heat that seeped into your own. His hand was large, the bones prominent, the skin smooth. For a fraction of a second, his hand seemed to cover yours, not aggressively, but just… there. A solid, warm presence.
The air in the room thickened, pressurized. The scent of crayons faded, replaced by the clean, subtle scent of his wool cardigan and something else—something faintly masculine and clean. Your pulse thumped against your ribs. You pulled your hand back, clutching your phone like a lifeline.
“So,” you said, your voice a little higher than before, “I just wanted to ask… if it’s okay with you, I’d love to nurture that. The dancing, the leadership. He’s got a real spark. We could do little performance games, let him lead the music circle…”
Wonwoo just nodded. His movements were minimal, controlled. “No problem,” he said, his voice still that low, velvety rumble. The piercing focus in his eyes hadn’t dimmed; it had simply softened into something more… appreciative. He was looking at you, really looking, as if you’d just revealed something fascinating about yourself, not his son.
The front door bell jingled, a sharp, cheerful sound that shattered the spell.
Wonwoo stood up.
It wasn’t the slightly clumsy, dad-like shuffle you’d seen before. It was fluid. Graceful. He unfolded from the tiny chair with an effortless economy of motion, his height suddenly reasserting itself as he rose to his full stature. He loomed in the amber-lit space, the oversized cardigan seeming less like a cozy shield and more like a drape over a powerful frame.
He gave you a small, enigmatic nod. “Thank you for showing me.” His eyes lingered. Not on your eyes this time, but lower. On your lips, just for a second too long. The focus there was different—not analytical, but… contemplative. Warm.
Then he turned and walked toward the door. His stride was smooth, quiet, each step measured. He disappeared into the hallway, the soft sound of his footsteps fading away.
You were left alone.
The quiet classroom felt vast and empty. The plastic chair felt even smaller. Your heart was hammering, a frantic beat against the silence. You stared at the space where he had sat, the empty child-sized chair.
You didn’t know who “Jeon Wonwoo” used to be. You had no context for that flicker of melancholy, for the sudden drop in his voice, for the graceful, powerful way he moved when the mask slipped.
But you’d just realized something.
The quiet man in the oversized knits, the polite single dad who kept his hands folded neatly on his knees, was hiding a very powerful, very masculine energy just beneath the surface. And for a moment, when your hand touched his and his eyes held yours, that energy had brushed against you. It hadn’t been scary. It had been… thrilling.
You let out a shaky breath, running a hand through your messy ponytail. Okay. You gathered your phone and the daily report sheets. The afternoon was over.
The next day, Miguel was his usual bright self. Wonwoo dropped him off. He was back in the soft, beige knit sweater, glasses, messy hair. The gentle giant. He gave you the same polite, quiet nod. “Good morning.” His voice was back to its normal, subdued tone.
But this time, you saw it. You saw the careful stillness. You saw the way his eyes scanned the room, not nervously, but with a calm, assessing gaze before landing on you. You saw the slight, almost imperceptible tilt of his head when you said, “Morning, Mr. Jeon! Miguel’s already talking about being the dance captain today.”
A faint smile touched his lips. Not the tired dad smile. Something smaller, more genuine. “He’s excited,” he said. Then he paused, as if considering something. “You… have a lot of energy for the mornings.”
It wasn’t a question. It was an observation, delivered in that low, calm voice.
You grinned, wiping a smudge of paint from your overalls strap. “Gotta match the kids, right? They’re basically tiny, caffeinated tornadoes.”
He watched you for a second longer, his dark eyes behind the glasses holding a quiet, thoughtful light. Then he nodded again and left.
The observation stuck with you. You have a lot of energy. It felt like he’d actually seen you, not just the teacher in front of him.
Days passed. The dance games became a highlight. Miguel flourished, and you found yourself watching for Wonwoo at pickup with a new, nervous anticipation. He was always polite. Always quiet. But the interactions changed, deepened in tiny, almost invisible ways.
One afternoon, you were helping Miguel put his shoes on at the cubby area near the door. Wonwoo arrived, standing a few feet away, waiting. You were kneeling, talking animatedly to Miguel about his “awesome robot dance,” your voice full of its usual enthusiasm.
You felt a presence behind you. Not a sound, just a shift in the air.
You turned your head slightly. Wonwoo was there, closer than he usually stood. He was looking down at you, not at his son. His oversized sweater sleeve brushed against the cubby shelf near your shoulder.
“He talks about you at home,” Wonwoo said softly. “Your energy. He says you’re ‘the fun sun.’”
You blinked, looking up at him from your kneeling position. The height difference was staggering. He towered over you, the soft fabric of his sweater creating a gentle wall of beige above you. His face was serene, but his eyes were focused, intent on your reaction.
“The fun sun?” you laughed, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. “That’s… that’s adorable.”
“It is,” he agreed, his voice a low murmur. His gaze drifted from your eyes to your smiling lips, then back up. The focus was warm. Appraising. “It’s a good description.”
Miguel tugged his shoe. “Done!”
You stood up, suddenly aware of your proximity to Wonwoo. You were close enough to smell that clean, subtle scent again. Close enough to see the fine lines at the corners of his eyes, the sharp definition of his jaw beneath the soft facade.
“All set,” you said, your voice a little softer than usual.
Wonwoo reached down to take Miguel’s hand. But as he did, his other hand—the large, warm hand you’d briefly touched before—came up. He didn’t touch you. He just gestured slightly toward a smudge on your overalls, near your hip. “You’ve been busy,” he observed, a faint, almost invisible smile playing on his lips.
You looked down at the paint smear. “Occupational hazard.”
“It suits you,” he said quietly. Then he turned, leading Miguel toward the door. But before he stepped out, he glanced back at you. “Thank you, Miss…” He paused, as if realizing he’d never used your name.
“Lena,” you supplied.
“Lena,” he repeated. His voice wrapped around your name, giving it a weight, a resonance it never had before. “Thank you.”
He left.
The fun sun. The words echoed in your head. He’d said them with a quiet, deep appreciation that felt… intimate. Not parental. Not polite. Personal.
Friday arrived. The end-of-week chaos was amplified. You were tidying the art station, sleeves rolled up, ponytail a wreck, singing a silly song to yourself as you wiped down tables.
The door opened. It was later than usual pickup.
Wonwoo stood there, alone. No Miguel. He was dressed differently—not in an oversized knit, but in a simple, dark grey turtleneck that fit him more closely. It didn’t hug him, but it hinted. It hinted at the breadth of his shoulders, the length of his torso. The glasses were still there, but his hair was less messy, more deliberately tousled.
“Hi,” you said, stopping your singing abruptly. “Miguel’s already gone? His grandma picked him up earlier.”
“I know,” Wonwoo said, stepping inside. He closed the door behind him, shutting out the hallway noise. The daycare was empty, bathed in the late afternoon gold of the sunset. “I came to… discuss something. About the dance nurturing.”
“Oh,” you said, setting down the sponge. “Of course.” You gestured to the tiny chairs. “Want to…?”
He didn’t move toward the chairs. He walked closer to you, to the art station. He stood near you, looking at the colorful chaos of dried paint and paper scraps. “You create a good environment here,” he said, his voice back to that lower, resonant register. “It’s… vibrant.”
“It’s a daycare,” you said with a laugh, but your heart was starting that familiar, frantic beat.
“It is,” he agreed. He turned his head to look at you. His gaze was direct, unguarded. “But the vibrancy comes from you.” He paused. “You don’t… treat me like the others do.”
The statement hung in the air. You blinked. “The others?”
“The other teachers. The parents.” He said it simply. “They look at me with… a certain expectation. A memory. You look at me…” He trailed off, his dark eyes searching your face. “You look at me like I’m just Miguel’s dad.”
You swallowed. “Well… you are.”
A slow, deep smile spread across his face. It wasn’t broad. It was subtle, but it transformed him. The quiet intensity softened into something warmer, more genuine. It made him look younger, yet more mature. “Yes,” he said. “I am.” He took a half-step closer. The space between you reduced. You could see the texture of his turtleneck, the way it draped over his chest. “And you are Lena, the fun sun.”
Your breath caught. The nickname, said in that low, velvet voice, felt like a caress.
“I…” you started, but words failed.
“My son is happy here,” Wonwoo continued, his eyes holding yours. “Because of you. I… appreciate that.” He seemed to be choosing his words with immense care. “I would like to appreciate it… more properly.”
The implication hung in the golden, silent room. More properly. Not a parent-teacher conference. Something else.
He reached out, not toward you, but toward the art table. He picked up a discarded, brightly painted paper star a child had made. His large, elegant fingers held the fragile paper with a surprising gentleness. “You inspire this,” he said softly, looking at the star, then at you. “The creativity. The joy.”
He set the star down. His hand lingered near yours on the tabletop. Not touching. Just… close. The warmth of his proximity was a tangible force.
“Would you…” he began, his voice dropping even lower, almost a whisper, “…let me thank you? Not here. Somewhere… without tiny chairs.”
The air in the room felt like it had been physically sucked out, leaving only the scent of his sandalwood cologne and the lingering vibration of his voice in your ears. Your mouth was slightly open, a sharp reply or a breathless yes sitting right on the tip of your tongue, when the heavy wooden door groaned open.
"Hey, are you almost done?" Jihye, the toddler-room teacher, stuck her head in, her keys jingling loudly—a jarring, metallic sound that shattered the tension like glass. "The janitor wants to lock up the east wing. Oh! Sorry, Mr. Jeon, I didn't realize you were still here."
The transformation was instantaneous.
Wonwoo didn't jump or look guilty. Instead, he simply straightened his spine, the predatory stillness in his eyes vanishing behind the familiar, polite fog of 'Minjun's Dad.' He stepped back, creating a respectable three feet of distance between you in a single, fluid motion.
"Just finished," Wonwoo said, his voice back to that soft, humble murmur. He gave a small, formal bow to Jihye, then a brief, unreadable nod in your direction. As he walked past you toward the door, the sleeve of his heavy cardigan brushed against your arm—a final, scorching touch of wool that felt like a brand.
"See you tomorrow," Jihye called out as he vanished into the hallway. She turned to you, oblivious, popping a piece of gum. "God, he’s so quiet, isn't he? It’s like he’s trying to be invisible. Anyway, you coming? I’m starving."
You stared at the empty doorway, your hand instinctively clutching the edge of the tiny, primary-colored table. Your skin was still tingling where his hand had covered yours, and the phrase somewhere without tiny chairs was looping in your brain like a forbidden mantra.
You weren't starving. You were electrified. You had spent months thinking Jeon Wonwoo was a puzzle with missing pieces, but you’d just realized he wasn't a puzzle at all.
He was a masterpiece hidden under a dusty tarp, and for the first time, he’d let you see a corner of the canvas.
Pairing: college bf!wonwoo x gn!reader
Summary: just a headcanon of wonwoo as your college bf and also your first love
Warning/s: -
Notes: i have a minwon fic coming up so im just warming y'all up! it's gonna be angsty, so here's smth fluffy :)
would buy you cold drinks from the vending machine on chill dates
he would pause studying to entertain your random thoughts
STUDY DATES!!
he'd definitely be the type to celebrate after finals
he'd also be the type to save his money, so he could take you on fancy dates on your anniversary (and he's been consistent too bc y'all have been together for 5 years)
Wonwoo was careful with money, but anniversaries with you were the one thing he never held back on. Every year, he’d quietly save up for months just to take you somewhere fancy—some pretty restaurant with dim lights and a city view, where he’d sit across from you looking calmer than he actually felt. “Don’t look at the prices,” he’d mumble with a small laugh, gently nudging the menu down. “Just order what you want tonight.” When you asked if he really planned all of this himself, he’d smile shyly and admit, “I started saving for this months ago.”
The whole night, he’d show his affection in small ways—fixing your necklace when it slipped, refilling your glass before you asked, keeping his hand over yours on the table. At some point, he’d look at you quietly and confess, “You still make me nervous on dates.” And when dinner ended, Wonwoo would intertwine your fingers with his and softly say, “Let’s walk around a little more. I don’t want the night to end yet.”
always packs an umbrella because you constantly forget yours
“five years and you still forget your umbrella. good thing you have me.”
if his class ends early, he goes to the library to do his homework while waiting for your class to end
“your class ends at four, right? i’ll wait at the library. don’t walk back to your dorm alone, it’s gonna rain later.”
if your class ends early, he'd go straight to your dorm
he's on his phone while he's out with friends and sends you photo updates. he never waits for you to ask; he just sends them
"oh look at him, he's so gone." jeonghan teases. "at least include us in the photo so they believe you're out with us."
"they're not fragile." wonwoo says, but angles his phone so his friends can be seen in the photo anyway. "say cheese."
CAN READ YOU LIKE A BOOK!!! and also very, very observant
“i know you said you’re fine, but your texts got shorter. what happened?”
protective of you even when he's not around
“no, stay on the phone with me while you walk back. don't wanna risk anything happening to you.”
never lets you go to bed angry. if you fight, he goes to your dorm and wait until you're ready to talk. his parents told him to never go to bed angry if you fight with your partner, and he took it seriously
“you don’t have to apologize for being stressed. come here.”
always ready to pick you up after you hang out with friends. wonwoo would always be outside, holding the cute helmet he bought for you, and lovingly putting it on you
when it was time to apply for internships, wonwoo was able to get one quickly. when you said you were getting frustrated, wonwoo would do mock interviews with you and give you constructive criticism (+ he helped you improve your resume). needless to say, he was definitely a big help because you got in one of the biggest companies in korea
definitely the type to remind you to eat and drink water whenever you don't have classes bc he knows you too well
“drink your water first before telling me about your day. yeah, i’m serious. you get headaches when you forget.”
he remembers your class schedule better than you do. sometimes he texts “good luck on your quiz :)” and you forgot you even had one
he’s not huge on PDA around campus, but he’s always touching you somehow. hand on your backpack strap, pinkies linked, and hand on your waist while crossing the street
he starts carrying small things you “might need” because dating you taught him you’re always forgetting something. lip balm, charger, painkillers, etc.
after exams, he’s the type to say “you did well” before asking how you think you did because he knows you overthink immediately after tests
“you did well today. i’m proud of you.”
he saves candid pictures of you in a hidden folder on his phone. blurry cafeteria photos, sleeping during study sessions, laughing mid-sentence
if you pull all-nighters together, he gets quieter and clingier by 3am. resting his head on your shoulder while reading over notes
“you fell asleep on your notes again. at least pretend to use the pillow i bought you.”
he learns your coffee order so well that he starts buying it before you even ask
“i brought your favorite drink. and before you ask, yes, i remembered the no ice.”
he’s already building a life for the both of you, even before you ask. he knows you're a worrier and he doesn't want you to worry about your future at all
"I've been saving up lately." wonwoo says as you both walk to the convenience store at 2am.
you look at him and ask, "for what?"
"a place for us eventually." he shrugs a little. "nothing huge, obviously. just a small, quaint place... somewhere you won't have to leave at midnight just to come to me."
when you graduate together, he takes a picture of you holding flowers and just stares at it for a second because he can’t believe you both made it through college together
OH i can see him as the type of guy who'd gift you a promise ring on college graduation day
“Wait, don’t move yet.” Wonwoo gently takes your hand before slipping the ring onto your finger, smiling shyly when your eyes widen. “I know it’s not… you know, an actual ring yet,” he laughs softly, thumb rubbing against your knuckles, “but I still wanted to give you something.” He looks at you for a moment, eyes warm and full of quiet affection before mumbling, “Five years, college, all those nights studying together… and you still chose me every day.” Then he squeezes your hand gently and whispers, “So this is my promise that I’ll keep choosing you too.” A small smile pulls onto his face as he adds, “We made it, and honestly? I can’t wait for the next chapter with you.”
a/n: GOD THIS GAVE ME BUTTERFLIES and im suddenly jealous
wonwoo holding so many hot packs, wonwoo singing candy, wonwoo surprising with leftover performance, wonwoo announcing his prepared song for his late mother, wonwoo getting piggyback from mingyu, wonwoo receiving hugs and headpats from everyone, wonwoo running here and there, wonwoo being loved, wonwoo being lively, wonwoo being happy, wonwoo being beautiful, wonwoo bidding goodbye. wonwoo wonwoo wonwoo wonwoo wonwoo wonwoo wonwoo
You bolt out of the room like your life depends on it.
Behind you, heavy footsteps follow, growing louder with each second. "Come back here!" Wonwoo’s usually calm voice has a sharp edge, but you don’t dare slow down
"It’s just a scratch!" you yell over your shoulder
"A scratch?!" Wonwoo sounds offended. "You’re a surgeon, and you’re bleeding! Do you hear yourself?"
Mingyu and Seokmin barely react as you sprint past them. Mingyu, sipping his coffee, raises a brow. "What did she do now?"
"She got a cut," Wonwoo answers, still in pursuit
Seokmin blinks. "A cut? We’re literally surrounded by scalpels and needles every day—why is he freaking out?"
You duck behind a chair, panting. "Because he’s a pediatric surgeon," you whisper dramatically. "He deals with tiny humans, not full-grown surgeons with minor injuries!"
Wonwoo rounds the corner, eyes locked on you. "You. Sit. Down."
Mingyu, ever the agent of chaos, casually blocks your escape route. "Just let him patch you up. Or keep running—I’m entertained either way."
Seokmin grins. "I say we take bets. Five bucks says he tackles her."
You glare at them. "Some friends you are."
Wonwoo takes a step forward, and you take a step back. It’s a ridiculous standoff in the middle of the hospital lounge.
"Do not make me chase you around the hospital," he warns.
You make a break for it. Seokmin and Mingyu laugh as Wonwoo groans and sprints after you. He catches you in less than five seconds. He’s faster than he looks, and before you can dodge, an arm wraps around your waist, effectively trapping you.
"Gotcha," he mutters, his breath warm against your ear
You squirm uselessly. "This is unfair! You have long legs!"
"You have terrible decision-making skills," he counters, steering you toward the nearest chair with ease. Seokmin and Mingyu watch like it’s their favorite reality show, Mingyu even grabbing a snack.
Wonwoo lets go just long enough to grab the antiseptic wipes, and that’s when the real panic sets in.
"Wait, wait, wait—just let me mentally prepare—"
"You had plenty of time to do that while you were running," he deadpans
The moment the antiseptic-soaked wipe touches your skin, you jolt like you’ve been electrocuted. "Ow, ow, OW—"
Wonwoo sighs. "You literally cut people open for a living, and you’re whining over this?"
Mingyu nods sagely. "Every time she gets a paper cut, she acts like she’s been stabbed."
You glare at them through watery eyes. "This hurts—"
"It stings," Wonwoo corrects, holding your wrist firmly as you try to pull away. "Stay still before you actually make it worse."
You groan dramatically, but Wonwoo, ever patient, finishes patching you up despite your flinching and whining. When he’s done, he presses the bandage down with a little more force than necessary, just to be petty.
"There. All better," he says, finally letting go.
You cradle your injured hand and pout. "You’re mean."
Wonwoo exhales, exasperated. Then, softer, "You should be more careful."
