SIREN SOUNDS (l.hs)
PAIRING: f1 racer!heeseung x nurse!reader (f)
SUMMARY: after ferrariβs golden boy crashes in order to save his teammate, he is stuck at the hospital with burns all over his body. between long shifts and the hospitalβs desolation, he brings a light in your life that is hard to forget once heβs free to go home.
WARNINGS: feat enhypen RIKI and JAKE. hospital settings, medical terms, mentions of car crashes, blood, burns, mentions of death (brief description, not detailed), mentions of abusive parent, medical conditions, lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.
PUBLISHED: 16th February 2026
WC: 11.7k
TAGLIST: (permanent) @stolasisyourparent @jaeyunsbimbo @jwnghyuns @bangtancultsposts @shawnyle @jooniesbears-blog @skzenhalove @ro-diaries @onlyhyunjin @xcosmi @heeheeswifey @jakeflvrz @astratlantis @tunafishyfishylike @branchrkive @insommni4 @kirinaa08 @leiclerc @nxzz-skz @beomluvrr @heeshlove @17ericas @riribelle @cloud-lyy @enhamonsterghoul @star-hoon @princesstiti14 @mintchocoddeonut @lostgirlysstuff @firstclassjaylee @jazz7gnab
NOW PLAYING: Siren Sounds (Bonus) by Tate McRae
a/n: i believe this couldβve turned out better but i wanted to publish my babies (iβve been writing them since this summer) so please lmk your thought and opinions!! π©·π«Ά RIKIβS SEQUEL IS OUT!!
The emergency room had seen chaos before, but tonight felt heavier.
It started with sirens, loud and insistent, even through the thick hospital walls, and a nurse rushing in with wide eyes and a shaking tablet.
βTwo criticals inbound, Formula one accident. One with full-body burns and head trauma, the other with a compound leg fracture and suspected internal bleeding.β
You didnβt look up until the gurneys were rolled in. The automatic doors swung open with a hiss, letting in two stretchers, wheeled fast.
The first man on the left stretcher wasnβt moving, blood was matting the dark fringe of his hair, and his face was pale under the running crimson.
His racing suit, at least, what remained of it, was slit down the middle already, soaked through.
The other one was conscious, barely. He was moaning low, his gloved hand clutching at his stomach.
His helmet was off, but there were burn marks curling along the side of his jaw, climbing his neck like vines. His left eye was bloodshot, and blood was crusting near his temple.
Someone called names, the trauma doctor barking orders, nurses scattering.
"Male, in his twenties, suspected third-degree burns, signs of cranial impact, get a scan, now!β
You walked beside them, flipping through the patient file as quickly as it populated.
Blood type, height, weight, nothing else yet. No names. Just codenames and a tag: F1 INCIDENT β NIGHT PRACTICE RUN.
The burn patient was rushed straight into the burn unit. The younger one too, the boy, he looked like a boy, no older than nineteen, with a mess of internal damage. You heard the word βrupture.β Someone else said βsplintered bone.β
The moment the doors shut behind the burning team, you exhaled and leaned against the wall.
βOh my God.β One of the nurses beside you whispered. βThatβs Lee Heeseung and Nishimura Rikiβ¦ holy shit.β
You blinked. βWho?β
The girl stared at you like you had three heads. βHeeseung? Heβs likeβ¦ a living legend in F1. He won Monaco last year blind in one eyeβ¦ you seriously donβt know?β
You shrugged. βNot really my thing.β
She shook her head. βWell, itβl be now.β
And in fact, two hours later, you were re-assigned.
βY/N, youβll be in the burning unit monitoring, in a private suite.β The charge nurse handed you a clipboard. βVIP patient.β
You glanced down at the name, written in capital letters: LEE HEESEUNG
The report was horrifying, with skin grafts that started on both arms and his left shoulder, smoke inhalation damage that would be treated by manually removing it with a tube in the lung.
