ohyul… who needs his hair played with 24/7. when both of you are together alone, he just lies next to you and nudges his head into your neck until you get the hint.
ohyul… who has a million random photos of you. not cute instagram-worthy photos (while they might seem that way to him) they’re just photos of you sleeping, eating a snack, or cooking something.
ohyul… who loves seeing you go out in his hoodies because nobody knows they’re his. (or so he thinks; the internet is connecting the dots :/ )
ohyul… who has all of your food and drink orders from every place written down in his notes app. when you ask for food somewhere, he never asks what you want. he either has it memorized or written down.
ohyul… who orders extra of his food when you say you’re not hungry because he knows you’ll try his and want it.
ohyul… is a “look at this” bf. he shows you or sends you every tiny thing he finds funny.
ohyul… who learns your groups choreos just to annoy you. he will randomly do your dance in the middle of a hallway and sing the songs in a weird voice.
HIIIIIIIII!!!! I love yr posts a lot, i always read them except for 18+ ones, hehe. Anyways, I wanna ask if you can write a ohyul or ryul fic of like, reader and him getting into a argument but like the reader is like nonchalant but ohyul/ryul is like very emotional and cries during the argument so the argument turned into a comforting session. HEHE! You can think of the reason of the argument, THANK YOU SO MUCH!!
Heyyy, thank you for reading my other fics even though I have loads of 🔞+ I’m sorry😭, I made an angsty/wholesome rant just for you❤️ hope you enjoy!
—Argument with 2Yul line—
(little rant for my younger audience on how I think they’d be, try to see the vision💀)
/Themes/ Fluff, bit of angst, comfort, mentions of kissing Pairing: gf!reader x soft!2Yuls
✦︎ OHYUL ✦︎
『』 Arguments with him would be triggered by a feeling of instability—a sudden threat to the relationship that makes him second guess the basis of what your guys partnership was built upon, not liking shakiness. Maybe your attention on him starts getting more sparse, finding shifts in what he once thought was routine affection you showed him
『』 He’d be soo stubborn— trying to give you the cold shoulder, but little did he know he was in for a ride with your nonchalance. Staring from the kitchen counter at you, distracted on the couch laughing at some random reality show. His jaw clenched—turning around to open the fridge, needing to get his mind off things
『』 Eventually—he’d break, not in a sense to where he believed you were right, but of needing your immediate daily comfort, your touch, that warm smile beaming over him and not that dumb big screen—he had to mean more to you than it?
『』 Joining you on the couch—his cheek pressed over your thighs, letting his legs hang off. “Can we stop this”, he gazed up at you from between thick lashes—doe eyes glazed over with brimming tears “you’re acting like we’re stranger..I miss your hugs”
『』 Giggling down at him, Ohyul pinched your thigh, pressing his teary face against your skin—frowning. “I’m serious—hug me now”—he sat up dreadfully, hating how he broke first, but that all didn’t matter when his arms clasped possessively around your waist—pecking your tight-lipped mouth gently, kisses turning insatiable as his tongue fought for forgiveness, his wet tears wiping across your face—taste salty
『』 “All good hyul?” —pulling back from his pouty lips, he nodded, flushed face immediately pressing to the dip in your neck, embarrassed, sniffling softly. “I’m still right though—just don’t ever deny me again”. His lips pressed chaste pecks to the skin, “you don’t know how much I missed your touch—need you”…He’d end up by your side the whole day—clinging to you, even carrying you with his sturdy arms in apology
✦︎ RYUL ✦︎
« » Sulks till it eats him alive— very non-confrontational, more so petty if he feels like you aren’t reciprocating his efforts. Makes sly side remarks when he can’t handle holding back anymore, that’s only when it gets really bad. If not, he’s isolating himself to reach a middle ground inside his head, contemplating whether it’s really a big deal or not—, he’d end up waiting for you to chase after him…but this post is about the opposite so…
« » He’d come back around—using his charming words and flirting to basically get at your good side. Much more diplomatic than Ohyul, he’d cooperate with you and agree you’re right once he sees the logic behind it
« » Staring back at him, brows pinched in discomfort—he’d press a soft peck between the wrinkles, brining a hand up to your jaw caressingly—soft gaze narrowing in on your angered features, “Let’s go out, I’ll take you on a date—cmon”. He lifted you from the bed, shoulders relaxing when you finally smiled up from his chest—treading off slowly to the bathroom, admiring your confused expressions from below
« » So entranced—he hadn’t realized tears were spilling till they landed over your face—warm liquid dripping over your cheek–soaking into your hair. “Why’re you crying yul?”, lifting your thumb to wipe away the corners of his sharp eyes—he shook his head—mouth closed. Placing you down on the bathroom floor, his hand patted your backside, “Change, I’ll be outside waiting—go all out for this”
« » Eventually he took you to the mall—holding heavy bags in his hand as he followed behind—thin plastic filled with designer, his hand somehow always finding a way to end up at the small of your back, never letting you get too far.
« » Back in the car—silence won in the cramped space, and finally he uttered. “Earlier, It was because I couldn’t fathom losing you—I’m sorry I cri–“, kissing him, not letting him finish, you couldn’t imagine letting him go on about not letting out his emotions, knowing that played a huge role in your guys’ relationship, vulnerability… he’d kiss you back—tear spilling again into the kiss, eventually letting your body drape over in his driver seat—wrapped around in his lap. That night, you both fell asleep deep—limbs intertwined, knotted lovingly in each others embrace, peaceful breaths enveloping in resolve
genre: angst, fluff, slice of life, established relationship
sum. After a small argument spirals into hurt feelings and silence, Ohyul shows up to make things right
You weren’t supposed to argue.
It had started small—something stupid, honestly. A missed call. A short reply. The kind of thing that normally wouldn’t matter.
But it did this time.
“Why do you always do this?” you snapped, arms crossed tightly. “You just disappear and expect me to be okay with it.”
Ohyul exhaled sharply, already frustrated. “I told you I was busy.”
“One message isn’t that hard.”
“I did message you.”
“Hours later.”
Silence.
The air between you felt so uncomfortable—too tense, too sharp.
“You’re making it a bigger deal than it is,” he said, running a hand through his hair.
And that—that—was the wrong thing to say.
“Of course I am,” you laughed bitterly. “Because it matters to me, Ohyul.”
“I didn’t say it didn’t.”
“But you’re acting like it doesn’t!”
Your voice cracked slightly at the end, and you hated that it did. His expression faltered, just for a second...but pride got there first.
“I can’t always be on my phone,” he said, tone firmer now.
“I’m not asking you to be. I’m asking you to care.”
“I do care!”
“Then show it!”
The words hung there. Heavy. Too heavy.
Neither of you spoke for a moment. The frustration had burned itself out, leaving something quieter behind, something worse.
“…forget it,” you muttered, grabbing your bag.
“Where are you going?”
“Home.”
You didn’t wait for him to stop you.
----------
You thought that would be it.
A night to cool off. Maybe a message later. But the silence stretched longer than expected. Your phone stayed quiet. And the longer it did, the more your chest tightened.
Maybe you were overreacting. Maybe you pushed too hard. Maybe—
A knock interrupted your thoughts. You froze. Another knock. Softer this time. Slowly, you walked to the door and opened it.
Ohyul stood there.
He looked… different. Not angry or defensive, just tired.
“…hi,” he said.
You swallowed. “Hi.”
Neither of you moved at first.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” he started, voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. “About you making it a big deal.”
You looked down, fingers tightening slightly around the door.
“I was frustrated,” he continued. “But that doesn’t mean you were wrong.”
That made you look up.
“And I’m sorry,” he added. “I should’ve just… texted you properly. It’s not hard.”
The sincerity in his voice made something in your chest loosen.
“I shouldn’t have yelled,” you admitted. “I was just so stressed about work recently and our schedules never seem to match up. I just really… miss you.”
That was it. That was the truth underneath everything.
His expression softened instantly.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked quietly, a hint of hurt in his voice. “About work, I mean… I didn’t know you were dealing with all that.”
He paused, then added more softly,
“Next time… just tell me, okay?”
Your chest tightened slightly at that and you nodded slowly.
“And... I miss you too.”
A small, fragile silence settled between you again, but this time, it wasn’t heavy. Just… careful.
“…can I come in?” he asked.
You nodded, stepping aside.
He walked in slowly, like he didn’t want to rush anything, and stopped a few steps away from you. For a moment, you just stood there, facing each other. Then he reached out.
Not fully. Just his hand, hesitating slightly in the space between you.
You took it. And that was all it took.
He stepped closer, pulling you into him gently, one hand coming up to rest at your back. You exhaled, tension you didn’t realize you were holding finally slipping away as you leaned into his touch.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured against your hair.
“Me too.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes softer now, searching.
“We're okay, right?”
You nodded. “Yeah.”
A pause.
Then, quietly, “Come here.”
This time, when he leaned in, it felt different. It was slower and more careful, like he didn’t want to mess it up again. His lips brushed yours gently at first, almost testing. You didn’t pull away, so he took it as a sign to deepen it just slightly. Your hand curled into his shirt, holding on.
It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t dramatic. But it felt genuine.
When he pulled away, your foreheads rested together, breaths still uneven.
“I’ll text you,” he said softly.
You huffed a small laugh. “You better.”
“I will.”
A beat.
Then he pressed another kiss to your lips. Short, sweet, like a promise this time.
And somehow, that one felt even more certain than the last.
summary; a new company in an industry that keeps trying to rewrite you, you’re talented, feared, and completely alone, protecting the identity you nearly lost. the only thing you’re holding onto is yourself, until someone starts seeing the parts you’ve been hiding. and somehow, he keeps showing up when you need it most. and along the way, things start to feel a little too real to ignore
warnings; idol ohyul, reader is a trainee, slowburn, friends / colleagues ﹖ ﹖ ﹖ to lovers (kinda), fluff, slight angst, insecurities, pressure, stress, other trainees being a little mean
wc; 12,2k - requested 1 2 3
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the first thing people notice about you isn’t your talent,
it’s the silence. not your silence to be exact, because you’re actually loud when you’re comfortable, the kind of girl who laughs with her whole body and talks with her hands and facial expressions, but the silence around you, conversations that stop when you enter the practice room, girls who subtly shift their bags a little further away whenever you step near, eyes that linger just a second too long before looking away whenever you pass by
but by now, you got used to it. not that you wanted to but, you had to, because before “more vision,” and before all the whispers and the stares here in this company, there was somewhere else.. somewhere that almost became everything, somewhere that almost became the one thing you had always wanted
“you’re really leaving!?”the words echo through your head till this very day, you remember the way the mirror reflected your old team; seven girls, perfectly styled even during a simple dance practice, standing in formation like it was already real, like this was destined to be true, like your debut was already yours, like.. it wasn’t something you were about to walk away from..
“yeah,” you had said, voice steady even though your hands weren’t,,“i can’t do it anymore..,”
“can’t do what?” one of them asked, not even trying to hide the confusion, “this is what we trained for,”
“this is what you trained for,”
you didn’t answer right away, your gaze dropped to the floor, not being able to look your teammates in the eyes
because how do you explain that you felt like you were disappearing? that every lyrics they rewrote for you sounded less like your voice and more like something easier to sell? that every time you looked in the mirror, you saw a version of yourself that was… polished, but hollow? that every step closer to fulfilling your dream meant a step closer to losing your true identity
“i just don’t recognize myself anymore,” you finally said
and that was it, you don’t know this person that you are becoming.. you don’t know this person they’re making you believe that you are.. and you left, before you were completely blind to your own true identity..
and now you’re here. new company. new building. new chance. but the same dream. there’s different rules, the building is smaller, the studios slightly less luxurious than the ones you used to work in, the company still upcoming but the most important part of the new company was the creative freedom. a chance to express yourself the way you want, true to yourself and the artist you want to be
but a new start means you have to proof yourself again
a new team, new producers, a new system
and more trainee evaluations; producers lined up behind the long table, staff members scattered along the walls, each sitting on a chair facing the room, and there’s a camera set up in the corner, there’s tons of pictures laid out on the table, every picture shows one of the trainees who gets evaluated today. vocal, rap, dance; you’ll get graded for multiple positions and receive feedback from all the producers, choreographers and teachers, but the one who’s most important to impress is the ceo himself, jay park, who sits in the middle of the big table
and then there’s them, lngshot. the newly debuted boygroup, and the first ever debut group of the company
also widely known as jay parks kids. they’re sitting off to the side, not actually part of the evaluation, but close enough to watch everything. they’re there to observe, not necessarily to judge. if anything they know like no other how it is to be on the other end of the table, up until a few months ago, they were the ones going through monthly evaluations, but since they made their debut, it’s time for a new group to follow their footsteps; a new girlgroup. and let that be exactly why you’re here now, for your first evaluation at the new company. you keep your eyes forward, you don’t look at the producers or lngshot
you’ve learned not to look at anyone right before you perform, because if you do, you start thinking. and if you start thinking, you hesitate. and you don’t hesitate, not anymore.
“next.”
your name is called, it echoes loud and there’s an immediate shift in the room. subtle, but noticeable. you step forward, on the outside you’re calm and controlled, like this is nothing, but inside, your heartbeat is loud, it feels weirdly steady and familiar, the hard feeling in your chest is the same feeling you’ve felt many times before
this pressure, the expectations and the eyes on you;
you’ve lived in it before. “this is the trainee who transferred, right?”“yeah. she was supposed to debut at her old company,”“she left right before lineup finalization, i heard,”“hm,”
you hear it, the whispers and the curiosity, but you don’t react. if anything.. you’ve heard worse. on the side, ohyul leans back slightly in his chair“…that’s her?” woojin mutters. “yeah,” ryul says, “heard she’s insane,”
“people always say that,”
“nah, like- actually,”
ohyul doesn’t say anything, he’s just watching you
curious, not impressed. not yet..
“what will you be performing today?” a producer asks
“self-produced track,” you answer, your voice is steady and clear, there’s not one trembling or shaking in your tone, “with a choreography i made for it,”and that gets a reaction. it’s small, but it’s definitely there. there’s a few raised brows, a pen softly tapping against the table and a you see a few producers sit up straight in the corner of your eye. “okay,” the producer nods, “whenever you’re ready,”you bow, step back, and position yourself in the center. the music starts, low and minimal, a beat that builds up as the song goes on, your kind of sound. at first, it’s quiet and subtle, your movements are controlled and precise, almost restrained like you’re holding something back
ohyul watches, his expression is neutral“she’s clean,”he thinks, “too clean,”he’s seen trainees like this before, technically perfect, emotionally… safe
and then, the beat drops and everything changes, it’s not just dancing anymore, it’s presence, your body loosens, your movements get sharper, heavier, your own personal style bleeding through every step. hiphop, but not copied or altered, not textbook, but yours, completely yours and ohyul straightens slightly, not even realising he’s doing it “woah,” woojin leans forward, “ohkay,
you don’t look at anyone, you don’t perform for them, that’s the difference, it feels like you’re performing at them, like the room just happens to be there. your rap comes in, and it hits, immediately. your tone is deep, textured, slightly rough around the edges in a way that feels intentional. and real, not polished into something generic, it’s raw and authentic
ohyul’s brows pull together slightly, not in confusion, but in focus, like he’s drawn into this little world of yours
drawn into the way your body moves with the lyrics of your heart. he can’t help but think.. and observe
“she’s not trying to sound like anyone,”and in this world, that’s rare, too rare..
your flow shifts halfway through the verse, it’s unexpected, off-beat just enough to feel interesting without losing control over the flow. it catches people off guard, but in a good way, a producer sits up straighter, someone whispers, “did you hear that?” and someone else is writing something down on your evaluation sheet. ohyul doesn’t move, not one inch, he’s completely locked in now, because now he sees it, the thing people were talking about, the talking and rumors he heard about the ‘new trainee’ it’s not just skill or technique. it’s identity, your identity. you’re not performing like someone who’s just trying to debut, or someone who’s after fame and fortune, you’re performing like someone who already knows who they are. and that? that’s dangerous
your choreography builds with the track, footwork getting more precise, your isolations sharper and your transitions smoother, but what stands out isn’t difficulty, it’s intention. every move you make feels like it belongs, it’s nothing extra or wasted. it’s there for a purpose.
“yoo she made this?”louis whispers. “apparently,” woojin nods approvingly. “…damn,”
ohyul leans forward now, elbows on his knees, he once again doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. there’s a moment, right before the final chorus, where the music cuts, completely. there’s silence. and you stand there, breathing, and for the first time, you look up, straight ahead, not at anyone specific. just up, to the front
and it feels like you’re letting them see you, just for a second, not the polished version, not the controlled one
just you, the girl behind the ‘trainee’, but then the beat hits again, hard and you finish smoothly. there’s no hesitation, no holding back, just certainty and when it ends, the room is quiet, not polite quiet, or that weird awkward quiet, it’s real quietness, the kind that happens when people need a second to process what they just saw. the kind that lingers
ohyul exhales slowly, he didn’t notice that he was holding his breath up until now, “…okay,” woojin mutters under his breath, “i get it now,”the other two immediately agree, but ohyul doesn’t respond, he’s still looking at you, because something doesn’t add up to him.., you don’t look satisfied with yourself, you don’t look proud, you don’t even look relieved? you just stand there, waiting, like you’re expecting something to be wrong, and that somehow catches his attention more than anything else,
“again,” a producer speaks and you blink and nod immediately, “yes, sir,”there’s no hesitation or complaint. if there was even a slightest bit of doubt in your head, it sure as hell flew out quickly, and you move back into position instantly,
ohyul’s eyes narrow slightly, again? most trainees would at least show something, even the smallest bit of fatigue or maybe even annoyance, most certainly some nerves, but you? nothing, just readiness? before he can think more, the music starts again, and you go just as hard, just as precise, almost like the first run meant nothing and this is normal for you“she’s used to this” the thought comes easily, and when it ends the second time, the reactions are clearer; “your musicality is strong,”“tone is very distinctive,” “you need to be careful not to over control your expressions,”“but overall, very solid,”
you bow slightly, a soft “thank you,” slips past your lips
you’re calm and collected, like their words don’t stick to you. like praise and criticism weigh the same to you
but as you turn to step back, your hand tightens slightly at your side, just for a second, it’s so quick that most people would’ve missed it most people.. but ohyul doesn’t,“she’s not unaffected,” he thinks to himself, “she’s just good at hiding it,”. you move back to your spot with the other trainees, standing in line, and just like that, the moment is over, and the next name is called, making the room shift again, and everyone’s attention turns to the other trainee who walks to the middle now
but for ohyul, it doesn’t, not really at least, because now, every time he looks at you, he doesn’t just see a talented trainee, he sees your restraint, the pressure, the way you hold yourself together like if you don’t ..something might slip
“…hyung,”he blinks, snapping out of whatever thought he was having, “what?”
“you’re staring,”
he looks away quickly, “..am not,”
“you are,” ryul snickers, “you interested?”. ohyul scoffs lightly, leaning back again, “she’s just good,”
“mm,” ryul hums,, “sure,”but even as he says it, even as he looks away, his attention drifts back to you almost automatically. again and again, and again, because something about you doesn’t sit quietly in his mind, it lingers and it pulls, and more than anything it makes him want to understand. and he doesn’t realize it yet, but that moment? that performance? that’s where it starts,
this, right here, the first time he sees you, and thinks, “there’s more to her than what she’s showing,”and he’s right, of course, he just doesn’t know how much yet
“again, from the top,”the beat restarts., your breath is already uneven, shirt sticking slightly to your back, but still, you nod anyway. the teacher doesn’t go easy on you, not because he dislikes you, but simply because he doesn’t need to, you don’t break, you don’t complain, you don’t miss counts, and somehow, that makes everything worse..
“you’re too clean,” he says after you finish, “it’s good, but it feels… controlled,. you blink, confused, “controlled?”
“you’re thinking too much,”you almost laugh at that, if only he knew how much you’re actually thinking..
later that night, the building is quiet, it feels bigger at this hour, most trainees leave by 10, but you stopped keeping track of time, the practice room lights hum faintly above you as you sit on the floor, back against the mirror, your laptop open infront of you, a half finished track plays through your headphones, your track to be exact, not something assigned or adjusted by others, yours.
you replay the verse again, mouthing along silently, tweaking words in your notes app as the sound goes on
but it still doesn’t feel right, it never feels right actually
you sigh, pulling the headphones off, dropping your head back against the mirror,
“you’re gonna burn out like that,”you freeze. you’re not alone. slowly, you turn your head to the sound of the voice, he’s leaning against the doorframe like he’s been there longer than he should’ve been, his hoodie half-zipped, his hair messy like he’s trying to hide behind it, but not low enough to hide who he is; ohyul.
you’ve seen him before, obviously. i mean, everyone has. his group’s everywhere lately, posters in the streets, their songs playing in cafes and restaurants, and even at the company staff talk about their schedules like they’re something fragile and valuable. they’re rising, and they’re rising fast. and he’s just… standing there, like he’s been watching.
“…sunbae,” you say, sitting up straighter, he pushes off the doorframe, walking in like like it’s routine, almost like it’s natural, “relax,” he mutters, laughing under his breath, “you look like i’m about to grade you,”
“aren’t you?” you shoot back before you can stop yourself, your tone a bit more sassy than you intended it to be, there’s a pause, then he laughs, actually laughs. “damn,” he says, shaking his head, “so you do talk,”. you frown, “what’s that supposed to mean?”
“nothing,” he shrugs easily, but there’s something in his eyes, amusement and curiosity, “you just… don’t, usually,”. you don’t answer, because he’s not necessarily wrong, you’re not one to just go around and yap around with everyone unless there’s actually something that needs to be said. he notices the laptop, his eyes landing on the paused track on the screen“that yours?” you hesitate, sighing out loud, “…yeah,”. he nods once, like he had already expected that, and without asking, he walks over, bending down slightly as he sets something down next to you; a bottle of water and a small paper bag. you stare at it, blinking confused, “..what’s this?”
“food,” he says simply, “you’ve been here for hours,”. you blink again, “you don’t even know how long i’ve-“
“i do,”
and that immediately stops you. you look up at him again and he doesn’t look away this time, holding your gaze a little longer than necessary. “you’re always here late,” he adds, quieter now, “studio, practice room, sometimes even both,”. your chest tightens, just slightly, “..you’ve been watching me?”
“that sounds creepy when you say it like that,”
“maybe because it is?”
he huffs out a laugh, running a hand through his hair, “i just… noticed,” he says, easily, “that’s all,”. you look down at the bag again but you don’t open it yet, “why?”. he tilts his head, “why what?”
“why do you care?”it comes out sharper than you meant it to, but you don’t take it back. and for a second, you think he won’t answer, but then, “because i know what that looks like,” he says. you glance up at him, his expression’s different now, less teasing, more… real. “what?” you ask. “staying until everyone leaves,” he replies, “feeling like if you stop for even a second, you’ll fall behind,”. you don’t say anything, because he’s right
again..
“…it’s not that deep,” you mumble, even though it is
and he immediately raises an eyebrow, “sure”. silence settles between you, but somehow it’s not the same silence you’re used to. it’s not heavy and it doesn’t push you out. it just… sits there, like it’s waiting, and eventually, you sigh, grabbing the water and taking a sip that you needed more than you’d like to admit. “they don’t like me,” you say suddenly, your voice was quiet but definitely there, you don’t know why you said it, maybe because it’s late, or maybe because he’s still there, maybe because he noticed, “the other trainees,” you add, “they think i’m-“ you make a vague gesture, “competition,”
“you are,” he says bluntly. you scoff, “thanks,”
“that’s not a bad thing tho,”
“it is when it means you eat alone every day,”. it slips out before you can stop it and he instantly goes quiet, “…do you?” he asks. you just shrug your shoulders, avoiding his gaze, “..most days,”. there’s another pause, then he moves and slides down the wall beside you, sitting on the floor like it’s the most normal thing in the world, like he’s not a debuted idol with schedules and cameras and a whole career already moving, more like he’s just… a guy, sitting next to you, “tell me about the other company,” he says, suddenly, and you stiffen up without even realising you do, “why?”
“because you don’t act like someone who just started over,” he replies, his eyes looking straight ahead instead of at you, “you act like someone who had something and walked away from it,”. you let out a quiet laugh, “is it that obvious?”
“yeah,”. you stare at your reflection in the mirror and for a moment, you consider brushing it off, keeping your walls up, but then you think about how he must have gone through similar experiences, the late nights, the silence, and somehow, that makes it harder to lie, “…i almost debuted,” you say. he doesn’t react, just listens so you keep going, you tell him about the lineup, all the rehearsals, the last minute changes, the way your parts kept getting rewritten until they didn’t sound like you anymore, you tell him about the moment you realized you were becoming someone else, how you became a product of the company rather than an artist of yourself
you don’t realize how much you’ve said until you stop ..until the room feels too quiet again
“…and you still left,” he says softly, and you nod, “i had to,”. he looks at you, like actually looks at you, and he studies you for a second, then he smiles, not the idol smile, not the one you’ve seen in videos, the one that’s practiced and controlled, no it’s something smaller, realer, “good,” he says. you blink, “good?”
“yeah,” he shrugs, “would’ve been a waste otherwise,”. you stare at him, “that’s a crazy thing to say,”
“is it?” he tilts his head, playfully“you’re here now, aren’t you?”. you don’t answer, but something in your chest feels… lighter, just a little, but definitely different
you don’t notice how late it gets, not until your phone buzzes with a notification: 2:47am. “shit,” you mumble. “told you,” he smirks, “hours,”. you roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile on your face, a real smile. and for the first time since you joined the company, you don’t feel alone in the practice room, you don’t feel misunderstood or ignored. you feel seen and respected
the next morning, everything changes. “we’ve decided on a pre-debut project,” one of the producers announces, pacing slowly in front of all the trainees. they all gathered you together in the same practice room from the evaluations. producers, teachers, the ceo, and lngshot. your stomach twists, “this will include a collaboration with lngshot,”. a murmur spreads across the room, glances are being passed around, immediate chatter grows louder. you already know, but you don’t want to look. “we want to introduce new trainees and a new possible girlgroup,”.
you look down, feeling the gaze of the others on you. “we want to introduce one trainee in particular,” the producer continues, and before you know what’s happening, your name is called, and your heart drops, and when you finally look up, he’s already looking at you from across the room, ohyul. he’s smiling like he knew this was coming, like he knew you’d be working together, and just like that, your world suddenly gets a little bigger and a lot more complicated too..
the first time you step into the studio with him, you pretend it doesn’t matter, like he’s just another senior, and this is just another schedule, another evaluation
but even though you try to convince yourself that this is nothing, your hands still hover over the keyboard for a second too long, and of course he notices, “you always freeze mid type like that?” ohyul says from behind you, dropping his bag onto the couch, you don’t turn around, “i’m thinking,”
“nah,” he walks closer, stopping just slightly to your left, “you’re overthinking,”. you shoot him a look, “you don’t even know what i’m working on,”
“don’t need to,” he shrugs, easily, “you make that face every time,”
“…what face?”. he leans in just a little, squinting like he’s studying you, before a small smile creeps up on his face, “that face,” he says, “like the beat is actually beating your ass,”. you stare at him and you let out a short laugh before you can stop yourself, “shut up,”
“see? there it is,” he grins, “you’re nicer when you laugh,”
“i’m always nice,”
“mm, that’s debatable,”. you roll your eyes, turning back to the screen, but the tension in your shoulders eases just slightly. just enough
working with him is… easy, which is dangerous, because nothing in your life lately has been easy. the producers throw ideas around, suggesting concepts, sounds, directions, possibilities and ideas, but when it comes to execution, they step back, they’re watching and testing
and somehow as time goes by, you and ohyul fall into rhythm without even trying. “your tone here-“ he starts,
“-too heavy, right?” you cut in before he can finish his sentence, he pauses, then nods slowly, “yeah,”
“i know,” you mumble, adjusting the track a little bit, “it feels forced,”
“try it softer,” he suggests, leaning over your shoulder slightly to look at what you’re doing, “like you don’t care if anyone’s listening,”. you glance at him, “..i always care,” he meets your eyes, something more serious flashes over his face, “that’s the problem,”. your chest tightens, and in that moment, you look away first, avoiding his strong gaze
it doesn’t take long for people to notice, it never does in a place like this, “must be nice,”. you pause mid step, water bottle in hand in your hand, two other trainees are standing near the vending machines, not even trying to lower their voices or be subtle about the face that they’re talking about.. you. “getting handed opportunities like that,”the girl continues, “right? she just got here and suddenly she’s working with them?”. you exhale slowly, stopping in your steps completely, you could ignore it, you probably should ignore it like you always do
but today, today your chest already feels too full. so you turn, “you can have it if you want,” you shoot straight at them, and they both freeze instantly, you shrug easily, your expression as calm as ever“the project,” you continue, “take it then,”
“we didn’t-“
“no, it’s fine,” you cut in, “since it’s so easy,”. your tone isn’t loud, it never is, but it’s sharp enough to slice silence. you scoff softly, before you turn back around and walk away before they can respond. you look composed, confident, but your hands are shaking, and you hate that they are..
that night, you stay later than usual, even later than him
or at least, you think so. you’re running the choreography again, music echoing through the empty practice room, when the door creaks open. you don’t stop tho, you don’t want to, something in you screams for you to keep going, like as if the train of thoughts will crash in as soln as you stop, but then- “you’re gonna break the floor at this point,”
you freeze mid-move, breathing hard, catching your breath as much as that was possible, ohyul. again. you walk over to the speakers, pausing the music, before you turn around to him, “what are you doing here?”