For a second, something unreadable passes between you. Then Seokmin ruins it. "So, who owes me five bucks? I said he’d tackle her, but technically, it was more of a grab—"
"Pay up, Seokmin," Mingyu smirks. "A catch is a catch."
You groan, while Wonwoo just shakes his head, rubbing his temples like he regrets ever being friends with you three.
As soon as Wonwoo walks out, probably to regain some of his sanity before starting his rounds, you finally relax. Big mistake because the moment the door clicks shut behind him, you feel it—the shift in atmosphere. You don’t even have to look up to know that Mingyu and Seokmin are staring at you with that look. The one that spells trouble.
Seokmin grins. "Sooo…"
Mingyu wiggles his eyebrows. "Are you two dating, or is Wonwoo just your personal on-call nurse?"
You groan. "Oh my god, not this again."
"Look, I’m just saying," Seokmin continues, leaning back like he has all the time in the world, "Wonwoo doesn’t act like that with anyone else."
"Yeah, I mean, I literally saw him step over a crying intern last week," Mingyu adds. "But the second you get a tiny little cut—"
"A painful cut," you interject
"—he’s running after you like you just lost a limb," Mingyu finishes, ignoring you
You roll your eyes. "He’s just like that."
Seokmin scoffs. "No, he’s not."
Mingyu hums. "Do you ever see him chase me down when I get hurt?"
"You get hurt on purpose for attention," you deadpan.
"Fair," Mingyu concedes. "But still. Wonwoo’s different with you."
You shake your head, standing up. "Whatever. I have patients to see."
As you reach for the door, Seokmin calls out, "Hey, don’t run too fast—wouldn’t want to scrape your knee. Wonwoo might carry you to the ER next time." Mingyu cackles as you slam the door on your way out.
It’s way past midnight—closer to 3 AM, when Wonwoo finally walks into the on-call room. His hair is slightly disheveled, white coat draped over his arm, and dark circles under his eyes deeper than before. It’s been a brutal shift.
Seokmin, who’s sitting at one of the desks, barely acknowledges his entrance, too focused on some patient charts. But Wonwoo doesn’t need to say anything. He just walks over to the bunk beds, takes one look at Mingyu—who’s sprawled out, snoring on the bottom bunk—and wordlessly yanks him off. With a loud thud, Mingyu hits the floor.
"Huh—?!" Mingyu startles awake, flailing like a fish out of water. "What the—?!"
"Get up," Wonwoo says flatly.
Mingyu groans dramatically, rubbing his eyes. "Dude, what is your problem—"
Wonwoo ignores him, already turning toward you. You’re curled up awkwardly on the couch, using a rolled-up hoodie as a pillow, arms folded in a way that guarantees you’ll wake up with at least three different cramps.
Wonwoo sighs. Then, in a tone much softer than the one he used on Mingyu, he murmurs, "Get in the bed."
You don’t stir at first, still half-asleep, but then you mumble, "‘M fine here…"
Wonwoo doesn’t buy it. "You’ll complain about back pain tomorrow, and we both know it."
Seokmin finally looks up, watching the exchange with thinly veiled amusement. Mingyu, still half on the floor, blinks at Wonwoo, then at you. Slowly, a knowing smirk creeps onto his face.
"Ohhh," Mingyu hums. "This is why you pulled me off the bed."
Wonwoo doesn’t acknowledge him. Instead, he reaches down and lightly taps your arm. "Come on, just sleep on the bed."
You grumble but finally crack your eyes open, too exhausted to argue. Wonwoo steps back as you groggily push yourself up, stretching. You shuffle toward the now-empty bottom bunk, collapsing onto it with a sigh.
"See? Much better," Wonwoo murmurs, pulling the blanket over you without a second thought.
Mingyu and Seokmin share a look.
"Dude," Mingyu says once Wonwoo turns around. "You could’ve told me to move instead of dragging me off like a sack of potatoes."
"You wouldn’t have moved fast enough," Wonwoo replies.
Seokmin smirks. "So, she gets the ‘gentle tuck-in’ treatment while Mingyu gets yeeted off the bed? Interesting."
Mingyu nods, still rubbing his shoulder. "Yeah, Wonwoo. Interesting."
Wonwoo gives them both an unimpressed look before muttering, "I’m going to sleep," and heading toward the other bunk.
Even with his back turned, he can feel their teasing grins.
You’re pretty sure you’ve ascended to another plane of existence. Or maybe you’ve died and are currently haunting the hospital as a sleep-deprived ghost. Either way, you’ve been awake for way too long over 32 hours, to be exact and your body is done.
Mingyu isn’t faring much better. He’s slumped over the shared office desk, forehead pressed against an open patient chart, lightly snoring. You’re half-sitting, half-melting into the couch, cradling a lukewarm coffee that does nothing to fight the exhaustion clawing at your soul.
And then because life isn’t unfair enough already, Seokmin walks in. Bright-eyed. Energized. Well-rested. The worst kind of person.
"Good morning, besties!" Seokmin chirps, stretching like he didn’t just take a whole day off.
You don’t even look at him. "I will kill you."
"I second that," Mingyu mumbles into his chart.
Seokmin gasps, clutching his chest dramatically. "Why the hostility? I thought you’d be happy to see me!"
"We hate you," Mingyu groans.
"You’re dead to us," you add.
Seokmin grins. "Wow, so much love in this room." He walks over and purposefully ruffles Mingyu’s hair, making him whine in protest. Then he turns to you, poking your cheek. "You look terrible."
"Thanks," you mumble. "Exactly what I needed to hear."
Seokmin flops onto one of the chairs, grinning. "You know what I did yesterday? Slept a full eight hours. Went out for brunch. Touched grass."
Mingyu lifts his head just to glare. "Leave. Now."
Before Seokmin can keep being insufferable, the door opens again. Wonwoo walks in.
And unlike Seokmin who is obnoxiously loud about being well-rested Wonwoo looks just as exhausted as you and Mingyu. His coat is slightly wrinkled, his tie is loosened, and there’s an untouched coffee in his hand that he’s clearly forgotten about. He glances at Seokmin who looks too refreshed to be tolerable then at Mingyu, who is back to pretending to be dead.
Then his gaze lands on you.
You blink at him, eyes heavy with exhaustion. "Hey."
"Hey," Wonwoo murmurs. He steps closer, eyes scanning over you in that way he always does when he’s subtly checking if you’re okay.
"Did you sleep?" he asks.
You let out a weak, humorless laugh. "Did you?"
Wonwoo doesn’t answer. Instead, he sets his coffee down and sighs, running a hand through his hair.
Seokmin—who has been watching the whole thing like a spectator at a soap opera—leans back with a smirk. "Wow, this is so interesting."
Mingyu groans, flopping back onto the desk. "Not now, Seokmin. I’m too tired for this."
Wonwoo ignores them both. He looks at you again, eyes softer now. "Eat something and get some rest."
"You too," you mumble, already sinking further into the couch.
Wonwoo exhales through his nose, shaking his head. "You’re impossible."
Seokmin wiggles his eyebrows. "Ohhh, this is fun."
"You know what else is fun?" You finally turn your head to glare at Seokmin. "Murder."
Wonwoo just sighs again and walks over to the bunk beds, mumbling something about how all of you are hopeless. Mingyu groans like he’s been personally attacked when his pager starts beeping. He doesn’t even look at it just slams his forehead against the desk.
"No. No, no, no. I reject this," he mumbles against the wood.
You barely have the energy to process the noise until of course yours goes off too. You and Mingyu make eye contact, equally dead inside.
Seokmin, the only one without a pager going off, grins. "Wow. Couldn’t be me."
"I will end you," you mutter, already reaching for your coat.
Wonwoo watches silently as Mingyu sluggishly gets up, flipping his pager over to check the message. He sighs. "ER’s a mess. Multiple traumas incoming."
You check yours, blinking slowly as the words process in your sleep-deprived brain. "OR needs backup. Guess I’m heading there."
Mingyu looks at you, eyes drooping. "Want to switch? I don’t want to talk to families."
"Absolutely not."
Mingyu pouts but doesn’t argue. He drags himself to his feet, rubbing his face aggressively like that’ll give him the will to live.
Seokmin claps his hands together, looking way too cheerful. "Well, have fun, kids! I’ll be here. Rested. Thriving."
Mingyu flips him off on the way out.
You barely register Wonwoo standing beside you until he tugs at your sleeve. When you look up, he’s frowning slightly.
"You sure you’re okay?" he asks, voice quieter now.
You exhale. "No, but I don’t have a choice."
Wonwoo’s frown deepens like he wants to say something else, but before he can, a voice crackles over the intercom calling for additional surgeons.
You sigh, giving him a tired half-smile. "See you later."
Wonwoo watches as you head out, his jaw tightening.
Seokmin hums as the door closes behind you. "You know," he says, stretching out on the chair, "for someone who refuses to admit his feelings, you really don’t do a good job of hiding them."
Wonwoo shoots him a glare, but Seokmin just grins.
A few more hours later, Wonwoo rubs at his eyes as he shrugs on his coat, his shift finally over. He grabs his bag from the office, shoulders aching from exhaustion. Just as he’s about to leave, the door swings open, and Mingyu stumbles in, looking like he’s barely holding himself together.
"ER was hell," Mingyu groans, dropping onto the couch with a loud thud. "I think I aged five years."
"You already look thirty," Wonwoo says, deadpan.
Mingyu glares at him, too tired to argue. Instead, he waves a lazy hand.
Then Wonwoo asks "Where’s she? OR still has her hostage?"
The other doctor nods "She hasn’t come back yet. She’s probably running on caffeine and spite at this point."
Wonwoo hesitates for a second before speaking. "Make sure she eats and gets some rest when she’s done."
Mingyu cracks one eye open, a slow smirk creeping onto his face. "You like her."
Wonwoo stares at him blankly. "Make sure she eats, Mingyu."
"You like her," Mingyu repeats, grinning now. Wonwoo doesn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he slings his bag over his shoulder and heads for the door.
"Hey, where are you going?" Mingyu calls after him.
"Home," Wonwoo mutters.
"Liar!" Mingyu shouts, but Wonwoo is already gone.
What feels like hours to Mingyu before you entered the room. You trudge into the on-call room, every bone in your body protesting. Your scrub top is slightly wrinkled, your hair is a mess, and you’re running on nothing but sheer willpower at this point.
Mingyu is already knocked out on the bottom bunk, snoring lightly. You barely spare him a glance before collapsing onto the couch.
That’s when you notice it.
On the small coffee table, there’s a neatly packed meal. Your favorite.
You blink, staring at it like it’s a mirage. There’s even a bottle of water next to it, condensation still fresh, like someone just left it there.
Curious, you reach out and poke at the food, half-expecting it to disappear. When it doesn’t, you frown.
"Who…?" you murmur to yourself.
Mingyu shifts on the bed, groaning. "Shut up and eat."
You glance at him. "Did you get this?"
He grunts, eyes still closed. "Nope."
You pause. "Then who—?"
Mingyu cracks one eye open, smirking lazily. "Who do you think?"
That stops you. Your brain, sluggish from exhaustion, takes a moment to process.
Then it clicks.
Wonwoo.
You stare at the food, heart doing something weird in your chest.
Mingyu snickers before rolling over. "Just eat, dumbass."
You don’t argue. But as you take the first bite, you can’t help but think about a certain pediatric surgeon who definitely isn’t as subtle as he thinks he is.
You exhale, shaking your head to yourself. Subtle, Jeon.
Mingyu shifts on the bed again, cracking one eye open. "You’re thinking too hard about this," he mutters, voice thick with sleep.
You stab at your food with your chopsticks. "No, I’m not."
"Yeah, you are."
You roll your eyes, but there’s no real bite to it. "Go back to sleep."
Mingyu hums lazily, but then he adds, "He does this all the time, you know."
You pause mid-bite. "What?"
Mingyu smirks, barely awake but still committed to being a menace. "Making sure you eat. Checking if you’re okay. Wonwoo’s always been like that… but only with you."
Your stomach does something stupid at that. "That’s not true."
You open your mouth to argue, but Mingyu’s already passed out again, snoring softly. You sigh, leaning back on the couch. The food is warm, comforting, and frustratingly thoughtful.
You try not to think about it too much. You fail.
It’s another long shift for you.
After parting ways with Seokmin, you make your way to the nurses’ station, hoping to check on some charts before heading back to the on-call room. You’re running on fumes at this point, but the habit of making sure everything is in order before you crash is too strong to ignore.
As you approach, you hear a group of nurses talking in hushed but excited tones. You don’t think much of it until you catch a familiar name.
“Dr. Jeon is so amazing,” one of them gushes, practically sighing. “Did you see him with that little boy’s parents? He was so gentle and reassuring.”
“I know! And he’s always so calm, no matter how bad things get.”
“Not to mention how good he looks in scrubs,” another nurse adds, and they all giggle.
You freeze mid-step, blinking.
Are they seriously—?
“I swear, if he wasn’t so intimidating, I’d totally ask him out.”
“Right? But he’s always so serious. Like, have you ever seen him smile?”
“Only sometimes. But guess what?” The first nurse leans in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “I did see him smile today.”
“No way. When?”
“When he was talking to Dr. Y/N.”
Your stomach drops.
Oh no.
“Oh my god, wait, you’re right! He actually looked... softer?”
“And she’s the only one he ever seems to talk to outside of work stuff.”
Another nurse sighs dramatically. “That’s so unfair. Do you think they’re, like, a thing?”
Your brain short-circuits. You have got to get out of here. Clearing your throat loudly, you step into their line of sight, making them jump. “Hey, uh… I just need to check some charts.”
The group scrambles, trying to look busy, but you can feel their eyes on you, filled with curiosity and knowing looks. Great. Just great.
As you grab the nearest patient file, you swear you hear one of them whisper, “Oh my god, she totally heard us.”
You pretend you didn’t.
You nearly drop the patient file when a rolling chair suddenly appears beside you.
“So,” Seokmin drawls, arms crossed as he lazily spins in the chair, “how do I break it to them that Wonwoo is a total softie for you?”
You glare at him, pressing a hand to your racing heart. “Can you not sneak up on me like that?”
Seokmin grins, completely ignoring your complaint. “Seriously, though. They think he’s this untouchable, brooding genius, but we both know he turns into a golden retriever when it comes to you.”
Your eye twitches. “He does not—”
Seokmin cuts you off with an exaggerated gasp. “Oh my god, you’re in denial.”
You slap his arm with the patient file. “I am not.”
He just laughs, rubbing his arm. “Y/N, I literally watched him rip Mingyu off the bottom bunk just so you could sleep comfortably.”
You open your mouth, then close it. Okay, fine. That was suspiciously caring behavior.
Seokmin smirks, clearly enjoying your inner struggle. “And let’s not forget how he tells Mingyu to make sure you eat and sleep. Or how he leaves food for you. Or how he only ever gets flustered when it involves you.”
You groan, dropping your head onto the counter. “I hate you.”
He pats your back like a supportive older brother. “No, you hate that I’m right.”
Before you can argue, one of the nurses clears her throat loudly, and you glance up to see them all very obviously pretending not to listen.
Seokmin leans in, whispering conspiratorially, “They’re totally listening.”
“I know, Seokmin.”
“Wanna give them a show? Maybe dramatically sigh Wonwoo’s name?”
You grab the patient file again and smack him with it. That’s when another doctor—Dr. Lee from orthopedics—walks up beside you.
"Dr. Y/N," he greets smoothly, offering a smile. "Haven’t seen you around much. Busy saving lives?"
You glance up, slightly caught off guard by the sudden conversation. "Uh, yeah. Something like that."
Dr. Lee leans casually against the counter, watching you with interest. "You should take a break sometime. Maybe grab a coffee?"
Oh. Oh.
Is he… flirting?
You don’t get the chance to react before you hear a loud, exaggerated cough from nearby. Seokmin is sitting just a few feet away, blatantly eavesdropping with zero shame. He’s pretending to look at a chart, but his expression is screaming Oh? What’s this?
You try to ignore him, forcing a polite smile at Dr. Lee. "That’s nice of you, but I’m actually running on negative sleep right now."
Dr. Lee chuckles. "All the more reason to step away for a bit. It’s just coffee, no pressure."
Seokmin lets out another obnoxious cough. "Thirsty, huh?"
You whip your head toward him, glaring. "Do you need medical attention, Seokmin?"
He grins. "Nah, I’m just—" he gestures vaguely between you and Dr. Lee "—observing."
Dr. Lee, bless him, is oblivious to the absolute menace that is Seokmin. "No worries. If you change your mind, let me know," he says with an easy smile before walking off.
The moment he’s gone, Seokmin wheels his chair over at full speed, stopping right beside you.
"So," he drawls. "Are you gonna tell Wonwoo, or should I?"
You groan, dropping your head onto the counter. "Seokmin, I swear to god—"
Of course it didn’t take long. Mingyu and Wonwoo are lounging in the on-call room when the door slams open. Seokmin bursts in, cackling like a maniac, running full speed across the room.
And right behind him. You.
"LEE SEOKMIN, I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!"
Before he can reach the safety of the bunk beds, you launch yourself at him, nearly tackling him to the ground. Seokmin barely stays on his feet, wheezing through his laughter.
Mingyu, sitting up from the bottom bunk, blinks in confusion. "…Do we want to know?"
Wonwoo, sitting at the small desk, doesn’t even look up. "No."
Seokmin, still trying to escape your grip, gasps between laughs. "I—I was just helping!"
"You were eavesdropping and causing problems on purpose!" you yell, tightening your hold around his waist as he tries to wriggle free.
Mingyu perks up at that. "Ooh, what happened? Spill."
Seokmin dramatically falls onto the couch, bringing you down with him. "Our dear Y/N here was getting flirted with."
Mingyu’s eyebrows shoot up. "What?"
Seokmin grins, panting slightly. "Dr. Lee. Ortho. Real smooth. Asked her to coffee."
Mingyu gasps like this is the most dramatic thing he’s ever heard. "And you tackled him over this?!"
"No, I tackled him because he ran in here to tell you two like a gossiping old lady!" you snap, still half on top of Seokmin, who is not helping by laughing even harder.
Mingyu turns to Wonwoo, who has yet to react. "Wonwoo. Thoughts?"
Wonwoo, still not looking up, simply flips a page in his book. Seokmin wheezes. You groan, letting your head drop onto the couch.
Mingyu clutches his chest, looking between you and Wonwoo with pure delight. "Oh, this is better than a telenovela."
You push yourself up from where you were half-crushing Seokmin, brushing off your scrubs as you glare at him. Before you can properly scold him for being the absolute worst, Wonwoo finally speaks—completely nonchalant, like this whole thing isn’t ridiculous.
"He asked if you wanted coffee?"
You pause. Seokmin and Mingyu do not. Seokmin looks thrilled. Mingyu straight-up leans forward, eyes sparkling with interest.
You narrow your eyes at Wonwoo. "Why do you sound like that?"
Wonwoo doesn’t even look up from his book. "Like what?"
Mingyu grins. "Yeah, like what, Wonwoo?"
Wonwoo flips a page. "Just asking."
You scoff. "You buy me coffee all the time"
Wonwoo hums. "Exactly."