Followed by a nasty concussion with swelling that had the neurosurgeon double-checking his pupils every ten minutes, and last but not least a multiple rib fractures from the crash impact.
Heβd been put in a medically induced coma for the first few hours, and the sedation wouldnβt wear off until sometime tomorrow. Youβd be there to monitor vitals, manage the IV, prep for re-evaluation.
His room was on the east wing, he kind of suite reserved for politicians or royalty.
You slipped inside quietly. Heeseung looked worse now that everything was cleaned up.
The bandages made it more real, he gauze that circled half his head, the IVs in both arms, the oxygen line.
You adjusted the chart at the foot of his bed, but there was a whisper of movement behind you that distracted you.
The man that stepped in wasnβt that tall, with tousled hair and hoodie slung half-off his shoulder. There was dried blood on his jeans.
βAre you the nurse assigned to Heeseung?β
You nodded. βJust got here, are you family? Visiting hours are over.β
βIβm theβ uh, manager. My nameβs Sim Jake.β He extended his hand, but it trembled, so he dropped it. βSorry, Iβ fuck, I canβt think. Is he stable?β
You nodded slowly. βHe made it through all the check ups without surgery. Heβs sedated, but stable. Weβll have to monitor him for the next 24 hours very closely, especially with the head injury.β
Jake exhaled so hard his shoulders dropped. βAnd Riki?β he asked quietly.
βFrom what I heard, heβs still in surgery.β
He pressed his palms together, his eyes were red-rimmed, like heβd been crying or lacked sleeping βThey said it was gonna be a regular night, yβknow? pre-race laps. Heeseung didnβt even wanna go.β
You stayed quiet. Youβd seen people talk to cope, and you learned how to let them.
Jake stared at the bed, at Heeseungβs unconscious body, and then sat down heavily in the corner chair.
βThere was a malfunction,β he said slowly. βIn Rikiβs brakes, his car didnβt slow down on the fourth turn. Itβs a corner he usually takes at normal speed, but he went full throttle tonight, he really wanted to impress everyone.β he swallowed, βhe didnβt know. Couldnβt have, there was no control. He was headed straight for the barricade, and spectators were thereβ¦ families with kids.β
You frowned slightly, brows pulling.
βHeeseungβ¦ he saw it. He was in front Riki but he saw what was about to happen, he heard it from the communications radio,β he sighed βso heβ he pulled out of line, he s werved into his path.β
Jakeβs voice cracked. βHe used his own car to stop Rikiβs, took the hit full-on, it exploded on fire on impact.β
Your throat felt tight. You glanced at Heeseung again, this time a little different.
βHe sacrificed himself,β Jake said, hands fisting in his lap. βTo stop Riki from plowing into the stands.β
You didnβt know what to say. You didnβt know how anyone could choose that kind of pain on purpose.
βHeβs gonna live, right?β Jake asked, suddenly boyish. Less like a manager and more like a friend.
You nodded slowly, gaze still on the man lying in the bed. βWeβll do everything we can.β
π.
He slipped in and out of consciousness through the long stretch of the night, a haze of morphine clouding over his expression every time he stirred.
Most of it was just moaning, incoherent words under his breath, sometimes Rikiβs name.
other times it was just soft whimpers, sharp exhales that caught against his bandaged ribs.
Once, around 3:40 AM, he jolted awake with a short cry and tried to move. His hands jerked upward instinctively, maybe to protect himself⦠maybe reaching for a steering wheel.
You had to catch his wrist gently and murmur softly until he settled again. βItβs okay,β you whispered, thumb brushing over his knuckles. βYouβre safe, youβre not in the car anymore.β
His eyes fluttered beneath bruised lids, and for a second, he stared right through you.
His lips parted, dry and cracked. You held a straw to them and helped him sip water, watched him wince even from that tiny effort, and then he was gone again.
Back into the warmth of sedation, head rolling softly to one side. Morphine dripped slow into his IV. You monitored the levels and checked the rate. You replaced the saline bag when it was almost empty and you didnβt leave the room even when your shift technically ended.