“same thing as always,” he says, holding up a plastic bag, “saving you from yourself,”. you sigh, walking over and dropping onto the floor next to him, “i’m fine,”
“you almost fell on that last turn tho,”
“…i meant mentally,”
“yeah, i know,” he says, sitting down next to you anyway, “that’s what i mean,”. you glare at him weakly, and he’s already looking at you, a sheepish smile on his face, he hands you a drink and you take it, taking a big and much needed sip. “…people are talking,” you mutter after a second. “they always do,” he says easily, “no, like-“ you shake your head,” “about the project, about me,”
he doesn’t look surprised, his head turns towards you for a sec before he drops them to his own hands, “what are they saying?”. you hesitate for a short moment, not sure whether you want to say anything or if you should just shrug it off and let it be, but then, quietly- “that i didn’t earn it..”
the words feel heavier now you say them out loud, it almost feels like they stick to your skin, and for a moment, he doesn’t say anything, and you secretly hate that, you hate the silence more than the comments, “look at me,” he says suddenly. you don’t want to, “…no,”
“y/n,”. your name in his voice does something weird to your chest, and you sigh deeply, finally glancing at him
his expression is… serious, not soft, not teasing, just steady, “you think they could do what you do?” he asks. you blink, your brows furrowed, “that’s not-“
“answer me,”. you hesitate, thinking for a beat too long, “…no,”
“then who cares?”
“i do,” you snap, frustration slipping through, “because this is all i have, okay? if people think i’m just- just some-“. you stop, your throat tightens slightly and you can’t get yourself to finish the sentence, he watches you carefully, his eyes scanning over your face, “…some what?” he asks quietly. you laugh, but it comes out wrong, “ just some wacky image,” you say, “some ‘baddie rapper trainee’ they can market. not… me,”. and there it is, the thing you never say out loud, the thing that followed you from your last company, the thing that has caused more pain than joy
you stare at the floor, your eyes following the lines of the laminate flooring. “…i didn’t leave all that just to end up in the same place again,”. the words hang in the air like it’s something sacred, it’s heavy, but real. and for a second neither of you say anything,
“you’re not,”. you look up, his voice is firm and certain, like he’s simply stating facts rather than reassurance. “how do you know?”. he shrugs slightly, “because i’ve seen you when no one else does,”. you feel his eyes on you and he doesn’t look away, “in the studio. in the practice room. when you think no one’s watching,” he continues, “that’s you,”
your heart is beating too fast, you can’t even help the way your pulse and body reacts the way it does, and you don’t know what to do with that, with him, actually. so you look away, again. “…you’re so annoying,” you mumble
he huffs out a laugh, brushing a hand through his hair,“yeah, i get that a lot,”. but he doesn’t move away, and neither do you. you don’t say anything else, the topic dropping just as easily as it was brought up, but it doesn’t feel as heavy as you thought it would. if anything, it feels safe, in a way
after weeks of studio nights and endless practices, filming day comes around before you even know it
there’s bright lights, cameras, staff running around everywhere, music, loud chatter overlapping all the different sounds in the room. and you hate it..
not because you’re scared, but because it almost feels like a test you didn’t study for, “just be natural,” someone says, and you can’t help but almost laugh at the comment. right, natural? with twenty people watching? with him standing two feet away? with your name suddenly meaning something again?
“you good?” ohyul suddenly asks next to you, his voice is low, so it’s just for you to hear. you nod quickly, a little too quick, “yeah,”
“liar,” he huffs
“shut up,”
he smirks, one of those knowing, teasing little smiles, “stay close,” he murmurs, quietly,, “it’s less awkward,”. you scoff playfully, glancing up at him, “for who?”
“for you,” he says simply, as if it’s a fact he’s stating. “right,” you shoot back, dragging out the word teasingly, “mr idol,” you laugh, but you don’t move away either
and he notices
between takes, you catch it again. the looks and whispers, you’re used to it by now but you can’t help but notice the change in the atmosphere, because this time.. there’s something else. the cameras are turning toward you, staff calling your name and all the attention is focused on you, all of it..too much of it. and you can feel it creeping in again, that pressure, that tightness, that fear of being someone or something people don’t like or want to know
the more you hear staff calling out to you, telling you how to move, how to look, what side to turn your head, the more you feel the need to hide, but before you can spiral-
“hey,” his hand brushes your wrist, softly and carefully,
his touch is light and barely there, but it’s enough
you look at him and he can instantly see the distant gaze in your eyes, “breathe,” he says quietly,
you didn’t even realize you weren’t, and you inhale slowly, shooting him a weak smile before turning back to the camera,but he doesn’t let go right away, his hand lingering on your arm, the skin underneath burning up slightly, but somehow, that grounds you more than you’d like to admit
later, when everything finally wraps, camera’s are being put away, staff running around in absolute chaos to get everything done and ready to pack up, you’re the first to leave and end up back in the studio immediately, of course you do, you always do. but you’re not alone,
“play it again,” he says, leaning back in his chair, brushing a hand through his hair, a serious expression on his face but his eyes are as soft as ever. “you’ve heard it like ten times,” you sighed
“and i’ll hear it ten more,”. you roll your eyes, but you replay the track anyway, this time, when your verse comes in, you don’t overthink, you don’t hold back, you let the flow happen the way it does, you let the rhythm take you out to the next line, you just, let it be yours
and when it ends, the room is quieter than before
and you instantly glance at him, “..well?”. when you turned your head, he was already looking at you, that same small, real smile from before, not the kind that’s practiced for the camera’s, no a real genuine smile
“there you are,” he says, grinning. your chest tightens, not sure how to interpret his words, “…what?”
“you,” he shrugs, “that’s the you i want to hear,”. you look away quickly, rolling your eyes at him, but you can’t help the heat creeping up your neck, “..you’re weird,”. he laughs, clearly enjoying the way you try to hide the effect he has on you, “and you’re finally getting it,”
and somewhere between all those late nights in the studio, the shared silence, all the whispers in the hallways, and moments that feel a little too suffocating and real, a slow realisation hits you all at ones.. because,
somewhere along the way, the huge desire and longing to be seen and accepted shifted into something else,
this isn’t just about debut anymore,
you’re not working day and night just to proof yourself to people who don’t seem to have any idea of who you actually are, somewhere in the middle of all these people, there’s him now.. and that? that might be the most dangerous part..
things start to shift after the filming, not all at once, and definitely not in a way anyone can point out and say ‘that’s when it happened’ but you can feel it, you can feel the shift in everything
it’s in the way people look at you now, different than before, it’s in the way your name travels faster through the hallways, and it’s in the way the other trainees don’t just avoid you anymore, they watch you, closely.. like they’re waiting for you to mess up, like they’re waiting for you to crumple under the pressure and attention
“you missed the timing,”. you blink, snapping out of your thoughts, the instructor sighs loudly, “again.”you nod quickly, repositioning yourself, restarting the same thing, but your focus is off.. your body feels heavier than ever, and your mind louder than it should be
“what’s wrong with you today?” one of the other girls mutters under her breath as you reset, her tone carries a hint of annoyance, but you pretend you didn’t hear it, you always do. the music starts again and you start moving,
but it’s not right. you know it’s not.
and so does everyone else. you can feel the eyes burning holes into your skin, you can feel the judgement and irritation in their body language, and you can feel yourself slowly slip into this little cloud of worry and anxiety..
you don’t stay after practice that day, for the first time in weeks, you just… leave. your head down, headphones in, ignoring everything and everyone as you step out of the building, including him, but ohyul notices immediately, of course he does,
“she didn’t show up last night?” ryul asks casually while scrolling through his phone, ohyul doesn’t answer right away, snapping out of own train of thoughts, “…no,” he mutters, eventually
“damn,” ryul grins, “did you get dumped already?”. ohyul shoots him a look, “shut up,”
“i’m just saying- you’ve been glued to that trainee lately,”
“i haven’t,” he shoots back immediately, “bro, you literally bring her food,”
“…once,”
“yeah once, every night,”
ohyul clicks his tongue, slightly annoyed, but he doesn’t deny it this time, and that says enough, he can’t help but think about you, he can’t help but wonder, wonder about you.. and him
it’s been a couple days since he last saw you, you haven’t spend any late nights in the studio together since the filming wrapped up, absence slowly creeps in, not dramatic or too obvious,just.. missing something
at first, he doesn’t think much of it, he’s busy himself and he doesn’t have time to even overthink things, “she left already?” one of the producers asks casually while packing up, ohyul glances toward the empty corner of the studio where you usually are, ‘your spot’
the spot you usually sit, your laptop open, headphones half on, always there but never present to the other people, in your own little world, doing what you do best, “…i guess,” he shrugs,
but the second night he definitely notices. “you good?” woojin nudges him as he keeps glancing at the door, “yeah,” he mutters, “why?”
“you’ve checked that door like five times in the past 10 minutes,”
“what do you mean,”
“…you just did it again,”. ohyul clicks his tongue, looking away, “i’m just tired,” he says, but obviously, it’s not just that, but what is it then..?
by the third day, your name is everywhere- but still, no you, “she’s been in vocal rooms lately, i think,” “nah, composing,”“i heard she’s working on something new,”“with who?”“no idea,”
ohyul hears it in passing, bits and pieces of people talking about you, but it’s never enough.. and it annoys him more than it should, because he knows that you’re around, no doubt you are, but just not… with him or even remotely around him in general..
that night, he leaves later than usual, one of those nights where he gets lost in his own head, running through the same choreography over and over again, and the building is quieter, the lights dimmed in some of the hallways, the kind of silence that usually means it’s time to go home..
he’s not even looking for you, at least that’s what he tells himself, he’s just walking around the company, just about to head out, just casually passing by, until he sees them, a pair of shoes, a familiar pair of shoes to be exact, right outside one of the smaller studio booths,
his steps slow down without him even realising it, before he completely stops in his tracks, they’re yours, he knows they are. he’s seen them kicked off by the practice room door countless times before, seen them tucked under chairs in the main studio whenever you were curled up comfortably in the big chair, he’s seen them.. too many times
but there’s another pair right next to them and his brows furrow slightly, something in his chest tightens slightly. it’s not sharp or not painful. just, uncomfortable
he doesn’t mean to look, but yk the window happened to be right there, and the lights are on, and.. you’re inside, apparently, so he can’t help his eyes looking into the studio, just.. casually at least that’s what he tells himself. you’re sitting on the floor, back against the couch, laptop open between you and- him?
some guy, around your age, maybe a little older, but he’s not staff, also not a trainee because ohyul would recognize him if he was, you’re laughing, not the small laugh or the quiet one you give when you’re trying not to be noticed or bothered
no, this is far more easy, more open, more comfortable and genuine, your head tilts back slightly, your eyes crinkling, hand coming up to cover your mouth like you always do when you laugh too hard, and it hits him..
he’s never seen you like that, not really at least, not like this, you’ve always been more reserved whenever you were around him, but right now, you look like different, you look relaxed and happy
the guy nudges your shoulder lightly and says something that he can’t hear, and you roll your eyes, shoving him back playfully, and he immediately laughs, which makes you laugh again too. your real laugh..
ohyul’s jaw tightens, just slightly, he doesn’t move, doesn’t leave, doesn’t knock. he just stands there, watching you, you look close, really close..
you’re leaning into the same laptop, your shoulders brushing without hesitation, it seems comfortable and familiar like this isn’t new or weird, almost like this isn’t the first time.. something twists in his chest, a little weird and unfamiliar, and he doesn’t like it
who’s that?
you reach over suddenly, grabbing the guy’s phone in one go, “no, play it again,” you say, voice muffled through the glass,”. he groans, “you’re annoying,”
“just play it,”
“you’re obsessed,”
“i’m not, shut up,”. you’re still smiling, and he can see the way your eyes actually smile too.. ohyul exhales slowly, his hand tightens slightly around the strap of his bag,
why does this feel… off?
it shouldn’t? you’re allowed to work with other people, talk to other people, laugh with other people, do whatever you want, but still,
the guy leans closer, pointing at something on the screen and you lean in too, a little closer, your shoulder presses fully against his now, and neither of you move away
but ohyul looks away immediately, “…what the hell,”he mutters under his breath, not even realizing he said it because he doesn’t get it, he doesn’t get why this is bothering him, why it feels like something’s sitting wrong in his chest, why the image of you laughing like that with someone else.. doesn’t sit right
‘you laugh with him too,’ the thought comes uninvited, and it honestly makes it worse, because yeah, you do, but not like that, not that easy or free, and that lowkey bothers him more than anything.
he glances back, just once, you’re still talking, completely unaware, like he’s not standing right outside, like he hasn’t been looking for you without realizing it, like he hasn’t noticed your absence more than he should have, like he doesn’t matter in this moment at all, something in his chest drops, it’s quiet and a little heavy
he steps back, he doesn’t knock, doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t even wait, he just turns and walks away, trying to shake the thoughts out, but the image follows him anyway..
your laugh and smile, the way your whole body language looked so different from all the times he’s seen you before, and for the first time since he met you, since he saw you perform your monthly evaluation, he realizes something, not a clear answer or explanation but enough to give him a sense of reality..
this isn’t just curiosity anymore, this isn’t just concern for your well being and progress as a trainee, but whatever it is.. he doesn’t know what to do with it, at all the next time you see him, it feels wrong immediately, but you can’t really wrap your head around it.. it’s subtle and no one else would notice, but you do.. “run it again from the top,”
you nod, adjusting the mic slightly, the studio feels smaller today, you’ve been here plenty of times before but it’s just different today, or maybe it’s just him,
he’s sitting behind the console, his arms are crossed and he’s watching your every move, but not really at the same time. you start the verse again, you’ve practiced your flow countless of times before so it’s almost like second nature to you, your voice comes out clean and controlled, and you don’t miss a single beat
“stop.”
you blink, slightly confused, pulling one side of the headphones off, “…what?”
ohyul leans back in his chair, his expression is neutral and barely reflects anything he has on his mind, “you’re dragging the end of your lines,”. you frown slightly, “i’m not,”
“you are,”. you stare at him, “i didn’t do that yesterday tho,”
“you’re doing it now,” he states. your grip tightens slightly around the headphones, “alright,” you sigh as you turn back and restart. you know you’re not dragging, you never do, so why would you suddenly do it now??
but now you’re thinking about it, which means, you might
“again.”
you stop, once again, this time a little slower, “…what now?”
“your tone,”. you let out a small, disbelieving laugh, taking off the headphones completely, “my tone?”
“it’s off,”
“off how?”. he shrugs, his eyes focused on the pannel infront of him, “just is,”. you look at him, he doesn’t even spare you a single glance, the buttons infront of him suddenly really interesting. and you can’t help but think something’s not right, this isn’t him, not the one who sits next to you on the floor at 2am, not the one who tells you to stop overthinking your work and emotions, and absolutely not the one who brings you food and drinks just to make sure you’re eating well, this is cold and distant, critical in a way that doesn’t feel like help at all
“…what’s wrong with you today?” you ask suddenly, your voice a lot more sharp than you actually intended it to be
the question hangs there, it was unexpected and direct, even to you, he pauses, just for a second, “nothing,” he shoots back
it was too quick, too easy and you don’t believe him for one bit, “then why are you acting like this?”. his jaw tightens slightly, “i’m not acting like anything,”
“you are,” you push, “you’ve been weird since-“, you stop yourself before you finish the sentence. since what? since you haven’t seen him? since you haven’t stayed late after practice?
“since when?” he asks, and you hesitate for a moment, “…since a few days ago,”. his gaze finally flicks up to you, “maybe you’re just off,” he says, sharp and steady
and that, that hits you a little more than you’d like to admit, “i’m not off,”
“then why does it sound like that?”
“like what?”
“like you’re being weird,”. you laugh again, but this time it’s more of a scoff, “that’s funny coming from you,”. his brows furrow, “what’s that supposed to mean?”
“nothing,” you shake your head, stepping out of the booth, “forget it,”. you don’t want to fight, or have a petty back and forth with him, not like this, not when you don’t even know what this is, but he doesn’t let it go,
“if you’re gonna say something, say it,”. you turn back towards him, “why? so you can shut it down like everything else?”. his expression hardens instantly, “i’m trying to help you,”
“you’re not helping,” you shake your head, “you’re picking at things that weren’t a problem before,”
“maybe they were and no one told you,” he snaps back
and that hits, “…okay,”your voice is quieter now, “if that’s what you think,”. you turn again, reaching for your bag, you’re done. done with this stupid studio session and done with his.. whatever it is
“who was he?”
you freeze in your steps before turning back, slowly, “…what?”. ohyul’s watching you now, really watching, for the first time that night, and there’s something under the surface, something he’s clearly not saying, but definitely thinking, “the guy you were with,” he says, his voice controlled, “in the studio,”
your raise your eyebrows, questioning, “the studio?”. he doesn’t answer, suddenly not so controlled anymore, and that’s answer enough, you stare at him for a second before you let out a small, almost disbelieving laugh
“…are you fr right now?”. his jaw tightens, “just answer the question,”
“why?”
“because i asked,”
“that’s not a reason,”silence. thick and tense. “you’re acting weird over something that has nothing to do with you,” you say, stating it like it’s a known fact
“then it shouldn’t be hard to answer,” he shoots back defensively, and you just stare at him, “…oh my god,”
he frowns slightly, “what?”. you shake your head, a small smile pulling at your lips, not in a mocking way, more like realisation, “you’re jealous,”
his expression changes immediately, “i’m no-“. you cut him off before he could even finish, “you are,”
“i’m not jealous,”
“then why do you care?”
“i don’t,”
“then why bring it up?”. he opens his mouth- but then closes it again. “exactly,” you state, you watch him for a second, then sigh, shaking your head slightly, “he’s from my old company,”
and that stops him, “..what?”
“we trained together,” you said, “for years,”. his expression shifts, you’re not quite sure how to read his face but the tension in his shoulders is easing just slightly, “he’s one of my friends,” you continue, “he debuted a while ago,” you shrug, “he’s one of the only people who knew me before all of this,”. before the new company, before the expectations, before the image..
ohyul goes quiet, his eyes are fixed on you, “so no,” you add, meeting his eyes, “it’s not like that,”. there’s another short pause
“…i didn’t say it was,”. you raise a brow, “you didn’t have to,”. he exhales, looking away briefly, running a hand through his hair.
“…you seemed close,”. it comes out quieter than he actually wanted, his voice was less sharp and more.. honest. you just nod, “i am,”. a beat, silence fills the room, “he’s my friend,” you say softly, and silence settles again, but it’s different now, it’s less hostile, more.. exposed in a way and it lingers longer than it should be
“you’ve been avoiding me,” he says after a moment, you blink, “…what?”
“the past few days,” he adds, “you haven’t been around,”.
your chest tightens slightly, you’re not sure how to feel or what to say, “…i’ve just been busy,” you say eventually
“with him?”
you stare at him, “are you being for real?”. he doesn’t respond and that’s more than an enough of an answer,
you shake your head, letting out a small breath, “not everything is about you, you know,”
the second it leaves your mouth, you see it, the way it hits, the way your words immediately affect his facial expressions. oh- “…i didn’t mean-“
“no,” he cuts in quietly, a lot quieter now “it’s fine,”. but it’s not, you can hear it, silence falls again, a little longer this time
“…i wasn’t avoiding you,” you say finally, he doesn’t look at you, “then what was it?”. you let out a deep breath, you hesitate and he can tell, “…i just needed space,” you shrug softly, his gaze flicks back to you, but it’s not a harsh look, it’s something softer now, “why?”
you shrug slightly again, “my head’s been… loud,”. that’s all you say, your voice definitely wasn’t as confident and firm as it usually is, but it’s enough, he nods slowly, “…you could’ve told me,”
you let out a small, tired laugh, your eyes dropping down to the floor, “you weren’t exactly easy to talk to,”fair. and a corner of his mouth twitches, just slightly
“still not jealous though,” he mutters, you scoff softly, smiling, but just a little, “sure,”
something in the room shifts, the slight tension that’s been lingering in the air makes space for something else,
it’s not gone, but it’s definitely a lot more relaxed, not resolved, but more understood, just a little more than before. you stand in your spot for a sec longer, letting the moment hold for a little more
he looks up at you, really looking this time, and only now you notice the way his eyes are drooped more than usual, the way the usual sparkling eyes look exhausted, but nonetheless, his stare is as strong as it always is,
and you can feel it again, that pull, that unfinished something between you, and it feels even stronger now, clearer, harder to ignore, now it’s just you, him and the lingering silence between you, after a moment, you sigh, “i’ll get going, don’t stay too late,”
he looks at you as you walk out of the door, his hand coming up to run through his hair, letting out a breath he wasn’t even aware he was holding you didn’t sleep that night, and it seemed like an endlessly long day before you found yourself ending up where you always do, the practice room, the music low and the lights were dim,
you can’t even recall what happened throughout the day, all you know is that you somehow managed to get through and as soon as everyone else clocked out to go home, your mind started wandering around more than it ever did. you’ve ran through your routine at least 10 times already, trying to work it out of your system, but it’s not working. your movements are sharp, but more messy and frustrated than anything
“you’re gonna hurt yourself,”. you stop immediately and your heart drops by the sound of his voice. ohyul, again
you don’t turn around this time, “…go away,”. you don’t mean it, not really, but it comes out before you can think, anyway, there’s a pause, and then the door clicks shut behind him, your chest aches, you’re not sure why but it feels worse than before, you drop onto the floor, pressing your palms against your eyes, sighing softly
“you didn’t mean that,”. you freeze, he didn’t leave? slowly, you lower your hands and he’s standing a few feet away now, closer than before, but not close enough
“…i did,” you mumble weakly,”. he shakes his head, “no, you don’t,”. you laugh, but it sounds tired, “why do you always think you know me?”
“because you let me,”. you look up at him, and he looks… different, frustrated almost, not at you, but at the situation, at himself
“you think i don’t see it?” he continues, quieter now, “how they treat you, how you act like it doesn’t get to you,”
you swallow, “i was just trying to-“
“i know,” he cuts in, “i know you’re always just trying,”
you blink, you open your mouth to say something but you close it again, “but you don’t have to push me away,”
you look up at him again, his eyes look raw and honest,“what do you mean?”
“just like i said,” he states like it’s obvious, “you push me away,”
“i don’t,” you argue, but it’s weaker than you meant it to be, “you do,” he shoots back, “and then i see you with someone else,”
“wha-“ you click your tongue, “he’s my friend,”. he looks at you, really looks at you, “you looked different with him,” his voice is firm and steady, and your breath catches, the room goes still, completely still
“…what?”
he exhales, running a hand through his hair, almost like he’s debating something, like he’s trying to hold something back- and failing, obviously
“you looked different,” he repeats, softer, “it was just weird to see i guess,”. your heart is pounding now, but you’re not quite sure why, but it’s loud and too fast.. “why?” you ask, barely above a whisper,
he looks at you again, and for a second- it feels like everything is about to change, the air in the room feels charged and it’s almost like something is about to be said that can’t be taken back, “because-“
then the door swings open,
“oh-“
both of you turn, two trainees are standing in the doorway, watching, their eyes wide, taking everything in
a little too much, and a little too quickly. “oops, sorry,” one of them says, not sounding sorry at all, “we didn’t know this room was… occupied,” she grins, the way she says it makes your stomach drop,
and ohyul steps back slightly, just enough distance, “it’s okay, we’re done here,” he says quickly, voice back to neutral, controlled, like nothing just happened like he didn’t almost-
you nod, and you hate that you do, you grab your things and walk out, you don’t look at him, don’t look at them, and you’re out the door before anyone can say anything else
the next day, everything feels worse, the whispers are louder, the looks more obvious and judgmental, the comments more harsh and direct..
“practice room late at night, huh?”. you stop in your tracks, one of the trainees leans against the wall, arms crossed, a dirty, almost sneaky smirk plastered on her face, “didn’t know you were that kind of ambitious,”
your jaw tightens, immediately, “what’s that supposed to mean,” you shoot back. she shrugs, “just saying, it’s interesting how fast you’re moving up,”you step closer, your eyes are sharp and your jaw feels tense, “i earned everything i have,”
“did you?” she tilts her head, “or did someone help you?”
your eyes widen slightly, “someone?”
“yes, someone,” she replies, shrugging her shoulders almost too casually, “i’m sure he’s been loving your services,”. you step closer, your eyes narrowing as the words settle in your head, “my services?” you echoed, “you think i’m doing services to get where i am?” your tone is low,
“no one moves up as fast as you do,” the other girl steps forward as well, her arms still crossed, closing the distance between you two, “you come in and suddenly you’re at the top rankings, doing projects and late night practices with him,”
you open your mouth but before you can respond-
“that’s enough,” out of nowhere, ohyul steps in beside you, his voice was cold and sharp, and for the first time,
he doesn’t keep his distance like he usually does
“you have something to say, say it properly,” he continues, eyes locked on her, “or don’t say it at all,”. there’s a silence and the trainee scoffs softly, looking away, “whatever,”
“whatever what?” ohyul says
“nothing, sunbaenim,” she sighs, “we were just playing,” without saying anything else, she turns around and walks away, and just like that, the moment is over, but your heart is still racing, you glance at him, “you didn’t have to do that,”
“yeah, i did,”he looks at you, and there it is again, that same look in his eyes, “i can deal with it myself,” you mumble, “but you don’t have to,” he says,
“and why’s that,” you turn your head fully, and he looks around before his eyes lock with yours, “because i say so,” he says as if it’s the most natural thing, “you say a lot of things, yet you say nothing,” you reply,
he frowns slightly, “what?”. but you shake your head, “nothing, i gotta go,”
but it’s not nothing, not even close, but before he can say something, you continue walking down the hallway
later that night, you sit in the studio, your mind has been running in circles all day long, it’s just another studio night, but everything feels different now
he feels different, you feel different, and the worst part?
you don’t know what to do about it.. because whatever this is, whatever it is that is different now, it weighs heavy, and it’s clearly not one sided
your body language or words don’t feel natural like it used to be all these previous sessions, because there’s clearly something sitting between you and him, something unspoken and unfinished, something a little too big to ignore, but also too dangerous and real to touch..
after that day, you still see each other, you have to, the project isn’t done yet and there are recordings to finish, choreography to clean, edits to approve, all kinds of things that have to be done, but the tension is growing and the air feels thicker whenever you’re in the same room together,
“run it from the second verse,”
“okay,”
“your timing’s a little early here,”
“i’ll fix it.”
whenever you say something, it’s short, professional and safe, there’s no teasing or late-night talks anymore, no sitting on the floor sharing food like it’s nothing, no random tiktok breaks in between practice runs, no laughter or fun jokes, and it’s lowkey driving you insane..
the worst part?
he’s like that with you only, and you notice it immediately
with staff, he’s relaxed, the same easy going guy he’s always been. with his members, he’s joking around, laughing and yelling like he does every day. even with other trainees, he’s normal, casually talking and smiling
but with you, he’s careful, like he’s holding back, his replies are short and limited, one wrong word will break something, and maybe it will. maybe saying nothing is easier than saying ..something?