Your brain short-circuits. "…Wait. What does that mean?*"
Wonwoo, still infuriatingly casual, finally glances up. "Nothing. Just seems unnecessary to get coffee with someone else when you already get it from me."
Seokmin and Mingyu explode.
"OH, THAT'S RICH—"
"DID HE JUST—"
You groan into your hands as they lose their minds. Wonwoo, unbothered, closes his book and stands. "I’m going to get coffee. You want one or not?"
Mingyu is on the floor laughing. Seokmin is gasping for air. And you—you are never going to hear the end of this.
Wonwoo, as unbothered as ever, grabs his ID badge and heads for the door.
Mingyu and Seokmin are still wheezing from his last comment, but you’re too busy processing to move.
He’s almost out when he pauses, tilting his head slightly. "Not coming?"
You cross your arms, still suspicious. "I think I’ll stay here and recover from whatever that was."
Wonwoo shrugs. "Suit yourself."
He steps out. You don’t follow but right before the door swings shut, you shout after him
"Caramel macchiato, extra shot, not too sweet!"
Seokmin and Mingyu stare at you. You stare back.
Then Mingyu loses it, laughing so hard he nearly falls off the bunk. "OH, SO YOU’RE NOT GONNA FOLLOW HIM, BUT YOU’RE STILL MAKING HIM GET YOU COFFEE?"
Seokmin clutches his chest, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "Unbelievable. Absolutely shameless."
You sigh, rubbing your temples. "I hate you both."
Mingyu wipes fake tears. "No, you hate that you’re in too deep and we’re just here to witness it."
It’s your well-deserved day off, which means the hospital is not your problem for once. But unfortunately for Wonwoo, it means he is the problem of the two very nosy individuals stuck with him today.
Mingyu and Seokmin have been relentless since morning, waiting for the perfect opportunity to grill him—and the second they’re all in the on-call room, Seokmin strikes.
"So... you and Y/N."
Wonwoo doesn’t even look up from his tablet. "What about her?"
Mingyu flops onto the couch dramatically. "You know exactly what about her."
Seokmin leans forward, grinning. "You act different around her."
"I don’t."
"Oh, you absolutely do," Mingyu says, propping his chin on his hand. "You let her get away with things you’d never tolerate from us."
Seokmin nods enthusiastically. "Like running away when she has a cut?"
"Or demanding coffee like she’s a queen and you’re her personal barista?" Mingyu adds.
Wonwoo finally glances up. "She doesn’t demand. I offer."
"And you have too much denial," Mingyu shoots back. "Be honest, if she asked for your left kidney, you’d at least consider it."
Seokmin laughs. "He’d have it prepped and ready before she even finished asking."
Wonwoo rubs his temples. "You’re both insufferable."
"And you’re in love," Mingyu sing-songs.
"I am not," Wonwoo deadpans.
Seokmin smirks. "Would you say no if she asked you out?"
Wonwoo doesn’t answer immediately, making the two guys exchange another look.
"Oh my God," Mingyu whispers. "You wouldn’t say no."
"Pack it up, folks, we got him," Seokmin grins. "That’s a wrap."
Meanwhile it’s your day off, technically you were supposed to be having a relaxing day off. No pagers, no surgeries, no Mingyu whining for coffee or Seokmin launching into dramatic gossip. Just a simple grocery run—bread, eggs, maybe even some overpriced snacks if you were feeling indulgent.
But fate, as usual, had other plans.
The sound of screeching tires and the crash of metal on metal jolts you from your thoughts as you step out of the store. A small crowd is already forming near an intersection, the sight of two badly dented cars making your stomach drop.
Then you hear it—panicked voices.
"She’s pregnant!"
Your body moves before your brain fully catches up. Pushing past stunned bystanders, you rush toward the most damaged car, where a man is frantically trying to pry open the passenger door. Inside, a woman—clearly pregnant—clutches her stomach, her face contorted in pain.
"Ma’am, can you hear me?" you ask, voice sharp with urgency.
She gasps, nodding weakly. "M-My baby—"
You glance around. The fire department isn’t here yet, neither are the paramedics. The door is crushed in, and she’s stuck.
Your pulse pounds, but you push the panic aside. Focus.
You turn to the man still struggling with the door. "We need to get her out, but carefully. Do you have something I can use to break the glass?"
He nods shakily, rushing to his car. Meanwhile, you crouch by the woman, speaking in a soothing tone even as your mind races through possible complications.
"You're doing great. Just keep breathing, okay? Help is coming."
She nods again, but her grip on her belly tightens.
You don’t have your scrubs, your hospital badge, or even your gloves. But right now, none of that matters because doctor or not—you have to help her.
You refuse to leave her side. Even as sirens wail in the distance and bystanders are urged to step back, you stay crouched next to the woman, monitoring her breathing, checking for signs of distress.
"You're okay. Just hold on," you murmur, your hand steady on her wrist, feeling the rapid pulse beneath your fingers. The first responders finally arrive, moving quickly to assess the scene.
A firefighter rushes toward you. "Ma’am, we need to extract her now. You should move back."
"Not until she’s safe," you insist.
They're working on prying the door open when it happens—
An explosion.
A sudden BOOM rocks the area as flames burst from the wreckage. The force knocks you backward, and before you can react, shards of glass and debris fly straight toward you and the pregnant woman.
Your first instinct is to shield her. You duck, arms raised, making sure not a single piece touches her. She screams, but the paramedics quickly cover her with a thick emergency blanket.
You barely notice the sharp stings as glass embeds itself into your arm, your shoulder, a few grazing your cheek. The pain is secondary.
"She’s stable!" one of the EMTs shouts, carefully moving the woman onto a stretcher. "Let’s transport her now!" You exhale in relief, watching as they wheel her toward the ambulance. You step back, feeling a slight dizziness, but shake it off.
"Doctor?" One of the firefighters eyes you carefully.
"I’m fine," you say automatically.
The ambulance ride is a blur of flashing lights and hushed urgency. The paramedics work efficiently, monitoring the pregnant woman’s vitals as you sit beside her, keeping her calm. You press a gauze pad against one of the deeper cuts on your arm, but otherwise, you don’t acknowledge your injuries.
When the ambulance finally arrives at the hospital, the woman is rushed into the ER. You climb out right after them, rolling your stiff shoulders, determined to go check on her—
Only to run straight into Mingyu.
"Hey, we got a—" His usual laid-back tone vanishes the moment his eyes land on you. His brows shoot up. "What the hell happened to you?"
"I’m fine," you say immediately, waving him off. Big mistake.
The moment you move, dizziness washes over you. You stumble slightly, catching yourself against the wall.
Mingyu lunges forward. "Yeah, okay, fine people totally do that."
His eyes sweep over you. Your torn sleeve, the cuts littering your arm, the faint streak of blood on your cheek. "Are you serious right now?"
You sigh. "It’s not that bad—"
"Not that bad?" He gestures wildly at you. "You were supposed to be on your day off, not playing action hero in the middle of the street!"
Mingyu groans, already reaching for his pager. "Seokmin and Wonwoo are going to kill me."
Mingyu barely has time to react before your knees buckle.
"Oh, for—okay, nope, you’re done," he mutters, catching you before you hit the ground. His hands grip your shoulders, guiding you onto a nearby gurney despite your weak protests.
"I—I'm fine," you mumble, though the dizziness makes your head swim. The pain you’ve been stubbornly ignoring is very much making itself known now, sharp and stinging from every cut.
"Uh-huh, tell that to your blood loss," Mingyu huffs as he quickly assesses the wounds. "How are you this dumb?"
You try to glare at him, but it’s half-hearted at best. He just sighs, guiding you to the nearest vacant bed then grabbing antiseptics and bandages from a nearby tray.
"This is gonna sting," he warns, dabbing at the gash on your arm.
The burn makes you flinch. "Mingyu—"
But before you can complain, the door to the ER slams open.
"Where is she?"
Your stomach drops.
Wonwoo stands at the entrance, still in his scrubs, his chest rising and falling like he ran all the way here. His usual composed demeanor is nowhere to be seen.
The moment his eyes land on you—bruised, bloodied, and definitely not fine—his expression shifts into something dark.
"You have got to be kidding me," he mutters, storming over
Mingyu looks up but barely gets a word in before Wonwoo cuts in, voice tight. "What the hell happened?"
You open your mouth, but Mingyu beats you to it. "She was out running errands and decided to become a damn superhero. Got caught in a car explosion or something—"
"It wasn’t an explosion—" you try, but Wonwoo turns his glare on you so fast you shut up.
"You refused to tell anyone you were hurt?" Wonwoo’s voice is low, laced with barely contained frustration. "Do you even know how reckless that is?"
You blink at him, a little caught off guard. Wonwoo gets annoyed, sure—but this? This anger? This fear simmering under his words?
Mingyu shifts awkwardly. "Uh, so, I’ll just—keep cleaning these wounds?"
Wonwoo ignores him.
"You should’ve been treated immediately," he snaps. "You could’ve gone into shock, Y/N. You could’ve—" He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair.
You swallow, voice quieter now. "I had to make sure she was okay."
Wonwoo stares at you for a long moment. His jaw clenches. Then, without another word, he grabs the antiseptic from Mingyu’s hand and kneels down beside you.
"Hey, I was—" Mingyu starts
"You’re taking too long," Wonwoo says flatly, inspecting your arm.
Mingyu throws his hands up. "Oh, I’m the problem? Sure, yeah, okay."
But you don’t pay attention to Mingyu anymore—because Wonwoo is suddenly so close, his fingers gentle as he carefully tends to your wounds. The frustration is still in his eyes, but his touch is steady, precise.
You wince when he presses the gauze against a deeper cut, and his grip instinctively tightens around your wrist. His voice softens, just a fraction.
"I don’t care how capable you are," he mutters. "Don’t ever do that again."
You bite down hard on your lip, willing yourself not to cry. But the antiseptic burns, and the way Wonwoo presses down on your wounds with such precision makes it impossible to ignore the sharp sting.
Your eyes start to prickle. You will not cry. You refuse.
Mingyu, ever the observant one, notices immediately. He leans in slightly and mumbles, “Hey, man, she’s already injured. You’re making her cry.”
Wonwoo freezes.
Your head snaps up. “I am not crying.”
Mingyu raises an eyebrow. “You sure? You kinda look like you’re about to.”
You glare at him. “Shut up.”
Wonwoo sighs, rubbing his temple. “Mingyu, stop talking.”
Mingyu just shrugs, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. “I’m just saying, maybe be a little gentler? You know, since you care so much.”
Wonwoo pointedly ignores him, but his grip on your arm loosens just slightly, his movements becoming even more careful. He still looks pissed, but his touch is softer now, like he’s trying to make up for it.
You try to focus on anything other than the fact that your face feels ridiculously warm.
Mingyu stands, stretching with an exaggerated groan. “Alright, I’m gonna check on the woman since someone needs to be useful around here.”
You shoot him a half-hearted glare. “I’m useful.”
“Yeah, yeah, tell that to your blood loss.” He waves you off, throwing Wonwoo a quick glance before walking out, leaving the two of you alone.
The silence that follows is heavy. Wonwoo is still focused on cleaning your wounds, but his jaw is tight, and his movements though gentler now are still a little too precise.
You watch him for a second before speaking. “You’re really mad, huh?”
He exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “No.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Really?”
His grip tightens just slightly before he lets out a quiet, frustrated sigh. “…Yes.”
You shift a little, suddenly feeling weird under his gaze. “It wasn’t that bad.”
Wonwoo finally looks up at you, and the way his eyes darken makes you shut up real quick.
“Not that bad?” he repeats, voice low. “You were in an accident, Y/N. You got caught in a literal explosion.”
You try to brush it off. “It wasn’t that big—”
"You were bleeding and didn't even think to get yourself treated first."
You falter. His shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath, like he’s trying really hard to rein himself in.
“Do you know how many times I’ve seen people come in, thinking they were fine, only to collapse later?” His voice is quieter now, but it’s laced with something heavier. “You’re lucky it wasn’t worse.”
You don’t know what to say to that.
Wonwoo’s gaze softens—just barely—before he looks back down, carefully placing the last bandage over your arm. His hands linger for a second, his fingers warm against your skin.
“…Just don’t do that again.” His voice is quieter now, almost pleading. “Please.”
You sniffle, trying to hold it in, but a few tears betray you, slipping down your cheek before you can stop them. Wonwoo notices immediately. His hands, still hovering near your arm, tense.
“Hey—”
You quickly wipe at your face, sniffling again. “I’m fine.” Your voice wobbles, completely betraying you.
Wonwoo exhales through his nose, and before you can react, he’s reaching for the tissue box nearby, wordlessly handing you one.
You take it, mumbling, “Thanks.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then, in a small voice, you ask, “Is the woman okay?”
Wonwoo doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he watches you carefully before finally saying, “She’s stable. Mingyu’s checking on her now.”
You nod, squeezing the tissue in your hand. “That’s good.”
Wonwoo still doesn’t look away. His lips press together like he wants to say something else, but in the end, all he does is let out a quiet sigh.
“You should rest,” he says softly. “You lost some of blood, you might feel light headed”
You huff, forcing a weak smile. “You sound like me when I tell my patients that.”
He doesn’t smile back. Instead, he reaches out, hesitates, then gently presses his hand against your head, smoothing down a stray strand of hair. The touch is so light, so careful, that it nearly makes you tear up all over again.
“Then take your own advice for once.”
Before you can even process the warmth of Wonwoo’s touch, the door bursts open.
“OH MY GOD—YOU’RE ALIVE!”
Seokmin practically lunges toward you, arms wide like he’s about to hug-tackle you, but Wonwoo smoothly steps in his way, stopping him with a single hand to his chest.
“Seokmin.” Wonwoo’s voice is flat. “She’s injured.”
Seokmin blinks, then gasps like he’s just realized something. “YOU’RE INJURED?!”
You stare at him, deadpan. “Did you think I was just here for fun?”
Seokmin dramatically grips his chest. “I—I just thought maybe you were being dramatic again! But you actually got hurt?!”
Wonwoo sighs, stepping aside because, at this point, there’s no stopping Seokmin. Sure enough, he leans down, carefully inspecting your bandages like a concerned mother.
“How bad is it? Are you dizzy? Do you need water? Do you need me to spoon-feed you soup?”
You groan, pushing his face away. “I’m fine.”
Seokmin ignores you and turns to Wonwoo. “Doctor, will she survive?”
Wonwoo looks unimpressed. “She lost blood but nothing major. She just needs to rest.”
Seokmin gasps again, gripping your hand. “BE STRONG, MY FRIEND.”
You shove him. “You’re the worst.”
Seokmin sniffs dramatically, wiping an imaginary tear. “If you do die, can I have your favorite pen?”
Wonwoo pinches the bridge of his nose while you grab a pillow and throw it at Seokmin’s face.
After everything that happened, of course Wonwoo refused to let you out of his sight or atleast have someone watching over you while the three guys finish their shift.
After work, the four of you go to a barbeque place you're a regular at.
You’re all starving by the time you reach the restaurant, exhaustion from the day momentarily forgotten at the sight of sizzling meat and bubbling stews.
Mingyu and Seokmin are loud, bickering over who gets to grill first, while you just lean back in your seat, still pretending to sulk.
Wonwoo, sitting beside you, wordlessly places some meat on your plate before you can even lift your chopsticks. Then, as if it’s second nature, he reaches over and rolls up the loose sleeve of your hoodie, neatly tucking it to make sure it doesn’t dip into the sauces.
Mingyu pauses mid-bite, eyes flicking between the two of you.
Seokmin, in the middle of arguing over dipping sauces, suddenly stops and squints.
The most shocking part?
You don’t even react. You just pick up your chopsticks, casually eating the food Wonwoo put on your plate like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
Mingyu slowly puts his chopsticks down. “Okay, hold on.”
Seokmin leans in. “Have you always been like this?”
You blink. “Like what?”
Mingyu gestures vaguely at you and Wonwoo. “That.”
Wonwoo raises an eyebrow, sipping his water. “You’ll have to be more specific.”
Seokmin waves his chopsticks between you two. “You’re basically a married couple and she doesn’t even blink when you baby her.”
You scoff, but before you can argue, Wonwoo speaks first. “She’d spill sauce on herself if I didn’t.”
Mingyu stares. “So you admit you’re babying her.”
Wonwoo shrugs. “She doesn’t complain.”
You shove a piece of meat in your mouth to avoid answering, but your reddening ears don’t go unnoticed. Seokmin and Mingyu exchange knowing looks before grinning at each other.
Oh, they’re never letting this go.
The two of you are crammed into the back of a small van, bumping along a dirt road on the way to the rural clinic. It’s too early, you’re running on barely any sleep, and Mingyu has already decided now is the perfect time to interrogate you.
“So.” He leans back against his seat, arms crossed, looking far too entertained. “You and Wonwoo.”
You groan immediately. “Absolutely not. We’re not doing this.”
Mingyu grins. “Oh, we’re definitely doing this. We have, like, four more hours to go.”
You glare at him, but he just continues. “I mean, come on. He feeds you. He rolls up your sleeves. He practically tracks your movements in the hospital without even trying. And you don’t even react anymore.”
“Maybe I’m just used to it.” You shrug.
Mingyu narrows his eyes. “That’s what I’m saying! You’re used to it. As in, it’s been happening for so long that you don’t even notice.”
You roll your eyes. “It’s just how we are.”
Mingyu scoffs. “Please. If Seokmin tried to do that for you, you’d stab him with your chopsticks.”
You snort. “Yeah, well, Seokmin deserves it.”
Mingyu ignores that. “Just admit it. You like him.”
You pause. Then, after a beat, you say, “Of course I like him. He’s my friend.”
Mingyu groans dramatically, flopping onto your shoulder. “You’re impossible.”
You shove him off. “And you’re annoying.”
He smirks. “I know. But I’m also right.”
You refuse to answer, choosing instead to look out the window. But you can’t shake the way your stomach flips at Mingyu’s words.
Mingyu stretches out his legs, looking way too comfortable for someone who’s supposed to be working. “Alright then, since you’re so sure it’s nothing—explain this to me.”
You sigh. “What now?”
He smirks. “Why hasn’t Wonwoo dated anyone since med school?”
You blink. “What?”
Mingyu tilts his head, looking far too smug. “I mean, Seokmin and I have dated around. You’ve had, like, two almost-relationships. But Wonwoo? Not a single girlfriend. No dates. No flings. No nothing.” He raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t that weird?”
You scoff. “Maybe he’s just not interested.”
Mingyu shakes his head. “Nah. I asked him once, and you know what he said?”
You hesitate. “…What?”
Mingyu grins. “‘I don’t have time for that.’” He leans in, lowering his voice dramatically. “But I think the real reason is that he’s been too busy looking after you.”
You open your mouth to argue, but nothing comes out.
Because now that you think about it… Mingyu’s kind of right.
Wonwoo has never once shown interest in dating. Even during med school, when everyone else was either in relationships or at least going on dates, he never did. He was always around, always steady, always—
You shake your head. No. No way.
Mingyu watches you, eyes glinting. “Oh my god, you’re actually thinking about it.”
You shove him. “Shut up.”