By morning, you were back at your post before the sun had even fully risen.
You werenβt due for another hour, but you couldn't stay home knowing he might wake again confused, aching andβ¦ alone.
But when you entered the room, he was already awake. Well, barely, but it was something.
The soft hum of the monitor greeted you first. His vitals were holding steady, but the real sign was the way his eyes, still a bit unfocused, and a little raw, tracked you as you stepped in.
You set your clipboard down quietly and met his gaze. βHey,β you said softly.
He blinked slowly, then frowned. βFuck,β he rasped, βIβm not dead?β
His voice was hoarse, painful to hear, but you managed a small smile. βNot yet, sorry.β
A weak huff pushed from his chest, maybe a laugh, or maybe a cough, you couldnβt tell. He shifted, then immediately grimaced, body locking stiff.
βItβll hurt,β you warned, reaching out to adjust his pillow. βYour ribs are still healing.β
βNo shit,β he groaned, swallowing hard. βWhyβ¦ why canβt I feel my neck? and my chest and arms feelββ another cough βnumb.β
You hesitate, then walked to the bedside. His eyes were clearer now, but clouded with the edge of something worse than fear. The dread of what he didnβt know yet.
βYou have third-degree burns on your neck and parts of your chest and arms. The reason you canβt feel them isβ¦ because the nerves are gone.β You tried to explain it as easily as possible.
His eyes flicked downward toward his shoulder, then to the heavy gauze wrapping his forearm. He didnβt move, just stared. βAm Iββ His voice caught. βHow bad does it look?β
You exhaled. βBad,β you said honestly. βBut they did a clean graft. Youβll get function back, most likely. The nerve endings yesβ¦ maybe not sensation in some areas. But itβs early, the burn team will know more after the swelling goes down.β
He closed his eyes for a second, jaw clenching.
Silence stretched. Then, his throat worked, voice more broken than before. βRiki?β
You nodded slowly, folding your arms. βHeβs alive, though still unconscious. He had internal bleeding, and a compound fracture in his left leg. Heβs in post-op recovery now, but heβs stable.β
His entire face tightened, like the weight of it had finally dropped onto his chest. His fingers clenched weakly around the edge of the sheet, and he looked away, toward the window where the morning light was just beginning to creep in through the blinds.
βGood,β he said quietly. βGood. Heβ heβs just a kid.β
You sat down in the chair beside him, scribbled a note on the chart, and glanced over.
βHeβs lucky,β you said softly. βthat you were there.β
He didnβt answer.
You knew Jake was still outside. Heβd arrived early again, eyes red, pacing the hallway like a ghost. Youβd seen him hovering through the glass window earlier, glancing in, debating whether or not to come in.
Now, as Heeseung winced and shifted slightly, you knew he wouldnβt want to deal with him yet.
βYouβve got someone outside,β you said after a pause. βJake, right? Your manager.β
Heeseung closed his eyes.
βI donβt have the energy for him right now,β he muttered. βHeβs just gonna yell.β
βThen he can wait.β you stood, heading toward the door. βYou need rest, not a lecture.β
You stepped out quietly and met Jakeβs eyes. He stood up instantly. βIs he awake? Can Iβ?β
βHeβs not in the mood to talk,β you said, keeping your voice low but firm. βHeβs in pain, and heβs processing. Maybe come back tomorrow?β
Jakeβs face fell, but he nodded, rubbing his hand over his mouth, murmured something that resembled a βthank youβ before stepping away.
When you returned to the room, Heeseung was still awake, eyes half-closed, the tension in his shoulders loosened by a fraction. βYou want me to turn the lights down a bit?β
βYeah,β he mumbled. βMy eyes hurt.β
You moved to the wall, dimmed them until the room was cast in soft amber.