“i can see you looking at him,”you blink, snapping out of whatever trance you were in, you look up and one of the trainees smirks at you from across the room
“i’m not,” you reply, your voice was firm, “mm,” she hums, “sure,”. you roll your eyes, before turning your head to the door, looking away quickly, because now you’re aware of it, of him. of the way he’s standing across the studio, talking to a producer, aware of the way he’s there, yet he’s not, to you at least
and then, just for a second, his eyes flick to you, but just as fast as he glances over, he looks away again as well, and the rest of the practice goes on the exact same way, your eyes naturally move towards him, and his gaze lands on you a little too often, you notice, and so does he
and it almost feels like it means something, but at the same time it’s like it doesn’t, and you hate this, you hate how you’re avoiding each other, without even knowing why.. at least, without acknowledging why..
it builds, day by day, little things stacking up more and more. missed conversations, almost-words, endless glances that linger too long or not long enough, you pass each other in the hallway and you can feel his gaze following your movements, the tension growing stronger and heavier each day, and at the same time, the whispers from other trainees get louder and louder
but everything can only go on for so long, until it becomes too much, and it snaps,
you’re in the studio, re-recording the same line over and over, for some reason, you can’t get anything done today, “again,” you mutter to yourself, pressing the button, signing a little too loud, your voice comes out wrong, again, “shit,”. you rip the headphones off, running a hand through your hair, you groan softly,
“you’re forcing it,”. you freeze instantly, your eyes widen slightly, you turn around in your chair, and there he is, leaning against the wall, like always, but at the same time not like before
“…don’t start,” you say, turning back to the screen,
“i’m not starting anything,”
“then don’t say anything,” you shoot back. silence follows as he’s watching you from the doorway, “you’ve been like this all week,”. you laugh dryly, “wow, observant,”
“yn-“
“no,” you cut him off, spinning around, “you don’t get to do that,”. his brows furrow, as he looks at you, “do what?”
“act like everything’s normal when it’s not,”. and there it is, finally, it’s out, his jaw tightens slightly, “…what do you want me to do?”. your chest feels tight, too tight, but you don’t even know why..
“i don’t know,” you admit, voice cracking just a little, “but this- this is worse,”
“worse than what?”
“than just saying it,”. the room goes quiet, and his expression shifts, just slightly
“…saying what?” he asks, you stare at him and your heart is pounding softly in your chest, his eyes look straight into yours and he can see the exhaustion and frustration in your face, you sigh, this is it, this is the moment, say it.
just say it.. but the words get stuck, because what if you’re wrong? what if you imagined everything? what if saying it ruins the only thing you have left that feels real?
so instead-
you laugh, again, it’s almost like it’s the only natural emote you have left in your brain, but it sounds broken this time, “nevermind,” you turn away, putting the headphones back up,
“no,” his voice is sharper now, “don’t do that,”.
you exhale deeply, running a hand over your face before you turn back around, “…do what?”
“avoid it,” he says, “me,”. your chest tightens and you unintentionally clench your jaw, “i’m not avoiding anything,”
“you are,”
“i’m not!”your voice cracks, it’s loud, and somehow, that small little crack in your voice spills everything over“i’m just-“ you choke on the words, shaking your head, more to yourself than him, “i’m just tired, okay?”
he goes still, his gaze still locked on you, “of what?”
you laugh weakly, “everything,”. your hands curl into fists, as if it will help the thoughts running through your mind,
“of trying so hard all the time,” you continue, your voice somehow more steady than it sounds in your own head, “of proving myself, of pretending i don’t care what people say, of acting like i’m fine when i’m not-“ your breath stutters, “of not knowing if i’m doing the right thing again,”
and suddenly, your own words hit you hard, because it’s not just about him anymore, the uncertainty of whatever it is that’s been going on, it’s everything, your past, your previous company, the pressure, the rumors, your future,
and the fear of losing yourself again your vision blurs,
“…i left everything once,” you whisper, “but what if i’m wrong again?”there’s a silence, and you hate it, you hate being seen like this, you hate being vulnerable, so you look away, you wipe your face quickly.
“forget it,” you mumble, “i’m fine,”
“you’re not,”. your breath catches, and before you can even turn around fully again, he’s in front of you, holding the back of your chair to prevent you from spinning,
and suddenly, he stands closer than he’s done in days
weeks, actually,
“stop saying that when you’re clearly not,” he says, his voice comes out a lot softer now, you shake your head, “i don’t-“
“stop being so hard on yourself,”. your eyes meet his, and something in your chest breaks, just a little, and you’re not quite sure if it’s the fact that you’ve been holding everything in for so long, or if it’s the fact that he actually sees it..
“…i feel like i’m failing all over again,” you admit quietly, your hand holding onto your headphones in a grip that’s so tight your knuckles turn white, he exhales as he lets go from your chair, before reaching out, it’s a little hesitant but still, he waits a second longer, then places his hand over yours, gently taking yours in his, it’s warm and it feels steady,
“you’re not,” he says, it’s simple but his voice is firm
you look down at your hands, at the way they fit, at how natural it feels, at how warm his skin feels against yours
and that’s what does it, your shoulders shake, just once, slightly, then again, and suddenly can’t help the small tears falling down your cheeks,
“shit,” you mumble, trying to pull away from his grip, “i’m sorry-“
but instead, his grip tightens just slightly, not in a way like he’s trapping you, but in a way that’s comforting and steady, “you don’t have to apologize,”
your chest hurts, your mind feels like it’s overflowing with emotions, but at the same time, you feel lighter..
like something you’ve been holding in finally has somewhere to go, like something that’s been silently sitting in your mind for too long finally gets a proper release, you exhale deeply, and it feels like you’ve been holding your breath for hours,
he squeezes your hand softly before he lets go, a gentle squeeze, but somehow it speaks louder than words ever could, he turns around and for a split second you think he’s walking out again, but instead, he sits down on the couch, smiling at you before nodding towards your laptop, almost like a silent, ‘go on’, before he leans back into his seat fully,
and the rest of the evening, he stays, he doesn’t say much, doesn’t correct you or your work, doesn’t try to fix things like he usually would, he just stays, he’s there, in case you need it,
the project drops two days later, and everything explodes
literally everything.. “have you seen this??”“she’s trending, like everywhere,”“the comments are insane-““wow they love her-“
you stare at the screen, your name is everywhere, there’s clips of your performance, cuts from your verse, your voice, praises and endless applause in the comment sections, “who is she???” “her tone is crazy”“she feels so different from other trainees”“more vision hit the jackpot fr”
your hands shake slightly as you scroll through the comments, but this time, it’s not fear, it’s disbelief, “…is this real?” you whisper,
“yeah,” a producer laughs, “get used to it, told you you were gonna kill it,”you huff softly as he pats you on the shoulder, “this feels wild,” you laugh
that night, there’s a small celebration, nothing huge, just staff, producers, a few trainees, some other artists and of course, lngshot
there’s music playing, people are talking and laughing
and it’s loud, everyone is enjoying themselves, but you feel… out of place, not necessarily in a bad way, just overwhelmed, you’re not used to whatever is going on right now, but you try not to look as foreign to the situation than you actually are
“there she is,”. you look to your side,
ohyul. he’s smiling, a real genuine smile, “congrats,” he says, stepping closer to you. you huff softly, “thanks,” there’s a pause, but it’s not awkward, not like before,
it feels full, full of everything that hasn’t been said, yet it’s not uncomfortable, “you did good,” he adds, claiming his spot next to you, and you let out a small laugh, “luckily,”
“i know you would,” he nudges your shoulder, playfully, “but now everyone else sees it too,”. your chest warms, slightly, and you look down briefly, “…it feels weird,” you sigh out,
“it’ll always feel a little weird,” he says, “but that’s how you know it matters,”
“that sounds a bit too serious,” you mutter, but you can’t help but smile a little,
“because it is,” he laughs. you glance back up at him, and there it is again, that feeling, that never ending pull, but somehow it feels even stronger now, you don’t know if it’s the atmosphere, or the fact that he’s standing so close to you, but it’s definitely harder to ignore,
and by the way he’s looking down at you, you can tell he notices it too
later, you end up outside, just a moment away from the noise, you lean against the railing, exhaling slowly as you look over the city horizon, “hiding again?”
you don’t have to turn to know who it is, “…i’m not hiding,”
“mm,”he steps beside you anyway, taking the same position as you did, he’s close, but not too close
“you okay?” he asks, glancing at you before he follows your eyes to the front, and you nod, even though he doesn’t see it, “…yeah,”
there’s a beat of silence, neither of you say anything, then-
“i meant what i said before,”
you look at him, “about what?”
“you,” he says simply, “not failing,”. your chest tightens, but it’s soft, “thank you,” you whisper,
silence settles, but it’s different now, it’s not heavy or pushing, it’s waiting and settling, you let your eyes gaze over the city lights infront of you, taking in this moment before you had to step back into the chaos inside, and then-
“i didn’t like seeing you with him,”
your breath catches, and you turn fully toward him “what?”he exhales, looking down for a second, before he looks back up at you, no hesitation this time,
“i just didn’t like it,” he repeats, “and i didn’t know how to deal with that,”. your heart is pounding, but your face stays neutral, “why?”
you already know why, but you need to hear him say it, you need him to voice it out loud, finally, he sighs, stepping closer just a little, “idk, i guess i just don’t like seeing you like that with other guys,”you scoff softly, but it’s not in a degrading way, “i can’t hang around my friends?”
“no-“ he shoots back, “you can,”
“then why?”
he exhales, his gaze dropping to the floor before coming back up to meet your eyes, “because i like you,”
there it is, no interruption, no almost. just you and him, your mind goes quiet, completely
“…ohyul-“
“i tried not to,” he continues, a small, almost nervous laugh escaping, “i mean you’re a trainee, i’m- this is complicated, and i know that, but-“
“i like you too,”you don’t even realize you said it until it’s out, and his words stop immediately, and his eyes widen slightly
“…you do?”. you nod, it’s small but clear enough for him “you mean- like like? or-“
“what other like would there be?” you scoff, in a soft way
your heart feels like it’s going to explode, but somehow your eyes and mouth are more quiet and calm than you’d thought they would be in this situation, “i think i have for a while,” you add,
he hums, letting the realisation settle in a little more then he laughs softly, almost like he’s relieved, “that would’ve been good to know,”
you roll your eyes, smiling, “well, you almost said it like three times,”
“so did you,”
“not 3 times,” you shoot back,
he steps closer again, just a little, but this time you don’t move, you don’t look away, you don’t avoid anything, and for the first time since all of this started there’s no distance, no hesitation, no unspoken words, it’s just you and him, finally on the same page, open and honest
“so what now?” you ask quietly, he tilts his head slightly, a small smile forming, “now,” he says, “we figure it out,”
your chest feels full, but it’s not heavy, not anymore, instead it settles and for the first time since you walked away from everything, you don’t feel lost, you feel like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be
and whatever comes next, you know you’re not alone
cherié chat : This story was originally written for Sunghoon. It’s been sitting in my drafts ever since I stopped using Tumblr back in 2025. It was originally unfinished, but now I finally figured out how to end it hihi. I changed the character's name to Ohyul instead. If you notice the name Sunghoon popping up anywhere by mistake, please let me know! 🥹
The red emergency lights strobed against the sterile white corridor, casting a sharp. The overhead PA system cracked to life, the dispatcher’s voice sharp with a clinical kind of panic.
“Code Red, ER. Multi vehicle collision on Route 9. Incoming female patient, early 20s, severe hemorrhagic shock from deep arterial lacerations. ETA two minutes. Trauma Team A, Doctor Kwon, please proceed to Trauma Bay 1 immediately.”
Ohyul didn't even wait for the announcement to finish. He threw down his chart, the plastic clipboard clattering against the nurse's station, and broke into a sprint. His sneakers squeaked sharply against the polished linoleum. At twenty-four, he was the hospital's prodigy. A first-year resident with hands steadier than surgeons twice his age. He lived for the precision, the absolute control of the operating room.
He burst through the double doors of the Emergency Room just as the sirens wailed right outside the ambulance bay. The automatic doors slid open, letting in the damp night air and the chaotic shouting of the paramedics.
"We've got severe lacerations across the torso and limbs, blood pressure is tanking, we've started two large-bore IVs but she's losing it faster than we can pump it in!" a paramedic shouted, pushing the gurney at a frantic pace.
Ohyul jumped in seamlessly, grabbing the side of the metal railing to help propel the bed toward the operating room. "Get four units of O-negative ready, now! Prepare for a surgery. now!" he ordered, his voice commanding and cool. Professional.
Then, he leaned over the patient to check her pupillary response.
The world stopped.
The sterile smell of rubbing alcohol and the metallic tang of blood faded into a deafening silence. The frantic shouting of the nurses became a distant, muffled echo.
It was you.
Your face was pale, almost translucent under the harsh fluorescent lights, marred by dark bruises and a trail of crimson drying against your cheekbone. The hair he used to run his fingers through was matted with sweat and dirt. The chest that used to rise and fall peacefully against his during quiet high school afternoons was now heaving in shallow, desperate gasps for air.
Ohyul’s heart didn't just skip a beat, it dropped into a hollow, freezing. The cool, detached Doctor Kwon vanished in a fraction of a second, leaving behind a boy who suddenly couldn't breathe.
y/n?
"Doctor Kwon? Her vitals are dropping! We need to move!" a nurse yelled, snapping him back to reality.
"Right," Ohyul choked out, his voice cracking, A sound no one in this hospital had ever heard from him. His hands shook as he helped guide the gurney into the surgical suite.
No, no, no. Not you. Please, god, not you.
The doors swung shut, locking the rest of the world out.
Inside the operating room, the atmosphere was suffocating. The relentless, frantic beep-beep of the heart monitor filled the space, sounding a terrifying countdown.
"Scalpel," Ohyul barked, but his fingers trembled as the cold steel was pressed into his palm. Why are they trembling? He was the best. He never shook. He prided himself on being a machine, detached and flawless. But looking down at your face, the surgical mask hiding everything but your closed, bruised eyes, he felt entirely unraveled.
"More suction! I can't see the bleeder!" he roared, his forehead slick with sweat. A nurse rushed forward to wipe it away, but he didn't even blink. His eyes were glued to the deep laceration near your intercostal artery, the blood pooling far too quickly.
Every second felt like an eternity, and every drop of blood lost felt like a heavy accusation.
“Kwon, calm down, you're going to tear the vessel,” he whispered fiercely to himself, his teeth grinding together so hard his jaw ached.
But his mind was betraying him. Every time he reached for a clamp, the memories he had buried for years threatened to choke him. The way you looked at him the day you broke up. The long, heartbreaking text you sent that he had dismissed with cold, unbothered arrogance.
'You want me to let you go, and I did. What's the problem here?'
He had been so proud back then. So untouchable. He had proudly shown off someone else, leaving you to suffer in the dark while he built his perfect life.
The problem was that he was a fool. The problem was that he had ruined the only perfect thing he ever had, and now, the universe was forcing him to pay the price by making him watch you die on his table.
"BP is 70 over 40! She's crashing!" the anesthesiologist warned.
Then, the sound he dreaded most cut through the room. The rhythmic beeping flattened into a single, terrifying, continuous tone.
Beeeeeeeeeeeeeep
"No!" Ohyul screamed, the professionalism entirely shattering from his voice. "Charge the defib! Two hundred joules!"
He grabbed the paddles, his vision blurring with a sudden, burning heat. He realized, with a shock of horror, that they were tears. He hadn't cried since he was a child, but now, he couldn't stop them.
"Clear!"
Your body jolted against the table under the shock. The monitor kept screaming its flatline note.
"Again! Two hundred! Clear!"
Don't you dare die
Ohyul begged silently, his soul fracturing with every useless beat of the machine as he looked at your still, pale face.
Don't leave me with this guilt. Don't leave me without knowing how sorry I am. Please, y/n, just breathe.
The steady, rhythmic beep... beep... beep... of the heart monitor was the sweetest sound Ohyul had ever heard.
For five days, he had lived in a state of suspended animation. He barely slept, barely ate, and spent every free second he had sitting in the plastic chair beside your ICU bed, staring at the machines keeping you alive. The surgery had been flawless. His hands had ultimately found their precision when it mattered most, but the coma that followed had been a torturous waiting game.
On the fifth afternoon, the intensive care unit was relatively quiet when a nurse burst into the breakroom, breathless. "Doctor Kwon! Patient y/n is waking up! She's moving her fingers!"
Ohyul pushed past her before she could even finish the sentence.
He didn't run. He couldn't look panicked in front of the other staff, but his stride was frantic. When he slipped through the glass doors of your room, his breath hitched.
Your eyes were open.
They were blinking slowly, adjusting to the harsh light of the room. You looked incredibly small beneath the white hospital blankets, but you were conscious. You were here.
Ohyul swallowed the lump in his throat and forced his professional facade to lock into place. He pulled his penlight from his coat pocket and stepped up to the side of your bed, his heart hammering against his ribs like a caged animal.
"Hi, y/n. Don't try to move too much just yet," he said, his voice dropping into a soft, calming medical cadence. "I'm Doctor Kwon. I've been taking care of you."
He gently brought his hand to your face, his fingertips lightly brushing your temple as he used his other hand to shine the penlight into your eyes. "Look straight ahead for me. Good. Pupils are equal and reactive." He checked your pulse, his fingers pressing against your wrist, feeling the steady, beautiful thrum of your life.
"Can you tell me how you're feeling? Do you feel any sharp pain anywhere?" he asked, adjusting the blanket slightly.
You blinked up at him, your voice hoarse and barely above a whisper. "Thirsty... My head feels heavy... My-my chest hurt..."
"That's completely normal given the trauma. We'll get you some water in just a moment," Ohyul replied, noting down your responsiveness. He gripped his clipboard tightly, trying to anchor himself. He needed to ask the standard cognitive questions, but his chest felt tightly constricted. "Do you know where you are right now?"
"A... hospital?"
"Yes. Do you know your full name?"
"y/n... l/n."
Ohyul exhaled a breath he felt like he’d been holding for five days. "Good. Do you know your emergency contact? A family member's phone number we can call?"
Without missing a beat, you recited a ten-digit number. It was your mother's phone number. Ohyul recognized it instantly. He used to have it saved in his contacts years ago. He quickly wrote it down, relief washing over him. Your cognitive functions were intact.
"Perfect. We'll get in touch with them right away," Ohyul smiled gently, feeling a massive weight lift from his shoulders. But as he looked down at you, the deep, aching longing from his past began to creep back in. He looked into your eyes, wondering if you could see the high school boy who had broken your heart behind the white coat he was wearing.
"Y/n," he asked softly, keeping his voice carefully neutral. "Do you remember what happened to you? Do you know why you're here?"
You knitted your brows together, a look of profound confusion crossing your face. You stared at the plain white wall opposite your bed, trying to grasp onto something, but your mind was a blank slate.
"I... I don't know," you whispered, panic suddenly lacing your voice. "I remember my name... I remember my mom's number. But I don't remember the crash. I don't remember... anything else. Where do I live? Where do I work?"
Your eyes darted around the room, completely lost, before they finally landed back on him. There was no recognition in them. No anger, no pain, no residual heartbreak from the toxic way things had ended between you. Just the blank, trusting stare of a patient looking at her doctor.
"Doctor..." you breathed, your lower lip trembling. "Who are you? Have we... met before?"
Ohyul froze.
For some reason, a selfish, dark part of his chest flared with a desperate sense of relief. She doesn't hate me anymore. But it was quickly crushed by a hollow, agonizing ache.
To you, he was just a stranger in a lab coat. The years they spent loving each other were gone. The universe hadn't just given him a second chance to save your life. It had completely wiped the slate clean.
"No," Ohyul lied, his voice barely cracking as he forced a reassuring, professional smile onto his face. He tucked his pen back into his pocket, his knuckles white. "We haven't met. I'm just your attending physician, Doctor Kwon. You're safe here, y/n. I promise."
Ohyul stepped back from the bedside, his hands slipping into the deep pockets of his white lab coat so you wouldn't see them clenching into fists.
"I'll have the nurse bring you some water and ice chips," he said, his voice a perfect, practiced mirror of clinical warmth. "And we'll get your family on the phone right away. Just rest, y/n."
You gave him a small, fragile nod, your eyelids already drooping from the exhaustion of just waking up. "Thank you, Doctor Kwon." you murmured, closing your eyes.
Doctor Kwon.
The title felt heavy and hollow as he turned and walked out of the ICU room. The glass door slid shut behind him, cutting off the rhythmic beep of your monitor. He kept walking down the corridor, his pace quickening until he reached the quiet, dimly lit stairwell at the end of the hall. He pushed the heavy door open, stepped into the concrete enclosure, and finally let out the breath that was suffocating him.
He leaned his back against the cold wall, sliding down until he was sitting on the stairs, burying his face in his hands.
A profound, heavy sadness washed over him. It physically compressed his chest, making it hard to breathe. The realization cut through him like a scalpel. The girl who used to laugh at his terrible jokes, the girl who knew the exact way he took his coffee, the girl who had loved him with everything she had in high school. She was gone. The shared history, the inside jokes, the memories of their feet tangled together under his desk while they pretended to study... all of it had been completely erased from the world. He was the only one left carrying the weight of their past. To you, he was nothing but a stranger with a stethoscope.
He felt a tear slip down his cheek, and he didn't bother to wipe it away. It was the price he had to pay for what he’d done.
But then, as he sat there in the quiet stairwell, a different feeling began to take root in his chest. It was faint at first, a tiny spark of warmth beneath the heavy layers of guilt and grief.
A fresh start.
You didn't remember the betrayal. You didn't remember the other girl. You didn't remember the suffering, the sleepless nights, or the toxic way he had torn your world apart. The universe had miraculously unburdened you of the trauma he had inflicted on you. You were free from the ghost of the boy who broke you.
And for Ohyul, it was a terrifying, beautiful second chance. He didn't have to be the boy who destroyed everything anymore. He could just be Doctor Kwon, the man who saved your life. He could build a completely new foundation, one built on care, protection, and absolute devotion. He could earn your trust all over again, honestly, this time, without the shadows of his past mistakes looming over them.
Ohyul stood up, wiping his face with the back of his hand. He smoothed down his white coat, taking a deep, steadying breath. The sadness was still there, an ache he knew he would carry for a long time, but for the first time in years, it was accompanied by hope.
He opened the stairwell door and stepped back into the bright, busy hallway, ready to take care of you.
The white hospital mug clicked softly against the overbed table. Ohyul stepped back, his hands retreating into the pockets of his lab coat, his expression a mask of clinical neutrality.
"The cafeteria food can be a bit bleak," he said, nodding toward the small carton of strawberry milk and the plastic wrapper of soft-baked chocolate chip cookies sitting next to you. "I thought you might want something else. Cortisol levels spike when you're stressed by a sterile environment, so... a little sugar helps."
You looked from the treats up to him, your eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and a sudden, sharp spike of familiarity you couldn't quite place. You picked up the strawberry milk, staring at the specific brand. It wasn't the one the hospital vending machines carried. It was from the tiny convenience store two blocks away, the exact brand you used to insist on having every single Friday afternoon after class.
"Strawberry..." you murmured, a faint, puzzled smile touching your lips. "How did you know? I was just thinking about how much I wanted this. I didn't even realize I liked this brand until I saw the logo."
Ohyul’s stomach did a complicated, painful flip. A memory flashed behind his eyes. High school senior year, you sitting on the brick wall outside the school, swinging your legs and pouting because he had bought the banana milk instead of this exact carton. 'Ohyul, you've been my boyfriend for two years and you still forget?' you had complained back then.
He hadn't forgotten since. Even when he was busy ruining their relationship, even when he was pretending he didn't care, that preference had been burned into his brain.
"A good doctor pays close attention to his patient's expressions," Ohyul lied smoothly, his voice dropping into that calm, reassuring tone he had practiced. "You frowned at the vanilla pudding on your lunch tray. Statistically, strawberry is the next safest bet."
"Right. Statistically," you repeated, though you still looked at him with a strange, searching intensity. You popped the straw into the carton and took a sip, sighing in satisfaction. "Well, your statistics are genius, Doctor Kwon. Thank you."
"Don't mention it. Just doing my job."
Every word felt like a drop of acid in his throat, Doctor Kwon. He was hiding behind the white coat, using the shield of professional courtesy to do what he never had the courage to do when they were actually together,
care for you. Truly, selflessly care for you.
"Are you always this attentive to your patients?" you asked, leaning back against the propped-up pillows, your gaze tracking him as he checked the settings on your IV pump. "The nurses said you're a prodigy. That you basically live in the surgery wing. But you've been in here three times today just to check my charts."
Ohyul froze for a fraction of a second, his fingers resting on the plastic casing of the machine. He forced his muscles to relax, turning to look at you with a small, carefully measured smile.
"You had a major trauma, y/n. Internal bleeding, arterial lacerations... You almost slipped away on my table," he said, his voice dropping an octave, losing a bit of its detached edge before he could stop it. "I don't like losing patients. Especially not ones who fight as hard as you did."
You softened, looking down at your lap. "I don't remember fighting. I just remember feeling cold. And then... your voice." You looked back up, your eyes completely open, trusting, and entirely devoid of the ancient heartbreak that should have been there. "I don't remember what you said, but I remember hearing a voice telling me to stay. Was that you?"
Ohyul swallowed hard, the knobby bone of his throat moving convulsively. 'Don't you dare die,' he had screamed at your flatlining monitor, tears blinding his vision. 'Don't leave me with this guilt.'
"Yes," he whispered, the professional facade cracking just enough for the raw boy underneath to peek through. "That was me."
"Thank you for saving me," you said softly.
Ohyul had to look away. He checked his watch, pretending he had somewhere urgent to be, because the sheer weight of your gratitude was suffocating him. You were thanking the monster who had broken your spirit, all because he happened to stitch your physical body back together.
"Rest up, y/n," he said, walking toward the door. "I'll be back on the night shift to check your vitals."
"I'll save a cookie for you," you called out lightly.
Ohyul stopped at the threshold, his back to you. He let out a shaky breath, a small, genuine smile tugging at the corner of his mouth for the first time in years, even as a heavy sadness lingered in his chest. You didn't remember him, but you were still you. And this time, he was going to do everything right.
"Keep the cookies," he said, looking back over his shoulder with a soft, knowing glint in his eyes. "They go better with the milk."
The glass door slid shut behind him, cutting off the soft, warm light of your room. Ohyul stood in the sterile, brightly lit corridor for a brief moment, letting his shoulders drop. He leaned his head back against the wall, a heavy exhale escaping his lips.
He felt a strange, bittersweet ache in his chest. It was a terrifying kind of joy, knowing that he could make you smile again, that he could give you the version of him you had always deserved. But the guilt was a constant, low-grade fever under his skin.
He began walking back toward the central nurse's station to log your vitals. As he rounded the corner near the breakroom, the sound of hushed, hurried whispers made his sneakers stall on the polished linoleum. The door was cracked open just an inch.
"Did you see him? He went into Room 143 again," a nurse's voice whispered loudly. "That's the third time since his shift started."
"Wait, Doctor Kwon? The ice prince of the surgical wing?" another voice chimed in, giggling slightly. "No way. He barely looks anyone in the eye unless they're handing him a scalpel. I thought he didn't have feelings."
Ohyul froze, his hand hovering over the chart in his pocket. His jaw tightened.
"I'm serious! I passed by the window and he was setting down strawberry milk and cookies for her. Since when does Kwon do a snack run for a patient? He looked... I don't know, completely different. Soft. I've never seen him look at anyone like that. It’s like he’s obsessed."
"Maybe he just feels guilty because she almost flatlined on his table?"
"Please, he’s saved worse cases than her and just walked away to drink his black coffee. There’s something else. The way he watches her... it’s like he’s looking at a ghost. Do you think they knew each other before? She has amnesia, right? Maybe she forgot him, but he definitely hasn't forgotten her."
Ohyul’s heart hammered violently against his ribs. They were noticing. He had been so consumed by you, so desperate to fix the broken pieces of the past, that he had completely forgotten how closely everyone watched the hospital's "prodigy."
He couldn't let them keep digging. If anyone found out about their history or worse, if his unprofessional attachment compromised your care, they might transfer your case to another doctor. He couldn't lose you again. He couldn't let someone else take care of you.