He cackles. “I love being right.”
You groan, turning to the window to ignore him. But your heart is beating just a little too fast, and your mind keeps replaying Mingyu’s words.
Why hasn’t Wonwoo dated anyone?
And more importantly, why does the answer make your chest feel tight?
Once you’re done with the medical mission, you go back to the hospital. You push open the door to the on-call room, utterly drained from the long day. Mingyu had peeled off somewhere to check on the ER, but you went straight here, hoping to collapse onto the couch for at least a few minutes.
The room is dimly lit, quiet except for the faint ticking of the wall clock. At first, you think it's empty—until your eyes land on Wonwoo. He’s at his desk, head slightly tilted down, eyes closed.
You pause, debating whether you should leave him be. But before you can take a step back, his voice—low and a little rough from exhaustion—breaks the silence.
"You're back."
You blink. "I thought you were asleep."
He opens his eyes, looking at you with that unreadable expression of his. "Just resting my eyes."
You scoff lightly, stepping further inside. "You say that like it’s any better."
Wonwoo watches you as you drop your bag onto the desk, stretching your arms over your head with a tired groan. You don’t notice the way his gaze lingers, just for a second, before he leans back in his chair.
"Long day?" he asks.
You sigh, rolling out your shoulders. "Very. Mingyu was extra annoying, as usual."
Wonwoo hums, amused. "What did he do now?"
You hesitate, suddenly remembering the entire conversation about him. About how Mingyu basically implied that Wonwoo hasn’t dated anyone because of you.
You glance at Wonwoo, who’s waiting for your answer with a neutral expression. And for some reason, you can’t bring yourself to bring it up.
“Just the usual nonsense,” you say instead.
Wonwoo doesn’t press, just nods before looking back at his desk. There’s a brief silence—comfortable, familiar. The kind you only get with someone you’ve known for years.
Then, softly, he says, “You should eat before you sleep.”
You glance at him, arching a brow. "Did you just give me my own advice?"
A small smirk tugs at his lips. "You never follow it yourself."
You shake your head, but there’s something warm in your chest that wasn’t there before.
Damn Mingyu. Now you can’t stop noticing things.
You drop onto the couch, exhausted but still watching Wonwoo out of the corner of your eye. He hasn't moved from his desk, but now you notice the way he's rubbing his temples, his brows slightly furrowed.
His glasses aren’t on, which is rare. Wonwoo without glasses usually means one of two things—either he’s about to sleep, or he has a headache.
Judging by the way he keeps pinching the bridge of his nose, it’s definitely the latter.
"You okay?" you ask.
"Mhm." He doesn’t look up, still rubbing slow circles into his temples.
You frown. "Did you even rest today?"
"I did," he says, but you don’t believe him for a second.
With a sigh, you push yourself up and walk over to him. He barely reacts when you place a hand on his shoulder, but he finally opens his eyes when you gently pull his hand away from his forehead.
"You have a migraine, don’t you?" you ask, squinting at him.
Wonwoo blinks at you, then exhales through his nose—something between amusement and surrender. "Just a small one."
You roll your eyes. "Right. Small enough that you’re sitting here rubbing your head like an old man."
He gives you a flat look. "Thanks."
Ignoring his sarcasm, you reach for his desk, rummaging through one of the drawers. You know he keeps medicine in here somewhere—he’s always prepared for everyone else’s headaches, just never his own.
After a few seconds, you find what you’re looking for and shake two pills into your palm before grabbing his forgotten water bottle. You hold both out to him expectantly.
"Take these."
He doesn’t move at first, just stares at you with that unreadable look again.
"Wonwoo," you say, more firmly. Finally, he sighs and takes the pills from your hand, swallowing them with a sip of water.
You nod, satisfied. "Good. Now go lie down before you pass out at your desk."
He exhales slowly, then mutters, "You’re bossy."
You smirk. "And yet you listen to me."
He doesn’t argue. Just shakes his head with the smallest hint of a smile before standing up. And for some reason, as he moves toward the bunk beds, you feel that warmth in your chest again.
You leave the room after turning the lights off to let him rest. You find Mingyu, maybe grab some late night snacks. As you and Mingyu walk through the hospital corridors, making casual conversation, a familiar figure approaches.
It’s him—Doctor Lee, the one who had flirted with you before.
Mingyu notices the way your shoulders tense and immediately perks up, eyes darting between you and Doctor Lee with barely concealed interest. "Oh, this should be fun," he mutters under his breath.
You shoot him a look. "Shut up."
Before Mingyu can tease you further, Doctor Lee reaches you, flashing that same confident smile.
"Hey, fancy seeing you again." His tone is smooth, casual, but there’s something pointed in the way he looks at you.
"It’s a hospital," you reply dryly. "You’ll probably see me a lot."
Mingyu barely hides his laugh behind a cough.
Doctor Lee, unfazed, chuckles. "Right. Still, I was hoping I’d run into you. Thought maybe this time I could convince you to grab a coffee with me?"
Mingyu freezes beside you, his head snapping toward you so fast you think he might give himself whiplash. He is way too interested in this.
You open your mouth to respond—politely decline, of course—but before you can, a voice cuts in.
"She already has a coffee supplier."
You turn your head just in time to see Wonwoo standing a few steps away, arms crossed, looking completely unimpressed. His tone is calm, but there’s an edge to it, something just sharp enough that it makes both you and Doctor Lee pause.
Mingyu, of course, is thriving.
"Oh, do you now?" Doctor Lee glances between you and Wonwoo, one eyebrow raised.
You sigh, rubbing your temple. "Wonwoo, don’t—"
"She never has to ask. Her coffee order just appears," Wonwoo continues smoothly, ignoring you. "Sometimes with snacks too."
Mingyu wheezes.
Doctor Lee blinks, clearly trying to figure out if there’s something more to Wonwoo’s words. You’re pretty sure you know exactly what he’s doing, but before the other man can press further, you exhale and take a step back.
"Anyway, I have rounds to finish," you say quickly. "See you around."
Before Doctor Lee can respond, you grab Mingyu’s sleeve and yank him along with you, leaving the poor guy standing there confused.
Mingyu is absolutely dying.
"Wonwoo totally just alpha-blocked that guy," he laughs, struggling to keep up with your fast pace. "Like, not even subtle. That was lowkey territorial."
You groan. "Don’t start."
"Oh, I’ve already started." Mingyu grins, wiggling his eyebrows. "So… your coffee supplier, huh?"
You don’t answer. Instead, you walk even faster, pretending you don’t hear Mingyu’s continued teasing all the way down the hall.
As you speed-walk down the hall, Mingyu still snickering beside you, you hear the sound of familiar footsteps following behind. You don't even need to turn around to know who it is.
You sigh dramatically, slowing your steps just enough to glance over your shoulder. "Weren't you suffering from a migraine?" you ask, narrowing your eyes at Wonwoo.
Wonwoo, walking at a completely casual pace as if he didn’t just interrupt an entire conversation to assert his place in your life, simply shrugs. "It went away."
Mingyu claps a hand over his mouth, trying so hard not to burst out laughing. He fails.
"Ohhh, interesting," Mingyu chokes out between laughs. "So you had a migraine, but the moment Doctor Lee showed up, you were suddenly fine? Wow. Almost like it wasn’t that serious to begin with."
Wonwoo shoots him a blank look. "Or maybe I just recovered."
"Right, right," Mingyu nods, "or maybe you just didn’t like what you were seeing."
You groan, rubbing your forehead. "Mingyu, please—"
"No, because listen," Mingyu continues, fully ignoring you now, "if I had a migraine, I would not be up and walking this fast just to make sure my ‘friend’—" he even throws up air quotes, "—wasn’t having coffee with someone else."
"I wasn’t walking fast," Wonwoo deadpans.
"Okay, but you were there," Mingyu counters. "Like, right there. That’s suspicious, man."
You throw up your hands. "Oh my God, both of you, stop."
Wonwoo just blinks, completely unbothered. "Do you still want coffee?" he asks, as if the last five minutes of chaos didn’t just happen. Mingyu wheezes again.
You groan even louder. "You are so annoying."
Later Wonwo drove you and Mingyu home. The car ride is quiet after Mingyu gets dropped off, leaving just you and Wonwoo. The city lights blur past the window, and you drum your fingers lightly on your thigh before finally speaking
"Hey."
"Hm?" Wonwoo doesn’t take his eyes off the road, but you know he’s listening.
"That thing Mingyu said … about you not dating anyone since med school—"
Wonwoo glances at you briefly before looking back at the road. "What about it?"
"Is it true?" you ask, shifting slightly to face him. "You really haven’t dated anyone all these years?"
He doesn’t answer right away, but you notice the way his fingers tighten slightly around the wheel. "I was busy," he finally says, voice even.
"We were all busy," you counter. "Mingyu dated. Seokmin dated."
Wonwoo exhales softly through his nose. "And you?"
You blink, caught off guard. "What about me?"
"Did you date?" He doesn’t look at you, but there’s something in his voice, something careful, deliberate.
You hesitate, then shrug. "Not really."
That makes Wonwoo glance at you, just for a second. "Why?"
You huff a quiet laugh. "Why are you answering my question with another question?"
"Because you’re deflecting," he replies easily.
You frown, arms crossing. "Maybe I just didn’t feel like it."
Wonwoo hums, the sound low and thoughtful. "Then I guess we’re the same."
That makes you pause. He’s right, in a way. You never thought much about dating, always too caught up in the chaos of work, of life. But hearing that he was the same—that he never even tried—makes something uneasy stir in your chest.
"So…" you start carefully, "was there really no one? Not even someone you liked?"
The streetlights cast long shadows over his face, and for a moment, you think he won’t answer. But then, softly—so softly you almost don’t hear it—he says,
"I wouldn’t say that."
Your breath catches, but before you can press further, the car slows. You realize, belatedly, that you’ve already arrived at your place.
Wonwoo shifts into park and finally, finally looks at you. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something in his eyes, something deep and quiet and there.
You swallow. "Wonwoo—"
"Go inside," he says gently, cutting you off.
You hesitate. The air feels heavy, thick with something unspoken.
But in the end, you don’t push.
"Okay," you mumble, unbuckling your seatbelt. "Drive safe."
He nods, watching as you step out and close the door behind you.
As you walk up to your building, you don’t turn back snd inside his car, Wonwoo stays parked for a long time, staring at where you were.
You’re never like this.
You’ve known Wonwoo for years, been friends with him for so long that his presence has always felt natural, something you never had to think about. But now? Now, after what Mingyu said, after what Wonwoo didn’t say, you’re noticing everything.
The way he automatically sets a coffee cup in front of you in the morning, the way he subtly reaches out like he’s ready to catch you when you take a sharp turn in the hallway, the way his eyes linger when you’re talking—like he’s listening to every word, even the useless ones.
It’s worse in the on-call room.
Wonwoo’s at his desk, writing notes, glasses perched on his nose. It’s a normal sight, something you’ve seen a thousand times before. But for some reason, today, you can’t stop looking. The way his brows furrow slightly in focus. The way he absentmindedly taps his pen against the desk. The way he reaches up to push his hair back, exposing his forehead just a little more.
Seokmin, lying on the bottom bunk, suddenly snickers. "You good over there?"
You snap your head toward him. "What?"
He grins, flipping through his phone lazily. "You’re staring."
"No, I’m not."
"Uh-huh."
Wonwoo, completely unaware, flips to the next page in his notes. You glare at Seokmin before quickly grabbing your own chart, pretending to focus. But even then, you’re way too aware of the fact that Wonwoo is right there.
And maybe you have been staring.
The moment you walk out, Seokmin doesn’t even wait.
He turns to Wonwoo with a slow grin, tossing his phone onto his chest. "So…"
Wonwoo doesn’t look up. "So?"
"She was staring at you."
That gets Wonwoo’s attention. He finally lifts his eyes from his notes, blinking at Seokmin. "What?"
"She. Was. Staring." Seokmin emphasizes each word like Wonwoo is dense. Which, honestly, he kind of is. "Like, full-on eyes stuck on you. If I wasn’t here, she probably would've burned a hole through your head."
Wonwoo frowns, shifting slightly in his seat. "You’re exaggerating."
"Am I?" Seokmin smirks. "I don’t think I am."
Wonwoo doesn’t say anything to that. He just exhales through his nose and turns back to his notes. But Seokmin knows him too well—sees the way his ears go just the slightest bit red.
Seokmin grins. "Dude, I’m telling you, she’s noticing things. That’s a good sign."
Wonwoo rolls his eyes, flipping a page in his notes. "Go to sleep, Seokmin."
"Oh, I will. But just so you know…" Seokmin stifles a laugh. "I think you’re in trouble, man."
The rest of the day is… annoying. Not because of any difficult surgeries or unbearable patients, but because you are now painfully hyper-aware of Wonwoo. It’s stupid. Like when he rolls up his sleeves before scrubbing in for surgery, and you catch yourself staring at his forearms for half a second too long.
Or the absolute worst—when you’re eating lunch with the others, and Wonwoo absentmindedly pushes the side dishes you like closer to you. It’s such a small, automatic thing, and normally you wouldn’t even blink at it.
But today? Today, you almost drop your chopsticks.
"You good?" Seokmin asks, raising an eyebrow at you.
"Fine!" you say way too quickly, shoving food in your mouth to avoid talking.
Mingyu, the menace that he is, narrows his eyes at you. "Are you sure? You’ve been kinda weird today—"
"She’s fine," Wonwoo interjects smoothly, taking a sip of his coffee.
And just like that, you’re spiraling again. Because now you’re overthinking that. He just said you were fine. That’s normal, right? That’s just Wonwoo being Wonwoo. But now it sounds like he knows something, like he can see how much you’re overthinking him—
You hate this.
By the time your shift ends, you’re exhausted—not just physically, but mentally from all the overthinking. So when Wonwoo casually says, "Let’s go," and gestures toward the exit, you don’t even question it.
It’s routine, anyway. You don’t drive, and if Mingyu isn’t around to make you suffer through his questionable playlist, it’s usually Wonwoo who gives you a ride home.
The car ride is quiet at first, just the low hum of the engine and the faint sound of the radio playing some late-night ballad. You try to focus on anything else, but of course, you’re hyper-aware of every small thing he does.
"You were weird today," he says suddenly.
You stiffen. "No, I wasn’t."
He hums, like he doesn’t quite believe you. "If you say so."
You scowl, slumping in your seat. "You’re annoying."
"And you’re terrible at hiding things."
You whip your head toward him. "Excuse me?"
Wonwoo glances at you with the tiniest smirk before turning his attention back to the road. "You keep staring at me."
You nearly choke. "I— that’s not—you—"* You shut your mouth before you embarrass yourself even more.
"Don’t overthink it," he says, like he can hear your brain short-circuiting.
You glare at him, crossing your arms. "I’m not."
"Sure."
He pulls up to your place, and before you can even reach for the door handle, he beats you to it, leaning over to unlock it from the inside. You freeze for half a second because he’s too close, and you swear he hesitates too before leaning back.
"Get some rest," he says simply.
You step out, and just as you close the door, he rolls down the window. "And stop staring so much. It’s obvious."
"I WAS NOT—!"
But he’s already driving away, leaving you standing there, burning with embarrassment.
Wonwoo didn’t mean to say it.
But the way you froze, the way your eyes widened in sheer panic before you tried to deny it—yeah, that reaction was worth it.
He’s not stupid. He noticed the shift in you over the past few days. The way you’ve been watching him more, like you suddenly started paying attention. Like you were seeing things for the first time that have always been there. It would’ve been amusing if it wasn’t also kind of frustrating.
Because he’s been looking at you like that for years.
He doesn’t usually let things slip. He’s careful, measured. But with you? It’s always been a little different.
As he drives away, he catches a glimpse of you in the rearview mirror—still standing there, fuming, probably cursing him under your breath. He exhales through his nose, the closest thing to a chuckle he allows himself.
"Took you long enough."
He doesn’t realize he’s smiling until he catches his own reflection in the mirror. And he definitely doesn’t realize that his fingers tap against the steering wheel the entire way home, like he’s buzzing with something he refuses to name.
After that you try to avoid him. Not in an obvious way, just enough to make sure you don’t end up alone with him again. It’s stupid, but you can’t help it. Unfortunately, Mingyu and Seokmin have noticed.
“You’re acting weird,” Mingyu says while stuffing his face with food.
Seokmin leans in. “Super weird. Suspiciously weird.”
You roll your eyes. “I’m not acting weird.”
“You literally just turned around when you saw Wonwoo walking this way,” Seokmin points out.
Mingyu snickers. “Yeah, and you ran in the opposite direction.”
“Okay, first of all, I had places to be.”
“You went to a supply closet.”
“…Shut up.”
Mingyu and Seokmin exchange a look before turning back to you, both wearing the same smug expression.
“You’re doomed,” Mingyu says with a grin. Seokmin agrees.
Before you can threaten them, someone clears their throat behind you. You turn around—and there’s Wonwoo.
His eyes flick between the three of you. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” you blurt out, grabbing your tray and bolting.
From behind you, you hear Mingyu snicker, “Yup. Doomed.”
Later after another very long shift, you all but crawl out. There you see him. Wonwoo is standing outside the hospital entrance, hands in his coat pockets, glasses perched on his nose, looking completely unbothered by the cold night air. His eyes flick up the moment you step outside, and your heart does a stupid little flip.
“I thought you went home,” you say, stopping in front of him.
He raises a brow. “You were gonna chase the bus, weren’t you?”
You cross your arms. “Maybe.”
He huffs out a small laugh, then tilts his head toward his car. “Let’s go.”
You hesitate for half a second before following him. Because, well—this is Wonwoo. And he’s always been there, hasn’t he? Even when you didn’t notice.
You freeze halfway to the car. Wonwoo stops too, turning to face you. His expression is unreadable, but there’s a slight furrow in his brows, his hands still tucked in his coat pockets.
"Why are you avoiding me?" His voice is steady, calm—but you know him well enough to hear the shift in his tone.
"I’m not," you lie, immediately looking away.
"You are," he counters easily. "You barely look at me during rounds, you leave the on-call room the second I walk in, and you suddenly act like you're allergic to coffee when I offer."
Okay, maybe you were being a little obvious. You shuffle your feet, gripping the strap of your bag. "I—it's nothing."
Wonwoo doesn’t budge. He just stares, waiting, and you swear the silence between you feels louder than anything right now.
Then, quieter, he says, "Did I do something?"
That makes you look at him. His expression hasn’t changed much, but there’s something in his eyes—something careful, hesitant. You shake your head quickly. "No! You didn’t—You never—" You exhale sharply, running a hand through your hair. "It’s just… I don’t know."
That’s a lie. You do know. It’s because of everything—Mingyu’s words, Seokmin’s teasing, the way you suddenly can’t stop noticing every little thing Wonwoo does. And the way it’s making your heart act in ways it shouldn’t.
But how the hell are you supposed to say that?
Wonwoo studies you for a moment, then sighs, shaking his head. "Get in the car," he says, walking ahead. "We’re not doing this while you're sleep-deprived."
You stare after him, a little dumbfounded, before scrambling to follow. Because, well. This is Wonwoo. And he's always been there, hasn’t he?