And when you returned to your seat, he glanced over, lips cracked, voice barely above a whisper. ββ¦Whatβs your name?β
βY/N.β you replied βIβll be your nurse for the time you stay here.β
He blinked. βYouβre the one who was here last night.β
βYeah,β you said softly. βYou tried to punch me when I held your hand.β
His brows creased. βDid I?β
βYou missed.β You shrugged and a ghost of a smile touched his mouth, the first one real enough to settle.
π.
When you pushed the door open after your lunch break, it was with the quiet intent of checking Heeseungβs vitals, maybe adjusting his IV line again.
You expected him to still be in pain, perhaps trying to sleep it off. You did not expect what you found.
Three nurses, all hovering around his bed like moths to a dying flame.
One was adjusting his blanket even though it was already neatly draped, another was holding a spoon of soup like it was some kind of sacred ritual, and the last oneβ oh, she was massaging lotion onto the one patch of unburned skin on his hand with a focus that was frankly excessive.
Heeseung lookedβ¦ tired. Not just physically, but emotionally drained, like he wasnβt sure what to do with the attention.
His eyes met yours almost instantly as you stepped in, and something like relief washed over his features.
You didnβt smile. βOut,β you just said, sharp but calm.
All three of them froze, as if youβd pulled the fire alarm. One nurse looked like she might argue, but you raised your brow just slightly, and she faltered.
βBut we were justββ
βIβm sure you were,β you cut her off smoothly. βHeβs under recovery care, not an autograph booth.β
The room grew ten degrees colder.
They scurried out with muttered apologies, not meeting your gaze. One of them left behind the bowl of half-stirred soup and a chocolate pudding cup on the tray.
Heeseung watched you settle the tray on the adjustable table and pull it close to him.
βSo,β you said, lifting the spoon from the bowl, βhow many fangirls have snuck in while I was gone?β
He grimaced slightly. βOnly them, I tjinkβ¦ one kept calling me βhero.β I tried to play dead but they didnβt leave.β
You smirked faintly, scooping up a small portion of the lukewarm soup βDidnβt your mom ever teach you not to fake injuries for attention?β
He gave a weak chuckle. βPretty sure I didnβt have to fake anything.β
You lifted the spoon to his lips, watching as he took the soup carefully, his lips parting just slightly, eyes grimacing a little at the taste. His neck muscles twitched, probably from strain, and he exhaled hard after swallowing.
βJesus,β he muttered. βIs that soup or dishwater?β
βHospital cuisine,β you said solemnly. βFive-star micheline.β
He took another spoonful, slowly, wincing just from the movement of his jaw.
He still looked rough, his color wasnβt good, skin pale and slightly ashy from the burn meds. His arms were stiff at his sides, bandaged still, and you could tell the hunger was there, but the effortβ¦ not so much.
You opened the pudding cup next, gave it a little stir with the plastic spoon. He looked at it like it was the most edible thing heβd seen in weeks.
βOh thank god,β he said. βIβve never been so excited for fake chocolate in my life.β
βOpen up,β you said, and he did, the sweetness seeming to go down easier than the soup. He sighed, eyes fluttering closed for a moment.
βI thought Iβd feel better today,β he murmured. βBut I still feel like shit.β
βYouβre not even forty-eight hours post the accident yet,β you reminded him. βYour bodyβs still trying to decide if it wants to forgive you.β
He shifted then, just a little, then a little more. βCarefulββ
βI wanna sit up more,β he mumbled, already pressing one arm against the bed, trying to push himself.
You leaned in, firm but calm. βHeeseung, stop.β
βI canβt just lie hereββ
βYou literally must.β
His eyes flashed with stubbornness, but then he grimaced hard, pain tightening his mouth.
You reached out instinctively, palm flat on his shoulder, not the burned one, holding him still.
βDonβt be stupid,β you said quietly. βYour ribs are still cracked, you wonβt win against gravity.β
His jaw clenched. βI hate this.β
βI know.β
He looked away, toward the window. The light outside was gentler now, filtered through the clouds.