Pushing his emotions down into a dark, locked corner of his mind, Ohyul cleared his throat loudly and shoved the breakroom door open.
The two nurses jolted, their faces instantly draining of color as they scrambled to stand straight. "D-Doctor Kwon!" one of them stammered, frantically gripping a stack of paperwork.
Ohyul stepped into the room, his eyes like ice, his posture rigid and commanding. The vulnerable boy who had just been smiling at strawberry milk was completely gone.
"If you have enough time to psychoanalyze my patient care, you have enough time to check the charts in ICU Bed 3," Ohyul said, his voice cutting through the room like a scalpel. "Patient y/n suffered severe arterial trauma. Her psychological state directly impacts her physical recovery. Providing comfort is standard post-op care to prevent blood pressure spikes."
He stepped closer, his shadow falling over the main desk. "And if I hear another word of gossip regarding my patients or my personal conduct, I will personally report this department for a breach of professional ethics. Am I understood?"
"Yes, Doctor Kwon. So sorry, Doctor Kwon," they squeaked in unison, clutching their clipboards and practically fleeing past him into the hallway.
Once the room was empty, Ohyul let out a shaky breath, gripping the edge of the counter until his knuckles turned white. He looked at his reflection in the dark window pane of the breakroom.
They were right. He was looking at a ghost. He was looking at the ghost of his own mistakes, and he was terrified that no matter how hard he tried to be perfect now, the past would find a way to tear them apart all over again.
The clock on the wall of Room 143 blinked a glowing green 12:14 AM.
The hospital had finally settled into its deep, late-night hush. The heavy silence of the corridor was broken only by the distant, occasional murmur of a page or the soft squeak of a nurse's thick-soled shoes on the linoleum.
Ohyul pushed the glass door open quietly, his movements naturally turning fluid and silent. The main overhead lights were off, leaving the room bathed in the soft, warm glow of the bedside lamp. He expected to find you asleep, but as he stepped up to the monitor, he found you propped up on your pillows, staring out the window at the distant city lights.
"Shouldn't you be asleep?" Ohyul asked softly, keeping his voice low so it wouldn't carry past the door.
You jolted slightly, turning your head toward him. When you recognized his face, the tenseness in your shoulders instantly melted away, replaced by a bright, genuine smile that made his chest squeeze.
"Doctor Kwon," you whispered back, a playful lilt in your voice. "I tried. But this bed is basically a brick, and the silence out there is a little eerie. I was waiting for you."
Ohyul’s fingers paused on the buttons of the vitals monitor. Waiting for me? He forced his heart to keep a steady rhythm as he wrapped the blood pressure cuff around your arm. "Well, your vitals look perfect. Heart rate is steady, temperature is normal. You're healing incredibly fast, y/n."
"Probably because of the magic medicine you brought me earlier," you grinned.
With your uninjured arm, you reached over to the drawer of your bedside table and pulled out a small napkins-wrapped object. You carefully peeled back the paper, revealing the soft-baked chocolate chip cookie from this afternoon. You had kept it perfectly intact.
"See? I told you I'd save one for you," you said proudly. With a neat snap, you broke the large cookie right down the middle, holding out the bigger half toward him. "Here. The nurses told me you basically live on black coffee and air. Eat."
Ohyul stared at the piece of cookie in your hand. In high school, you had a strict rule: whenever we buy snacks, we share fifty-fifty. You didn't remember that rule. You didn't remember him. But your beautiful, generous nature hadn't changed at all.
"I'm on duty, y/n. Doctors shouldn't really accept bribes from patients," he murmured, a rare, teasing smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.
"It's not a bribe, it's a thank-you tax," you insisted, waving the cookie closer to his face. "Take it, Doctor. Don't make a patient exert herself."
Defeated, and secretly thrilled, Ohyul took his hands out of his coat pockets and accepted the cookie. Instead of standing over you like an authority figure, he pulled up the wheeled stool from the corner and sat down right beside your bed, lowering himself to your eye level.
For a few minutes, the room was quiet except for the soft crunch of the cookies. The warmth of the chocolate and the familiarity of the moment felt incredibly cozy. Ohyul found himself relaxing, the rigid, professional posture he kept up all day finally slipping away.
"You have chocolate right... here," you suddenly pointed at your own face, giggling softly.
Ohyul blinked, lifting a hand to wipe his cheek. "Did I get it?"
"No, higher. Near your lip. Here, let me just" Before he could protest, you leaned forward slightly, your thumb reaching out to gently brush against the corner of his mouth.
Your touch was warm and soft, and the moment your thumb swiped across his skin, a static shock of pure awareness snapped between you. Ohyul completely froze. He stopped breathing, his dark eyes locked entirely onto yours, his heart hammering against his ribs so loudly he was terrified the machine next to them would pick it up.
You froze too, your hand hovering in the air just inches from his face. Your breath hitched, your eyes widening as you looked at him. Up close, without the barrier of his clipboard or his cold demeanor, he was breathtakingly handsome. But more than that, a strange, overwhelming wave of comfort washed over you. Touching him didn't feel like touching a stranger. It felt like coming home.
"Sorry," you whispered, your cheeks flushing a deep, pretty pink as you slowly pulled your hand back, suddenly feeling very shy. "I... I don't know why I did that. That was unprofessional of me."
Ohyul swallowed hard, his eyes dropping to your blushing face. The urge to reach out, to cup your cheek and tell you everything, was so strong his hand actually twitched on his lap. But he kept it under control. He gave you a soft, incredibly tender smile. The kind of smile he used to give you when you were seventeen and full of life.
"It's fine," he said, his voice deep and raspy in the quiet room. He reached up, his fingers brushing the spot your thumb had just touched. "Thank you, y/n."
You looked at him, your heart doing a strange little flip. "You know, Doctor Kwon... you're a lot sweeter than people say you are."
"Don't go telling the staff that," he replied softly, a genuine chuckle escaping his chest. "I have a reputation as an ice prince to uphold."
"Your secret is safe with me," you smiled, leaning back into your pillows, feeling a deep sense of safety as he sat by your side in the dark.
A month had passed, and the quiet, late-night routine in Room 143 had become the anchor of Ohyul’s chaotic life.
Over the weeks, you had made incredible progress, but the recovery was slow, keeping you confined to the hospital wing. To the rest of the hospital, Ohyul was still the brilliant, unapproachable Doctor Kwon. But to you? He was just Ohyul. He had slowly dropped the rigid "Doctor" persona when they were alone, letting you call him by his name, laughing at your jokes, and learning about the person you were rebuilding yourself to be. You grew incredibly close, sharing late-night conversations and comfortable silences. For Ohyul, it was a dream come true. He was finally loving you right, protecting you completely, and watching you smile without any of the old ghosts haunting your eyes.
But medical recovery is never a perfectly straight line.
It was just past 2:00 AM. You had shifted in your sleep, trying to reach for the water pitcher on your bedside table while half asleep. Your grip slipped, and as you awkwardly reached out to catch it, your torso twisted sharply, bumping hard against the sharp metal edge of the overbed table.
A sudden, white-hot flash of pain shot through your abdomen.
You gasped, your eyes flying open in the dark. Instinctively, you clapped your hand over your side, under your hospital gown. Instantly, you felt a warm, thick wetness soaking through the fabric and spreading across your fingers. The sudden movement had pulled at the deep, healing surgical incision, tearing a section of the internal stitches.
Panic flared in your chest. "Ow... no, no," you whimpered. Your vision blurred slightly from the sharp sting of the pain. Remembering the little plastic remote in your hand, you frantically pressed the red emergency call button, your thumb trembling.
The emergency buzzer rang sharply out at the nurse’s station.
Seconds later, the door to your room didn't just slide open, it practically flew back. Ohyul burst into the room, his eyes wide and alert, scanning the darkness until he spotted you sitting up, holding your side in pain. He had been charting just down the hall when your specific room alarm tripped.
"Y/n! What's wrong? Where does it hurt?" he asked, his voice laced with an immediate, fierce protectiveness as he rushed to your bedside and flicked on the soft exam lights.
"I... I bumped into the table trying to get water," you breathed out, your face pale as you looked up at him. "I think I tore something. It's bleeding."
Ohyul’s clinical instincts locked in, but his heart was beating a mile a minute. "Let me see. Don't move, just breathe softly for me."
Gently, his warm hands moved yours out of the way. He carefully pulled back the edge of your hospital gown. The white gauze dressing over your lateral incision was rapidly blooming with fresh, bright red blood.
"Is it bad? Am I going to have to go back to surgery?" you asked, panic coloring your voice as you watched his expression.
Ohyul immediately noticed the fear in your eyes. He took a deep breath, deliberately smoothing out his features into a calm, confident expression to keep you from spiraling. You weren't in hemorrhagic shock like the night of the crash; your vitals on the monitor were stable, just a little elevated from the fright.
"Hey, look at me," Ohyul said softly, his voice incredibly grounding. He took one of his hands and gently pressed it against your shoulder, anchoring you. "Look at my eyes, y/n."
You focused on him, your frantic breathing beginning to mirror his steady, calm rhythm.
"You're not dying, and you're not going back to the OR," he promised, giving you a small, reassuring smile. "You just popped a couple of the superficial skin sutures because of the sudden twist. It looks scarier than it is because scalpels make clean cuts that bleed easily. I just need to clean it and put in two quick local stitches right here in the room. You're going to be completely fine. I've got you."
Hearing his calm explanation, the tight knot of fear in your chest began to unravel. "Okay," you whispered, nodding weakly. "Okay. Trusting you."
"Always," he murmured.
He moved with practiced, efficient speed, rolling over the sterile tray and prepping a local anesthetic to numb the area. As he worked, he kept his eyes on you, talking in a low, soothing murmur to keep you distracted from the slight sting of the needle.
"You're doing great," he whispered, his fingers incredibly gentle as he cleaned away the blood and expertly looped a fresh nylon suture through the skin, tying it off with absolute precision. "Just a little pressure now."
You watched his face as he worked. Even in a moment of minor crisis, he was your absolute safety net. You found yourself staring at the focused line of his jaw, feeling a sudden, deep warmth in your chest that had nothing to do with the physical pain.
"All done," Ohyul said after a few minutes, taping a fresh, clean white border gauze over your side. He stepped back, wiping his hands and looking down at you with immense relief. "No more midnight gymnastics to reach the water, okay? Call a nurse. Or call me."
You gave a small, sheepish chuckle, leaning back into your pillows as the pain completely subsided. "Deal. Thank you, Ohyul. Really."
He smiled, a soft, private look just for you, before pulling the blanket up to your chin and tucking you in safely. "Get some sleep. I'll be right outside."
The heavy steam from the hospital’s specialized patient bathroom smelled faintly of eucalyptus and soap. After months of being confined to the bed, the warm water felt like heaven against your skin, washing away the lingering, sterile scent of the ICU.
A young nurse with a kind face and a high ponytail was helping you carefully wash your hair, ensuring the fresh dressing on your side stayed completely dry. Her name tag read 'Hyunjin'.
"You're doing great, y/n," Hyunjin said, her voice bright over the sound of the running water as she massaged shampoo into your scalp. "Just lean back a bit more. We don't want a single drop touching that side of yours, or Doctor Kwon will have my head on a silver platter."
You let out a soft chuckle, closing your eyes. "Is he really that scary to everyone else?"
"Oh, you have no idea," Hyunjin laughed, rinsing the suds away with a gentle spray of the showerhead. "He's brilliant, but he's like a machine. No distractions, no small talk. Just pure, terrifying efficiency."
"How long have you worked here, Hyunjin?" you asked, trying to keep the conversation going to distract yourself from the mild ache in your torso.
"At this hospital? Just about a year. But I actually went to the same medical university as Doctor Kwon. I was a couple of years behind him in nursing, but everyone on campus knew who he was. He was the golden boy. Always top of his class, always completely untouchable."
Your ears perked up at that. For the past few weeks, the mystery of Ohyul had been quietly humming in the back of your mind. The way he looked at you when he thought you weren't paying attention, the raw heartbreak in his voice when he muttered your name in his sleep... it didn't add up for a doctor who was supposed to be a stranger.
"So..." you began, trying to sound casual as Hyunjin wrapped a soft towel around your wet hair. "Did he have a lot of friends back then? Or... a girlfriend?"
Hyunjin paused for a quick second, helping you sit up on the shower chair and wrapping a thick, dry robe around your shoulders. She gave a little, knowing smirk. "Ah, so the ice prince has piqued your curiosity, huh? Honestly, in university, he didn't really let anyone get close. He was always glued to his textbooks. But there was one person. It was practically public knowledge because she was so proud of it."
Hyunjin stood you up gently, guiding you back out into the main room toward your bed.
"Her name is Yunah," Hyunjin continued, completely unaware of the shift in the air. "She transferred into his department during our third year. They already together even before she transferred, posting pictures online, going to cafes. Everyone thought they were the power couple of the medical wing."
The moment the name left Hyunjin's lips, something violent happened inside your chest.
Yunah.
It wasn't a memory. You didn't see a face, or a place, or a specific day. But a sudden, sharp pain flared right in the center of your chest. A physical, suffocating sting that had absolutely nothing to do with your surgical wounds. Your breath caught in your throat, and a bitter, hollow taste flooded your mouth. A wave of intense, irrational hurt washed over you, so heavy that your eyes burned with sudden, unbidden tears.
You gripped the edge of the mattress to steady yourself, your knuckles turning white.
Why does that name hurt so much?
"y/n? Are you okay? Did you twist your side?" Hyunjin asked quickly, noticing your sudden paleness as she helped you swing your legs onto the bed.
"No... no, I'm fine," you lied, your voice sounding incredibly distant to your own ears. You forced a weak, fragile smile, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. "Just a little dizzy from the warm water. What... what happened to her? To Yunah?"
"Oh, they're actually both residents now," Hyunjin said, tidying up the discarded towels. "She went abroad for a surgical fellowship last year, but she's actually returning this month. She's supposed to start working right here, in this exact hospital. In the same department as Doctor Kwon. Honestly, everyone is gossiping about whether they're going to pick up right where they left off."
Every word Hyunjin spoke felt like a heavy stone dropping into your stomach. You stared down at your hands, your heart aching with a profound, confusing grief. You didn't understand why the thought of this girl, Yunah, working beside Ohyul made you feel so utterly broken and cast aside. You didn't know that years ago, that very name had been the weapon that destroyed your world.
Right at that moment, the glass door slid open.
Ohyul walked into the room, holding a fresh chart, a soft, rare smile ready on his lips the moment he looked at you. "Hey. I heard you finally got to wash your—"
He cut himself off. The smile vanished from his face instantly.
He looked at your pale, trembling lips, the unshed tears glassy in your eyes, and the heavy, suffocating tension in the room. His clinical gaze snapped to Hyunjin, his eyes narrowing into something incredibly dark and dangerous.
"Nurse Hyunjin," Ohyul’s voice dropped into a terrifying, icy octave that made the nurse instantly freeze. "What happened in here?"
Hyunjin’s breath hitched in her throat. She looked between your tear stained face and Ohyul’s dark, commanding glare, her hands trembling as she clutched the dirty towels.
"I-I just helped her wash her hair, Doctor Kwon," Hyunjin stammered, her voice frantic as she backed toward the door. "She said she got a little dizzy from the warm water. I was just about to go fetch her some water—"
"Leave us" Ohyul cut her off, his voice flat and unyielding. "I'll take over from here."
Hyunjin didn't need to be told twice. She practically sprinted out of the room, the glass door sliding shut behind her with a soft, final click.
The silence that followed was heavy. Ohyul dropped his clipboard onto the bedside table and immediately stepped into your space. He knelt down slightly in front of your bed, bringing himself to your eye level. His hands hovered over your shoulders, desperately wanting to pull you into his arms, but he forced himself to maintain a tight, agonizing boundary.
He looked at your wet hair, the white towel draped around your neck, and the silent tears finally escaping your eyes, track marks shining against your pale cheeks. His chest tightened so hard it physically pained him.
"y/n" he murmured, his voice cracking slightly, dropping the cold doctor persona entirely. He reached for the hair dryer resting on the small cart, plugging it into the wall with fluid, quiet movements. He set it to a low, warm whisper. "Is it the wound? Is the incision hurting you so badly that you're crying?"
You looked up at him through a blur of tears. Your heart was still hammering against your ribs, that phantom ache radiating deep within your chest. You couldn't tell him that a name you shouldn't even know had just ripped a hole through your soul. You couldn't explain why a girl named Yunah made you feel like you were drowning. You didn't have the words for a past you couldn't remember.
So, you just nodded weakly, letting out a small, shaky sob. "Yes... it just... it hurts so bad right now."
Ohyul’s heart shattered. He hated seeing you in pain, but more than that, his clinical instinct told him something else was wrong. A superficial suture tear shouldn't cause this kind of deep, emotional weeping. But he didn't press you. Instead, he stepped behind the headboard of your bed and gently began to dry your hair.
He ran his long, slender fingers through your damp strands, his touch incredibly light, warm, and meticulous. The gentle rhythm of his fingers massaging your scalp, combined with the steady, warm hum of the dryer, was profoundly soothing.
"I'm sorry," Ohyul whispered over the soft whir of the machine, his eyes fixed on the back of your head. He was talking about your side, but in his heart, he was apologizing for every single tear he had ever caused you to cry. "I should have been here. I shouldn't have let you do this alone."
"It's not your fault," you murmured, leaning your head back slightly, unconsciously sinking into his touch. The warmth of his hands seemed to chase away the freezing cold that had gripped you when Hyunjin was speaking.
"I'm going to give you a mild analgesic through your IV, okay? It will take the edge off the pain," he said softly, turning off the dryer as your hair finally fell around your shoulders, soft and completely dry.
He walked back around to the side of your bed. As he reached for the IV port, you reached out with your uninjured hand and lightly caught the sleeve of his white lab coat.
Ohyul froze, looking from your hand up to your face.
"Ohyul," you whispered, your voice small and fragile. "Do you... do you know a doctor named Yunah?"
The world completely stopped.
The blood drained from Ohyul’s face so fast he felt dizzy. His grip on the IV tubing tightened until his knuckles turned entirely white. The shield he had meticulously built over the last month, the beautiful, perfect lie of their fresh start. Suddenly felt like glass shattering at his feet.
He stared at you, his throat completely paralyzed, terrified of what you might say next.
Ohyul stood frozen, the silence between you suddenly feeling as cold and heavy as the winter nights of your senior year. His dark eyes scanned your face, frantically searching for any flicker of memory, any sign that the girl who used to look at him with pure heartbreak had finally come back.
But you just blinked up at him, your expression entirely innocent, your eyes wide and glassy with a raw, hidden vulnerability.
You didn't remember.
The heavy stone in your chest wasn't a memory of his betrayal, it was a brand-new ache. Over the past month, as Ohyul had sat by your bed, shared his cookies, and protected you with everything he had, you had gone and done the most dangerous thing possible, you had fallen for him all over again.
And now, hearing that he had a beautiful, perfect doctor girlfriend named Yunah arriving in a few weeks... it crushed you. You felt like an outsider, a mere patient he was being nice to out of professional duty. You were crying because you had a crush on your doctor, and you desperately wanted to know if his heart already belonged to someone else. But you were too proud, and too scared, to ask him that directly.
"I... I just heard Nurse Hyunjin mention her," you stammered quickly, breaking the intense eye contact and letting go of his sleeve. You forced a small, breezy chuckle that sounded incredibly fragile. "She said she’s a brilliant surgical fellow coming back from abroad this month. I was just curious about the other doctors in your department. Since, you know... you're always talking about how busy the surgical wing is."
Ohyul let out a slow, cautious breath, his shoulders dropping a fraction of an inch. The panic in his chest receded, leaving behind a profound, aching confusion. He recognized that specific tone in your voice. He recognized the way you looked away when you were trying to hide your true feelings.
She's jealous. he realized with a sudden, staggering jolt to his system.
She’s hiding it, but she’s hurting because of Yunah.
A bittersweet warmth flared deep in his soul. Even with her memories completely wiped, even with a clean slate, your heart was pulling you right back to him. You were falling for him again.
"Yes," Ohyul said softly, his voice dropping into that deep, gentle register he only used when the two of you were completely alone. He sat down on the edge of your mattress, deliberately closing the distance between you. "I know her. We went to the same university."
You kept your eyes on your lap, picking at a loose thread on the hospital blanket. "Hyunjin said you two were... very close. A power couple." You forced another smile, though your lower lip trembled slightly. "It sounds like you’ll have a great partner in the operating room when she gets here."
Ohyul didn't answer right away. He reached out, his long fingers gently capturing your hand, stopping you from picking at the blanket. He turned your hand over, his thumb lightly stroking the smooth skin of your palm, a gesture so tender it made your breath catch.
"Yunah is a colleague, y/n," he said, his dark eyes fixed entirely on your face, waiting until you finally looked up to meet his gaze. He wanted you to see the absolute certainty in his eyes. "Nothing more. Whatever happened in university is in the past. It has been over for a very long time."
You stared at him, your heart doing a violent, erratic flip against your ribs. The sincerity in his voice was undeniable. He wasn't just answering a casual question about a coworker; he was reassuring you.
"People in hospitals love to gossip because the shifts are long and boring," Ohyul continued, a small, private smile touching his lips as he squeezed your hand gently. "Don't listen to them. The only patient care and the only person I'm focused on right now is sitting in this bed."
The heavy, suffocating pain in your chest began to melt away, replaced by a sudden, dizzying rush of heat that flooded your cheeks. You quickly looked down at your joined hands, trying to hide the massive smile breaking across your face.
"Okay," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I won't listen to them."
"Good," Ohyul murmured, his eyes lingering on your blushing face. He felt a fierce, burning resolve take root in his chest. He had let Yunah destroy everything once before. He had let his own arrogance ruin the best thing he ever had. But the universe had given him a miracle, and he would let the entire hospital burn before he let anyone, or anything, hurt you again.
Ohyul was in the middle of a diagnostic review at the central desk when he saw the orientation schedule on the clipboard. His heart stopped.
Dr. Han Yunah – Surgical Department Arrival.
A cold dread flooded his veins. He had completely lost track of the days, too consumed by the beautiful, fragile bubble he had built with you in Room 143. He stood up instantly, throwing his pen down, intending to find the chief of surgery to demand a department transfer for your final week of recovery. He couldn't let her anywhere near you.
But he was already too late.
Inside Room 143, you were sitting up in bed, sketching on a notepad, when the glass door slid open with a sharp click. You looked up, expecting Ohyul's warm smile.
Instead, a tall woman in a pristine white lab coat stepped inside. She had sharp, cat like eyes, perfectly styled hair, and a designer bag slung over her shoulder. Her heels clicked loudly against the floor, a sharp contrast to Ohyul’s quiet, fluid steps. She looked at the chart hanging at the foot of your bed, then slowly looked up at you, a cruel, mocking smirk spreading across her red lips.
"Well, well. Look who it is," Yunah purred, crossing her arms and leaning against the privacy rail. "When I saw the name y/n on the trauma logs, I thought it was a coincidence. But it really is you."
You blinked, confused by the sudden hostility radiating from this stranger.
"I'm sorry... do I know you? I had an accident, and my memory—"
"Oh, I know all about your little amnesia," Yunah interrupted, letting out a sharp, condescending laugh. She stepped closer to the bedside, looming over you. "Honestly, it’s pathetic. You’re still hanging onto him, aren't you? Sitting in this bed, playing the tragic victim so he will feel sorry for you."
Your chest tightened, that familiar, heavy ache flaring up instantly. "What are you talking about?"
"I’m talking about high school, sweetie," Yunah sneered, her eyes flashing with pure malice. She leaned in, whispering like she was sharing a dirty secret. "Ohyul didn't tell you? I guess he wouldn't. You two were the 'perfect' little high school sweethearts. But it took me less than a month to make him completely bored of you. He chose me. He threw you out like trash, and he was so proud to show me off online while you were crying your eyes out. I broke you guys up, and honestly? It was the easiest thing I've ever done."
The words hit you like a physical blow, like a damn truck. Your breath hitched, your vision blurring with a sudden rush of hot tears. Pieces of a dark, heavy puzzle began to slam into place in your mind. The agonizing texts Ohyul apologized for in his sleep, the immense guilt in his eyes, the suffocating sadness. He hadn't been a stranger. He was the one who broke you.
Yunah smirked, completely satisfied by the emotional damage she was inflicting. "So don't get too comfortable with him playing savior. He’s just doing it out of pity. Once I start my shift next week, he'll leave you in the dust again, just like—"
"Get. Out."
The voice didn't just cut through the room, it froze the very air.
Yunah jolted, turning around. Ohyul stood at the threshold. His posture was rigid, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were stark white, and his eyes were completely black with a terrifying, murderous fury. He looked like a man possessed, his chest heaving as he stared at the woman who had just shattered his entire world.
"Ohyul, babe, I was just—" Yunah started, her arrogant smirk faltering into a nervous smile as she tried to step toward him.
"Do not speak my name," Ohyul hissed, stepping into the room like a predator closing in on its prey. He didn't care that they were in a hospital. He didn't care about his reputation or professional ethics. The ice prince was completely gone, replaced by a man whose absolute limit had been pushed.
He stepped directly between Yunah and your bed, shielding you completely from her sight. He glared down at her with such intense, ruthless hatred that Yunah actually took a step back in fear.
"If you ever step foot into this room again, if you ever look in her direction, or breathe the same air as her, I will personally ruin your medical career before it even begins," Ohyul whispered, his voice dangerously low, vibrating with pure rage. "You are nothing to me. You were an arrogant mistake from my past, and you will not touch a single hair on her head. Gather your things and get out of my sight before I have security throw you out of this building."
Yunah’s face drained of color. She looked at the sheer ferocity in his eyes and realized he wasn't bluffing. Stamping her heel in frustration, she snatched her bag and stormed out of the room, slamming the glass door behind her.
The second she was gone, the heavy silence crashed back down.
Ohyul stood there for a long moment, his back to you, his shoulders trembling as he tried to bring his breathing under control. The secret was out. The beautiful, perfect lie had reached its expiration date.
Slowly he turned around to face you.
You were sitting up, tears streaming down your face, staring at him with a mixture of profound hurt, confusion, and betrayal. The fresh start was over.
Ohyul dropped to his knees right beside your bed, his hands shaking violently as he reached out toward you, his eyes glassy with a desperate, heartbreaking sorrow. "Y/n... please," he choked out, his voice cracking completely. "Please, let me explain..."
The words hung in the space between you like a jagged sheet of glass.
You stared at him, your hands trembling so violently that the notepad you had been holding slipped from your fingers, clattering uselessly to the floor. The tears wouldn't stop. They scalded your cheeks, burning hot against the pale skin he had spent weeks carefully tending to.
"You lied to me," you whispered.
The words were small at first, a fragile fracture in the quiet room. But as the sheer weight of what Yunah had said settled into your chest, the fraction widened into a chasm.
"You looked me in the eye... every single day," you choked out, your voice rising, cracking under the sudden, suffocating pressure of a betrayal you couldn't fully remember but could feel in every nerve ending. "You held my hand when I was scared. You brought me my favorite things. You sat there and let me thank you. Let me call you my savior—and you lied to my face!"
"Y/n please—"
"No!" you sobbed, flinching away from his outstretched hands as if his very touch could burn you. "Don't touch me! Who are you? The gentle doctor who saved my life, or the monster who ruined it? You told me we were strangers! You let me fall for you all over again while you were just... what? Playing house? Trying to buy your way out of a guilty conscience?!"
Each word hit Ohyul like a physical strike. He didn't flinch. He stayed on his knees, his head bowing under the absolute wreckage of his own making. The pristine white coat he wore felt like a mockery now, a shroud covering a boy who had broken the only person who ever truly loved him.
"I wasn't trying to buy my way out," he breathed, his voice a ragged, broken sound. He lifted his eyes to yours, and you had never seen a man look so utterly destroyed. Tears were streaming freely down his face, pooling in the sharp lines of his jaw. "I swear to you, y/n... I wasn't playing. When you woke up and you didn't remember me... you didn't remember the pain. You didn't look at me with that awful, quiet hurt in your eyes anymore. You looked at me and you smiled."
He reached out, his fingers hovering just inches away from the edge of your blanket, too terrified of your anger to close the distance.