The car ride is quiet. Not the usual comfortable silence, but something heavier. You glance at Wonwoo from the passenger seat—his fingers tapping lightly against the steering wheel, eyes focused ahead, his expression unreadable. He looks deep in thought.
And so are you.
Something stirs in the back of your mind. A memory, hazy but persistent.
It was years ago, after a long semester. You remember celebrating—too many drinks, too many laughs. And then… nothing. Just the aftermath. A raging headache, and the strange shift in Wonwoo’s behavior.
The day after that night, he started avoiding you. At first, you thought you were imagining it, but it became obvious—he wouldn’t meet your eyes, he stopped sitting next to you in class, and any conversation felt painfully awkward.
It lasted for weeks.
You never knew why.
Now, sitting next to him again, the memory presses into your chest. You glance at him once more, debating whether to ask.
But before you can, the car slows to a stop in front of your place.
"We’re here," Wonwoo says, voice even. He finally looks at you, and for a split second, there’s something in his gaze—something almost hesitant.
You swallow the words sitting on your tongue.
"Thanks for the ride," you mumble instead, pushing the door open.
But even as you step out, the question lingers.
It’s been bugging you for days. You try to brush it off, but the memory keeps surfacing at the most random moments—during surgeries, in the on-call room, even when you’re just grabbing coffee.
So, on a completely random day, when it’s just you and Wonwoo in the break room, you finally blurt it out.
"Why did you avoid me back in med school?"
Wonwoo, who was in the middle of sipping his coffee, freezes for a second. He lowers his cup slowly, eyes flickering to yours. "What?"
"You know," you insist, leaning against the counter. "After that one night out. The next day, you just—" You wave a hand, frustrated at how much this has been bothering you. "You barely talked to me for weeks. I thought I did something wrong, but I never knew what."
Wonwoo stares at you, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you think he’s going to brush it off or change the subject. But instead, he exhales and places his cup down.
"You don’t remember anything from that night?" he asks carefully.
Your brows furrow. "Not really. Just that I drank too much, and I felt like death the next morning."
Wonwoo is quiet. Too quiet. Now you’re nervous.
"What did I do?" you ask cautiously.
He hesitates, then sighs. "You… said something."
Your stomach drops. "What did I say?"
"You were drunk. I didn’t think you meant it, but—" He rubs the back of his neck, looking uncharacteristically unsure. "You told me you liked me."
Your brain short-circuits You what?
Wonwoo keeps going, voice softer now. "I didn’t know how to react. I thought maybe you’d forget, or that you didn’t mean it. So I just… avoided you." He exhales sharply, shaking his head. "It was stupid. I know that now."
You stare at him, your heart hammering against your ribs. You think your brain might actually shut down.
Wonwoo looks down at his coffee cup, almost like he's debating whether to continue. Then, with a small sigh, he says it—
"And you kissed me."
Your mouth opens, then closes. You blink at him, trying to process what he just said. You kissed him?
Wonwoo glances up at you, his expression unreadable, but you can tell he’s waiting for your reaction.
"I—" You swallow, scrambling for any memory of that night. But all you can remember is drinking too much, maybe laughing too loud, and then waking up with the worst hangover of your life. "I what?"
"You kissed me," he repeats, slower this time. "Just once. It wasn’t… it wasn’t a big thing. But you looked at me like—" He stops himself, shakes his head. "I don’t know. I didn’t think you meant it, so I thought it was better if I just avoided you until things went back to normal."
Your heart is hammering now. You kissed him. You kissed Wonwoo. And he never said a word about it.
"Why didn’t you ever bring it up?" you ask, your voice quieter now.
Wonwoo lets out a short, humorless laugh. "What was I supposed to say? 'Hey, do you remember kissing me that night?' You never brought it up either."
You stare at him, still trying to wrap your head around this. It’s not just the fact that you kissed him—it’s the fact that he’s looking at you now like this matters. Like maybe it wasn’t just a stupid drunken mistake to him.
And the worst part? You’re starting to think that it wasn’t just a stupid drunken mistake to you either. You hesitate for a moment before asking, "Is that why you weren’t dating?"
Wonwoo blinks, clearly caught off guard by the question. His fingers tighten slightly around his coffee cup before he exhales and leans back against the chair.
"I don’t know," he says slowly, like he’s choosing his words carefully. "Maybe. Part of it, yeah."
You feel something twist in your chest.
"What does that mean?" you press, your voice quieter now.
Wonwoo looks at you then, really looks at you. Like he’s debating whether or not to say what he actually wants to say.
"It means," he finally murmurs, "that maybe I was waiting."
Your breath catches. He doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t need to. You can read between the lines. And suddenly, everything—the way he always looked out for you, the way he always made sure you ate, how he was always there—feels different. Feels heavier.
Like maybe you were supposed to notice a long time ago.
"I told you I liked you," you say, your voice sharper than you expected. "And you never told me."
Wonwoo doesn’t respond right away. He just watches you, unreadable, his grip tightening around his coffee cup.
"You were drunk," he finally says.
You let out a frustrated scoff. "And? That doesn’t mean it wasn’t true."
He exhales slowly, looking away. "I thought you wouldn’t remember. Or that maybe you’d regret it."
Your jaw clenches. "So you just decided that for me?"
Wonwoo rubs the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. "I didn’t want to risk losing you."
You let out a breath, your chest tight with something you can’t quite name. You’re mad—at him, at yourself, at the way this conversation is only happening now.
"That’s so stupid," you say, shaking your head. "That’s so—you’re so—"
You stop, because you don’t even know what you’re trying to say. You just know it makes you angry.
Wonwoo gives you a small, almost apologetic smile. "Yeah," he murmurs. "Maybe."
You push past Wonwoo, your head spinning with frustration, and storm out of the room. You make your way to the surgery ward, still replaying the conversation in your head. Your steps are heavy, your thoughts even heavier.
Seokmin is at the nurses’ station, casually flipping through a patient chart when he sees you approaching. He immediately notices your expression and sighs. “Alright, what did Mingyu do this time?”
You shake your head, dragging a chair and plopping down beside him. “Not Mingyu.”
Seokmin raises an eyebrow. “Then why do you look like you just found out your whole life was a lie?”
You groan, resting your forehead against the cool surface of the desk. “I did find out something. From med school.”
Seokmin hums in interest. “Go on.”
You lift your head slightly, hesitating before mumbling, “Apparently, I told Wonwoo I liked him back then.”
Seokmin freezes. Blinks. Then leans forward dramatically. “You did what?”
“I don’t remember, okay?” you hiss, slapping his arm. “I was drunk. But he remembered. And guess what? He never said anything.”
Seokmin lets out a low whistle. “Oof. That’s tough.”
You slump back in your chair. “I don’t even know why I’m mad. Am I mad at him? At myself? At the universe?”
Seokmin clicks his tongue. “I’d say all of the above.”
You glare at him.
He chuckles before getting serious. “Look, you’re mad because it meant something. Even if you don’t remember confessing, the fact that he never responded—never even acknowledged it—hurts.”
You bite your lip, looking away. “Yeah.”
Seokmin nudges you. “So, what are you gonna do?”
You exhale sharply. “I have no idea.”
Seokmin grins. “Well, this is gonna be fun to watch.”
And so, you do what any reasonable person would do. You avoid Wonwoo.
You’re not dramatic about it—at least, you tell yourself that. You’re just busy. Too busy to sit in the on-call room when he’s there. Too busy to grab coffee at the same time. Too busy to share a ride home.
Mingyu and Seokmin notice immediately.
Seokmin corners you first, casually blocking your way to the scrub room with a patient chart. “So, avoiding your not-boyfriend now?”
You groan. “I’m not avoiding him.”
“Oh yeah?” He tilts his head. “Then why did you suddenly start doing your post-op notes in this hallway instead of the lounge?”
You cross your arms. “I like the lighting here.”
Seokmin snorts. “Right. Because overhead fluorescent lights are so flattering.”
Mingyu, on the other hand, doesn’t even bother being subtle. He slaps a tray of food down at your table during a late dinner break. “So, what’s the plan?”
You blink at him. “For what?”
“For whatever mess you and Wonwoo have gotten yourselves into.” He waves his chopsticks. “It’s been days. Wonwoo looks like he’s about to lose his mind, and you look like you’re trying to ascend into another plane of existence just to avoid eye contact.”
You scowl. “I just need time to think.”
Mingyu raises an eyebrow. “And what exactly are you thinking about?”
You hesitate. “I don’t know. Everything? The fact that I apparently confessed years ago and he never told me? The fact that he’s acting like it doesn’t matter? The fact that maybe it does matter, but I don’t know what to do with that?”
Mingyu chews thoughtfully, then points his chopsticks at you. “Sounds like you’re not over him.”
You groan, dropping your head onto the table.
He pats your shoulder. “Just talk to him. Before one of you explodes.”
The moment the hospital alert blared through the speakers, it’s like everything was put on hold. A mass casualty incident. Multiple vehicles. A bus, a few cars.
The ER instantly became chaos—stretchers being wheeled in, nurses and doctors shouting orders, the smell of antiseptic and blood thick in the air. Wonwoo moved on instinct, running toward the commotion just as Mingyu turned to him, face pale.
“She took the bus today,” Mingyu said.
Wonwoo’s stomach dropped. He didn’t even need to ask who she was. His feet were moving before his brain caught up. He barely heard Mingyu yelling for him as he shoved past people, making his way to the hospital entrance. Paramedics were still unloading patients. Some were conscious. Some weren’t moving at all.
He turned, gripping the arm of a paramedic. “The bus—where is it? Was everyone taken out?”
“There are still people at the site,” the paramedic said. “Some are trapped. First responders are working on it.”
Wonwoo didn’t wait to hear the rest. He ran.
The crash site was a scene of wreckage—twisted metal, shattered glass, the air heavy with smoke and the sharp scent of gasoline. Emergency lights flashed red and blue against the darkening sky, casting eerie shadows over the scene.
Wonwoo barely registered the shouts of firefighters and paramedics as they worked to extract victims from the wreckage. His mind had narrowed to one thing—you.
He scanned the scene frantically, his pulse hammering in his ears. People were being pulled from the bus, some dazed, some unconscious. His breath hitched when he saw a familiar figure slumped against the pavement, a paramedic crouched beside you.
"Y/N!"
His voice was hoarse, nearly breaking as he sprinted toward you. Your head turned sluggishly at the sound of his voice. Blood streaked down your forehead, a cut splitting just above your eyebrow. Your white coat was smudged with dirt, torn at the sleeve, and you had one hand pressed to your side, wincing.
“Wonwoo?” you murmured, blinking up at him, disoriented.
He dropped to his knees beside you, hands hovering over your face, your arms, as if afraid you’d shatter at his touch. “What the hell—why—why are you still here? You should’ve been in the hospital already—”
“Dr. Jeon?” The paramedic beside you spoke up, recognizing him. “She’s stable for now, but we need to move her. There might be internal injuries.”
Wonwoo clenched his jaw. He knew that but it was different when it was you, when he was staring at your bloodied form and realizing how close he’d come to—
No. He refused to think about it.
“Let’s go,” he said, voice tight, as he helped lift you onto the stretcher.
Your fingers curled around his wrist, gripping weakly. “Wonwoo,” you murmured.
His heart stuttered. “What?”
“Don’t look so sad.” Your smile was faint, barely there. “I’m okay.”
He exhaled sharply, gripping your hand. “You better be.”
Your eyelids felt impossibly heavy, the pain dulling into exhaustion. The sounds around you—sirens, shouts, the rustle of movement—were starting to blur together.
“Hey, hey—no.” Wonwoo’s voice cut through the haze, sharp with panic. His grip on your hand tightened. “Stay with me.”
You hummed, barely nodding. “Just… tired.”
“I don’t care. You’re not sleeping right now.” His other hand cupped your cheek, the warmth grounding you. “Look at me.” You tried. Really, you did. But the weight behind your eyes was unbearable. Your head lolled slightly, and that’s when his voice broke—
“Y/N, please.”
Something in his tone made you fight harder to stay conscious. Your blurry vision focused just enough to see his face—his usual calm was gone, replaced with pure, raw worry.
“You’re always… so bossy,” you mumbled, forcing a weak smirk.
“And you never listen,” he shot back, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “So listen now—stay awake.”
The paramedics lifted your stretcher, and Wonwoo moved with them, never letting go of your hand. “We’re almost at the hospital,” he told you, voice softer now. “You’ll be fine.”
You weren’t sure if it was the exhaustion, the pain, or the way he was looking at you, but for a moment, you believed him. Wonwoo’s heart nearly stopped when your body went limp. He swallowed hard, his mind racing even as his training kicked in. You’d lost blood. Too much. Your skin was too pale, your breathing too shallow.
"Dammit," he muttered under his breath.
As soon as they reached the ambulance, he climbed in with you, pressing two fingers to your wrist again just to reassure himself that your pulse was still there.
"Stay with me," he murmured, more to himself than to you snd when the ambulance doors shut, sirens wailing as they sped toward the hospital, he didn’t take his eyes off you for even a second.
The ambulance screeched to a halt outside the emergency entrance, and the doors flew open. Wonwoo barely waited for the paramedics before he moved, helping guide the stretcher out.
“Female, late twenties, sustained injuries from the crash site,” one of the paramedics called out. “Multiple lacerations, possible concussion, and significant blood loss—she lost consciousness on the way.” Mingyu was already there, his eyes widening the moment he saw you.
“Shit—Get her inside. Now! Bay 7!”
Mingyu paled but immediately snapped into action, helping the nurses prep you for assessment. Seokmin rushed in a second later, his expression shifting from relief to worry in an instant.
“Her BP’s low,” a nurse reported. “We need fluids started now.”
Wonwoo knew he should step back, let the trauma team handle it. But his feet refused to move. His pulse was racing, hands clenched at his sides.
“You need to get checked, too,” Mingyu said, glancing at the blood on Wonwoo’s scrubs—not his own, but yours.
“I’m fine.” Wonwoo’s voice was tight. “She—” His words caught in his throat. “Just take care of her.”
Mingyu exchanged a glance with Seokmin, who rushed down the ER the moment he heard about the accident, before nodding.
“Wonwoo,” Seokmin said carefully, “let them work. She’s in good hands.” he pulls Wonwoo out the hallway to let Mingyu and his team do their work.
Wonwoo’s jaw locked. He knew that. He did. But watching you, lying there so still, covered in bruises and blood—he’d never felt this helpless before. His mind was a mess. He should have driven you home. He should have made sure you weren’t avoiding him. He should have—
The doors burst open. A nurse rushed past him. Then, through the small window of the ER, he saw Mingyu and the rest of the team working frantically around you. Something was wrong.
He stepped forward, but Seokmin was suddenly there, blocking his way. “They’re doing everything they can,” Seokmin said, his voice firm but laced with worry. Wonwoo barely heard him. His eyes were locked on the room, on Mingyu pressing down on your chest.
You had coded.
A sharp breath left him as he staggered back, hitting the wall. Seokmin’s hand tightened on his shoulder. Neither of them spoke. Wonwoo’s hands were shaking. He curled them into fists. He’d never been this scared before. Not once in his life.
Wonwoo tried to push past Seokmin, but Seokmin held him back, gripping his arm tightly.
"Wonwoo, stop," Seokmin said firmly, his voice steady despite the tension in his face.
"I need to be in there," Wonwoo snapped, his breathing uneven. "I need to—"
Seokmin shook his head. "Mingyu’s got this. Do you think he’d let anything happen to her?"
Wonwoo clenched his jaw, his entire body tense, but he didn’t push forward again. He knew Seokmin was right but knowing didn’t make it easier. All he could do was stand there, watching through the window as Mingyu fought to bring you back.
Mingyu gritted his teeth, his hands steady even as the tension in the room thickened. The sound of the flatline rang in his ears, drowning out everything else.
"Charge to 200," he ordered, his voice sharp and controlled.
The nurse complied, handing him the paddles. Mingyu placed them on your chest, his heart hammering. "Clear!"
Your body jerked slightly as the shock coursed through you.
He checked the monitor. Still flat.
"Again! 300!"
Another shock.
Nothing.
Mingyu refused to let panic settle in. His friend was on this table. No, not just a friend. You were family.
"Come on," he muttered under his breath, sweat forming at his brow. "You're not done yet."
He pressed his hands to your chest, beginning compressions. "Give me one milligram of epi!"
Time blurred. His arms burned from the force of CPR, but he didn’t stop. He wouldn’t.
Then A blip. Another. A weak, slow rhythm appeared on the monitor.
He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "We've got a pulse," he announced, his voice hoarse but firm. The tension in the room eased slightly, but Mingyu knew it wasn’t over yet. He looked at you, unconscious but breathing, and exhaled sharply.
"You scared the hell out of us," he muttered under his breath. Then, he turned to the nurse. "Get her to the ICU. I'll update the others."
As the team moved into action, Mingyu pulled off his gloves, exhausted but relieved. Now, he just had to face Wonwoo.
Mingyu stepped out of the ER, exhaling deeply as he ran a hand through his hair. The hallway felt suffocating with tension, and the moment he looked up, his gaze met Wonwoo’s.
Wonwoo was still pacing, his fists clenched at his sides, eyes dark with worry. Seokmin stood nearby, watching carefully in case he had to physically restrain him again.
The second Wonwoo saw Mingyu, he froze. "How is she?"
Mingyu sighed, pulling off his surgical cap. "She coded."
Wonwoo’s face drained of color.
"But we got her back."
The relief was visible—Wonwoo’s shoulders slumped for just a second before he straightened, jaw tight. "Where is she now?"
"ICU. We stabilized her, but she’s not awake yet."
Wonwoo didn’t wait for another word. He turned on his heel, heading straight for the ICU.
Seokmin let out a breath. "I’m going after him before he scares the nurses."
Mingyu didn’t stop him. Instead, he leaned back against the wall, exhaustion hitting him full force.
"You better wake up soon," he mumbled to himself. "Or he’s gonna lose it."
Wonwoo barely made it past the ICU doors before the nurses blocked his way.
"You can’t see her yet, Dr. Jeon," one of them said firmly. "She’s still unconscious, and we need to monitor her closely."
His jaw tightened. "I just need to see her—"
"Wonwoo."
Seokmin grabbed his arm before he could push past them. "Stop."
Wonwoo turned sharply, eyes flashing. "She almost died, Seokmin. I—" He clenched his fists, unable to finish.
Seokmin’s grip didn’t loosen. "I know. But you barging in there isn’t going to change anything. Let them do their job."
Wonwoo’s breathing was heavy, his body tense as if he was holding himself together by a thread. His gaze flickered toward the door, frustration clear on his face.
Seokmin sighed. "Come on, man. Let’s sit for a second. You’re no good to her if you pass out from exhaustion."
Wonwoo didn’t move for a long moment, but finally, he exhaled sharply and let Seokmin pull him back toward the waiting area.
Still, he kept his eyes locked on the door, like sheer willpower alone could wake you up.
Hours passed, dragging on painfully. Wonwoo sat hunched forward, elbows on his knees, his fingers laced together so tightly they were turning white. Mingyu and Seokmin were on either side of him, equally exhausted but keeping watch.