His face was drawn, and you could see it in the way he held himself, he wasnβt just sore, he was frustrated
The kind of man who didnβt like stillness. Who probably measured his self-worth by his speed.
βYouβre scheduled to remove some of the smoke still in your lungs,β you told him, βIt will not be pleasant.β
βGreat,β he said sarcastically, βOn a scale from one to ten?β
You thought about if for a minute, βIβve never done it, but I will not lie that I think it will be a solid eight.β
You adjusted the pillow behind his back carefully, angling the bed up a little more for him. He didnβt resist this time, just watched your hands.
βYouβre not useless just because youβre healing,β you said, mentioning the previous conversation. βYou saved someone. Thatβs not something your body gets over in a day.β
Heeseung was quiet for a long moment, the sound of the heart monitoring a steady pulse beside you.
ββ¦heβs still not awake, right?β he asked softly.
You nodded. βStill out, but stable.β
He didnβt respond to that. Just stared out at the window again, jaw working.
You finished cleaning up the tray, wiping the corner of his mouth where a little pudding had smeared.
Your fingers brushed along his chin lightly, and for a second, his eyes dropped to your hand.
When you pulled back, he exhaled slowly.
βThanks,β he said, voice lower now.
You didnβt smile, but your voice was soft. βStop trying to get up, and Iβll bring you something that actually tastes like food tomorrow.β
He tilted his head slightly, as if considering, then gave a small nod.
βNo fangirls,β you added, pointing an accusing finger towards him.
He smiled, just barely. βOnly you then?β
You rolled your eyes and stood.
βDonβt push it.β
π.
Days blurred together like a long breath you couldnβt quite finish taking.
Outside, the world carried on, traffic, sunrises, clouds rolling over the hospitalβs concrete edges, but inside that room, things moved slower.
Jake came every day now, just after lunch, always bringing a different set of sports magazines or articles printed off from the web.
Heeseung barely read them, but he listened when Jake talked about regular things, probably as not to overwhelm him with the fact that races continued wven as he laid on a hospital bed.
A video someone posted of Riki doing stupid tricks in a go-kart. They didnβt say much about the boy himself, not with him still in the ICU, but you could feel the tension crackle in Jake every time he left, like walking out of that room meant abandoning someone else who couldnβt speak for himself yet.
You didnβt press him, and yoou didnβt ask questions.
You were too busy with your own routine.
You came into Heeseungβs room just before the evening shift change.
The light outside had gone pale blue, casting long shadows across the tile floor.
You rolled in a small cart with the supplies, like bandages, ointments, saline and gauze. He was already sitting up a little, watching you.
His face still bore the bruises of the accident, but the swelling had gone down, and his eyes tracked your every movement now, sharp and clear.
βYou get a new uniform?β he asked, voice less raspy than before but still colored with something teasing.
You raised an eyebrow. βItβs the same one you bled on two days ago. We just wash them sometimes.β
βHot,β he murmured, then hissed softly as he tried to adjust his shoulder.
βDon't be cute,β you muttered. βItβs wound cleaning day.β
You started with his head. The bandage there had to be changed slowly, carefully, because the skin underneath was still raw and sensitive.
You gloved up, peeled back the old gauze from his temple, then gently dabbed at the edges of the injury with a saline-soaked pad.
He winced, but didnβt complain. Not like he had the first time. βYouβre quieter than usual,β he said.
βYou want me to make small talk while I pull the rest of your scabbed flesh off?β You raised a brow at him. He let out a breathy laugh and closed his eyes. βYeah, I wouldnβt mind the distraction.β
You wrapped the fresh bandage around his head, secure but loose enough not to give him a headache.
Then you moved to his chest. He shifted again, the sheets falling to his lap as you pulled the gown down and exposed the burns that still ran like brutal red streaks from just below his collarbone down to the edge of his ribs, spreading across his right shoulder and part of his upper arm. Some had darkened and some peeled.
But all of it looked painful.
You dipped a gloved finger into the ointment and began carefully applying it over the healing areas.