"I was a coward," he choked out, a harsh, ragged sob tearing from his throat. "I knew that if I told you who I was, you would remember how I treated you. You would remember the texts, the coldness, the way I let you suffer while I proudly walked away with someone else. You would look at me and see a monster. And I couldn't bear it. I was so incredibly selfish... I just wanted to be the person who kept you safe for once. Just once."
You looked at him, your heart shattering into a million jagged pieces. The angst of it cut deep because even now, with the truth laid bare, with the ghost of his past cruelty looming between you, your body still wanted to reach out and comfort him. The tragedy of your amnesia wasn't that you had forgotten him.
The tragedy was that your soul had recognized him instantly, and it had chosen him all over again, completely clueless that he was the original architect of your heartbreak.
You opened your eyes and looked at him, the deep cut of the betrayal bleeding into every word you spoke. "The worst part of this, Ohyul? The absolute worst part? I didn't even remember my own name when I woke up. I didn't remember my favorite color, or where I lived. My entire world was a black hole."
You paused, your voice suddenly dropping. The frantic, weeping girl he thought he was comforting vanished in a split second. The trembling of your hands stopped entirely, and the tears still wet on your cheeks felt less like a breakdown and more like the clearing of a stormy sky.
You looked down at him, your gaze locking onto his with a sharp, piercing clarity that froze the blood in his veins.
"Or at least... that's what I let you believe," you whispered.
Ohyul’s ragged breathing hitched. He stopped sobbing, his head lifting slowly as he stared up at you from his knees. The utter despair in his eyes flickered, replaced by a sudden, jarring confusion. "Y/n...?"
"I never had amnesia, Ohyul," you said, your voice steady, completely devoid of the fragile innocence you had been weaponizing for the past month. "When I woke up on that table and saw your face, I remembered everything. I remembered the cold texts. I remembered how you paraded Yunah around. I remembered exactly how it felt when you tore my life apart in high school."
Ohyul felt the floor drop out from beneath him. The room spun. He stayed on his knees, paralyzed, staring at you as if he were looking at an entirely different person.
"You... you didn't forget?" he breathed, his voice barely a ghost of a sound.
"No," you said, a bitter, sharp smile cutting across your lips. "But the second I saw the sheer, unadulterated terror in your eyes when I woke up, the way you were trembling, begging me not to die, suffocating under your own guilt. I realized something. If I told you I remembered, you would have put on your professional doctor mask, handed my case to someone else, and run away to hide behind your pride. And you wouldn't have suffered at all."
You leaned forward, resting your forearms on the metal bed rail, looking down at the brilliant, untouchable "ice prince" who was currently shattered at your feet.
"So I played the part," you continued, the angst cutting deeper than any physical blade ever could. "I gave you exactly what you wanted. I let you think you had a clean slate. I let you buy me strawberry milk, share your cookies, and play the doting, devoted savior. I let you build this beautiful, perfect little dream world where you finally got to feel like a good guy."
A single, cold tear slipped down your cheek, contradicting the harshness of your words.
"I wanted to see how far you would go. I wanted to see you fall in love with me all over again, completely vulnerable, thinking you were safe. Because I wanted you to know exactly what it feels like to have the person you trust most build a beautiful lie right in front of your face... only to rip it away when you least expect it."
Ohyul let out a strangled, breathless sound, his chest heaving as the horrific reality crashed down on him.
He hadn't been cheating the universe. He hadn't been gifted a miracle second chance. He had been walking straight into a trap born from the very heartbreak he had created. For a whole month, every sweet smile you gave him, every gentle touch, and every late night conversation hadn't been a rebirth. It had been a beautifully orchestrated execution.
"You... you lied to me," he whispered, his voice trembling with a terrifying mix of agony and awe.
"I learned from the best," you replied softly, your eyes burning into his. "You never stopped being the villain, Ohyul. I just wanted to see if the villain could bleed."
Ohyul’s world didn’t just crumble. It completely imploded. The revelation that every tender smile, every shared cookie, and every soft look over the past month was a calculated retaliation didn't make him angry. It broke him completely. The sheer weight of knowing he had driven the girl he loved to become this cold, just to survive the hurt he caused, was a crushing blow.
He stayed on his knees, his hands frantically reaching out to grasp the edge of your hospital mattress. He looked up at you, his face completely ruined by tears, his chest heaving as he gasped for air.
"Y/n... please... please don't do this," he begged, his voice a pathetic, broken wheeze. He didn't care about his pride anymore. He didn't care that he was the head resident, or that anyone could walk past the glass door. "I deserve it. I deserve all of it. Tear me apart, ruin my career, hate me... but please, don't look at me like that. Don't tell me it was all a lie."
He lunged forward slightly, his trembling hands desperately trying to catch the hem of your gown.
"I love you. I never stopped loving you, even when I was being a stupid, arrogant coward in high school. Please, y/n... just give me a chance to fix it. Let me be the one to take care of you. Don't throw me away like this. I'm begging you..."
You looked down at him, your expression frozen like stone. His frantic, pathetic begging didn't move you. It just made you sick. The sight of the brilliant Doctor Kwon groveling at your bedside, suffocating under his own belated regrets, felt suffocating. You were entirely done playing this game. The satisfaction of the trap had vanished, leaving only an exhausting, bitter taste in your mouth.
"I'm sick of your voice, Ohyul," you said, your tone flat, cold, and completely detached.
Without breaking eye contact, you reached out your left hand, grabbed the plastic remote resting on your pillow, and slammed your thumb down onto the red emergency button.
The loud, sharp ping-ping-ping of the emergency alarm instantly pierced through the quiet room, echoing violently out into the hallway.
Ohyul froze, his tear-filled eyes widening in shock as the alarm blared above his head. "Y/n... no, please..."
Within three seconds, the glass door slammed open. Hyunjin burst into the room, a tray of medical supplies in her hands, her face pale with adrenaline. "Y/n! What's wrong? Is it the incision—"
Hyunjin froze mid-sentence, the words dying in her throat.
The scene before her was completely baffling. There were no bloodstains, no flatlining monitors. Instead, the hospital’s untouchable, cold "Ice Prince," Doctor Kwon, was on his knees on the linoleum floor, his face soaked in tears, desperately clinging to the edge of the patient's bed like a drowning man. And you were sitting up, looking down at him with an expression of pure, unadulterated disgust.
"Nurse Hyunjin," you called out, your voice steady and authoritative, completely cutting through Ohyul’s muffled sobs. "Get him out of here."
Hyunjin swallowed hard, her jaw practically on the floor. She looked at Ohyul, then back at you. She had never seen Doctor Kwon lose control like this. He looked entirely unhinged, stripped of all his professional dignity. But as a nurse, her primary duty was the patient's comfort and safety.
"D-Doctor Kwon..." Hyunjin stammered, stepping forward carefully and placing a hesitant hand on Ohyul’s rigid, trembling shoulder. "Sir... you need to stand up. The patient is asking you to leave. Please, Doctor Kwon, let's step outside before the Chief of Surgery sees this."
Ohyul didn't even look at Hyunjin. His black eyes were glued to yours, silently pleading, begging for a single shred of mercy. But your gaze remained entirely blank. You didn't even blink.
Realizing he had truly, completely lost you, the girl who used to cry for his attention in high school was officially gone—Ohyul slowly let go of the mattress. His hands dropped heavily to his sides. On unsteady, shaking legs, he finally stood up. He didn't wipe his face, didn't look at Hyunjin, and didn't grab his clipboard.
Like a ghost, he turned around and walked out of Room 143, his tall frame suddenly looking incredibly small and defeated as the glass door slid shut behind him.
Hyunjin let out a breath she felt like she’d been holding for a century. She rushed over to your bedside, her eyes wide with shock and burning curiosity. "Y/n... oh my god. Are you okay? What on earth just happened? Was he... was Doctor Kwon just begging you?"
You leaned back against your pillows, closing your eyes as a profound, heavy exhaustion finally washed over you.
"I'm fine, Hyunjin," you whispered, turning your face toward the window. "Just please... make sure he never comes back in here."
Yunah was not the type to let a humiliation go. The fact that Ohyul had threatened her career and worse, degraded her in front of a patient that had been eating at her pride for the last forty-eight hours.
Late the next evening, when the ward was under the quiet lull of the shift change, the glass door to Room 143 slid open.
You didn't look up from your phone, expecting Hyunjin with your evening meds. Instead, the sharp, rhythmic click of designer heels made your eyes snap up. Yunah stepped into the room, locking the sliding door behind her with a soft, deliberate click. Her lab coat was unbuttoned, and her face was twisted into a mask of pure, ugly condescension.
"You must think you're so clever, don't you?" Yunah scoffed, walking right up to the foot of your bed and slamming her clipboard down onto the safety rail. "I did some digging. The nurses think you're a tragic amnesiac, but I know how you used to operate in high school. You’re faking it. You've been playing dead just to manipulate Ohyul into groveling at your feet."
You slowly lowered your phone, your expression remaining entirely deadpan. You didn't flinch. You didn't cry. The fragile girl she thought she could bully was dead and buried.
"And what if I am?" you said, your voice smooth, cold, and entirely unbothered.
Yunah blinked, caught off guard by your immediate, icy confidence.
"He belongs in the Operating Room, not playing nursemaid to a pathetic ghost from his past," Yunah spat, leaning over the rail, her eyes flashing with venom. "You’re ruining his focus. You’re using your little childhood trauma to chain him down because you know that without this accident, you’re completely irrelevant to his life. You never stood a chance against me then, and you don't now."
A slow, mocking smile crept onto your lips. You leaned back against your pillows, looking at her as if she were a mild inconvenience.
"You really haven't changed at all, Yunah," you said softly, your tone dripping with pity. "Still so incredibly loud, and still so desperately insecure. Let’s clear something up. I didn't chain Ohyul down. He chained himself to this bed because he is so suffocated by what he did to me that he can barely breathe."
Yunah’s jaw tightened.
"He loves me. He chose—"
"He chose a distraction," you interrupted ruthlessly, your eyes cutting through her like a scalpel. "He used you to run away from his own guilt. But the second I woke up? He dropped you like you were absolutely nothing. He threatened to destroy your career just for looking at me. You came all the way back from abroad thinking you were entering a power couple, but you’re just a footnote in our wreckage. You never held his heart, Yunah. You just held his mistakes."
Yunah’s face flushed a deep, furious crimson. She raised her hand, her nails curling into fists as she trembled with pure rage, completely stripped of her elegant facade. You had read her to filth, leaving her with absolutely no defense.
Through the glass window of the door, a tall figure stopped.
Ohyul stood in the corridor, looking through the glass. He had rushed over the moment he saw Yunah heading toward your room. But he didn't burst in this time. He couldn't.
He stood paralyzed on the other side of the glass, watching the scene unfold. He saw the fierce, unbroken, and terrifyingly brilliant version of the girl he had loved years ago. You didn't need his protection. You didn't need him to swoop in and be your hero. You were entirely capable of tearing your enemies apart all on your own. He realized, with a sickening lurch of his heart, that his absence didn't weaken you, it made you unstoppable. He was completely irrelevant to your strength.
"Get out of my room," you told Yunah, your voice dropping into a dangerous whisper that mirrored Ohyul’s from the night before. "Before I press this button again and let the whole hospital see how pathetic you look begging a patient to respect you."
Slamming her clipboard against the rail, Yunah turned on her heel and unlocked the door, storming out into the hallway. She walked right past Ohyul, but he didn't even glance her way. His eyes were glued to you through the glass.
You looked up and caught his eye.
The contrast was brutal. You looked calm, victorious, and completely detached. Ohyul, on the other hand, looked like a walking corpse. Hyunjin’s gossip had been accurate, he hadn't left the hospital in three days. He was still wearing the same wrinkled shirt under his open lab coat. His eyes were deeply bloodshot, surrounded by dark, hollow shadows of pure exhaustion. He had been working back-to-back trauma shifts, refusing to sleep, drowning himself in labor as a pathetic attempt at penance.
He looked at you through the glass, his lips parting slightly, his eyes begging for a single crumb of acknowledgment. He looked so broken, so thoroughly defeated, that it was clear he was living in a hell of his own making.
You met his desperate, aching gaze for two cold seconds.
Then, without a hint of hesitation or pity, you reached over, grabbed the plastic remote, and hit the button to roll the privacy blinds down.
The white plastic slats clicked into place, slowly cutting off his view, segment by segment. Ohyul watched his world go completely black, left standing alone in the cold, sterile hallway, staring at a closed door.
The gossip in the nurse’s station had shifted from romantic intrigue to bitter resentment.
"I don't get why she's still occupying Room 143," a senior nurse grumbled, slamming a chart down onto the desk late one night. "Her surgical incisions are practically closed. But now she’s ringing the call bell every hour because she’s 'chilly' or 'too tired' to sit up. We have actual trauma patients to handle, and we're acting as personal maids for Doctor Kwon's ex-whatever."
Hyunjin, who was sorting through medication vials nearby, frowned. "She’s not a whiner. If she’s asking for blankets, she’s probably actually cold."
"Whatever. It’s just annoying. She looks fine, she’s just being dramatic," the nurse muttered, walking away.
Standing just around the corner, hidden by the shadow of the vending machines, Ohyul heard every single word. His clinical instincts, sharp even through his crushing exhaustion, immediately flared with a sickening sense of dread. Chilly? Too tired to sit up? That didn't sound like the proud, fierce girl who had ripped him to shreds four days ago. That sounded like a systemic complication.
It was 1:30 AM. The ward was dim and dead silent.
Ohyul couldn't take it anymore. He didn't care about the boundaries you had set. He didn't care that you had shut the blinds in his face. His duty as a doctor and his agonizing, desperate need to make sure you were breathing and it pulled him toward Room 143.
He slid the glass door open so quietly it didn't make a sound.
The room was freezing. You were sitting up slightly, wrapped in three layers of heavy hospital blankets, but your shoulders were visibly trembling. You hadn't slept. Your skin, usually a healthy pale, looked strangely flushed across your cheekbones, yet your lips had a faint, terrifying tint of blue. Your breathing was shallow, a tiny, raspy catch mirroring the fluid building up in your lungs.
The moment the door clicked, your head snapped up. Seeing his tall, exhausted silhouette, your expression instantly hardened, though your eyes looked glazed and glassy with fever. You quickly turned your face toward the window, avoiding his gaze entirely.
"I thought I made myself clear," you whispered, your voice raspy and breathless, though you tried to force it to sound sharp. "I don't need your concern, Doctor Kwon. Get out."
Ohyul didn't leave. He stepped closer to the bed, his dark eyes instantly taking in the rapid rise and fall of your chest. The professional mask he usually wore was cracked, revealing a raw, terrifying anxiety.
"I'm not here as a friend, y/n," he lied softly, his voice deep and grounding as he closed the distance, stopping right at your bedside. "I was reviewing the ward logs. Your temperature hasn't been charted properly tonight, and your respiratory rate is too high. I am here strictly to perform a clinical evaluation of your condition. Nothing else."
You let out a bitter, weak chuckle that instantly triggered a deep, rattling cough in your chest. You winced, clutching your side where the old incision was, your face contorting in pain. "I told you... I'm fine. It's just a common cold. Leave me alone."
"A cold doesn't cause cyanosis in your lips," Ohyul said, his tone dropping into that authoritative, unyielding octave. He reached for the stethoscope hanging around his neck. "I am going to ask you a few standard diagnostic questions. For the sake of your own health, answer me."
You bit your lower lip, hating how weak you felt, hating that he was seeing you like this. But the sheer exhaustion weighing down your limbs made it impossible to fight him. You kept your eyes locked firmly on the distant city lights outside, refusing to look at his face, but you submitted to the checkup.
"Are you experiencing chest pain?" he asked, his long, trembling fingers carefully adjusting the dial on your IV pole to check the flow rate.
"Only when I breathe in deeply," you muttered coldly.
Ohyul’s heart did a violent, panicked flip. Pleuritic chest pain. "Is the pain sharp, or does it feel like a heavy weight pressing down on your sternum?"
"Sharp. Like a needle."
Ohyul’s heart did a violent, panicked flip the moment you mentioned the needle-sharp pain in your chest. His clinical mind immediately began racing through a dozen terrifying possibilities. A pulmonary embolism? a delayed cardiac contonement from the trauma? early-stage pleurisy? or a severe respiratory infection There were too many variables, and his own sleep-deprived brain was too clouded by emotion to make a definitive diagnosis on the spot.
He forced his hands to stop shaking, swallowing down the lump of pure dread in his throat. He needed a second opinion. He needed a clear, unbiased set of eyes to run the labs before he jumped to the worst conclusion.
"Alright," Ohyul said, his voice dropping into a low, grounding murmur as he gently took the stethoscope from his ears. He stepped back just a fraction, trying to give you space, though every fiber of his being screamed at him to stay. "I’m going to consult with the attending physician and order a chest X-ray and some blood cultures right away. We'll figure out exactly what's causing the sharpness. Rest up, okay?"
Before he could fully pull away, his hand lingered over your forehead for a fraction of a second. Unconsciously, reverting back to the instinctual tenderness he had shown you over the last month, he let his palm rest lightly against your hair, giving your head a soft, reassuring pat. It was a gesture meant to comfort a frightened patient, but it carried all the heavy, unspoken longing of a boy who was still desperately in love with you.
He pulled his hand back, turning on his heel to walk toward the sliding glass door.
Catch.
A faint, trembling warmth wrapped around his hand.
Ohyul froze instantly, his boots gluing themselves to the linoleum floor. He looked down. Your small, pale hand had reached out from beneath the heavy layers of the hospital blankets, your fingers tightly curling around his index finger. Your grip wasn't strong. In fact, your fingers were shaking against his skin from the fever but to him, it felt like an anchor.
He slowly turned his head, his dark eyes wide and glassy as he looked back at you.
You weren't looking at him. You were still staring fixedly out the window, your jaw clenched as you tried to swallow down another raspy cough. Your cheeks were flushed a deep, feverish pink, and you looked so incredibly small, swallowed up by the massive hospital bed.
"Can..." your voice broke, a tiny, breathless whisper that sounded entirely stripped of the icy armor you had been wearing. "Can you stay with me?"
Ohyul’s breath caught in his throat. He couldn't move. He couldn't even breathe.
"I heard the nurses at the station earlier," you mumbled, your lower lip trembling slightly as you confessed the vulnerability you had been trying so hard to hide. You tightened your grip on his finger just a fraction more, as if terrified he would pull away anyway. "They were... they were complaining about me. They said they're annoyed with me hitting the emergency button every second just because I'm cold. I... I don't want to ring them again."
The air in the room became thick enough to suffocate.
Here you were, the girl who had brilliantly, ruthlessly executed her revenge against him just days prior. The girl who had told him to get out and called him a monster, now reduced to a fragile, shivering patient, begging him for comfort because the rest of the world felt too cold and hostile. You hated him for what he did in the past, but in the dark of the night, when your body was failing and you felt entirely alone, your soul still knew that Ohyul was the only one who would never find you a burden.
Ohyul felt a tear slip down his cheek, the deep cut of your words slicing right through his chest. He hated those nurses. He hated the hospital. But most of all, he hated himself for creating a world where you felt like you had to beg for a safe place to land.
He didn't move toward the door anymore. Without a single word, he stepped backward, returning to the side of your bed. He didn't let go of your hand. Instead, he carefully slid his entire palm into yours, wrapping his long, warm fingers around your trembling ones, squeezing gently.
"I'm not going anywhere," Ohyul whispered, his voice cracking with a raw, heartbreaking devotion. He reached over with his free hand and pulled the stool right up to your mattress, sitting down close enough that his shoulder brushed your blankets.
"I'll page the lab from the bedside console. I'll stay right here, y/n. For as long as you need me."
Ohyul sat on the stool, his long fingers securely anchoring yours against the mattress. The steady, frantic rhythm of your thready pulse was vibrating against his skin, a constant reminder of how fragile you were right now.
The room was completely silent, save for the faint hum of the bedside console as he paged the lab for an urgent stat workup.
He looked down at your joined hands, then up at your flushed, feverish face. Seeing you like this, shivering under three blankets, terrified of being a burden to strangers, yet still reaching out for his finger in the dark completely broke the last wall holding back his repressed emotions. The guilt didn't just burn anymore. It was suffocating him.
"I'm sorry," he whispered into the quiet room.
You didn't turn your head away from the window, but your fingers twitched slightly against his palm.
"I'm so incredibly sorry, my love." Ohyul choked out, a solitary tear escaping his eye and tracing a path down his tired cheek. He leaned forward, resting his forehead lightly against the edge of your mattress, just inches from your hand. "I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry for the boy I was in high school. I was so wrapped up in my own arrogance, so obsessed with maintaining this perfect, untouchable image, that I let Yunah ruin the only real thing I had."
A ragged, heavy sob escaped his throat, but he didn't try to hide it this time. He wanted you to hear it. He needed you to know the depth of his rot.
"When she transferred in, she chased after me, and instead of pushing her away, my stupid, superficial pride was flattered. I let her get close. And when she started sending those horrific texts to you from my phone, when she bragged online... I knew it was happening, Y/n. I knew, and I stayed silent because I was too much of a coward to deal with the drama. I let you think I threw you away like trash. I watched you cry, I watched you break, and I walked away like an absolute monster just to protect my own peace."
He lifted his head, his dark eyes entirely bloodshot, swimming with a raw, agonizing despair as he looked at your profile.
"I didn't deserve a second chance. When you came into my ER bleeding out, I thought the universe was punishing me by making me watch you die. And when you woke up and 'forgot' me... I thought I was being handed a cheap escape. I was so desperate to be the good guy in your story for once that I blinded myself to your reality. I am a pathetic, selfish coward, y/n. I ruined us then, and I ruined us now."
The silence returned, heavier than before, thick with years of unsaid apologies and deep seated trauma.
Slowly, your fingers uncurled from his hand.
Ohyul’s heart dropped into his stomach, expecting you to pull away completely, to turn your back and shut him out forever. But you didn't.
Instead, you slowly turned your head away from the window. Your eyes, glassy and brilliant with the heat of the fever, locked onto his ruined face. You looked at his trembling lips, his wrinkled clothes, and the complete, utter wreckage of his pride. The sharp, vengeful armor you had been wearing for the past month suddenly felt too heavy to carry anymore. Your soul was tired. Your body was failing. And despite the vivid, painful memory of his past cruelty, seeing him entirely bare and broken before you chased away the last bit of your malice.
Using your remaining strength, you pulled yourself up against the pillows.
"Ohyul," you breathed, your voice a tiny, raspy whisper.
Before he could process the shift in the air, you leaned forward. You reached out with your uninjured hand, your warm, feverish fingers gently cupping the side of his jaw, stopping the trembling of his skin.
And then, you pulled him down and pressed your lips to his.
Ohyul froze entirely, his brain short circuiting as the world stopped spinning. The kiss wasn't calculated. It wasn't part of a game or a trap. It was soft, desperate, and burning hot with the heat of your fever. It tasted like salt from his tears and felt like a sudden, dizzying rush of pure life cutting through the sterile, freezing dark of the room. It was a breathless, aching collision of their past and their present. A quiet declaration that despite the scars he had carved into you, your heart still couldn't find its way around him.
When you finally pulled back a fraction, your breaths mingled in the space between you, both of your chests heaving. Your forehead rested gently against his, your eyes closed as you let out a shaky, exhausted sigh.
"Don't leave," you whispered against his lips, your fingers still tangling weakly in his messy dark hair. "Just... stay right here."
Ohyul’s hands flew to your waist, his grip fierce but agonizingly careful, as if he were holding a doll that had already shattered once before. A breathless, choked sound escaped his throat against your lips. He didn’t care that you were burning up with a fever, or that the clinical monitors above were softly warning him of your rising heart rate. For the first time in years, he felt like he was finally allowed to breathe.
He deeper into the kiss for one desperate, lingering second, his thumb caressing the soft skin of your jawline, memorizing the warmth of you before you finally pulled apart.
When you rested your forehead against his, your eyes closed, he kept his face inches from yours. His breath was shallow, his dark eyes frantically scanning your flushed face, tracing the tear tracks on your cheeks.
"I'm here," he whispered, his voice trembling so hard it was barely audible. "I'm not going anywhere, y/n. I swear to you."
The exhaustion from the fever and the emotional weight of the last hour finally took its toll on you. Your hand slowly slipped from his hair, dropping limply onto his shoulder as your eyes fluttered closed. The sharp, needle like pain in your chest flared again, causing you to let out a weak, pitiful whimper as you sank back into the pillows.
The sudden shift snapped Ohyul right back into his medical mindset, though the panic in his chest was now laced with an fierce, protective desperation. He couldn't lose you now. Not after this.
"Hey, stay with me, keep your eyes open for a second," he murmured gently, pulling the heavy blankets back up to your chin and tucking them tightly around your shivering shoulders.
He quickly reached for the bedside console, his fingers flying across the keypad to pull up your baseline vitals and input the emergency page.
"This is Doctor Kwon," he said into the receiver, his voice instantly shifting into a cold, commanding professional register, though his eyes never left your face. "I need an immediate mobile X-ray unit to Room 143, and a stat arterial blood gas panel. Page the attending pulmonologist on call. Now."
He slammed the receiver down and immediately turned back to you, sliding his hand beneath the blankets to find your fingers again. He squeezed them tight, feeling the rapid, thready tap of your pulse against his palm.
"The lab is coming down, y/n," he murmured, leaning over you, his free hand gently brushing a stray, damp lock of hair away from your forehead. His skin felt cool against your burning brow. "I'm going to stay right here on this stool. I'm going to hold your hand through the blood draw, and I'm going to review the scans the second they're taken. You're not going to be cold anymore, and nobody is going to ignore you."
You let out a weak, raspy sigh, your fingers feebly curling back around his index finger, the same anchor you had reached for just minutes ago. "Promise?" you whispered, your voice fading into the drowsy pull of the fever.
Ohyul bowed his head, pressing a soft, reverent kiss to the back of your hand, his tears wetting your skin.
"I promise," he choked out. "With my life."
The glass door hissed open ten minutes later, shattering the fragile, quiet bubble of the room. A technician wheeled in a bulky portable X-ray machine, followed closely by a resident holding a blood-draw tray.
Ohyul didn't stand up. He merely shifted his stool slightly, his hand never once breaking contact with yours. The raw, red eyed vulnerability he had shown you just moments ago instantly vanished, replaced by a cutting, terrifyingly sharp authority that made the incoming medical staff visibly straighten their spines.
"Get the ABG line drawn first," Ohyul ordered, his voice dropping into a low, deadpan register that brooked absolutely no delay. "Her oxygen saturation is dipping. Be careful with her left arm. The IV site is already irritated."
"Yes, Doctor Kwon," the resident stammered, quickly setting up the sterile field.
As the needle pierced your skin to draw the arterial blood, your fingers suddenly clamped down on Ohyul’s with a desperate, crushing strength. You let out a sharp, ragged gasp, your eyes flying open, glassy and wild with pain as you instinctively tried to pull your arm away. The sharp, heavy ache in your lungs flared violently with the sudden movement.
"Shh, look at me. Look right here, love," Ohyul murmured instantly. He leaned over the bed, completely blocking the rest of the room from your vision. He placed his free hand gently on the side of your neck, his thumb soothingly stroking your jawline. His touch was steady, cool, and grounding against your burning, feverish skin. "Don't look at the needle. Just look at me. I've got you."
You locked your eyes onto his, your breath hitching in your throat. Through the haze of the fever and the agony in your chest, his dark, bloodshot eyes were the only anchor you had left. You squeezed his hand tighter, watching a tear slip down his face, not out of weakness, but out of the sheer, agonizing empathy of watching you suffer.
"All done, sir," the resident whispered quickly, capping the vial and stepping back.
"Slide the X-ray plate behind her," Ohyul directed the technician, his tone clipped. He gently helped lift your upper body, taking the brunt of your weight against his chest so your incision wouldn't pull. You slumped weakly against his shoulder for a brief, breathless second, inhaling the crisp, comforting scent of his cologne mixed with the sterile hospital air, before he carefully lowered you back down. "Clear the room for the exposure."
Everyone stepped behind the lead shield except Ohyul, who simply donned a heavy lead apron and remained at your side, his fingers still locked in yours as the machine let out a sharp, electronic beep.