No one spoke much. The weight of everything that had happened hung heavily in the air.
Then, finally, a nurse stepped out of the ICU.
"You can see her now."
Wonwoo was on his feet instantly, not even waiting for the others as he rushed through the doors. His heart pounded as he stepped into your room, his breath catching at the sight of you.
You were stil unconcious, but you were breathing. There were bandages wrapped around your head and arms, an IV hooked up beside you. But your chest rose and fell steadily.
"You’re an idiot," he muttered, voice hoarse. But even as he said it, his hand hovered over yours, hesitant, before finally resting gently over your fingers.
Hours passed before you finally regained consciousness. The first thing you notice is the hand holding yours. The weight of everything sinking in.
You gently squeeze his hand making Wonwoo sit up and look at you, “Hey you” you mumble at him. He didn’t say anything at first, just looking at you. Making sure he isn’t dreaming, he takes your warm hand pressing it against his cheek
“You scared me” he whispered
“Sorry”
He shakes his head. He stands up, leaning down to give you a kiss on the forehead. His lips lingering there for a while like he’s savoring every second. When he pulled back, his gaze met yours, filled with something unspoken.
“You should rest,” he murmured, voice still rough with emotion.
You gave him a small, tired smile. “Only if you do too.”
“I’m not leaving.” You already knew that. Even if he didn’t say it, you could see it in his eyes—he wasn’t going anywhere.
The door swung open, and Seokmin practically burst in, arms spread wide. “She LIVES!” he announced dramatically, as if you had risen from the dead.
You gave him a tired glare. “Was that necessary?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation, plopping down in the chair beside you. “Do you know how much stress you caused us?”
Mingyu walked in behind him, arms crossed. “You had me working overtime,” he said, half-joking, half-serious. “And I don’t even get paid extra for that.”
You rolled your eyes, but there was warmth in your smile. “Oh, I’m sorry. Next time I’ll schedule my near-death experience at a more convenient time.”
Mingyu clicked his tongue. “That’s all I ask.”
Seokmin gasped. “Excuse me? That is not all we ask! How about you don’t get into life-threatening accidents at all?”
You sighed, leaning back into the pillows. “Noted.”
Wonwoo, who had been quiet this whole time, just exhaled, shaking his head. “They’re never gonna let this go, you know.”
“Obviously,” you muttered, but your chest felt lighter. Because as much as they nagged, you knew it just meant they cared.
Your recovery days were… frustrating, to say the least. As a surgeon, you were used to being the one treating patients, not being the patient. And the worst part? Your own friends were your caretakers, which meant zero chances of slipping out of bed unnoticed.
Seokmin was the worst about it. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked one afternoon when you tried to stand up.
“For a walk,” you said.
He pushed you back down with one finger to your forehead. “You’re on bed rest, doctor.”
“I’m fine,” you grumbled.
Seokmin gasped dramatically. “You coded! You died for a minute, and now you want to go for a walk?”
Mingyu walked in just in time to hear that. “Wait, she tried to get up? I knew we should’ve strapped her down.”
You scowled at both of them. “I’m not a psych patient—”
“Then stop acting like one,” Mingyu shot back.
But it wasn’t just them. The nurses were in on it, too. They absolutely loved watching the usually stubborn and independent surgeon get bossed around. Every time Wonwoo came to check on you, you swore you saw them watching from the nurses’ station, whispering to each other.
And speaking of Wonwoo…
He was quiet but relentless. While the others nagged, he just watched you, making sure you ate, making sure you took your meds, making sure you rested. He didn’t have to say anything—his mere presence was enough to keep you in place.
But one evening, when the others had left, you finally had enough. “Wonwoo, I swear if you tell me to ‘take it easy’ one more time—”
“I won’t,” he said simply, sitting beside your bed.
You blinked. “Oh.”
He looked at you for a moment, then exhaled. “I just… I was really scared.”
Your throat tightened. “Wonwoo—”
“I almost lost you,” he murmured.
You stared at him, heart pounding. “…Okay.”
He gave your hand a light squeeze. “Good.”
“But that’s unfair, you can’t use that on me everytime”
Wonwoo’s lips twitched, barely holding back a smirk. “Use what?”
“You being all—” you waved your free hand vaguely, “—soft and serious. Making me feel bad for worrying you. That’s not fair.”
He let out a quiet chuckle, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand. “It’s not fair that you keep scaring me either.”
You groaned, sinking further into your pillows. “Fine. Truce?”
Wonwoo tilted his head slightly, pretending to consider it. “…Only if you promise to stop being reckless.”
You narrowed your eyes at him. “Define reckless.”
He sighed. “I hate you.”
You smirked. “No, you don’t.”
“…No, I don’t,” he admitted, his voice softer this time.
You stretched your arms as you walked into the hospital, feeling a mix of exhaustion and relief. Being back at work after weeks of recovery felt oddly normal, except for the way your friends hovered around you like you were made of glass.
You sat across from Wonwoo at a quiet restaurant near the hospital, picking at your food while he watched you like a hawk. He had already subtly pushed a side dish closer to you twice, and when you slowed down again, he raised an eyebrow.
"Eat," he said simply, taking a bite of his own food.
You sighed, shoving a spoonful into your mouth to appease him. “Happy?”
He hummed in approval before sipping his drink. The meal went on in comfortable silence, but your mind kept drifting back to the last real conversation you had before the accident.
“Wonwoo.”
“Hmm?”
You hesitated for a second, then pushed forward. “Before the accident, when we were talking… You said I kissed you.”
His grip on his drink tightened slightly. “Yeah.”
“And you never told me,” you continued, voice steady but firm. “I told you I liked you, and you never said anything. Is that… is that why you never dated anyone?”
Wonwoo let out a slow breath, placing his drink down carefully. “I thought you were drunk.”
“I was drunk,” you admitted. “But I wasn’t lying.”
He leaned back slightly, eyes flickering with something unreadable. “I didn’t know that.”
You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair. “So what, you avoided me for weeks, pretended like nothing happened, and then just… never dated anyone because of it?”
Wonwoo didn’t respond right away. He stared at you for a long moment, like he was deciding something. Then, finally, he spoke.
“I didn’t want to ruin what we had.” His voice was quiet but firm. “I thought if I told you, it’d change everything. And I didn’t—I couldn’t—” He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “I just didn’t want to lose you.”
Your heart twisted painfully in your chest. “And what about now?”
He met your gaze, something softer in his expression now. “Now, I think I almost did anyway.”
The weight of his words settled between you, and for the first time in weeks, maybe years, you felt like you were finally getting somewhere.
You stared at him, processing everything he’d just said. The years of friendship, the silent moments, the things left unsaid—all of it led to this.
“So,” you started carefully, your fingers tracing the rim of your glass, “you spent all these years… what? Waiting?”
Wonwoo let out a short, breathy laugh. “I don’t know. Maybe.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “It’s not like I planned to. I just—no one else ever felt right.”
Something in your chest tightened. “Wonwoo.”
He looked at you then, really looked at you. “Do you regret it?”
You blinked. “Regret what?”
“Telling me you liked me back then.” His voice was quiet, almost hesitant.
“I don’t regret it. What I regret is not remembering anything”
He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “You really don’t?”
“Not even a little,” you admitted. “If I had, we probably wouldn’t have wasted so much time.”
“And now?”
You held his gaze. “I don’t want to waste any more.”
For the first time in weeks, Wonwoo smiled—not the small, fleeting ones he’d been giving you, but a real one, the kind that reached his eyes.
“Then let’s not.”
The moment stretched between you two, something unspoken settling into place. Wonwoo didn’t say anything else instead he reached for your hand across the table, his fingers brushing yours before curling around them. It was such a simple gesture, but your heart still stuttered at the warmth of his palm against yours.
“You’re really doing this, huh?” you murmured, unable to stop the small smile tugging at your lips.
Wonwoo’s thumb traced lazy circles over your skin. “I should’ve done it a long time ago.”
You squeezed his hand, rolling your eyes playfully. “You should’ve.”
After your shift of course he waited for you to drive you home, the drive was quiet. Like how it usually is. But this this there's a sense of peace, something more comforting. Wonwoo made a thoughtful hum before, to your surprise, he reached over at a red light, fingers brushing against your hand. Then, in the most unexpected act of affection, he intertwined his fingers with yours.
“What—”
“I like holding your hand,” he admitted casually, as if this wasn’t the first time he was doing something like this outside of a life-or-death situation. “It’s warm.”
You blinked at him. This man. “Wonwoo,” you deadpanned, but your grip on his hand tightened, betraying you.
“Do you have any idea how confusing you are?” you muttered, squeezing his hand.
Wonwoo chuckled again, the sound low and warm. “I think I’m making it pretty obvious now.”
Your face heated up. You turned to look out the window, trying to hide the giddy feeling bubbling up in your chest. And just like that, the rest of the ride home was spent with your fingers still laced together, neither of you letting go.
You swallowed, heart stuttering in your chest at his words. Wonwoo's hand was still in yours, warm and steady
“If I’m reading this wrong,” he said, voice softer than before, “we can stop. I don’t want to force anything on you.”
You turned to him, watching how he kept his eyes on the road, his usual unreadable expression now laced with something else—something hesitant, something careful.
Your chest tightened.
“You think you’re reading it wrong?” you asked, your voice quieter now.
Wonwoo sighed through his nose, thumb unconsciously brushing against your knuckles. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t want to assume anything. And I don’t want you to feel like you have to go along with me just because…” He trailed off, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter with his other hand.
Just because he’s Wonwoo? Just because he’s been there always, in ways you never fully understood until now?
Your lips pressed into a thin line. You weren’t used to this—him being the one doubting things when it was usually you who overthought.
The car slowed as he pulled up in front of your place, but he didn’t make a move to let go of your hand. His fingers curled around yours loosely, like he was giving you the chance to let go first.
You didn’t.
Instead, you took a breath and turned to face him fully. “You’re not reading it wrong,” you said, firm but not unkind.
Wonwoo finally looked at you, the flickering streetlight outside casting shadows on his face.
“You’re not forcing anything,” you added, squeezing his hand. “I like this, okay? I like… us.”
Wonwoo just smirked, giving your hand a squeeze. “This is years in the making,” he murmured, like it was the simplest fact in the world. “Let me hold my girl’s hand for a minute more.”
You huffed out a laugh, shaking your head, but your heart was doing something completely different—stumbling over itself at the way he said my girl.
You swallowed, feeling warmth bloom in your chest. Years in the making. You’d never thought about it like that, but now that he said it, you realized—he was right.
All those late-night study sessions, the quiet moments in the on-call room, the way he always made sure you ate, the way he was just… there. It wasn’t sudden. It wasn’t new. It was just something that had always been there, waiting for the two of you to finally stop dancing around it.
“…Fine,” you muttered, fighting the smile but failing miserably. “One minute.”
Wonwoo chuckled, and instead of arguing, he just laced his fingers through yours, holding on like he never planned on letting go.
summary: you and him are enemies to lovers (??) definitely a complicated relationship but i digress. wonwoo and y/n have been at each other’s throat since middle school but maybe everything he thought about you was wrong, even his own feelings for you.
pair: fem!reader x enemy!wonwoo
genre: fluff, au (? im new to writing LOL)
warnings: mentions of fighting, bruises, cuts, etc.
word count: 3.4k
it was a friday afternoon after school. you push out of your desk and sling your backpack over your shoulder. yuqi walks with you towards the back of the campus where the baseball fields are, its shorter to get to the bus that way. once you walk past the bleachers, you hear commotion and students gathering around them. you and yuqi look at each other confused before you run towards the crowd. you push through to see wonwoo laying on the floor, bloodied. your body tenses at the sight, the other students spread out and leave once they realize wonwoo is half passed out.
you tell yuqi to go to the bus without her. she doesn’t say much as she walks away, not without glancing back at you first. you take a soft breath as you walk closer to wonwoo who is sitting down on the dirt leaning against the bleachers. he’s holding his bruised ribs, his glasses half broken on his face. the broken glass caused a cut around his eye and his knuckles are black and blue.
“what do you want?” he says half annoyed, half cold. you wouldn’t expect any less from the boy that’s hated you since the seventh grade. what you did, you have no idea. you sigh frustratedly, staring down at him.
“you look like hell.” you state bluntly.
“right back at you darling.” he scoffs.
you roll your eyes at his reply. everything he does just makes you want to punch him in the face, too bad someone else got to him first. it’s quiet for a few moments. you continue to glance at him every few seconds before you speak.
“can you walk?”
he takes a deep breath. “i don’t want your pity.” he retorts back.
you roll your eyes before you take a few steps forward until you’re kneeling down to him. you gently grab his arm to wrap it around your shoulder. you take your time as you pick him up. he doesn’t understand why you’re being so gentle with him, the person that hates him the most but you don’t understand either. he groans in pain as you help him up. he’s badly bruised but he manages to stand up. you lead him to a nearby bench as he limps, making sure not to apply too much pressure but you notice.
“thanks” he mumbles under his breath.
“don’t mention it.” you sit a few inches away from him on the bench. another agonizing few seconds go by before you speak again.
“where does it hurt?” he snaps his head towards you surprised by your sudden genuine care.
“where doesn’t it hurt?” he replies.
you don’t say anything as you reach inside your backpack for your emergency kit that you keep on you at all times. you grab a bandaid, a q-tip, alcohol wipes, and some ointment for the cuts on his face and knuckles. you get up from the bench and bend down to him examining his cuts. your faces are only a few inches away. his breath hitches but he doesn’t push you away, not when he’s in this much pain.
your eyes zero in on the cut on his cheek. gently removing his glasses, you set them down before moving his bangs out of his eyes that are drenched in sweat. wonwoo hates this. hates that someone pities him, especially the annoying girl that sat next to him in seventh grade history class. but why do your eyes look so pretty right now? he’s never noticed how long your lashes were before. or how pretty you look when the wind blows your hair-
“this is gonna sting.” your voice cuts through his inner monologue. he blinks at you before he winces from the alcohol wipe cleaning his half dried cut on his cheek.
“agh- you couldn’t have warned me before?” he clenches his fists from the sting but he lets you finish cleaning. you apply some ointment and gently place the bandaid over it. this is the closest you’ve ever been to wonwoo’s face. even bruised and beat up, he looks so beautiful. has he always had a scar near his eyebrow? were his lips ever this pretty?
you quickly shake yourself out of your thoughts. why the hell are you thinking about his damn lips right now y/n? you clean his bruised and bloodied knuckles as you try to think of anything else. your hands are so soft against his rough and calloused palms. once you remove your hands from his, he feels almost empty.
you shuffle through your bag again until you found the ice pack that your mom packed in your lunch box. its half melted by now but this will have to do. you hand it to him. he looks at the ice pack and back up at you. he scoffs and takes it from your hands. he applies it to the side of his ribs. he winces again and shivers from the cold liquid hitting his side but it is helping relieve some of the pain. maybe you’re not as useless as you look.
“why the hell are you helping me anyway?” he asks indifferently.
you don’t say anything because honestly, you’re not too sure either. you grab your backpack from the bench and sling it over your shoulder. wonwoo clenches his jaw just slightly from the mere thought of you leaving and for what reason, he doesn’t know. you look down at him as he sits silently.
“how are you getting home?” you’re avoiding the question and you both it but wonwoo is too tired to even argue with you right now.
“i can walk.” he says firmly, almost distant.
“like hell you are. how far do you live?” you reply back.
he mumbles under his breath. probably something about how annoying you are but he knows damn well you aren’t gonna let this go and he is definitely not gonna make it home in his condition.
“not far.”
you nod and you go to reach for his arm to wrap it on your shoulder again but he moves away.
“i can do it myself.”
“asshole.” you mumble under your breath as you begin to walk ahead. with the pace that you’re walking, he could easily catch up to you even while he limps but watching you walk away makes his chest hurt. he groans dramatically.
“wait.” he calls out.
you stop mid step and smirk to yourself, knowing that he couldn’t make it home by himself. you end up walking home after you go back and forth a little while longer. even with a limp and broken glasses that you know he needs because about as blind as a bat, he still doesn’t apply all of his weight onto you.
“stop doing that.”
“stop doing what?”
“just rest your weight on me. i’m not made out of glass, you know.”
he would normally pinch his nose bridge at how annoyingly stubborn you are but he can barely lift his arm right now.
“i never said you were, dumbass.”
and against everything in wonwoo telling him he shouldn’t, that you’re just doing this because you feel bad for him, he rests his weight onto you. your hand rests on his wrist as his arm is draped on your shoulders. even under these circumstances this feels weirdly romantic. neither of you says much as you walk to his house, besides the normal banter of calling each other an asshole or a dumbass. he can’t help but feel as though you have an ulterior motive to helping him. there’s no way you’re this nice or gentle naturally without wanting anything else in return.
“this is it.” he says as you stop in front of his house. you help him up the steps to his front door.
“is anyone home?”
“just my mom.”
“hm. what about your dad?”
the conversation is quickly cut off as his mom opens the door, which wonwoo is secretly thankful for. his mom’s eyes widen as she sees her son bruised.
“wonwoo-ah, what happened to you?” she asks worriedly.
you and wonwoo both glance at each other. his eyes secretly asking you not to say anything. his hand subconsciously squeezes your shoulder. is he actually asking for your help? it might not be directly but you definitely have to rub it in his face later.
“oh, he, uh, fell down the stairs at school, they’re slippery.” you try to make light of the situation. wait, why the hell are you covering for your enemy right now?
“oh my goodness.” his mom gasps and helps grab his other arm. “would you be a dear and help me take him inside?”
“mom, its fine-“
wonwoo is quickly cut off by his mom shushing him. you can feel yourself tense but you smile at her and nod anyway. wonwoo is about to explode. you weren’t supposed to help him. you were supposed to stay far far away from him at all costs. he hates that you even saw him vulnerable and now he has to endure you interact with his mom. this day could not get worse.
you and his mom make it to his room and set him down on the edge of his bed. he groans in pain from the new position but he clenches his jaw to try and hide the pain.
“let me get you some medicine. would you be okay with staying with him? i’ll be right back.” she leaves in a hurry before either of you can protest. its just you and wonwoo, in his room, alone. neither of you say a word as you stand awkwardly in the middle of his room and he stares down at the floor. after what feels like an eternity, he finally looks up at you.
“why?” he asks genuinely. why did you help? why are you still here? why did this happen? just, why?
you open your mouth to reply but his mother returns before you can say anything. she hands him some pain killers and water.
“drink up and get lots of rest.” she says as he gulps the medicine, she plays with his hair. your eyes soften at the sight. you never would’ve thought you’d end up in this position but you’re not apposed to it. not when he looks like a child that just got hurt as he looks up at his mom. you realize you’ve probably overstepped enough today and clear your throat.