You didnβt flinch at the way the flesh had hardened in some parts, blistered in others. Youβd seen worse.
βYou okay?β you asked softly.
βYeah,β he said through his teeth. βFeels like acid.β
βItβs just medicine.β
βI know, but I like being dramatic.β
You gave a short laugh, smoothing the ointment into the side of his neck, then placed new gauze over it, pressing down gently to secure it.
βI donβt know how you do this every day,β he said after a while βI mean, taking care of people like thisβ¦. like me. It canβt be the easiest job.β
You shrugged, taping down the last piece. βIβve had harder patients.β
βOh yeah?β
βYeah. There was this guy once who thought flirting through third-degree burns was charming.β you teased.
He chuckled, and you moved to his arms next, slowly peeling back the old dressings.
His skin twitched under the fresh air, his fingers curling instinctively. You worked in silence for a while, glancing up only when you noticed him watching you.
βWhat?β you asked.
He tilted his head a little. βNothing, you just never talk about yourself.β
You finished smoothing a patch of ointment along his bicep before answering. βThereβs not much to say.β
βBullshit. Youβre in here every day, making sure I donβt die of infection or morphine withdrawal. You clean me, feed me, fight off the occasional fangirl. Youβve gotta have more going on than this.β
You paused. Then looked up at himβ¦ you didnβt really have an entertaining life outside the hospital, so you opted for something safe. βIβm also assigned to another patient.β
He blinked. βYeah?β
You nodded, wrapping his arm now. βA kid about nine years old. He came in with a collapsed lung.β
Heeseung stilled slightly. βAccident?β
βNo.β you gulped. βHis father beat the shit out of him.β
Something in his face twisted then, slow and ugly. You continued softly. βHeβs doing better now. Still needs the oxygen support, but heβs laughing again. Oh, and he loves dinosaurs.β
Heeseungβs voice was low. βDo people like that guy, his father, just get to walk around free?β
βItβsβ¦ complicated.β You said, your hands working focused. βHeβs on the loose, police are searching for him.β
βFuck.β He exhaled sharply, then looked away. βI thought I had it bad.β
You finished dressing the last of his wounds, peeling off your gloves with a soft snap and tossing them into the bin.
βYou did,β you said quietly. βPain doesnβt need to compete.β
He looked at you again then, for a long time. You werenβt sure what was in his eyes exactly. Respect, maybe sadness. Something softer, too.
βThanks,β he said.
You gave him a faint smile, then reached for the blanket again, pulling it over his legs gently. βDonβt move too much tonight.β
βNo promises.β Heeseung shrugged.
βIβll sedate you if I have to.β you threatened.
He smirked. βWouldnβt be the worst thing youβve done to me.β
You rolled your eyes, gathered your supplies, and started toward the door. Before you stepped out, you glanced back.
He was still looking at you. Not like a patient looking at a nurse.
Like a man trying to understand someone he suddenly realized he didnβt know at all.
π.
Riki woke up the following week.
The update came in quietly, just after sunrise, passed from the ICU nurse on duty to your floor with that same hushed relief youβd felt pressing at the back of your ribs since the accident.
He was conscious, but weak. He was. fading in and out of sleep, but breathing on his own, and whispering broken sentences when someone leaned in close enough to hear.
You didnβt rush to tell Heeseung.
You waited until you finished your morning rounds, changed his bandages, fed him half of his usual breakfast. He didnβt complain today. Not once, and that alone told you his mind was elsewhere.
It wasnβt until you were refilling his IV fluids that you finally told him.
βRikiβs awake,β you said simply, not looking up as you slid the fresh saline bag onto the pole.
The stillness in the room shifted sharply.
Heeseungβs voice was instant, a little breathless. βWhen?β
βThis morning.β You turned to him. βHeβs in the trauma unit now. They transferred him just after stabilizing.β
He didnβt say anything for a second. His hands flexed slightly at his sides. βCan I see him?β
You hesitated. βYouβre not exactly in any shape toββ
βI can sit,β he cut in quickly. βIf I sit in a wheelchair, I can do it. I swear I wonβt move. Justβ five minutes. Please.β.