The technician checked the digital monitor on the machine, her face turning grave. "Doctor Kwon... the infiltrates in the lower right lobe are extensive. There's significant fluid accumulation."
Ohyul’s grip on your hand tightened instinctively. His clinical mind immediately finalized the diagnosis severe, acute lobar pneumonia. It was aggressive, and if they didn't flood your system with broad-spectrum IV antibiotics and high-flow oxygen immediately, your body, already weakened by the major trauma surgery, would slide into sepsis.
He turned to the resident. "Start her on IV Levofloxacin and Ceftriaxone immediately. Double the fluid maintenance rate, and bring in a high-flow nasal cannula. I want a pulmonary consult in this room within twenty minutes. Move."
The staff scrambled out of the room like their lives depended on it.
Once the door slid shut, the heavy, suffocating silence returned, punctuated only by your shallow, rattling breaths. Ohyul immediately discarded the heavy lead apron, dropping it to the floor, and leaned over you. He picked up the plastic oxygen mask hanging from the wall console, adjusting the flow until a cool, steady hiss of pure oxygen filled the air.
"This is going to help you breathe," he whispered, his voice cracking with a fierce, protective tenderness. He gently slipped the elastic band around your head, settling the soft mask over your nose and mouth. "Don't fight it. Just take slow, deep breaths for me."
As the cool oxygen hit your lungs, the suffocating weight in your chest eased just a fraction. Your heavy eyelids began to flutter closed again, the intense exhaustion of the fever finally pulling you under. But even as your consciousness began to slip away, your fingers weakly gave his hand one last, faint squeeze.
Ohyul bowed his head, pressing his forehead against your knuckles, his shoulders trembling as a quiet, broken sob escaped him.
"I'm right here," he whispered against your skin, a vow made to the quiet, sterile room. "I'm right here, sweetheart. I won't let you slip away again."
The high-flow nasal cannula hummed softly, a steady, rhythmic rush of oxygen that seemed to fill the terrifyingly quiet room. The monitors above your bed were a chaotic symphony of numbers, but Ohyul didn't look at them anymore. He kept his eyes locked strictly on your face, watching the pale, sickly blue tint slowly fade from your lips, replaced by the unnatural, harsh flush of the fever.
He didn't move from his stool. The resident came back in with the heavy IV antibiotic bags, hanging them with shaking hands under Ohyul’s merciless, watchful glare.
"The pulmonologist is reviewing the scans from the ICU desk, Doctor Kwon," the resident whispered, adjusting the drip rate. "They agree with your course of treatment. The broad spectrum should start bringing the fever down within a few hours."
"Get out," Ohyul murmured, his voice lacking any real anger. It was just entirely dead, hollowed out by a month of lies and a night of absolute terror.
The resident scrambled out, and the glass door clicked shut again.
Ohyul lifted your hand, bringing it to his face. Your skin was radiating an intense, dry heat, a stark contrast to his cold, tear-stained cheeks. He pressed his lips to the back of your knuckles, holding them there for a long, breathless minute. He could feel the rapid, frantic thud-thud-thud of your pulse against his lips.
"You're a fool," he choked out, his voice a jagged, broken rasp into the empty room. "You're an absolute fool. Why didn't you just keep hurting me? Why did you let me off the hook?"
You didn't answer. Your head rolled slightly to the side on the pillow, a soft, pathetic wheeze escaping your throat as the fluid in your lungs rattled. The fever was pulling you down into a deep, heavy delirium.
It was suffocating him. He had spent days bleeding from the wounds you had so perfectly, cleanly inflicted on him with your fake amnesia. He had thought he was living in his own personal purgatory, standing on his knees, watching you look at him with pure disgust. But this? Watching you slip away, watching your body fail while you weakly held onto his finger because the rest of the world felt too cold?
This wasn't purgatory. This was hell.
Because even after everything, after high school, after Yunah, after the cruel texts and the cold abandonment. Your body still instinctively knew that when you were at your weakest, Ohyul would become a shield. You had used your last ounce of strength not to curse him, but to kiss him. To beg him to stay.
"I don't deserve this," he wept silently, his shoulders heaving as he buried his face in the heavy hospital blankets right beside your hip. His long fingers tangled desperately in yours, squeezing so tightly his own knuckles ached. "I don't deserve your forgiveness. I don't deserve to hold your hand. I should be the one suffocating, not you."
Around 4:00 AM, your fever spiked to its absolute limit.
You began to thrash weakly against the sheets, your eyes fluttering open, though they were completely unseeing, glazed over with a terrifying, wild delirium. The chest pain must have flared, because you let out a sharp, choked cry, your free hand clawing desperately at the front of your hospital gown.
"It hurts..." you gasped out, your voice raw and breathless under the plastic oxygen mask. "Ohyul... it hurts... make it stop... please..."
Ohyul was on his feet in a fraction of a second. He didn't call the nurses. He didn't press the button. He climbed right onto the edge of the narrow hospital bed, sliding his long arms beneath your trembling shoulders and pulling your burning, fragile body completely against his chest.
He wrapped himself around you, rocking you gently as you sobbed into his shoulder. His clean white coat was instantly wrinkled, soaked with your sweat and his own endless tears.
"I've got you, I've got you, sweetheart," he chanted desperately, his lips pressed against your damp hair, his voice cracking into a million pieces. He used his large hand to hold the back of your head, pressing you close, letting you sink entirely into his warmth. "I'm right here. The medicine is working. Just breathe for me. Please, just breathe. I’ll take the pain. Give it to me. Just don't leave me alone in the dark."
Slowly, under the heavy, grounding weight of his body and the steady drip of the antibiotics, your frantic thrashing began to subside. Your head slumped limply against the crook of his neck, your shallow, rattling breaths hot against his skin. Your hand, still weakly clutching his shirt, finally relaxed.
Ohyul didn't let go. He stayed wrapped around you in the fading dark of the night, holding the girl he had broken, praying to a universe he had cheated that he would be allowed to save her one last time.
The antibiotic treatment wasn't working as fast as it should have. The next few days turned into a slow, agonizing descent into complete physical exhaustion for you.
Your condition grew significantly worse. The lobar pneumonia had taken an aggressive hold on your weakened system, leaving you so completely drained that even opening your eyes felt like lifting lead. You lost all your appetite, the very sight or smell of food made you nauseous. You were constantly tired, drifting in and out of a restless, shallow sleep, your breathing accompanied by a constant, cruel shortness of breath that made every sentence a battle.
Everyone in the hospital ward knew how critical you were now. The whispers at the nurse's station changed from annoyance to hushed, somber concern.
During the day, the nurses tried their best to get you to eat. Hyunjin would come in with a warm bowl of porridge, sitting by your bed with a gentle smile. "Just a spoonful, y/n. Please? You need your strength to fight the infection."
But you would just weakly turn your head away, closing your eyes in exhaustion. You didn't want the food. You didn't want the porridge. You didn't even want them in the room.
The only thing your fading consciousness clung to, the only thing you wanted was Ohyul.
Whenever he had to step out for a mandatory surgical briefing or a quick patient consultation, your heart monitor’s rhythm would spike, turning erratic and panicked. You would weakly look at the glass door, your fingers twitching against the sheets, searching for him. And the second his tall, exhausted silhouette stepped back into Room 143, your breathing would miraculously settle. You didn't want him there to feed you, you just needed him to exist beside you. You needed his presence to remind your body to keep fighting.
And Ohyul gave you absolutely everything he had left.
He had stopped going home entirely. He lived in your room, sleeping for brief, twenty-minute intervals on the hard plastic stool beside your bed, his hand always locked with yours. The brilliant, untouchable Doctor Kwon had completely surrendered himself to being your caretaker, your shield, and your servant.
Late that evening, your fever spiked again, turning your skin into a burning, dry furnace. You let out a weak, pathetic whimper, your chest heaving under the plastic oxygen mask as you struggled to draw in enough air.
"I'm here, sweetheart. I'm right here," Ohyul murmured instantly. His voice was incredibly soft, a low, gravelly whisper meant only for you.
He stood up, filling a small basin with cool, sterile water and submerging a soft white towel. Sitting on the edge of your mattress, he carefully peeled back the heavy blankets. With agonizing tenderness, he began to wipe your body down to break the fever. He gently ran the cool, wet towel over your burning forehead, down the flushed skin of your neck, and along your trembling arms, soothing the heat radiating from your skin.
You let out a shaky, raspy sigh, your heavy eyelids fluttering open just a fraction. Through the haze of the fever, you looked at him.
He looked entirely ruined. His dark eyes were deeply bloodshot, surrounded by dark shadows of pure exhaustion. His jaw was covered in a rough stubble, and his lips were chapped and pale. Yet, when he looked down at you, his expression was filled with an ocean of pure, unconditional devotion.
"It's too cold..." you whispered, your voice barely a breathless scratch against the oxygen mask.
"I know, baby. I know it’s cold," Ohyul spoke softly, his voice cracking with a tender sorrow as he set the towel aside. He leaned down, placing his cool palms against your cheeks, and gently pressed his lips to your burning forehead, holding the kiss there for a long, reverent moment. Then, he moved down, pressing a soft, breathless kiss to your lips through the edge of the mask, pouring all of his remorse and love into the touch. "Just a little longer, okay? The medicine is going to kick in. I'm right here. I'm holding you."
He slid his long arms beneath your shoulders, carefully pulling your weak, fragile body up against his chest, just like he had the night before. He let you rest your head in the crook of his neck, his large hand gently stroking your damp hair in a slow, hypnotic rhythm.
"You don't have to eat if you don't want to," he murmured against your hair, his chest rumbling soothingly against yours as he spoke. "Don't worry about the nurses. Don't worry about anyone else. Just focus on breathing. Take a slow breath for me, Y/N. In and out. I've got you. I’m keeping you safe."
You weakly clutched the fabric of his wrinkled scrubs, your face burying into his neck. The shortness of breath was still terrifying, and your body felt entirely empty of strength, but wrapped in his arms, the freezing world finally felt warm. You let your eyes close, listening to the steady, heavy beat of his heart beneath your ear, entirely dependent on the boy who had once broken you, but who was now breaking himself just to keep you alive.
The hours bled together into a blur of sterile lights and the unrelenting hum of the high-flow oxygen. By the third night, the pneumonia had worn you down to a shadow of yourself. You were too exhausted to even shift your weight on the mattress. Every shallow breath you pulled in felt like dragging broken glass through your lungs, leaving you perpetually lightheaded and weak.
The morning sun began to peek through the blinds, but the room remained dim. Hyunjin stepped in quietly, carrying a small cup of high-nutrient liquid supplement. She looked at your hollow cheeks and the dark circles under your eyes, her expression heavy with pity.
"Y/n," Hyunjin whispered, leaning over the bed. "Just a small sip of this? The doctor says your glucose levels are dropping too low. Please, just try."
You didn't even have the energy to shake your head. You just let your eyelids heavy-drop, turning your face a fraction of an inch away. The absolute lack of appetite made the thought of swallowing anything coat your stomach in nausea.
Hyunjin sighed softly, looking up as Ohyul entered the room. He had just come back from a mandatory department briefing that he had clearly sprinted through. His breathing was hurried, and his eyes instantly scanned the room until they landed on you.
"She won't take it, Doctor Kwon," Hyunjin said quietly, setting the cup down on the bedside table. "She hasn't had anything since yesterday."
"I'll handle it. Thank you, Nurse Hyunjin," Ohyul said, his voice flat but entirely focused.
The moment the door slid shut, the frantic, erratic rhythm of your heart monitor began to steady. Your hand, resting limply on the top sheet, twitched. Ohyul didn't waste a second. He bypassed the stool entirely and sat directly on the edge of your mattress, immediately taking your small, burning hand in both of his.
"I'm back," he murmured, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly timbre that had become your only comfort. "I'm right here, sweetheart. I'm sorry I left."
You weakly rolled your head toward him, your eyes opening just a crack through the haze of the fever. You didn't care about the liquid supplement. You didn't care that your body was starving. You just reached your fingers up, weakly hooking them into the sleeve of his wrinkled scrubs.
"Stay," you rasped, the word cutting off into a tiny, painful wheeze. "Don't... don't go."
"I'm not going anywhere," he choked out, the deep cut of seeing you this helpless slicing right through his chest. He leaned down, pressing his cool lips to your burning temple, holding the kiss there until he could control the tremor in his own jaw. "The briefing is over. I'm entirely yours today. I promise."
Seeing the sweat dampening your hair again, he reached for a fresh, cool towel from the basin. He moved with an agonizing, practiced tenderness, wiping down your face, the back of your neck, and the heated skin of your collarbones. He kept his movements slow, talking to you in a soft, continuous stream of low words to keep you grounded.
"The lab results came back while I was out," he murmured softly, gently tracing the damp towel down your arm. "The white blood cell count is finally starting to stabilize. The antibiotics are fighting, Y/N. You just have to keep fighting with them. You don't have to eat, okay? Don't worry about the food. I'll have them adjust your total parenteral nutrition through the IV. I won't let you starve."
You let out a shaky, trembling breath, your chest heaving under the plastic oxygen mask. The shortness of breath was a constant terror, a suffocating weight that made you feel like you were drowning on dry land.
"Ohyul..." you whispered, a tear of sheer physical frustration leaking from the corner of your eye. "Can't... can't breathe..."
"I know, baby. I know it hurts," he whispered back, his own eyes filling with tears.
Carefully, effortlessly, he slid his long arms beneath your back and thighs, lifting your fragile, lightweight frame up against his chest. He leaned back against the raised head of the hospital bed, pulling you entirely into his lap. He wrapped his large, warm arms around you, creating a solid, protective cocoon that shielded you from the cold, sterile reality of the room.
He rested his chin gently on the top of your head, his chest expanding deeply against your back.
"Match my breathing, y/n," he commanded softly, his hand gently pressing against your stomach to guide you. "Slowly. In... and out. I'm holding you up. You don't have to carry your own weight right now. Just lean into me."
Buried in his chest, inhaling the scent of his cologne and the clean fabric of his scrubs, the frantic panic in your mind began to recede. Your body, completely devoid of strength, surrendered entirely to his hold. You weakly clutched at his shirt, listening to the steady, heavy thud of his heart beneath your ear.
He had been the one to break your heart years ago, but in the dark, suffocating reality of your illness, his chest was the only place where you could still find air.
The steady whoosh-click of the mechanical ventilator was the only sound left in Room 143. It was a cold, rhythmic, artificial noise. A harsh reminder that your body had officially given up the fight, leaving a machine to force air into your compromised lungs.
You were completely under. The heavy, fast acting sedatives had dragged you down into a medically induced coma just moments after your oxygen levels had plummeted to a fatal number.
Ohyul sat on the plastic stool, his tall frame completely slouched over, looking utterly hollowed out. The absolute terror of the last twenty minutes had stripped him of whatever sanity he had left. When your chest had stopped moving, when your eyes had rolled back in pure panic as you suffocated in his arms, his clinical instincts had completely taken over through sheer survival adrenaline.
He had been the one to guide the plastic laryngoscope blade down your throat. He had been the one to secure the breathing tube, his hands shaking violently the second the procedure was over and the sedative took hold of you. He had saved your life, but the image of your wide, terrified eyes looking at him right before the medicine forced your eyelids shut was burned into the back of his eyelids.
Slowly, Ohyul reached out and took your hand.
Your skin was still hot from the lingering fever, but it felt terrifyingly heavy. Limp. When he slid his long, trembling fingers into your palm and squeezed, there was nothing.
No faint, reassuring twitch. No weak, desperate tightening around his index finger.
"y/n..." he whispered, his voice a broken, jagged rasp that barely cut through the sound of the ventilator. He lifted your limp hand, pressing his forehead against your knuckles, a solitary, hot tear slipping down his nose and soaking into your skin. "Please. Just give me a sign. Just squeeze back. Please."
The silence of the room mocked him.
He stayed in that exact position for hours as the morning light faded into a bleak, gray afternoon. He didn't smooth down his wrinkled coat. He didn't wash the dried sweat and tears from his face. He just sat there, holding a hand that could no longer hold him back, trapped in a silent vigil of his own making.
Around 3:00 PM, the sliding glass door opened with a soft hiss. Hyunjin stepped inside to check the ventilator settings and hang a fresh bag of paralytics. She stopped at the foot of the bed, her heart aching at the sight of the head resident. Ohyul looked less like a brilliant doctor and more like a ghost tethered to a bedside.
"Doctor Kwon," Hyunjin said softly, her voice dripping with careful empathy. "The Chief wants a status report on the pulmonary labs. And... you need to step out. Even just for ten minutes. You haven't eaten or slept in days."
Ohyul didn't lift his head from your hand. His shoulders merely tightened beneath his white coat.
"Tell the Chief the arterial blood gas is showing marginal improvement since the intubation," he muttered, his tone entirely flat, devoid of any human warmth. "And I am not leaving this room."
"But sir—"
"I said, I am not leaving," Ohyul interrupted, his voice dropping into a dangerous, icy whisper that finally made him look up. His dark eyes were bloodshot, wild, and intensely dark, surrounded by deep, hollow shadows. "The last time she woke up, she thought she was alone in the dark. She thought the world was a black hole. If she catches even a second of consciousness through the sedation, I am going to be the first thing she feels. I am not letting her think she's alone again."
Hyunjin swallowed hard, nodding quickly before checking the IV pump and slipping out of the room without another word.
Once the door clicked shut, Ohyul let out a long, shuddering breath. He leaned closer to the mattress, using his free hand to gently brush a stray lock of hair away from your forehead, his touch as light as a feather.
"You wanted to see if the villain could bleed, right?" he whispered softly to your unconscious form, his lips trembling as he pressed a soft, reverent kiss to your burning cheek.
"I'm bleeding, y/n. I am completely empty. Just wake up... please, just wake up and tell me you hate me. Just say my name again. I'll take anything. Just don't leave me here."
The machine just kept clicking, breathing for you in the quiet, sterile room, leaving Ohyul to drown in the absolute weight of his silent penance.
The evening shadows stretched long and thin across the linoleum floor, turning the room a deep, suffocating blue. The mechanical of the ventilator seemed to grow louder in the dark, a cold metronome counting down the seconds of your artificial sleep.
Ohyul hadn't changed his position. His thumb idly, repeatedly traced the back of your hand, a desperate habit to keep himself from completely losing his mind. Every now and then, his eyes would dart to the monitor, tracking your heart rate. Still too fast, still fighting the aggressive infection raging through your bloodstream.
Suddenly, the smooth rhythm of the machine stuttered.
A sharp, wet cough rattled deep within your chest, vibrating against the plastic tube taped to your lips. On the monitor, your heart rate spiked instantly from 95 to 120. Your brow furrowed, a tiny, pained line appearing between your eyes as your body subconsciously fought the invasive plastic in your throat.
Ohyul was on his feet in a heartbeat.
"Y/n," he murmured, his voice frantic but low as he leaned directly over your face. He placed one hand firmly but gently on your shoulder to keep you from thrashing, while his other hand carefully cradled your cheek. "I’m right here. Don't fight the tube, sweetheart. Let the machine breathe for you."
Your heavy, drug-laden eyelids fluttered. The paralyzing sedatives were supposed to keep you completely under, but the fierce fever and your sheer stubbornness were pushing through the chemical haze. Through the tiny cracks of your eyelids, your eyes looked glassy, unfocused, and wild with a primal, subconscious terror. You couldn't speak. You couldn't draw a breath on your own. You were trapped in a dark, paralyzed limbo, gagging on a piece of plastic.
A tear slipped from the corner of your eye, cutting through the sterile cream applied to your skin.
"I've got you. Look at me, look at Ohyul," he pleaded, his own voice cracking in half. He leaned down further, pressing his forehead directly against yours, letting you feel his real, grounding warmth against your freezing panic. He didn't care about his sterile professional boundaries anymore; he was a man begging the girl he loved not to slip away. "I know it hurts. I know you're scared. I'm so sorry I had to put it in. Just blink for me, y/n. Just look at my eyes."
Your gaze slowly drifted, your pupils dilated from the drugs, until they finally locked onto his bloodshot, weeping eyes. The sheer panic in your chest seemed to hit a wall.
Your fingers, completely limp for hours, gave a microscopic, agonizingly weak twitch against his palm. It wasn't a full squeeze, you didn't have the strength for that. But it was an acknowledgment. You knew he was there. Even through the heavy blanket of drugs, your soul recognized his touch.
"Yes, just like that. Stay with me," Ohyul choked out, a breathless, sobbing laugh escaping his lips as he felt that tiny movement. He repeatedly kissed your burning temple, his tears mixing with the sweat on your skin. "The antibiotics are working. I promise you they are. You just have to rest. Don't fight it. Go back to sleep, y/n. I’m holding you. I won't let go. I swear to God, I won't let go of your hand for a single second."
He reached over with a trembling hand, manually adjusting the sedative drip on the IV pole, increasing the dose just enough to pull you back under before the panic caused your heart to fail.
As the fresh wave of medicine hit your veins, the tension in your jaw slowly melted away. Your brow smoothed out, your eyes closed, and your head rolled limply back into the pillow. The monitor’s frantic beeping began to slow down, returning to its steady, somber rhythm.
Ohyul let out a ragged, trembling breath, sinking heavily back onto the stool. He brought your hand back to his lips, burying his face in your knuckles, his body shaking with silent, violent aftershocks of pure terror.
He had spent years running away from the consequences of what he did to you. But looking at your pale, still face, listening to the mechanical breaths keeping you alive, he knew he would spend the rest of his life on his knees in this room if it meant he got to see you open your eyes and truly look at him again.
The next three days became an absolute living hell for Ohyul.
A massive multi-car pileup on the highway coupled with a sudden seasonal flu outbreak threw the entire hospital into a state of red alert chaos. As the chief resident, Ohyul couldn't just walk away. The Chief of Surgery personally ordered him into the OR, and his pager became a relentless, screaming monster. He was pulled from emergency craniotomies to emergency thoracotomies, trapped under the harsh, blinding lights of the operating suites for fourteen, eighteen, twenty hours at a time.
He was packed with so much back-to-back work that he only managed to slip into Room 143 once a day, usually in the dead of night for a fleeting, agonizing five minutes.
But he hadn't forgotten you. Not for a single second. Every time he scrubbed into a surgery, your pale, still face was all he saw behind his closed eyelids. Every time he cut into a patient, he prayed it was the last one so he could run back to your side. He didn't sleep. He barely drank water. He was running entirely on fumes and raw, desperate adrenaline, his mind constantly tethered to the mechanical of your ventilator.
On the fourth night, Ohyul finally stepped out of OR 3. He tore off his surgical mask with trembling, bloody hands, his eyes burning so badly he could barely keep them open.
He glanced at the digital clock on the wall. 11:00 PM.
His body was screaming for rest. His knees were shaking from standing for a grueling seven-hour spinal reconstruction, and his head was pounding violently. But his brain didn't care about the exhaustion. He needed to see you. He needed to hold your hand, even if it was just for two minutes, to remind himself why he was still breathing.
Unbuttoning his sweat soaked surgical gown, he began to walk down the quiet, dimly lit corridor toward the ICU ward.
As he rounded the corner, the heavy, sterile silence of the night shift was suddenly shattered.
"We need a doctor! Anyone! Page the attending on call right now!"
Ohyul’s boots froze on the linoleum. It was Hyunjin’s voice, completely shrill and laced with a terrifying, uncharacteristic panic. She was standing outside the doors of Room 143, your room. Her hands frantically slapping against the glass as she yelled down the hallway toward the central desk.
Ohyul’s heart didn't just drop, it fell through the floor, shattering into an icy, paralyzing dread.
"What's happening?!" another nurse shouted, sprinting forward with a crash cart.
"It's y/n! She's fighting the ventilator! Her oxygen is completely bottoming out! She’s crashing!"
The world went completely silent around Ohyul, the blood roaring in his ears like a tidal wave. The crushing fatigue in his limbs vanished in an instant, replaced by a violent, primal surge of pure adrenaline. He didn't think. He didn't care that he wasn't wearing a clean lab coat.
He sprinted.
He threw his weight against the sliding glass door of Room 143, slamming it open so hard it rattled violently against the frame.
The scene inside was a nightmare brought to life. The heart monitor wasn't letting out its steady beep anymore, it was screaming a frantic, continuous, high-pitched alarm. The red warning lights on the ventilator were flashing aggressively.
You were awake. The heavy sedation had somehow worn off prematurely, and without the paralyzing drugs, you were in the middle of a catastrophic, suffocating panic.
Your back was arched completely off the mattress, your hands blindly, frantically clawing at your own throat, your fingernails ripping into the medical tape trying to tear the plastic tube out of your mouth. You were choking, gagging violently against the machine as your lungs spasmed, completely unable to synchronize with the mechanical breaths. Your face was a terrifying, dark crimson from the sheer lack of oxygen, and your eyes wide, bloodshot, and completely filled with a primal, suffocating terror were rolling back into your head as you fought for a single scrap of air.
"Y/N! NO! Stop, stop!" Ohyul screamed, his voice dropping into a raw, terrified shriek.
He lunged across the room, throwing his entire upper body over yours to pin your flailing arms down against the sheets before you could accidentally extubate yourself and tear your trachea apart.
"Hold her legs! Get the sedative syringe now!" Ohyul roared at the panicked nurses, his hands desperately grabbing your wrists, forcing them away from your throat.
You thrashed violently beneath him, a muffled, agonizing choked sob escaping around the thick plastic tube in your mouth. Your glassy, terrified eyes locked onto his face, and through the absolute horror of your suffocation, you looked at him with a desperate, pleading agony.
Help me. I can't breathe.
"I've got you, I've got you, look at me!" Ohyul sobbed, his tears instantly spilling over and crashing onto your flushed cheeks as he held you down. He pressed his face close to yours, his chest heaving as he tried to absorb your panic. "Y/n stop fighting it! Breathe with me! Please, God, just stop moving, you're going to kill yourself!"
Your frantic, violent thrashing suddenly began to slow. But it wasn't because the panic was leaving you. It was because your body was completely running out of fuel.
Your hands, which had been clawing so desperately at Ohyul’s wrists, lost their strength. Your fingers slowly uncurled, sliding weakly down his arms before dropping limply onto the white sheets, completely lifeless. Your arched back sank heavily back into the mattress.
"The syringe! Where is the sedative?!" Ohyul screamed, his voice cracking into a jagged, terrified shriek as he looked over his shoulder. "Inject it now! Why aren't you injecting it?!"
"Doctor Kwon..." Hyunjin’s voice broke, her hands trembling so violently she dropped the plastic syringe onto the floor. She wasn't looking at the IV line. She was staring at the monitor above the bed. "Doctor Kwon, look at the screen..."
Ohyul snapped his head around.
The frantic, chaotic jagged lines on the monitor didn't exist anymore. The erratic waves of your failing heart suddenly stretched out, flattening into a single, terrifyingly straight green line.
The high-pitched, continuous alarm of the flatline filled the small room, a cold, unyielding sound that seemed to freeze the very air.
"No," Ohyul whispered. The word was tiny, hollow, completely stripped of the commanding authority of a doctor. "No, no, no. Y/n, look at me. Open your eyes. Look at me!"
He didn't wait for the nurses. He didn't wait for the crash cart. He slammed his palms onto the center of your chest, locking his elbows, and began tearing into chest compressions. The clinical, brutal reality of code blue protocol took over his hands, but his mind was screaming.
One, two, three, four...
"Charge the defibrillator to two hundred!" he roared, his voice breaking into a raw sob as he pumped his weight down onto your fragile sternum. "Get the epinephrine! Push one milligram now! Move!"
The nurses scrambled, tears blinding their eyes as they charged the paddles. Ohyul didn't stop. He kept pushing, his long fingers digging into your gown, his sweat and tears dripping directly onto your pale, unmoving face. Your eyes remained halfway open, glassy, fixed on the ceiling, completely unseeing. The vibrant, fierce girl who had broken his heart just days ago was entirely gone, replaced by a cold, hollow shell.
"Clear!" the resident yelled, placing the paddles on your chest.
Your body jolted violently off the bed as the electricity coursed through you, but the second you settled back into the sheets, the monitor didn't change. It just kept letting out that flat, endless tone.
Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.