“i should probably get going.” you know you should leave, but your feet your dragging as you start walking. “make sure to ice his ribs and give him medication every 5 hours. no more than a few days.” you smile at his mom before you bow at her. “it was nice to meet you mrs. jeon.”
his mom thanks you as you walk out. before wonwoo can even process what just happened, you’re gone. his mom follows your advice, she doesn’t know why but she feels like she can trust you. thankfully he has the weekend to rest. the next day, wonwoo lays on his bed staring at the ceiling as he rethinks everything he’s ever thought about you. his thoughts are interrupted as his mom knocks on the door to give him more medicine. she sits on the edge of the bed as he sits up to take a sip of water. she admires him for a few moments.
“you’re thinking of her.” she says more as a statement than a question.
wonwoo nearly chokes on his water. “no, i’m not.” he says it way too quickly, way too defensively, almost like he’s trying to convince himself more than anyone. his mom laughs to herself.
“she’s a sweet girl.” she says.
“her? she’s the opposite of sweet. she’s as bitter as coffee.” he scoffs to himself.
“oh really? bitter people don’t help others the way she helped you. you came home with a bandaid on your cheek, bruised knuckles, and bruised ribs. i know it wasn’t you falling down the stairs.”
wonwoo’s eyes widen at his mom’s observation.
“how did you-“
“a mother knows more than you think and the way she looked at you, covered for you, she cares about you. i think you can trust her.”
he almost laughed at that. almost. trust you? he’d rather get beat up again if it meant that he had to trust you with anything. but then his mother’s words really started to settle in his mind. ‘she cares about you.’ is ringing in his head that he doesn’t even his realize his mom left his room.
over the weekend, you decide to go back to the same bench you took care of wonwoo at. the back of campus, the baseball fields, behind section three of the bleachers. you don’t know why you came back but it’s weirdly comforting. his hand in yours, the way you touched his face. you shake your thoughts and sit down at the bench soaking in the weather as the birds fly. you stay there for awhile thinking about anything and everything. you place your hands on the bench as you’re about to get up until you feel something. you look down at what you’re touching. wonwoo’s glasses.
how you managed to remember the way to his house, you’ll never know. you clutch his broken glasses in your hands like it’s something precious. why the hell are you bringing them to him? they’re already broken. or maybe this is just a valid excuse to see him again. you take a deep breath as you stand at the front door before you knock. his mom answers the door and she lets you inside. before you walk down the hallway, she speaks.
“you’re y/n, right?” your breath hitches but you nod.
“yes ma’am.”
to your surprise, she smiles as she shakes her head fondly. “wonwoo put gum in your hair in the ninth grade because he thought you were so annoying. i’m sure he’ll be more than happy to see you.”
your eyes widen slightly at the reminder of the memory. he was such an asshole, he still is. you don’t say anything as you make your way down the hallway. you knock on his door. wait, did she say he’d be happy to see me?
“what?” he calls out through the door.
“it’s me.” you reply.
its quiet, weirdly quiet until he calls out again.
“come in.”
you enter his room and see him laying down. his hairs messy, he’s wearing a black shirt that you always thought he looked good in. maybe coming here was a mistake.
“what do you want?” he says coldly.
“i came here to return your glasses you asshole.” you smack the glasses down on his desk before you turn to leave, until he stops you. you don’t know how he managed to get up so fast from his bed but his hand is holding your wrist, firm not hurtful.
“thank you.” he says barely above a whisper. you could feel a shiver run down your spine as you turn to look at him. his hand still around your wrist. he’s so tall, his shoulders are so broad, you can’t stop yourself from swallowing as you admire him.
“wonwoo, you need to eat!” you hear his mom calling from the kitchen. his grip loosens just slightly as he sighs. he’s about to walk past you before you stop him this time.
“i got it, go lay down.” he hesitates but reluctantly lets go of your wrist as he goes back to sit down on the edge of the bed. you grab the food from his mother in the kitchen and bring back a tray of food for him. it’s the same smell of ramen that he brings to school for lunch every day. when the hell did you even notice what he brought for lunch?
“here.” you set the tray down in front of him taking a seat at his desk. he used all of his strength to get out of bed and stop you from leaving that he can barely lift his chopsticks to his mouth. you watch as he struggles and giggle to yourself. little does he know that hearing your laugh is music to his ears, its the prettiest thing he’s ever heard.
“what are you laughing at dumbass?” he retorts back. he hates that you’re watching him struggle but he’d do anything to hear that pretty noise come from you again.
“oh me? nothing.” you smile innocently and cover your smile with your hand. he rolls his eyes, feigning offense as he tries again. you laugh once more before you get up from the chair and take the chopsticks from his hand.
“open up.”
there it is again. you bending down to him, your face inches apart as you wait for him to open his mouth. he looks at your eyes almost intimidated by how intimate this feels. you think he’s actually about to give in, but wonwoo wouldn’t be wonwoo if he didn’t make things hard for you.
“i’m not a damn baby.”
“you can’t even feed yourself right now. god, you’re so stubborn.”
“i’m not even hungry.”
and right on cue, his stomach growls. you laugh again. god, every time you laugh he swears time stops.
“if you say so, i’ll just eat it all myself then.”
you lift the noodles to your mouth, about to take a bite before wonwoo’s stomach growls again. his mouth watering at his favorite ramen. he groans.
“fine. just hurry up.” he finally gives in.
you smirk to yourself and begin to feed him. he examines your every move. how you hold your chopsticks, how you’re so attentive to him, how patient you actually are. the air is charged but neither of you move. your small giggles filling the air every so often. you decide to tease him and take a bite of his ramen. your cheeks bubble full of ramen. did you just use the same chopsticks he ate from?
“oh wow, this is really good.” you say, your mouth half full. you’re about to take another bite before wonwoo grabs your wrist. your eyes widen slightly as you look down at him. he looks back at you. you swallow but you just so happen to swallow all of the food in your mouth without chewing, how you didn’t choke is a mystery. you glance down at his lips and take note of the spicy ramen sauce on the sides of his mouth.
“you have a little…” you trail off as your body moves before you can register what you’re doing. your thumb wipes away the leftovers of the sauce. wonwoo swears his brain short circuits right then and there. your soft hands touching his face again, your lashes, how close you are. he doesn’t push you away, couldn’t even if he tried.
“… y/n.”
“y-yea?”
“why are you being so damn nice to me?” he asks as if he’s asking for you to have mercy on him. that you being nice to him stung worse than you hating him. he moves closer, ever so slightly.
“because i- i just”
“just tell me you hate me. please.” he says it quieter than you’ve ever heard him. his hand subconsciously tightens around your wrist. saying you hated him, even if mutual was easy, but the way he’s looking at you, his eyes are pleading. you can’t bring yourself to say it because every time you’ve talked was never real. this right now, is the realest interaction you’ve ever had.
“i can’t.” you whisper back.
he grabs the ramen out of your hand and sets it down before he cups your face so gently. you never thought a guy like him could ever be as gentle as he is right now. your lips part slightly, you glance down at his before they look back at his eyes. you both lean in, your lips less than a breath away from each other.
“wonwoo, what if i hurt you?” you think back to his bruises that are still apparent. he shakes his head slightly.
“i’m not made of glass, you know.” damn asshole using your own words against you but it doesn’t stop you. if anything, you lean in closer. he was so distracted by you that he forgot to kiss you back until you cupped his face in your hands. you taste so sweet. how the hell does one taste sweet after eating ramen? ‘she’s a sweet girl’ his mom’s words ring in his head again and damn was his mom right.
he releases from the kiss just enough to speak.
“stay.”
a/n: wonwoooo. this was not heavily pre read beforehand so i apologize if there were any mistakes. there could be a possible part 2 since the ending is open ended. any feedback or comments are greatly appreciated. thank you for reading, i hope you enjoyed!
pairing: student!lee chan x teacher!reader x coworker!jeon wonwoo
genre: delinquency, slight violence, major plot twist, love triangle???, slightly suggestive, dino is hot period
word count: 6.5k
summary: what would you do if you caught yourself in teaching some delinquents (one of whom refuses to take his eyes off you) because of a job that your good friend slash now coworker has offered you?
a/n: got inspired while watching study group. AND because I went to a seventeen con a while ago and dino surely got into my bias list. everyone stay safe!!!! enjoyyyyyyy
The morning air was crisp as you walked through the university gates, the golden hues of the rising sun casting long shadows over the quiet campus. This was your first official day as a professor, the culmination of years of studying, passing the licensure exam, and navigating post-graduation uncertainty. You had spent the last year lingering in your small apartment, jobless and wondering if you had chosen the right path—until Jeon Wonwoo offered you an opportunity.
Wonwoo had been your anchor during that uncertain period. You’d met him during your final year of university, and while he had always been somewhat reserved, his sharp intelligence and dry wit had drawn you in. He had a way of making everything seem a little clearer, a little more manageable. When you’d expressed your frustration with not finding a job after passing the licensure exam, he had listened quietly, like he always did, his gaze thoughtful. It wasn’t until a few weeks later that you had received an email from him, offering you a position as a lecturer at the university where he worked.
You still remembered that moment—how the weight of that email had felt like a lifeline. And how, when you’d thanked him over a coffee that afternoon, he had shrugged, as if it was nothing. “You’re smart. You deserve a shot,” he’d said, his voice so typically matter-of-fact.
Since then, Wonwoo had become not only a colleague but a steady presence in your life. He was someone you could rely on when things went wrong, and someone who always seemed to have everything under control. His reserved nature was still a mystery, but there was an unspoken understanding between the two of you. He had a protective streak that you only began to notice once you started working with him closely—watching him step in when things got too chaotic or when your confidence faltered in front of students.
In those quieter moments, when you shared lunch breaks or brief moments of downtime between classes, he would talk about his own experiences teaching. His insights were always thoughtful, often offering advice without being overbearing. And sometimes, when you were frustrated, he had a way of easing your worries with just a few words. Even when he didn’t directly say it, there was always an underlying sense that he was looking out for you.
You knew that, in a way, Wonwoo had always been a silent mentor—never overtly guiding you, but always there when you needed him. Today, as you stepped into the university grounds, he was still that familiar figure in the background. You might be starting your own journey, but you weren’t doing it alone. Not as long as Wonwoo had your back.
And now, here you were, about to teach your first class.
“You nervous?”
The question came from Wonwoo, who walked beside you, his usual composed and serious expression in place. He was a man of few words, but his presence alone was reassuring.
“A little,” you admitted, adjusting the strap of your bag. “But I’ll be fine.”
Wonwoo hummed, unconvinced. “You’re assigned to 3-C, right?”
“Yes. Why?”
He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. "You sure you don’t want me to switch with you?"
That made you pause. “Why would I?”
Wonwoo finally looked at you, and for the first time this morning, a flicker of amusement crossed his features. "You’ll see."
You frowned at his cryptic words but brushed it off. “I’ll be fine. Besides, you got me this job. I can’t mess up on my first day.”
Wonwoo didn’t reply, but his silence said enough.
And with that, he walked off to his own classroom, leaving you standing there, confusion brewing in your mind.
With a deep breath, you squared your shoulders and made your way to Room 3-C.
The moment you reached the door, the realization hit you.
Loud laughter, desks scraping against the floor, students yelling across the room—it was absolute chaos. Some were standing on chairs, others were throwing paper balls, and a few were in the middle of what looked like an arm-wrestling match atop a desk. The noise, the reckless energy, felt overwhelming. You could already feel a knot of anxiety forming in your stomach as you stepped into the doorway, taking in the scene before you.
You had expected some rowdiness—every first day was a bit chaotic, right? But this... this was different. It wasn’t just rowdiness; it was pure, unbridled anarchy. The kind of behavior that felt almost designed to test your patience and authority. You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing. This was your first real day as a professor, and it already felt like you were standing at the edge of a precipice.
You exhaled slowly, forcing your feet to move forward. So this is what Wonwoo had meant when he warned you about the challenges of teaching here. The thought barely crossed your mind before you pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The moment you crossed the threshold, a wave of noise and disarray seemed to crash over you. No one noticed. It felt almost as if your presence was irrelevant, swallowed by the overwhelming disorder in the room. The loud chatter, the sporadic shouts, the sound of chairs scraping on the floor—all of it blurred into a maddening symphony that made it impossible to focus on anything other than the noise itself.
For a moment, you simply stood there, taking in the madness. You had prepared yourself for some degree of disruption; you weren’t naive. But this? This was beyond anything you’d imagined. Students were climbing over desks, yelling across the room, engaging in loud arguments. The space felt thick with a palpable energy, a sense that no one was in control—not you, not anyone.
You weren’t one to raise your voice unnecessarily. It wasn’t your style. You believed that authority should come from presence, from the subtle ways you commanded respect—not from fear or shouting. You were here to teach, to guide—not to battle. But with every passing second, it became harder to ignore the creeping frustration building within you. The idea of just letting it slide seemed impossible.
And then, as if the universe itself had conspired to give you an out, someone else did it for you.
“Oi.”
The word was simple—short, firm, yet carrying a weight that immediately cut through the chaos. It was the kind of command that silenced a room without raising the volume. The laughter died down almost instantly, and the noise slowed to a muffled hush. You felt your body stiffen, your focus narrowing as you turned toward the back of the room.
There, leaning against the back wall with his arms crossed, sat a figure. His messy hair and relaxed posture told you everything you needed to know—he’d clearly just woken up from some kind of nap, and yet, his presence was commanding. The room had fallen silent for him as easily as if he were a force of nature.
Lee Chan.
As he met your gaze, the air between you shifted. His dark eyes gleamed under the dim morning light, unreadable but intense. There was a certain sharpness to him, like a predator sizing up its prey. It was unsettling, but you refused to be intimidated. You weren’t here to be cowed by anyone, least of all a student, no matter how powerful his presence might be.
You didn’t need to be told who he was—you could see it in the way the room moved around him. The students had instantly fallen silent at his command, all of them snapping to attention as if they knew, deep down, that this was a battle they would lose if they defied him.
Chan tilted his head slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. Then, in a voice that was still calm, but not without authority, he spoke again.
“Sit down. The teacher’s here.”
The effect was immediate and almost eerie. The class scrambled to obey, students shuffling quickly back into their seats. The previously rampant chaos dissolved into nothingness in the span of a few heartbeats. Chairs scraped across the floor in a rush of motion as everyone rushed to restore some semblance of order.
Your grip tightened around the roster in your hands. It was subtle, but the realization settled in: Lee Chan had more authority over these students than you did. In fact, he had more authority over this classroom than anyone, and they all knew it.
Still, you couldn’t let yourself be rattled. You refused to let this one student dictate the rhythm of the room. You took a deep breath, straightened your shoulders, and met Chan’s gaze once more. “Thank you,” you said, your voice calm but firm.
He didn’t respond. Instead, his dark eyes simply continued to study you with a quiet intensity, his expression unreadable. His gaze lingered for a moment before he turned away, clearly losing interest.
Turning your attention back to the roster, you began calling out names, trying to push the lingering tension aside. It would be easy to focus on Chan—his presence was like a weight pressing down on your chest—but you couldn’t let that control the way you conducted the class.
That is, until a voice from the back of the room snapped your attention back into focus.
“She would do better as a camgirl.”
The words came from one of the students—a boy with a cocky grin and an air of entitlement that grated against your calm. The remark hit like a slap, echoing in your mind as the room fell into a tense, suffocating silence.
You paused, fingers tightening around the paper, a slow burn igniting within you. It wasn’t the first time you had encountered disrespect, but something about the casualness of the comment—the way it seemed to roll off his tongue without any regard for your presence—struck a nerve.
You lifted your gaze, voice even but sharp as you locked eyes with the student. “What was that?”
The student—Kang Jaemin, according to your roster—smirked, sinking deeper into his chair. “Just saying,” he drawled. “You’d make more money doing something else. We’d all tune in, wouldn’t we, boys?” He winked, nudging his friends. A couple of them chuckled in response.
It was immature. It was crude. And it was unnecessary. You stood there, breath held, trying to decide whether to ignore it or shut it down immediately. You had faced worse—much worse—in your teaching career. You knew that responding with anger or frustration would only fuel the fire.
But before you could even form a reply, the sound of a chair scraping across the floor shattered the silence.
Without a word, Chan kicked his desk forward with a force that made everyone in the room flinch. The room went completely still, the air thick with tension as all eyes turned to him. His gaze was cold, hard—focused solely on Jaemin, who was still lounging in his chair, clearly oblivious to the danger he was in.
“Apologize,” Chan said, his voice low but filled with unspoken menace.
Jaemin scoffed, rubbing his nose like it was no big deal. “What’s it to you, boss?” He flashed a grin, trying to play it cool, but his eyes flickered nervously as he took in Chan’s stance.
A nervous whisper came from beside him. “Hey, Jaemin, just drop it. Chan’s already in a bad mood this morning,” his seatmate muttered, voice barely above a breath.
Chan didn’t move from his seat, his eyes never leaving Jaemin. His voice was steady, even calm, but there was a weight to it that made every student in the room uneasy. “She’s our teacher,” Chan said quietly. “You respect her, or you leave.”
The command hung in the air, heavy and unyielding. For a moment, the classroom seemed to hold its breath. Students shifted uncomfortably in their seats, exchanging glances as the tension between Jaemin and Chan grew.
Jaemin opened his mouth, clearly about to argue, but Chan’s eyes hardened, and he tilted his head ever so slightly—a subtle but unmistakable warning.
Jaemin hesitated. But only for a moment. Then, the challenge came.
“Or what?” he scoffed, his lip curling in defiance.
Chan exhaled slowly through his nose, his expression unreadable, his eyes locked on Jaemin with a quiet intensity that sent a chill through the room. The silence that followed was suffocating. His voice was calm but held a deadly weight. “Or I’ll make you.”
The tension in the classroom thickened, becoming almost palpable. Students shifted nervously in their seats, their eyes darting back and forth between Chan and Jaemin, sensing that something had shifted—something beyond their control. Some leaned forward, watching the confrontation with bated breath, while others instinctively backed away from the desks nearest the two boys, as though expecting an explosion.
Jaemin scoffed, brushing his fingers through his hair as he leaned back in his chair, trying to exude the same arrogance that had caused the conflict in the first place. “You think you can order me around just ‘cause everyone here’s scared of you?” His voice was mocking, almost too casual for the moment. He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Man, you’re pathetic. What, got a little crush on the new teacher?”
The taunt hung in the air like a spark waiting to ignite. That was all it took.
Chan’s movement was so fast, it was almost a blur. Before Jaemin could react, Chan was on him, his fist connecting with Jaemin’s jaw in a sharp, brutal crack! The impact echoed across the room, and Jaemin was sent stumbling backward into the desk behind him, his knees buckling as he struggled to regain his balance. The sound of the punch resonated like a thunderclap in the stillness that followed.
Gasps erupted from the students, the force of the blow sending shockwaves through the class. Those nearest to the altercation scrambled to get out of the way, chairs screeching against the floor as they instinctively shifted back, creating space. The tension had finally come to a head—and it was as chaotic as it was terrifying.
Jaemin wiped his lips, his fingers coming away stained with blood. His face twisted into a grotesque mask of rage as he glared at Chan, barely able to contain his fury. “You son of a—!”