He was still so pale. The bruising around his eye had darkened into a dull ochre. The bandages on his neck peeked out from under his gown. His arm was trembling just from lifting the glass of water earlier.
He wasnβt ready. But you also knew heβd never feel ready, and something told you he wouldnβt rest until he saw Riki for himself.
You sighed, pulling your gloves off. βAlright, but you donβt lift a finger. You move wrong and Iβll have you sedated for real this time.β
He smiled weakly. βGod, thatβs hot.β
You shot him a flat look. βTry me.β
You brought the chair around slowly. He watched every motion as you locked the brakes, looped the IV pole onto the hooks, and adjusted the footrest to keep his legs steady. Then came the hard part.
βOkay,β you said gently, moving to his side. βYouβre gonna need to lean forward on three. Iβll brace your back. Use your left arm if you can. The rightβs still healing.β
He nodded once, already concentrating βOneβ¦ two.. three.β
He grunted as he moved, your arm slipping under his to guide his weight forward. It took everything in him not to scream, you could tell.
His ribs were like cracked glass, one wrong shift and heβd shatter. But he bit it back, his jaw clenched, and let you ease him into the wheelchair slowly.
Once he was seated, you adjusted his gown to keep the bandages covered, re-checked the IV tube to make sure it wasnβt pulled, and only when everything was steady did you release a breath.
βYou good?β you asked.
He nodded slowly. βYeah.. fuck. I feel like a grandpa.β
The trauma unit wasnβt far, but you still took it slow. Every bump in the linoleum seemed to jolt through his bones.
You moved carefully, guiding the chair down the hallway, keeping your hand on the bar, and checking on him every few seconds. He didnβt talk, he just stared straight ahead.
When you reached Rikiβs room, you paused at the door. βYou sure?β you asked.
Heeseung nodded quietly and so you opened the door slowly.
The lights were dimmed inside, soft beeping of monitors the only sound.
Riki was lying still, propped slightly against the incline of the bed. His skin was a mess of bruises, purple and green splotches painting across his arms and cheek. A heavy cast swallowed most of his left leg, raised and elevated on a cushion.
There were faint stitches near his collarbone, and you saw the tremble of his chest with every breath.
But his eyes were open and conscious, staring at the white ceiling.
When he saw Heeseung, something in his expression cracked. His mouth moved first, like he wasnβt sure what to say. βHeeseungβ¦β
Heeseung tried to lean forward but flinched instantly. You stepped in and pressed lightly on his shoulder.
βCareful,β you murmured.
βI thought you were dead,β Riki said, voice hoarse and small.
Heeseung swallowed, eyes shining faintly. βSo did I.β
Riki blinked rapidly. βThey said youβ why the fuck did you stop in front of me like that? Thatβs notβ¦β He trailed off, voice thick. βThatβs not how this is supposed to go.β
Heeseung stared at him for a long moment. βYou were headed for the barricade.β
βYou shouldβve just let me crash.β Riki snapped.
Heeseungβs voice was low, steady. βNo, i really shouldnβt have.β
The silence between them settled like a weight. You didnβt speak, nor did you move. You saw how Heeseungβs hands gripped the armrests, how Riki tried to blink away the water in his eyes.
βYou look like shit,β Riki finally said, a faint smile twitching at his lips.
Heeseung gave a tired breath of a laugh. βYeah. So do you.β
You looked between the two of them. βIβll give you a few minutesβ¦ just donβt make him laugh too hard. His ribs wonβt survive it.β
π.
Two more weeks passed, and the days started blending again, though in a different rhythm now.
Rehab was slower, less frantic than the ER, but harder in other ways.
You watched Heeseung try to curl his fingers around a towel for ten full minutes one morning, sweat beading along his brow while the physical therapist kept encouraging him softly, and he just clenched his jaw and tried again and again, even when the pain clawed up from his shoulder into his teeth.