"Again! Charge it to three hundred! Push another epi!" Ohyul screamed, his face completely pale, his hands instantly returning to your chest to resume compressions. He was frantic, his sleep deprived muscles burning, his chest heaving as a choked, pathetic sob escaped his throat. "You can't do this, y/n! You can't leave me like this! Fight back! Wake up and hate me, please, just wake up!"
"Doctor Kwon, it's been twenty minutes," the attending physician whispered softly from the doorway, having rushed in from the hall. He reached out, placing a firm, heavy hand on Ohyul’s trembling shoulder. "The blood gases were too low for too long. Her brain went without oxygen during the panic. She’s gone, Ohyul. Call it."
"Get your hands off me!" Ohyul roared, violently throwing the attending’s hand away. He didn't stop pressing down on your chest. He couldn't. Because he knew the exact second he lifted his hands, he was officially letting you die. "She is not dead! I can fix this! I’m the chief resident, I saved her from the trauma surgery, I can save her now!"
One, two, three...
"Ohyul, stop. Look at her," the attending said, his voice dropping into a somber, merciless tone.
Ohyul’s hands faltered. He slowly looked down at your face.
The unnatural flush of the fever was gone, replaced by a terrible, stark waxy gray. Your lips, still taped around the plastic breathing tube, were entirely blue. There was no life left in your skin. No warmth. You were completely, undeniably gone.
His hands slowly slipped off your chest. He stumbled backward a step, his knees hitting the hard plastic stool, causing him to collapse heavily onto it.
The room fell into a horrifying, respectful silence, save for the mechanics of the ventilator still forcing useless air into a body that could no longer use it.
"Time of death... 11:34 PM," the attending whispered quietly into the room.
The nurses slowly stepped away from the bed, bowing their heads. Hyunjin reached over, her eyes streaming with tears, and clicked the power switch off the ventilator. The machine let out one final, long hiss, and then... went dead silent.
Ohyul sat there, paralyzed.
The villain had won his survival, but he had lost his world. He looked at his hands, the hands of a brilliant surgeon, the hands that had successfully repaired shattered skulls and bleeding hearts all week and realized they were completely worthless. They couldn't bring back the only person who mattered.
Slowly, like a man walking toward his own execution, Ohyul leaned forward. He took your cold, limp hand in both of his, burying his face into your palm.
A sound escaped him then. Not a cry, not a sob, but a raw, animalistic howl of pure, agonizing grief that echoed down the sterile, empty hallways of the hospital. He wept, his shoulders violently shaking, his hot tears soaking into your lifeless skin as he begged for a forgiveness that would now never come.
The plastic blinds were open, the city lights outside twinkling in the dark, but for Ohyul, the world had officially gone completely black.
The flatline tone was a solid, unrelenting spike of noise that seemed to drill directly into Ohyul’s skull, but the sudden silence of the ventilator was worse. The machine let out one final, deflating hiss and shut down.
The air in Room 143 instantly went completely dead. Sterile. Empty.
The medical staff slowly backed away, their soft, shuffling footsteps fading out into the corridor until the glass door slid shut with a quiet, definitive click. They left him alone with the wreckage.
Ohyul didn't move from the stool. He couldn't. His body felt as if it had been carved out of stone, heavy and entirely hollowed by a horror so absolute his mind was refusing to process it. He stared at your face. Without the rhythmic forced air from the machine, your chest was completely still. The slight, waxy grayness was already settling into the curves of your cheeks, stealing the last remnants of the girl who, just days ago, had looked at him with so much fierce, beautiful fire.
Slowly, his trembling hand reached out. His fingers were shaking so violently he could barely guide them as he reached for your left hand, resting limply on the white sheets.
The second his palm touched your skin, a harsh, jagged gasp tore out of his throat.
You were cold. Not the shivering, feverish cold from the nights before, but a heavy, unyielding, permanent chill that leaked straight into his bones.
"No... no, please," Ohyul whispered, his voice breaking into a pathetic, high pitched whimper.
He grabbed your hand in both of his, lifting it off the mattress and cradling it against his face. He began to rub his hands frantically over yours, trying to force his own body heat into your lifeless fingers, desperate to chase away the frost of death.
"Y/n, please, just listen to me. Open your eyes. Look at me," he sobbed, his face twisting into a mask of pure, unadulterated agony as the first wave of tears crashed down his cheeks. He pressed his lips flat against the back of your knuckles, holding them there, his hot tears instantly soaking into your skin. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry, baby. Please don't do this."
He pulled your limp hand up, pressing it against his wet cheek, his jaw shaking so badly his teeth clicked together.
"It's all my fault," he choked out, a raw, animalistic sob ripping from his chest, shaking his entire tall frame. "It’s all me. If I hadn't been so disgustingly selfish in high school... if I had just protected you... you never would have been broken. You never would have run away. You wouldn't have been in that car. You wouldn't be on this bed."
He slumped forward, his forehead crashing heavily against the edge of your mattress. He clutched your hand against his chest, right over his beating heart, as if trying to show your silent body how to move again.
"I did this to you," he wept into the sheets, his voice muffled, dripping with an agonizing, suffocating self-hatred.
"I killed you. I was so arrogant, thinking I could play the hero and save you in the OR, but I’m the one who put you there. I’m the monster, y/n. I’m the villain. Why did the universe take you? It should have been me. I should be the one lying there cold. Tear me apart, hate me, scream at me...just please, God, don't leave me alone in this dark. I still want to be with you"
The silence of the room was absolute. Your hand remained heavy and entirely relaxed in his grip, refusing to squeeze back, refusing to offer even a microscopic fraction of comfort to the boy who had ruined everything.
Ohyul lifted his head, his face entirely ruined, swimming in tears, his eyes bloodshot and swollen. He crawled closer, pulling his knees onto the edge of the bed until he could lean directly over your still face.
With trembling, clumsy fingers, he carefully reached up and peeled the heavy medical tape from your face, gently pulling the thick, invasive plastic breathing tube out of your throat. He threw it onto the floor, unable to bear the sight of it ruining your lips anymore.
Once it was gone, he leaned down and pressed his lips to yours.
The kiss was desperate, soft, and completely broken. He kissed your cold, blue-tinted lips once, twice, three times, pouring every ounce of his useless, bleeding soul into the contact. He held his mouth against yours, weeping silently, tasting the salt of his own tears on your skin, praying for a miracle that he knew, scientifically, was impossible.
"I love you," he whispered against your lips, his breath hitching as another massive sob tore through his throat. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his long arms wrapping entirely around your lifeless shoulders, pulling you up against his chest one last time.
"I love you so much, y/n. I’m sorry I was too late. I’m sorry I couldn't save you from myself. I love you so much, my first love"
He rocked your still body in the dim, blue shadows of the room, clutching you like a drowning man clutching stone, completely destroyed by the realization that he would have to live the rest of his life in a world where you no longer breathed.
The darkness of the ICU room bleeds away, replaced by the blinding, hazy sunlight of a late May afternoon four years ago.
Ohyul remembers the exact day the rot in his soul started. It was three weeks before high school graduation. He was sitting at his desk, staring at his phone, watching your name flash across the screen. You were asking if he wanted to get ice cream after academy classes.
He didn't reply. Instead, he typed out a cold, generic lie: Can’t today. My dad wants me to help with clinic inventory.
In reality, his dad wasn't even in the country. In reality, Ohyul was sitting in a crowded café across town, watching Yunah laugh as she slid a piece of cake toward him.
Looking back from the wreckage of the present, Ohyul wants to scream at his past self. He wants to tear that arrogant, eighteen-year-old version of himself to pieces. You and him had been perfect. You were adorable together. The kind of couple everyone envied because you never fought, because his stoic, quiet nature completely softened whenever you laughed. You loved him fiercely, completely, with a naive purity that he took for granted.
But Ohyul had grown bored of perfection. His superficial pride had been flattered by the way Yunah, the popular, wealthy transfer student chased after him. She gave him a dangerous, thrilling validation that your steady, unconditional love didn't. He didn't think about the consequences. He didn't care that he was systematically destroying the only real thing he had. He just kept lying, avoiding your calls, and stepping further into the betrayal.
Then came the afternoon you finally met him behind the old gym, your eyes red and swollen.
"Let's break up, Ohyul," you whispered, your voice trembling as you looked at him, desperately hoping. Begging with your eyes, that he would argue. That he would pull you into his arms and tell you you were being crazy.
Instead, past Ohyul just shoved his hands into his uniform pockets. His face was a mask of cold, untouchable indifference. "Okay," he said flatly. "If that’s what you want."
The sheer frustration and agony that crossed your face in that moment still haunts him.
"Ohyul... you wouldn't fight for me? At all?" your voice cracked, a heavy sob escaping your throat. You stepped forward, grabbing his sleeve, your fingers shaking. "We’ve been together for two years! I gave you everything! And you’re just going to let me walk away without a single word? Did I mean nothing to you?!"
He had looked down at your hands on his uniform, feeling a twisted, defensive surge of irritation because your tears were making him feel guilty. He pulled his arm away.
"You're the one who asked for a break up, and I agreed," he said, his voice dripping with an icy, merciless nonchalance. "I did exactly what you wanted. I let you go. What's the problem here?"
You had stared at him as if he were a stranger, your heart completely shattering right in front of him. You walked away that day, sobbing into your hands, entering a dark tunnel of profound suffering that he completely ignored.
Because the moment the breakup was official, Ohyul went wild with his freedom.
Within days, he began proudly showing Yunah off online. He posted photos of them studying together, photos of her holding his hand, letting the whole school see his "new" girl. He remembers reading the anonymous comments on the school forum, people whispering,
Wow, she’s so much prettier than his ex. She fits him way better.
He had felt a sickening wave of pride reading those words. He had thought to himself, She's not new. You guys just never knew. He had felt entirely untouchable, flaunting his betrayal to the world while you were locked in your room, suffocating in the heartbreak he had casually handed you.
The flashback shatters like glass.
The bright summer sun vanishes, and Ohyul is violently yanked back into the freezing, dim, suffocating reality of ICU Room 143.
The silence is absolute. There is no high school courtyard. There is no arrogant eighteen-year-old boy. There is only a broken, twenty-four-year-old man on his knees, his face buried in the cold, waxy palm of a dead girl.
Ohyul lets out a choked, ragged sob that tears at his throat, his chest heaving so violently he can barely draw air into his own lungs. He looks at your still, peaceful face, the realization hitting him like a physical blow.
He had thought he was being clever back then. He had thought he was winning a game by trading your pure, devoted heart for something shiny and temporary. But the universe had kept receipts. Every tear you shed in high school, every ounce of suffering he had proudly ignored, had accumulated like a debt.
And tonight, the universe had collected that debt in blood.
"I'm sorry..." he screams into your cold palm, his tears wetting your lifeless skin as he rocks your body back and forth in the dark. "I'm so sorry, y/n... I was a fool... I was an absolute monster... Please come back... Please let me fix it..."
But there is no rewind button. There is no going back to the empty classroom or the old gym. The girl who had loved him with everything she had is permanently gone, and Ohyul is left entirely alone in the wreckage of the perfection he chose to destroy.
Three days after the funeral, the hospital room was officially cleared of your name.
Nurse Hyunjin was left with the grim, quiet task of stripping the bare mattress in Room 143. The room felt entirely too large without the heavy hum of the ventilator. As she pulled back the final layer of the white, sterile sheets, her fingers brushed against something thick and paper like stuck beneath the flattened pillow.
She pulled it out. It was a slightly wrinkled white envelope.
Written across the front in your neat, familiar handwriting were the words:
To Doctor Ohyul, from Y/N.
Hyunjin’s breath hitched. She clutched the envelope tightly against her chest and immediately set out to find him.
Ohyul looked like a ghost walking the hospital corridors. He looked infinitely worse than he had on the night you passed away. The dark circles under his eyes were so deep and bruised they looked like black paint against his waxy, pale skin. His uniform was rumpled, his hair unwashed, and his tall frame seemed permanently hunched over, as if he were physically carrying the weight of your coffin on his shoulders. He was trying his absolute best to keep moving, to lose himself in the endless cycle of the ER but everyone could see he was a man running on a dead battery.
"Doctor Kwon," Hyunjin called out softly, intercepting him near the central desk.
Ohyul stopped, his bloodshot eyes slowly tracking over to her. He didn't speak, he didn't have the energy to exchange pleasantries anymore.
Without a word, Hyunjin extended her hand, offering the white envelope. "I found this under her pillow while cleaning the room."
The moment Ohyul’s eyes fell on your handwriting, the professional, stoic mask he had been desperately trying to patch together completely shattered. His hands began to shake so violently he almost dropped his clipboard. He snatched the envelope from her grip, his chest heaving with a sudden, suffocating panic. He didn't say thank you. He couldn't.
He turned on his heel and bolted.
He sprinted past the desk, pushed through the heavy metal fire doors, and collapsed into the dark, cold concrete isolation of the emergency stairwell. He let his back slide down the wall until he was sitting flat on the dirty floor, his knees pulled up to his chest.
With trembling, clumsy fingers, he carefully tore open the top of the envelope, terrified of ripping the paper inside.
As he pulled the lined pages out, something small and glossy slid out from the folds and landed face-down on his lap. He picked it up first.
It was an old, slightly faded Polaroid photo.
Ohyul’s throat let out a sharp, strangled whimper. The picture was from your very first date in high school, four years ago. You were both sitting on a bench at the park, eating melting ice cream cones. You were laughing so hard your eyes were closed, your head leaning heavily against his shoulder, while past Ohyul was looking directly at the camera with a rare, bright, genuine smile. You both looked so young. So safe. So utterly oblivious to the tragedy that was waiting for you in the future.
Hot, heavy tears crashed down Ohyul’s cheeks, blurring his vision as he unfolded your letter.
Hello Doctor Ohyul,
If you're reading this, it means a nurse finally found where I hid it. I’m writing this late at night, listening to the quiet sounds of the hospital. To be completely honest, I miss you so much. I miss you until my chest hurts.
Seeing your face again in the ER after all these years... after how horribly everything ended between us... It proved something to me that I was too proud to admit out loud. It proved that I still love you, Ohyul. Even after the lies, even after Yunah, even after the way you threw me away like I meant nothing. I know I shouldn’t. My friends told me to hate you, and a part of me tried so hard to play the villain and punish you this past month. But the truth is, you were always my favorite person. You were my first love, my only love, and my entire world. How could I ever truly move on from you?
I’m writing this because I feel so guilty about the fight we just had. I'm sorry for pretending I didn't remember you. I'm sorry for lying to your face and making you bleed with my cold words. I shouldn't have lied to you, either. Seeing the agonizing guilt in your eyes every day, seeing how you haven't slept just to take care of me... it breaks my heart. It's all my fault. If I hadn't been so stubborn, if I had just told you the truth from the start, maybe we wouldn't be hurting like this right now.
I always wanted to be the best for you, Ohyul. Even in high school, I tried so hard to be perfect so you would never look at anyone else. I’m sorry I wasn't enough to make you stay back then.
My lungs feel so heavy tonight, and I'm so incredibly tired. But please, promise me you'll take care of yourself. Don't skip meals. Go home and sleep in a real bed. Don't carry the weight of the past by yourself anymore. I forgave you a long time ago, Ohyul. I just wanted to hear you say you were sorry.
Thank you for holding my hand when it got cold. Even if we can never go back to how we were in this photo... I'm glad it was you who looked after me at the end.
Always yours,
Y/N
The letter ended there.
Ohyul let out a raw, violent scream of pure, unadulterated agony that echoed loudly against the concrete walls of the empty stairwell. He buried his face in the pages, crushing the paper against his mouth to smother his desperate, choking sobs.
"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry, y/n..." he wailed into the empty dark, his body shaking so violently his forehead kept hitting his knees. "You were enough... you were always enough... I was the one who was broken..."
The absolute cruelty of your forgiveness was what destroyed him completely. You had died thinking you weren't enough. You had died apologizing to him, the boy who had casually ruined your life for his own superficial pride. You had loved him through the cheating, through the abandonment, and through the amnesia, leaving him behind with a piece of faded film and a heart full of love he no longer had anywhere to give.
He clutched the Polaroid tightly against his chest, right over his violently racing heart, weeping until his lungs burned and his voice went completely hoarse.
The emergency stairs remained freezing and dark, and for Doctor Ohyul, the penance of living without you had officially begun.
THE END. (Prequel here)
— All of these are @ryulcom works, please do not copy, translate or even repost to other platforms. Thank you.
୨𝑒 𑜴ᥲrnings ⋮ MDNI. dead dove, do not eat. yandere!ohyul x reader. written in third person, a heavily unreliable narrator is telling the story between reader (female prons) and ohyul. dark, disturbing, and unsettling atmosphere. stalking, distorted reality and concept of love, delusions, manifesting (in the creepiest sense of the word). unhealthy and toxic relationship behaviors (love bombing, silent treatment, possessiveness, manipulating, lying, calculating, spying, yelling, crying, prohibiting, location sharing, outfit checking etc.), heavy isolation, guilt-tripping, psychological breakdown.
୨𝑒 nᥲrᥲ's note: this is pure fiction, totally unrelated to the artist involved, and doesn’t intend to damage his image by any means. please proceed reading at your own risks! not proofread and kinda rushed ending btw bcs this made me a lil queasy, so sorry this sucks but i gave it my best shot.
◝◜ w/c: 1,6k ᘏᘏ navigation ◝◜ reqd
𓏼𝜗℘
she.
she was mesmerizing, glowing, astonishing.
it was around 9 pm, a warm summer night. he wanted to get a neapolitan ice cream and a soda to watch one piece comfortably until his eyelids closed.
that’s when he first saw her. quick trips to the convenience store had never felt as intriguing as this one. the dim lights, flickering every now and then, made her hair and her foreign eyes look like the brightest beacons in the place.
her, who didn't feel the cold inside the store because the oversized black hoodie hugged her body perfectly, wrapping her up to protect her from the night. when she stepped outside and sweat began to run down her skin, would she take it off?
her, who stood on her tiptoes just to graze a ramen cup on the highest shelf with her fingertips, pushing it into her small basket where some drinks and cookies already sat. why not asking for help?
her, who smiled at the boy behind the counter as soon as he started scanning the things she’d be taking home. she even lowered her head when she reached out to hand over the cash. and her cheeks flushing as she left, struggling to push the glass door that clearly had a "pull" sign on it… why hadn’t she asked him to help?
her, who walked away with the plastic bag in her left hand, unbothered as if the darkness of the sky couldn't hurt her, some podcast or song playing in her ears. where could she be going? what kind of music could she like? what could be her name? how old could she be?
her, so pretty and so innocent. it was a shame he couldn't go back to the convenience store every night to wait for her to walk in and watch her once more, since that would be too stalker-ish, right?
so he left it to fate. which is funny, because he didn’t believe in fate.
he visualized, affirmed, listened to subliminal audios, scripted… he did everything he could for two weeks straight, daydreaming of her scent, so their paths would cross again.
𓏼𝜗℘
on a random tuesday morning, ohyul woke up before the sun did, brushed his teeth, changed into his sweatpants, tied his sneakers, and went out for a run, his water bottle in his right hand, his keys, wallet, and phone in his pockets.
passing through the park, he had to slow his pace at a familiar silhouette in the distance. the figure was heading toward him very slowly, without intention.
was it her? was his manifestation finally coming?
yes, it was her, smiling at her phone. but this early? who, if not him, was stealing smiles from her? or maybe she just saw a very funny meme. or talking to a cousin.
yeah, surely it was that.
hopefully, one day, a woman like her would set her gaze on him. hopefully reality wouldn't play a trick on him, and his manifestation would fully come true soon.
two minutes passed. and the universe granted a heart’s pure wish. her, so enchanting, approached him as if she had something very revealing to tell. though he wouldn't mind if it was just to ask for the time or directions. he needed to hear her voice one more time to remember it better at night when he was alone.
to his surprise, she told him she knew him. that they graduated from the same school, that she was in a different class, that he was like a legend there.
he played dumb, acting as if he didn't recognize her from anywhere: not from school, and certainly not from the convenience store. then he asked for her name, to see if he had heard it from any of his classmates, but in fact, he had no clue. he waved politely at her, and they both went their separate ways.
how that bullshit worked is a mystery to all of us— not to him. now, with her name, he was the happiest man on earth as he headed back home. he didn't even finish the kilometers he aimed to run; he simply went home doing little jumps to look her name up on instagram, on tiktok, on x, on pinterest, on tumblr, on wattpad... everywhere he could think of just to gather tiny pieces of information on who she was.
but he fell in love just like that. seeing her pictures in places she liked, videos lip-syncing to royal 44’s songs, selfies with messy hair and bare face... oh, and based on one of her X reposts from two months ago, she is single! what a win, isn’t it?
𓏼𝜗℘
she.
she was finally his.
that one tuesday night, he was courageous enough to send a request on instagram. he let the weeks go by after she followed back, occasionally dropping a like to her stories, occasionally going to the convenience store for no reason with an enormous hope to run into her.
he needed her to think that this was all casual and unplanned, flowing naturally, taking both of them by surprise.
that was four months ago. now it’s october. the temperature has lowered and so his obsession with her now that he had finally asked her to be his, and oh, she said yes.
poor her. she didn’t know she actually had no other choice. thankfully, he didn’t say something so wrong for her to find that out this early…
but hey, he was a good man. posted her all over his social media, gave her flowers just for existing, praised her even on the good morning texts, planned dates, wrote poems and letters, held her hand everywhere they’d go, paid for her stuff, and all the meals they enjoyed together… all that he did before, was for love.
for her to be this loved. because no one else would love her this much. and if someone dared… let’s not think about it. if he can’t have her, no one should. then, no one will. oh, what he could be capable of. what wouldn’t he do?
it’s not worth overthinking. she was happy. that’s all that matters. she had no complaints. she was satisfied. her smile was proof. the fact that she hadn’t run away (yet) was enough proof.
𓏼𝜗℘
she.
she was starting to annoy him.
she was too loud sometimes with her opinions. and hung out with her besties every saturday night, without him. what if she was laughing at other males’ jokes? why did she have the audacity to live her life away from him?
the requests for her pin to track her location in case something happened started to feel more like a demand instead of a protective measure, just like the constant outfit checking before clubbing, which now took part even for cafe dates with her family. if the skirt was too short? off. if the neckline showed too much skin? off. if the dress was red? don’t even think about it.
all the love was turning into a ledger. the price of the flowers was her sns passwords. the price of the meals were pictures and calls to see who she was with. after all, he was the one who made this happen; he was the one who got his hands dirty to bring them together.
he was responsible for her happiness. so she owed him big time. and she was… trying to detach from him? how ungrateful and bratty.
and then she’d start crying like a baby when he wouldn’t answer her calls and ignored her once she was back home. as if she didn’t earn it… she didn’t seem to like having what she really deserved sometimes.
but hey, easy. that was just sometimes.
because then all the guilt would hit him right in his pretty face and eat all his cells to the core. he knew what he was doing. he knew he wasn’t supposed to. he just couldn’t do better.
he didn’t even know what to do with his life. for the past nine months, he had been living just for her. if she ever left… what would he live for if not trying to get her back?
he couldn’t afford to lose her, so he would apologize every time.
and since his apologies were so sincere, so heartfelt, so genuine… how could she not forgive him? the only thing he was doing was taking good care of her.
and then go back to the start. there’s no end to this. no start either. just a loop.
if only she left… poor her.
she was so in love to notice that being in love with him was all his fault too.
𓏼𝜗℘
she.
she was too much for him.
she'd take all the raises in his voice without trying to fight back.
she stopped going out all saturdays.
she threw all the clothes he didn't like.
she gave up on all her passwords.
she deserved better than him. and he knew it, though she didn't.
so after a year together he opened her cage for her to be free, on a random tuesday.
no one saw it coming, right? because not even he did. he just woke up to that and decided to listen to his mind.
as mentioned earlier, it's always on a random tuesday...
she told him to think about it better. that they could work it out... anyway, begging for her own imprisonment and all that stuff.
but he knew they couldn't. he knew he couldn't.
this was his nature. no amount of love could change that.
and he feared if one day he got too jealous then he'd…
let's not dive into that. some thoughts are better left unscripted.
but this was the right choice. breaking up and leaving her to die alone.
on this random tuesday. to commemorate where it all started...
he knew she wouldn't die from love. he knew that she would make it and continue growing happier. healthier. stronger.
genre. one shot, angst, slow burn, fluff, cold ohyul, jealous ohyul, protective ohyul, masked ohyul, strangers to lovers.
warnings. mention of killing
notes. song recommendations ! golden brown by the stranglers – army dreamers by kate bush
you were lying on your stomach on your bed, a book in hand that was supposed to be interesting, but that you found unbearably boring. it was quite ironic, for it had taken you weeks of begging the king – your father – to order his most loyal guards to search far and wide to obtain it for you.
you could hear the birds singing through your window. some nightingales did not hesitate to slip through the small opening you had left to let the air in, coming to lull your ears with their song.
you had been named princess of the kingdom, and the dream life your protective father had promised you turned out to be entirely false. you had become a princess and yet, you had a list as long as your chamber of prohibitions that you were forced to follow strictly, otherwise you would be reprimanded.
forbidden to leave the castle without armed escort, to open doors yourself to strangers, to approach certain towers or abandoned wings, to leave the royal grounds without the king’s permission, to choose your own acquaintances, let alone form romantic attachments, to enter the secret library where the family archives were sealed, and the list was still very long.
since your mother’s passing, you were living through a true ordeal. your father had completely withdrawn into himself, guilt and grief slowly consuming him.
you knew it because you had broken one of the most important rules: not leaving your chamber at a certain hour. you had done it, you had taken a candle and walked down the freezing stairs barefoot, making sure not to make any sound while crossing the entire castle, only to see him in tears as he emptied your alcohol cabinet into your late mother’s old tableware.
that night, when you returned to your chamber, you had not been able to sleep at all.
someone knocked softly at the door, uncertain whether you were awake or not. it could only be rosa, your maid.
she had served the king since your birth and you shared a very particular bond with her, one that had only grown stronger after your mother’s passing.
“lady y/n ? are you awake ?”
“yes rosa, you may come in.” you placed your book not far from you and sat up on your bed.
rosa opened the door and you caught sight of her silhouette in the doorway, your breakfast tray in her hands. she gave you a gentle, almost maternal smile, which you returned.
“i have brought your breakfast, my lady. your father has also ordered me to inform you that he is waiting for you in the main hall, it would seem he is accompanied by a guest… it would be best if you dressed quickly so as not to keep him waiting.”
“a guest ? it has been months since we received anyone at the castle. what did he look like ?” you asked, intrigued and excited at the same time to see a new face.
“i knew you would ask me that, my lady. unfortunately i could not see anything, he was wearing armor.” she placed the tray on your bedside table before raising her arms, frustrated that she could not give you the information she herself would have wished to know.
“i suppose i shall have to discover it myself… thank you rosa, i will eat later. i must prepare quickly or father will scold me again.”
the maid nodded before closing the door. you opened your wardrobe in order to choose a gown. you chose the dress from your coronation, a white gown sewn by hand, adorned with golden details and patterns carefully embroidered into the fabric. you put on a modest pair of heels, along with your diamond crown, before hurrying to your vanity.
sometimes, when your gaze lingered on your reflection, you had the impression that all of this was false, that you were not the guardian of your own soul and that one day you would wake up in the body of an ordinary peasant. but that day never came. you were y/n, daughter of the king and of the former queen of scotland. you were the only child, the one who would have to carry on the lineage.
once everything was in place, you left your room. it took you nearly ten minutes on foot – which said much about the immense size of the castle in which you lived – before you finally reached the main hall.
on each side stood two lines of guards facing one another. at the end of the corridor they formed, your father stood beside the guest. rosa had not lied, the guest was dressed in silver armor, his closed helmet concealing his face. the only thing you could tell was that he was much taller than you.
you walked toward your father under the gaze of the other knights.
“good morning, father.” you bowed before him, glancing briefly at the guest, not even knowing if he was looking at you beneath his helmet.
“good morning, my daughter. today, we welcome an important guest.”
he paused before turning slightly toward the tall man at his side.