Before Jaemin could finish his sentence, he lunged forward, a primal, reckless move driven by anger. His fist swung at Chan, but the other boy was already one step ahead. With a fluid motion, Chan caught Jaemin’s wrist mid-air, twisting it back so sharply that Jaemin let out a grunt of pain. The force of the move sent Jaemin to his knees, his face contorted with both shock and fury as he struggled to free himself from Chan’s iron grip.
The entire classroom was frozen, watching with wide eyes as Chan’s expression remained cold, calm, and terrifyingly controlled. There was no wildness to him—no desperation. His composure made the whole scene even more unnerving.
“You don’t talk to any woman like that,” Chan’s voice was low, dangerous, the words dripping with an almost chilling finality. “That’s not so gentleman of you.”
Jaemin’s face twisted with more rage, his breath coming in harsh pants. “Like I care what you think—” he spat back, but the words were drowned out by the mounting tension in the room.
Just as Jaemin struggled to break free, another loud bang rang out through the room—this time, it wasn’t from the students or the fight. Everyone froze, the noise so sharp it cut through the chaos like a knife.
At the door stood Jeon Wonwoo, arms crossed, his sharp gaze fixed directly on the fight in front of him. His presence alone was enough to send a wave of unease through the students, like a cold front sweeping in, freezing the energy in the room. The sharp clack of his shoes against the floor was the only sound as he stepped forward, his eyes narrowing in disapproval.
His gaze flicked to the two boys, and then, without hesitation, his voice rang out, cold and authoritative. “Break it up.”
The command was simple, but it carried a weight that no one could ignore. Chan’s eyes flickered toward the other professor for a brief moment, an imperceptible hesitation passing through him, before he released Jaemin. Jaemin stumbled to his feet, still seething, his chest heaving with rage, but there was little he could do. His pride had taken a blow that he couldn’t easily recover from, and the air in the room seemed to settle just slightly as the two boys were forcibly separated.
Before anyone could breathe a sigh of relief, the door burst open again, this time with the arrival of the student council president and another professor. They moved swiftly into the room, their presence immediately commanding the space. Within seconds, both Chan and Jaemin were being pulled away, their bodies being guided toward the door by the authority of the faculty and student leaders. The chaotic energy that had pervaded the room for what felt like an eternity dissipated as quickly as it had come, leaving only the echo of the confrontation hanging in the air.
And just like that, it was over.
The class sat in stunned silence. The atmosphere felt thick, almost suffocating, as if no one knew what to say after witnessing such a volatile moment. Some students exchanged nervous glances, others seemed almost relieved that the tension had been broken, but no one dared to speak out of turn.
You exhaled slowly, rubbing your temples, trying to process everything that had just happened. Your head throbbed with the weight of the moment, the emotional whiplash of what you had just witnessed settling deep in your bones. The chaotic flare of violence, the tension, the unsettling silence—it was enough to leave anyone rattled. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been so shaken, but there was no time to dwell on it. You still had a class to run—one that had just seen more than its fair share of drama.
The room remained heavy with silence, save for the occasional rustle of someone shifting uncomfortably in their seat. No one seemed quite ready to move on, the air thick with lingering unease, like a storm that hadn't quite passed.
Wonwoo stood beside you, his presence a quiet anchor amidst the unsettling atmosphere. His sharp gaze flickered over your face, a quick scan as though searching for any hint of lingering distress. It was a habit of his, the subtle way he kept track of everyone around him, always assessing.
“You okay?” His voice was steady, familiar—like a grounding force in the midst of chaos.
You exhaled slowly again, grounding yourself. “I’m fine,” you murmured, adjusting the papers in your hands as if that simple motion could erase the chaotic energy that had flooded the classroom. But the image of Chan, that brief glance he had thrown your way before disappearing down the hallway, lingered in your mind like an echo.
Wonwoo nodded, his gaze briefly flicking to the classroom before turning toward the door. His attention shifted elsewhere, but something in his posture, the small shift in his stance, told you he was still watching you. Observing. “Let’s just get through today, alright?” he said, a quiet suggestion more than a command.
At the far end of the room, just before stepping out, Chan paused. His back was to the door, but his eyes flickered back—just for a second—across the room. The briefest glance, but enough to make your stomach tighten. He wasn’t looking at you, not exactly. But it was as though he had taken note of everything. Of you. The way he looked at the scene, the way he committed it all to memory, was unsettling. Then, just as quickly, he was gone.
You couldn’t help but wonder what’s inside his head.
The faculty room was quieter, but the atmosphere was still charged, the earlier events hanging in the air like a storm cloud, ready to break. You sat at a corner table, trying to concentrate on the papers in front of you, but your mind kept returning to that fight. The way the room had shifted the moment Chan stepped in. The look in his eyes. Something about him felt different. Dangerous. And you had a creeping feeling you hadn’t seen the last of it.
Professor Kim, the head of the disciplinary committee, sighed heavily, adjusting her glasses. “The fight was disruptive and violent. This cannot be ignored. Both of them need to be disciplined appropriately.”
Professor Park, ever quick to share his thoughts, didn’t hesitate. “Jaemin, of course, has a long history of problems. We can’t say we didn’t expect this. But Lee Chan…” He trailed off, his tone shifting as though weighing something in his mind. “He’s not a student we can easily overlook. He’s a troublemaker—just in a different way.”
Your brow furrowed slightly as the name “Lee Chan” reverberated in your mind. From what you had heard, he was intelligent, sharp—his grades were impressive, even top-tier. But the way he carried himself? The silence that followed him, like a lingering shadow? It didn’t add up. Something didn’t feel right.
Professor Choi, usually reserved, leaned forward, adding to the conversation with a rare intensity. “He gets good grades, yes. But that doesn’t mean we should let his actions slide. His reputation alone is enough to make anyone hesitate. He’s not just a student—hell this school is named after his family name. Though no students here knows that fact, his presence still command respect, or fear. He makes people follow him, just by being in the room.”
You listened intently, absorbing every word, every hesitation. You had heard the rumors about Chan even before you came into this school, whispers in the hallways, the unease that followed him like a dark cloud. But until now, you hadn’t fully realized the weight of it all. The way people avoided his gaze, the way others seemed to bend to his will without question. You were amazed by the realness of it all.
Wonwoo spoke up then, his tone calm, but his words carrying an unexpected weight. “Chan might be smart, but he’s trouble. He’s one of those students who uses his reputation to get what he wants. He’s not above intimidation, and that’s something we can’t afford to ignore.”
You glanced at Wonwoo, surprised by his bluntness. He wasn’t someone who typically spoke so openly about students—at least, not those who still managed to keep their grades up despite their behavior. It was almost as if he knew something you didn’t.
Professor Kim raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “And you think his good grades should excuse his actions, professor? Because his grades don’t justify a fight. He’s crossed a line.”
Wonwoo sighed, a fleeting flicker of frustration crossing his features. “I’m not saying we should excuse his behavior. But Chan has a way of manipulating situations. If we come down too hard on him, it could make things worse. He’s the kind of student who doesn’t respond well to authority, and if we push him too far, it could escalate.”
The room fell silent for a moment, as if everyone was processing the implications of his words. The tension between caution and confrontation hummed in the air, unresolved.
Professor Park narrowed his eyes, a sharp edge to his voice. “So, what are you suggesting? That we give him a pass just because he knows how to make people scared of him?”
“No,” Wonwoo replied, his voice steady and certain. “But we need to be careful. We can’t treat Chan like any other student. He has a way of turning things to his advantage, of twisting situations. And this is not just because his family own this school. This is because he built his reputation that way, making other students afraid of him. If we push him too far, we risk triggering something we might not be able to control. He’s not like the rest of them.”
The conversation settled into a heavy silence, each person wrestling with their thoughts.
Finally, Professor Kim let out a long breath, her fingers tapping lightly against the papers in front of her. “We’ll put both students in detention for the time being. Jaemin, no surprise there. But with Chan…” She paused, as if trying to weigh the possible consequences of her next words. “He’s not the type to back down, and we need to keep that in mind moving forward.”
It had been one of those days—busy, slightly chaotic, but nothing out of the ordinary. You found yourself sorting through papers at your desk when a familiar voice broke through the quiet hum of the faculty room.
“Hey, you’re looking pretty focused there. Are you sure you’re not trying to work yourself to the bone?” Wonwoo’s voice had that familiar teasing tone, and you could almost hear the faint smile behind it.
You glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow. “Says the guy who spends half his time pretending to read the reports when he’s just watching the clock,” you retorted, leaning back in your chair.
He chuckled, pushing a strand of hair from his face. “I’m just keeping an eye on you. Don’t want you getting lost in all that paperwork.”
You shook your head, amused. “If I get lost, I’ll just call you for help. But I’m sure you’d rather be napping in the staff lounge, huh?”
His eyes narrowed playfully. “I’m a responsible adult. I don’t nap during work hours.” He leaned in, lowering his voice. “Well, not all the time.”
You couldn’t help but laugh, rolling your eyes. “Maybe I should start timing your breaks, see how long you really go without a nap.”
He grinned, clearly enjoying the banter. “You wouldn’t dare. Besides, I’m more efficient than you think.” He tapped a finger against his temple. “Don’t forget, I’m the one keeping the department running smoothly.”
You leaned forward, matching his teasing tone. “I’m sure the students would beg to differ. They’ve all been talking about you.”
Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, his face unreadable for a moment before a grin tugged at his lips. “What about me?”
You leaned back again, crossing your arms with a playful smile. “Oh, nothing. Just that you’ve been the silent hero in the background. Maybe you’ve earned a fan club.”
He raised an eyebrow, his lips curling up at the corners. “A fan club, huh? I like the sound of that. Just make sure you don’t join it.”
You shot him a wink, amused by his overconfidence. “I don’t need to. I already have my own fan club.”
His grin widened, but before he could say anything more, the conversation shifted, and the teasing between the two of you faded into comfortable silence.
A few days later, you were buried under paperwork once again, the weight of the past week pressing down on you. Your phone buzzed with another unrecognized number, and you ignored it, frustrated. But then, almost instinctively, you found yourself dialing a number you’d been trying to reach all day—Chan’s number.
You sighed in frustration, tapping your fingers against the desk as the phone rang. “Come on, pick up already…” you muttered under your breath.
The soft click of the door opening made you freeze, and you quickly turned your phone’s screen away, hoping it wasn’t too obvious.
“Who are you calling?” Wonwoo’s voice broke through your thoughts, low and inquiring.
You froze, trying to play it cool, but the tension in your shoulders betrayed you. “It’s… just someone,” you said quickly, attempting to brush it off.
Wonwoo stepped closer, leaning against the edge of your desk. His eyes flickered to your phone before meeting your gaze, and there was a knowing look in his eyes. “Is that the fifth time today? They still aren’t answering?”
Your stomach twisted. Wonwoo was always perceptive, but this time, it felt like he could read you like an open book. You cleared your throat, trying to keep your tone steady. “It’s not a big deal,” you muttered. “Just trying to get in touch with a student. He’s been… absent.”
Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, not missing the way your fingers tightened around the phone. His voice softened, his teasing tone slipping into something more serious. “It’s Lee Chan, isn’t it?”
Your heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t just guessing. He knew. You hesitated for a moment, before nodding slightly, feeling the weight of the conversation settling in.
“Yeah,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “He hasn’t been showing up to class, and he missed his detention after the fight last week. He was supposed to work in the library after class, but… I haven’t heard from him.”
Wonwoo’s gaze didn’t leave you as he processed the information. “He’s been avoiding you?” His tone held a quiet concern, though there was still that ever-present edge of curiosity in his voice. “Isn’t that a bit… unusual for him? I thought he usually showed up when he needed something.”
You sighed, feeling a mix of frustration and unease wash over you. “Yeah, I thought so too. But it’s been days now. I’m not sure what’s going on. He’s always been hard to reach, but he’s never just ignored things like this.” You paused, your mind racing with the possibilities. “I’m worried something’s happened.”
Wonwoo gave you a long look, as if trying to gauge the situation. “Chan’s the type to do things his own way,” he said softly. “Maybe he’s just making a point. Or maybe he’s not ready to deal with the consequences yet.”
Your fingers tightened on the phone again, the thought of Chan slipping further away from your reach gnawing at you. “I just don’t want to let it slide. He has to face the consequences, but I don’t know how to make him show up.”
Wonwoo’s expression softened, just slightly, as he straightened up. “He won’t make it easy for you. But if you want him to show up, you’ll have to push a little harder.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “But that’s what you do, right? You get the students to listen.”
There was a certain understanding in his words that made you pause. Wonwoo didn’t say it outright, but he knew how hard you’d been trying to reach Chan, and how important it was that you got through to him.
You gave a short, tight smile, grateful for the insight. “Yeah, I guess I’ll just have to find a way to get through to him.”
Wonwoo nodded and gave you a small, knowing smile. “Let me know if you need help with that.” His tone had returned to its usual teasing edge, but there was something in his eyes that made you feel like he wasn’t just offering help on a whim.
“Thanks,” you said, though your mind was already elsewhere, focusing on what you could do next. After a brief moment, Wonwoo left, leaving you alone with your thoughts.
You stared at your phone for a moment, the unanswered calls piling up in your call log. Chan wasn’t just skipping school—is he avoiding you? That would made everything feel far more complicated. You couldn’t help but wonder what kind of game he was playing this time.
You made your way back to your apartment, your mind still racing with the events of the day. The walk had done little to clear your head. The sky had darkened by the time you reached the familiar building, and the usual hum of city life seemed distant, almost muffled, as if the world around you was out of focus. The weight of everything, your new role, the chaos in your classroom, and the unresolved tension settled in your chest.
As you approached your apartment door, you realized something was off. The hallway light flickered overhead, casting strange shadows along the walls, but that wasn’t what caught your attention. It was the door itself. The door to your apartment, which you were sure you had locked this morning, was ajar. Just slightly, but enough to make your stomach twist with unease.
You froze for a moment, unsure of what to do. Your instincts told you to back away, to go back downstairs and find someone, anyone, but you remained rooted in place. You had been living here for months without issue, and yet now, in the quiet of the night, the very thought that someone could have been inside your space felt foreign and terrifying.
You stepped forward cautiously, your heart pounding in your chest. Every step felt heavier than the last, and you felt a shiver creep down your spine. The door creaked softly as you pushed it open a little further, and you glanced inside. The apartment was dark, but nothing seemed out of place. The silence was unsettling, too perfect, like it was waiting for you to make the next move.
Your breath caught in your throat as you stood just inside the doorway, your hand still on the handle. Every part of you screamed to leave, to turn and run back down the stairs, but you couldn’t. You had to know. Had you forgotten to lock the door? Was this a mistake? Or was someone else in there?
The moment you stepped into your apartment, something felt off.
A slow, uneasy breath left your lips as you carefully pushed the door open, stepping inside with cautious, measured steps. The dim lighting from the street outside spilled through the window, casting long shadows against the walls.
Then—
“Oh, you’re back already?”
That familiar voice sent a sharp jolt through your body, but not from fear. From pure, unfiltered frustration.
Your head snapped toward the couch, where he sat so casually, one arm resting over the backrest, his legs sprawled out like he owned the place. A slow, knowing smirk tugged at his lips as his dark eyes drank in your stunned expression.
Lee Chan.
You exhaled sharply, tension flooding your body as you stormed toward him. Without hesitation, you smacked his broad shoulder—hard.
“You—!” Your voice wavered, caught between anger and relief. “Why are you not answering my calls?”
Chan barely flinched, only tilting his head slightly as he watched you with that irritatingly amused expression. Then, in one swift motion, he stood, his arms wrapping around you before you could escape.
“Now, why is my pretty teacher crying?” His voice was soft, teasing, but there was something in the way he pulled you against his chest, how his hands instinctively found your waist, that made your stomach flip.
You clenched your jaw, your hands gripping his hoodie. “Do you have any idea how worried I was about you?”
Chan let out a short exhale, like your concern was misplaced.
“Worried about me?”
“Yes, worried about you, you idiot!” You pushed at his chest just enough to glare up at him. “You didn’t show up for detention. You haven’t been at school. You disappeared, Chan. I kept calling, but you never picked up. What was I supposed to think?”
His gaze flickered across your face, unreadable. Then, his lips curled into something almost smug.
“Do every teacher worry about their students like this?”
Your stomach twisted at his words, heat creeping up your neck.
You smacked his chest. “You know what I mean.”
He groaned dramatically, tilting his head back. “Ugh, I hate this.”
“Hate what?” You narrowed your eyes, suddenly remembering exactly why you were so furious with him in the first place.
“Sitting in that classroom, watching you teach, pretending you’re just another professor, when I know I could grab you anytime and kiss you so hard you forget your own name.”
His voice was low, raw with frustration, and the way he looked at you made your breath catch in your throat.
Your lips parted, but before you could say anything, he scoffed under his breath.
“This is exactly why I told you not to accept Wonwoo’s offer.”
Your brows furrowed, irritation flaring inside you. “We’re not doing this again.”
Chan’s grip on you tightened slightly, his jaw clenching. “Yes, we are. You knew what would happen if you started working there. You knew there was a chance you’d be assigned to my class, and you still took the job.”
Your hands curled into fists against his hoodie. “What was I supposed to do, Chan? Turn down a stable job just because you don’t like it?”
“Yes.” His answer came without hesitation, sharp and unyielding.
You inhaled deeply, trying to steady yourself. “You’re being unreasonable.”
“No, I’m being realistic.” His voice dropped, something darker lacing his words. “Do you know how much I hate seeing you there? How much it pisses me off when I have to sit through a lesson and pretend I don’t want to pull you out of that classroom and keep you all to myself?”
You swallowed hard, your heartbeat pounding against your ribs.
“I told you it would be difficult,” he continued, his fingers pressing lightly into your waist. “I told you I wouldn’t handle it well, and now look. I can’t even focus in that damn classroom, because all I can think about is how wrong it feels for you to be standing there, acting like I’m just another student.”
You wanted to argue, to tell him he was being selfish, but deep down, you knew—he wasn’t lying.
It had been hard.
Harder than you expected.
Keeping your relationship hidden, pretending there was nothing between you when the weight of his gaze alone was enough to unravel you. And when he stopped showing up to class, when he ignored your calls—it hurt more than you wanted to admit.
Your shoulders sagged slightly. “I don’t know what you want me to do, Chan.”
He studied you for a long moment before sighing. “I don’t want you to do anything. I just…” His fingers brushed against your cheek, his voice softer now. “I hate this. I hate not being able to have you the way I want.”
Something inside you cracked at his words.
You reached up, your fingers threading through his hair as you exhaled shakily. “I hate it too.”
Chan smirked, but there was no teasing behind it this time—only something knowing, something bittersweet.
His arms tightened around you, his forehead pressing against yours.
“Then let’s stop pretending,” he murmured.
It was as if the air between you shifted—thick with tension, unspoken words, and the heat that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long.
Chan’s fingers brushed over your shoulders as he slid your coat off, letting it fall to the side without a second thought. His touch lingered, slow and deliberate, as he guided you toward the kitchen table.
Your heart pounded against your ribs.
“Chan…” you started, voice barely above a whisper.
But he was already behind you, his presence overwhelming, his hands warm as they rested on your waist. He leaned in, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear.
“Now,” his voice was low, filled with something dangerous, something utterly possessive.