“i present to you knight kwon ohyul, formerly in service of the corenthien king, who from this day forth shall become your appointed protector, with the agreement of his kingdom, sealed by the alliance that binds us. to belong to the royal lineage requires many sacrifices, as well as a succession of duties, as you already know. it is now time for you to learn to stand on your own. i can no longer protect you as I once did… ohyul shall do so in my stead. he will accompany you on missions whenever you are required to leave the kingdom.”
the silence was such that your father’s words echoed through the hall. one could almost hear your breathing grow unsteady.
you did not understand why your father had chosen a knight from another kingdom, it was not as though guards were lacking in the castle. they were present everywhere, in every possible corner.
“does this mean i shall soon have to leave the kingdom, father ?”
“i do not know yet, but i am inclined to believe so. you must prepare yourself for the outside world, y/n.”
you nodded, lowering your gaze slightly.
“ohyul, would you escort my daughter back to her chamber ?” asked your father – but it was more of an order than anything else, coming from a king to his knight.
“yes, your majesty.”
a deep voice reached your ears, followed by the metallic sound of his sword as he adjusted it against his armor.
you both left the hall, you walking ahead and him following closely behind, like a shadow that refused to leave your side. his presence felt almost unnecessary, and you could not help but think that your father was abusing his authority.
ohyul was not only your appointed protector, you were convinced that your father had engaged him because he no longer had the time to watch over you as he had when you were younger.
it was his way of making you believe that you were about to bear great responsibilities and that you absolutely needed someone to defend you, when in truth – it was not so, at least, that was what you believed deep down.
you went up the stairs, walked through corridors, opened doors, observed the paintings in each room before finally arriving in front of your chamber. your appointed knight had hardly spoken a word, and you had done nothing to break the silence either.
you had not even been given the opportunity to introduce yourself to him, and neither had he, since your father had done all the speaking.
you opened your door and turned back before murmuring a “thank you”, to which he did not bother to respond. you cast him one last glance before closing the door, yet you could feel ohyul standing still in front of your chamber, his posture straight, watching over your every move without fail.
the hours passed, you had finished the breakfast brought by Rosa earlier that morning and you had remained in your chamber for one hour, two hours, three hours.
through your window, you could observe the blooming garden stretching across several hectares. there was a corner where tall bushes formed a labyrinth, your father used to take you there often when you were little, you loved getting lost within it, running headlong while he tried to catch you, in vain.
night had fallen, revealing a sky covered in small stars. ohyul, under the king’s orders, remained motionless in front of your door, even if you could not hear a single sound, you could feel his presence.
you decided to open the wooden door, it echoed through the long corridor. you almost let out a cry at the sight of his dark silhouette, his armor was very imposing and almost frightened you, especially at night.
as you had expected, not a single word left his lips.
you slowly approached him with a mischievous look and stood on the tips of your toes in order to reach his face. you could feel his breath through the small openings in his helmet.
“i wish to take a walk, ohyul.” you whispered near where you assumed his ear to be, still standing on your toes.
he shook his head from right to left, indicating a firm refusal.
“i am princess y/n, daughter of the king and the queen of scotland, as my father has surely told you. i said that i wish to take a walk. you cannot go against my will.”
“this request goes against the rules his majesty, your father, has given me upon my arrival.” he replied coldly, anchoring his dark gaze into yours. it was the first time your eyes truly met, you had not noticed it.
“yet the word of a newly crowned princess is worth just as much as that of a king. you are my appointed guard, i am in no danger. we would only go to the garden.”
“and if I chose not to fulfill my duty and left you alone in the face of danger ?”
“i do not know what my father has told you, but i do not need you. i am capable of managing on my own, ohyul.”
“your father did not inform me that he had given life to a capricious and arrogant princess, taking every opportunity to break the very rules he himself established within his own castle.”
“not everything is meant to be said.” you rolled your eyes.
you closed your chamber door and began walking along the corridor. ohyul followed you, sword in hand, a faint smile on his lips, satisfied by your audacious nature.
he did not stop you, for you were right, he had nothing to say, he was bound to the commands of the royal family, and if by misfortune anything were to happen to you, it would be his duty to protect you.
you led him toward a secret passage, which led directly to the garden. the path was almost inaccessible, the overgrown weeds reaching nearly half your height, this part of the castle had been completely left in ruins.
ohyul moved in front of you and, with a swift motion, cut down the weeds that blocked your way with his sword, clearing the path for you.
you continued your way toward the very labyrinth you had cherished during your youth. you removed your chamber shoes and began to run in order to escape ohyul, a playful expression on your face. you knew this labyrinth by heart from having observed it so often from the top of your tower, so you took advantage of it to lose him.
“princess y/n !” he put his sword back behind his armor before starting to run after you, but you had already slipped between the bushes.
the sounds of animals and creatures of the night blended with the sound of your footsteps, at times you felt as though he was right behind you, at others his footsteps seemed distant.
your little game lasted for about ten minutes before you took a turn and your head collided straight into his armor.
he grabbed your arms with a firm hand to prevent you from escaping him once again. you lifted your head, your face flushed, your hair completely disheveled and your breathing uneven.
ohyul had only one desire, to scold you and lecture you, but he chose to lock his gaze into yours once more. you understood that your knight was not the playful kind.
“this is where i used to play with mother and father… before she passed.” you explained, trying to justify the childish side of you that sometimes resurfaced.
“as long as you are under my protection, i ask you to not move away from me as you have just done.”
ohyul released his hold on you gently. the moonlight struck his armor, making it almost painful to look at from how brightly the metal reflected the light. you could not help but wonder what kind of face was hidden behind that helmet.
“why do you not remove your helmet ?” your delicate fingers came to rest against it. you traced every detail with unmatched softness. ohyul did not move, but his heart was beating fast.
“his majesty the king has ordered me to keep it on at all times.”
“and i order you to remove it. now.”
“it would not be wise…” he murmured, his cheeks slightly flushed.
at the very moment you were about to lift the helmet with ohyul’s consent, you noticed a point of light, most likely from a lantern not far from the garden, drawing dangerously closer to the labyrinth.
your father ordered the guards to patrol the garden, the forest and the castle every evening.
“we should return to my chamber. the guards have begun their rounds. follow me, i know this labyrinth by heart.”
you began to run toward the castle, followed by your protective knight. with remarkable discretion, you reached your chamber in record time, without raising any suspicion.
“are you not going to rest ?”
“i must watch over you, in case you decide to run out of your chamber as you did earlier.” he replied in a neutral tone, which amused you.
“i am more clever than you might think.”
it felt good to escape and break the rules for once, even if ohyul was not particularly talkative. you remained confined in your chamber constantly, and on top of that, your father had forbidden you from making friends.
the only people you spent time with were your maid rosa and certain members of your family during important banquets. you finally felt alive, if only for an evening, even if it was a short one.
you were about to close the door, but deep down, you did not wish to go to sleep, so you delayed the moment for as long as possible before finally retiring, leaving ohyul in the dim corridor, barely lit by a candle set into the wall.
a few weeks passed and you had grown accustomed to the presence of your appointed knight, he too, even if he did not express it in the same way. he accompanied you everywhere, under your father’s approval, feeding the horses, reading books in the castle library.
your father had begun to grow more lenient with certain rules. indeed, over time, the king had carefully observed ohyul and had come to the conclusion that he posed no danger to you nor to him. he trusted him entirely, which had a great impact on your freedom, something you had regained, much to your delight.
in two weeks, you had still not discovered the face of your protector. the more you grew attached to him, the more the desire to remove his helmet echoed in your mind and fortunately – or unfortunately for him – you were not willing to give up.
you had dressed and styled your hair in a humble manner. your father had an announcement of the utmost importance to deliver to you, rosa had told you herself, as she did every morning while bringing your breakfast.
ohyul was not present in front of your door, much to your surprise. he was most likely with your father or on a mission with the other guards, you assumed.
you made your way to the kitchen accompanied by rosa, where you could see all the dishes carefully laid out, along with an incalculable number of ingredients scattered everywhere; fresh vegetables from the market, fresh meat hunted early that morning judging by the deep red color of the flesh.
“good morning, father. what are we going to do with all this food ? we could feed an entire kingdom with it.” you could not take your eyes off the abundance before you.
your father approached you and offered you a warm smile.
“good morning, my dear daughter.” he placed a kiss upon your forehead while taking both of your hands. “we are hosting a ball this evening in honor of the arrival of king edward, queen margareth, and their son, prince alistair, who has recently been crowned just as you have. we shall also welcome members of both our families. do you already possess the attire required, my daughter ? or shall i ask rosa to place an order with the tailor ?”
“i thank you, father, but everything is already prepared. however, allow me to ask… i know king edward and queen margareth, as well as their son. from which kingdom do they come ?”
“they rule over the kingdom of england.”
the king, your father, paused briefly, as though weighing his words.
“our relations have long been complex. but times are changing, and this alliance must be maintained. their presence this evening is proof of that. as for their son, alistair, he has only just been crowned. a meeting between you was therefore inevitable.”
you knew your father, you knew he had not arranged this ball without ulterior motives. perhaps he wished to marry you to prince alistair ? at the mere thought, a feeling of discomfort spread through your body.
“i understand better.” your hands slipped away from the king’s. “father, where is ohyul ?”
“i sent him to ride around the estate in order to identify any potential dangers. he should not be long. why ? do you require an escort somewhere ?”
you shook your head, offering a faint smile. he was not far, and that reassured you.
“no, i was just curious… i shall return to my chamber, father, i will begin to prepare my attire for this evening.”
you returned to your chamber and to your great surprise, ohyul stood motionless in the corridor. at the sound of your footsteps, he, who had been leaning slightly against the wall, straightened at once.
you quickened your pace, a wide smile upon your lips.
“ohyul, i’ve been looking for you ! my father is organizing a ball tonight with king edward, queen margareth, as well as prince alistair. there will be so much food, and then… there will be classical music, and it will be a wonderful evening !”
you took his hands and began to spin around him, looking delighted.
one detail – just one – had caught the attention of your personal guard, who, as usual, seemed to pay very little attention to whatever you told him.
“prince alistair ?” he repeated while fixing you with an intense stare.
“yes. father told me he has just been crowned, like me, and that this meeting is meant to be unavoidable. i must find a beautiful outfit, the most beautiful of all. please help me.”
“why should I help you ?”
“do not make me remind you of your duties as my sworn knight.”
you forced him toward your bedroom, but he did not take a single step to follow you. you tried in vain to push him – no effect at all.
ohyul was much taller than you, and his armor made him even heavier, so whenever he decided to disobey, you had no real hold over him.
“i am not allowed to enter here. the king was very clear about that.”
“he won’t know. i need an objective opinion to choose my outfit.” you replied, trying to give him your best pleading look, which failed completely.
“do we even speak the same language, you and i ?”
“i believe we do.”
“then what part of ‘i cannot enter’ did you not understand ? and you could always ask Rosa instead.”
“no, it is not the same. you are a man. i want you to see it through prince alistair’s eyes.”
behind his helmet, ohyul frowned so deeply it look like it could have carved lines into his forehead despite his young age.
he despised this hierarchy with every part of his being, the inability to speak his mind freely, the constant need to keep his head down.
the idea of you getting closer to the prince did not please him in the slightest. even if he was not used to openly expressing what he felt, he would certainly not choose his words carefully today.
“please stop comparing me to that prince. he and I have nothing in common.” he replied sharply before entering your room of his own accord.
“would you not happen to be jealous of dear alistair, by any chance ?”
you watched him step inside your bedroom and sit on your bed, a wide smile stretched across your face, happy that your exchanges were finally gaining some momentum.
“i have nothing to envy him for.”
“why are you speaking to me like that ?”
“please hurry up, i do not have all day.” he said, attempting to dodge your question about his sudden change in attitude.
“be careful with the language you use toward me.”
“and if i am not ? would you have the courage to dismiss me ?”
you did not answer and raised a brow, grumbling inwardly. he knew it – and you knew it – you would never dare complain to your father. ohyul was part of your routine now.
with a delicate movement, you began to slip off the straps of your dressing gown. the fabric slid slowly down your skin before pooling at your feet, revealing your lace lingerie soft powder-pink bra and matching panties.
from the mirror, you could see ohyul watching you. his eyes were fixed on you, and he did not look away for a single second, taking in every curve of your body as though his gaze had turned into a scanner.
unlike him, who had suddenly grown more confident, all the boldness you had managed to gather over the past weeks evaporated in a fraction of a second.
you walked toward your wardrobe, sliding hangers one by one along the rail, murmuring inaudible comments, when you felt a presence position itself behind you.
you froze instantly and turned around, only to find yourself face to face with ohyul’s chest.
“what are you doing ?” you asked, barely daring to lift your eyes to meet him.
with a gentle, almost instinctive motion, he took your chin between his fingers. the contact of your skin against the cold enamel of his armor sent a subtle shiver through you. he made you look up at him.
“why are you embarrassed ? i thought we had already learned enough about each other by now.”
“i am not.” you shot back, looking away but each time he guided your chin back toward him.
“liar.”
he bent down slightly so your heads were level. he leaned in, and your eyes intertwined.
“you did not answer me earlier. would you dare complain about me to your father, to have me sent back to my kingdom ?”
you remained silent while ohyul continued to close the distance between you. you were only a few millimetres apart now, your nose brushed against his helmet, and the scent of metal filled the small space between you.
your body was caught in a tension you had never felt before. your eyelids began to lower, and you stopped paying attention to his armor altogether. your mind imagined a man standing in front of you – dark hair, raven-black eyes, a gentle, almost angelic face.
you froze, as if preparing for a possible kiss from your knight.
ohyul watched you with a faint smirk, then stepped back after seeing your vulnerability.
“i think i have my answer,” his rough voice snapped you out of your little dream.
you opened your eyes, completely flushed and flustered.
ohyul had already rushed out of your room, satisfied with the little game he had started after you had pressured him about prince alistair.
now he was certain of one thing, he had absolutely nothing to envy in that prince.
you were near the buffet, picking at a few starters, watching the crowd of people chatting amongst themselves. your father was speaking with cousins and elders of the family lineage.
guards were stationed at every entrance leading into the grand ballroom, ready to draw their swords in case of any breach within the castle.
soft melodies from tchaikovsky’s waltz of the flowers echoed through the vast hall and into your ears, sometimes forcing guests to lean closer to one another just to properly hear each other properly.
you were dressed in an emerald gown with a long train – one your father had likely paid a fortune for – which had earned you a hundred compliments in just a few minutes from various guests.
you had met the king and queen of england as well as their son, the prince. the conversations had revolved around your respective coronations, life as young royals, and various past conflicts with other kingdoms.
it did not interest you, so you had pretended to step away, promising to return, but it had already been a good ten minutes since you broke that promise.
you looked away and noticed a tall figure dressed in a shimmering suit, the same shade as your dress, approaching you. the prince had made his way through the crowd and found you.
“well… are our conversations not of interest to you ?” he asked, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, already knowing the answer you were thinking but would not admit.
“of course they are, but…”
“i assure you, there is no need to lie about it. i understand you. i would probably be better off in my room as well.”
you lowered your head slightly and returned a shy but sincere smile.
in truth, you also dreamed of returning to your room and locking yourself away until dawn. but it was impossible, you were stuck here for an indefinite amount of time. your father had gone through great effort for this evening; it was out of the question to leave, even for the smallest fraction of a second.
“thank you,” you said softly. “thank you for understanding.”
“we can agree on one thing, your father certainly went all out. do you know everyone here ?”
the prince shifted beside you, leaning lightly against the buffet table in a relaxed posture. it was his way of putting you at ease, and perhaps showing you that with him, there was no need to be overly formal or rigid.
“not really. some of them have been present since my birth, and yet i swear i have never seen them before…”
“that is strange, though i do not recall ever seeing you in my life either.”
“my father is quite strict. i rarely leave the kingdom,” you admitted, which did not fail to make the prince laugh.
he took a glass of champagne from the buffet table. you watched each of his movements, elegant yet effortless. the way he held his glass left no doubt, even if the prince had adopted a relaxed demeanor earlier to earn your trust, the king and queen had clearly instilled discipline and manners in him, and it showed in his aura.
“that is surprising. and you have never thought of rebelling ?”
you stepped closer to him and placed a hand on the back of his neck, gently pressing so he would lean down slightly to your level.
“if i told you, how do i know you would not repeat it to my father ?” you whispered.
and the two of you laughed together, as if you had always known each other.
on his side, ohyul was still standing guard at the castle’s main gates. at times, he watched the moon spilling its light over the castle and the surrounding grounds, or the bridge in front of him that led toward a vast forest and beyond that, his former kingdom.
a guard eventually approached him to take over his shift, pulling him abruptly out of his drifting thoughts.
he made his way back toward the main hall, now alive with music and movement, and was immediately faced with a vast crowd. taking position in a corner of the room, he spotted you.
you were in your emerald gown, accompanied by alistair, both of you dancing to the rhythm of the classical music. your hands were intertwined, your steps perfectly synchronized, and every gaze in the room was drawn to you.
even though everyone had their own partner, no pair could rival yours. there was a real chemistry between you, ohyul had recognized it instantly.
his brows furrowed behind his helmet. the only thing he could do was clench his fists or try to look away to calm himself, but his eyes, like everyone else’s in the room, refused to be spared.
he was fixated on this perfectly executed dance, as though he had just been forced to witness something intimate being taken from him.
you did not spare him a single glance. your thoughts were occupied by the prince, and truthfully, you had not once questioned your knight’s presence.
after long minutes of graceful dancing, the music began to fade, signaling the end of your first dance. only then, over the prince’s shoulder, did you see him standing still.
you could feel ohyul’s eyes locked onto you.
you did not know exactly when he had arrived or how long he had been there, but clearly long enough to decide to leave on his own, his mind completely eaten away by jealousy and frustration at having been unable to intervene.
you bowed politely to the prince to thank him. he tried to hold you back by the arm, but you broke free from his grip with a firm motion before rushing toward one of the exits to follow your knight, under the surprised gaze of alistair and several guests who had witnessed the scene.
you tried to catch up to him. you had even taken off your shoes and gathered your dress in one hand to avoid falling, but ohyul managed to keep his distance.
despite your calls, your knight, who was meant to obey you, did not answer.
you had reached the top of the castle, near the bell tower. the wind lifted your carefully styled hair, but you did not slow down.
ohyul still kept that unbearable distance between you, as though he were running away from you.
he had reached the edge of a narrow balcony, still turned away from you, gazing at the landscape stretching out before him from the height of the tower. the ancient balustrade looked far too fragile to support anything, and yet it was there that he had chosen to stand.
the vast, endless sky unfolded above you. the radiant moon bathed ohyul in a pale light, making the reflections on his armor shimmer and emphasizing the cold distance he was placing between you.
the wind whistled softly between the stone columns, lifting your dress slightly as you approached cautiously, like a child who had done something wrong.
when you tried to place a hand on him, he turned as if he had predicted your movement and grabbed your wrist, immediately breaking the contact you had tried to create.
“ohyul…?”
“do not touch me.”
“why are you so upset ?”
he released your grip and stared down at the ground in silence. you took the opportunity to lift his head with the tips of your fingers.
“you should return to the prince and the guests. you are expected.”
“so that is why you left ? seeing me with the prince puts you in such a state ?”
“stop playing. this is not a game.”
“we are past the age of being childish fools. my father has always told me—”
ohyul cut you off sharply, his voice suddenly authoritative.
“do you truly want to know what is wrong with me ?!”
he stepped closer, but you backed away, horrified to see him losing control, him, who was usually so calm.
“i am not who you think i am. i never wanted to be here ! i was forced into this under threat of imprisonment. your father forbade me from forming any bond with you because i am a murderer.”
he paused. his breathing steadied, as did his anger.
“there was a knight… who did terrible things, but the king appointed him as his sworn protector. he trusted him greatly. unfortunately, i could not allow him to continue what he was doing, so i killed him one night while we were both on duty at the same post. that is why your father strictly forbade me from removing my helmet. he did not want you to be confronted with the face of a man capable of killing in cold blood or to be reminded that such a man stands at your side.”
you stood frozen, speechless in front of ohyul’s confession.
a flood of questions rushed through your mind, yet no sound left your lips. you felt betrayed, angry that he had not told you sooner, but a part of you also understood his suffering and the obligations weighing on him, under the threat of your father’s punishment.
he had already revealed what he had done. so revealing who he was now felt like the least of his confessions.
ohyul took a deep breath, a shiver running through his body. he knew what he was about to do marked a point of no return, but he had nothing left to lose.
slowly, almost reluctantly, he raised his hand towards his helmet.
“look at me.”
you heart skipped a beat.
and, in a slow motion, he removed it.
moonlight slid across his face like a revelation. everything you had imagined – and secretly hoped for without ever daring to admit it – was there, and even more beautiful than you could have expected.
his features were hauntingly harmonious, almost unreal. his eyes, the only part of him you had ever seen through the helmet, were dark and tired, carrying a weight you could never fully understand.
ohyul looked like an angel. and you could not believe that the man in front of you had committed a murder in his former kingdom. it felt unreal, impossible.
“ohyul… i… i do not know what to think.”
he placed his hands at your waist and gently pulled you closer. his medium-length dark hair was slightly damp, falling softly over his eyes.
you blushed. a wave of warmth flooded your body. your exchanges had been brief, but you both knew deep down that your desire was mutual.
he lowered his head slightly before pressing his lips against yours.
a kiss that had started soft quickly turned into something more intense, sensual, tormented. you placed your hands behind his neck, deepening it. you wanted to give yourself completely to him, but it was impossible, so you simply made the moment last.
your fingers tangled in his raven-black hair, and he did not hesitate to trail kisses down your neck before returning to your lips.
your mouths eventually separated, and your eyes devoured each other without noticing that prince alistair stood a little further away, watching the scene unfold.
he had spent the rest of the evening searching for you throughout the castle until he found you there, near the bell, on that balcony.
the prince, burning with jealousy, tried to maintain composure by adjusting imaginary folds in his shimmering suit.
you saw ohyul’s gaze shift slightly. his dark eyes were now fixed on something – or someone – behind you. you turned and saw the prince behind a half-collapsed ivy-covered column.
you gave ohyul one last look as your sworn knight began to put his grey chrome helmet back on.
“my apologies.”
ohyul bowed to you and watched your silhouette fade into the distance as you returned to the prince’s side.
after that ball, you never saw your knight again.
he remained nowhere to be found within the castle. despite your minimal attempts to search and the information you tried to gather from court ladies, none of them seemed to know anything – or if they did, they said nothing. one thing was certain, ohyul had become a taboo subject within the castle.
even your father, the king, assigned you a new knight without explaining such a sudden change.
what you did not know was that prince alistair had, of course, gone to the king the very next day after your kiss with ohyul, reporting your obvious closeness and what he had witnessed. his pride had driven him to hurt you, how could a princess prefer a simple knight over him ? he thought.
ohyul had broken the oath he had sworn to the king – not to reveal himself, and not to develop feelings for his only daughter, the royal princess.
however, you had not lost hope. you tried to contact him despite your father’s strict prohibition. you did not care. ohyul was your first love, and you did everything in your power to see him again, even if it meant turning your back on your family.
you believed that the tears you shed every night while watching the stars would eventually be answered.
every day, you sent a new letter to every nearby kingdom, expressing your love for him and how unbearable your days had become without his presence, hoping one day to wake up to a reply, but nothing ever came.
rosa, your maid, bore witness to your sorrow and shared it with you.
ohyul had completely disappeared, and you were forced to live on, with only the memories of your time in the castle – and the angelic face you would most likely never see again.
𝜗𝜚 ── ⊹ ‧₊˚ throughout warring pain and choices that you make, i would stay, all the way.
SYNOPSIS — despite the many situations that lead to harmful effects in your relationship, he'll always stay and try for you, even if it was your fault.
REQUESTED 𐙚˚ 06' ohyul x f!reader — angst, mentions of arguing, semi-unhealthy relationship, reader might be perceived as immature, mutual heartbreak, short fic
( @ NESS ) — anon you knew what you were doing with this.. everyone knows i have an addiction of writing for angst.. first lngshot angst fic! and ohyul is the culprit. ⤼ yuesning's projects!
♪.𖥔 ݁ ˖ — "when you need me" by avenoir
YOUR RELATIONSHIP wasn't toxic at all, infact it was healthy — according to you. you guys shared love, you guys catered each other whenever one needed it, it wasn't an act.
but some people might disagree; you guys fought constantly, you were seen crying majority of the time, he was seen as distressed almost everyday — it was tiring to see it.
people saw it, people saw the truth right through the actions of love, they saw how fake the laughs were, it didn't fly through their heads, they understood everything even with no words being spoken.
it wasn't something that happened on purpose, couples fight. everyone acts differently in a situation; whether it's mature or immature enough.
but whenever the two of you fought, it wasn't just make up, it was silent treatment — for weeks. no phone calls, the last text message that was sent, was always left on seen. nobody spoke to each other, nobody spoke of each other.
whenever they saw the angst right through you and ohyul, nobody asked questions. they knew how mentally deep it effected you both, and they knew eventually what would happen.
everyone had their doubts. how would the relationship manage if they saw the shared love upon you guys once a month? how is it going to survive if ohyul chases you every, single, time and yet you don't respond.
he doesn't chase you physically; he gives you space even if it's your fault, he's always the first one to say "i'm sorry" even if you had started the altercation, he's the one that always gives you a kiss before leaving your house, although you're visibly upset.
he chases you mentally, you never leave his mind. he speaks upon actions, begging you to come back, hoping you can understand him from a mile away through a connection.
he'd send you flowers along to your doorstep, with a letter attached to it — it wasn't a long letter, it was always a "i'm sorry, i love you please come back to me". a sentence with pure meaning, a meaning from the deepest spot of his heart.
he'd make sure to come by every afternoon to see if you had picked up the flowers. sometimes it would linger on your doorstep, the petals falling off, as well as the stems getting droopy. all due to its time being left on your front doorstep.
he wasn't mad at you for not picking up the flowers. he just hopes one day you can find your way towards him once again.
he screams for your affection, he misses the smile you always give him — the smile that never left your cheeks, the one that showed pure joy. he misses your small touches, the way you'd grab onto his forearm out of boredem. he hates how easily all of that can go away seconds later, just by one notice.
you weren't selfish. you felt bad through the heart, your heart cracked after every step ohyul would take after the burst. you broke down almost every night, seeping with regret.
you wanted to find your way back to him. just to see the happy in your relationship come back, replacing all the negatives your own relationship has had.
but everyone is different towards a situation, in any moment in time. the pure, genuine, love shadows through the toxicity.
just by a slight spark of discoloration, ohyul's friends knew the real deal. the glow that he had from the day before, disappeared, getting replaced with obvious tiredness — though the tiredness of being sleep deprived of heartbreak.
he made an effort of speaking up, he tried to conceal his despair through laughing at jokes that were made, barging into conversations like it was just any other hangout. he acted like himself, but there was always something missing, and that was the usual light on his face, and the unusual silence of your presence effecting him.
even when his friends invite you alongside to a hangout not knowing an event had sparked hours prior, you still made it and ohyul still made it an effort just to even have you around, taking in the opportunity.
you also tried your best, staying by ohyuls side, lingering by his slight touches. you tried to focus on his friends, just to relive yourself from the attachment of sadness you're feeling.
but the smallest things exposed it all; the way your hand faltered when he tried to reach out for you, the sigh you made every time he'd walk past you, the way he stared at you as time passed — but it wasn't the stare he'd give you through admiration, it was the stare of begging for you to come back.
he wanted you, he missed you even if you were next to him, he was jealous of the fake energy you had put out because he knew the real emotions you were feeling.
he didn't care about himself, he cared about you and you only.
he hated how the eye contact lasted a few, he wanted to look deep into your eyes and pour out every emotion away from within you. he wanted to cater you with love, his deep love — his love of missing you and the hurt of distance that caused him, the love that always settled for you deep into his own heart.
but he knew it wasn't an adjustable feeling.
he always wants you for the better, he wants your emotions to never take over your day. he hates how bad the arguments effects you, he hates seeing you suffer with pain in silence. you're so good at hiding your feelings, but ohyul reads you like a book — almost too good.
he hates seeing you not seeing your worth.
regardless of the choices you make — negative and positive, he's going to be your side no matter what, trusting you with all his heart, hoping you'd reach out to him when needed. he's captivated with your love.
he's desperate for your love, in desire of your prescene — but he would wait centuries just for you to come back and heal for your own sake. he's never leaving you, even through what is considered the end of every relationship.