The nerves in his right arm were slow to wake. Some hadnβt at all.
But he worked through it, every day. There were setbacks and ghost pains and frustration.
A dozen nights when he asked you to help him sleep with medications because the sensation of nothing in his arm felt worse than agony.
You tried your best to support him, to give him the strength he was missing.
He could get a game of cards with you each time he managed to complete an exercise, and though he struggled to hold the cards in hands, he looked forward to it.
He always did, but one day you didnβt arrive at the time you usually did.
You always checked in after the rehab sessions. Always adjusted the pillows, changed his IV port, sometimes brought him sickeningly sweet tea even though it wasnβt officially allowed.
That afternoon, he returned from physical therapy looking exhausted and stiff, arm strapped carefully in the sling again.
You would be waiting for him, and even if he felt tired, he was excited to tell you about his progress.
But when he got in there were no cards and no you.
He was half-dozing when the door finally opened, with but the footsteps werenβt yours. The nurse on duty came in to check his meds, and as she adjusted his meds she told him you were coming but were just running late.
She went away, and when the door opened again some time later, it was you.
You came in fast, too fast and your steps uneven. Your scrubs were wrinkled, your hair pulled back hastily.
You didnβt even glance at him, just went straight to the counter and dropped your bag like your hands didnβt know what to do with anything.
βHey,β he said, quietly.
βHey.β You replied hurriedly.
He tried to push himself up further in bed, and that simple movement sent a spasm through his ribs. He hissed but kept watching you.
Your hands were shaking as you reached for the gloves. You put them on hastily and put some morphine drops in his IV line.
Or tried to, because the needle kept missing. You tried again and again.
βHey.β He murmured, brows furrowing. βAre you okay?β
βOf course,β you gulped, voice shaky, βWhy wouldnβt I be?β
But he didnβt buy your lie, so he said more firmly, βY/N.β
You stopped moving and dropped your hands on the medicine counter. βI lost him.β
The words came out too sharp and too sudden. You hadnβt meant to say them like that. You hadnβt even known what you meant to say until they tore out of your mouth.
He blinked slowly. trying to piece the words together. βThe kid?β
You turned slowly toward him, your eyes wide and glassy, and you laughed, a short and broken sound. It caught in your throat. You clutched the edge of the t counter like it could hold you up.
βIβ I did everything. Everything I was supposed to. He was smiling yesterdayβ¦ andβ¦ and he even asked me to draw dinosaurs on his oxygen mask. I told him I would after he ate his dinner.β
He didnβt speak, he let you rant, because he knew you needed not to be strong for once. You needed a shoulder to cry on.
You stepped forward, then dropped to your knees before you even realized it. The medical equipment fell from your hands.
βHe started coughing and he didnβt stop,β you whispered, voice already breaking. βHis lungβ¦ it filled with blood. He couldnβt breathe and we couldnβt intubate fast enough. He choked in front of us. In front of me.β
Your hands pressed to your face. βI triedβ¦ I tried so fucking hardββ
Your sobs ripped out of you, loud and uncontained, ugly sobs that rocked your body. Heeseung reached out before his body could protest. βCome here.β
βNo,β you gasped. βI canβtβ Iβm not supposed toββ
βCome here.β He repeated firmly.
You crawled toward the bed on your knees, hands shaking too much to reach for anything.
He managed to lower his good arm toward you, fingers trembling as they brushed against your shoulder.
You pressed your face to the side of the bed, arms folded awkwardly under you, and sobbed into the blanket.
He winced, but he kept his hand there on your back. His thumb moved in slow, unsteady circles, his voice hoarse as he whispered, βYou did everything you could.β
βI didnβt save him.β You snapped.
βSometimesβ¦ sometimes you canβt.β He tried to reason. βI promised Iβd come see him tomorrow.β You whispered brokenly.
Heeseungβs breath hitched, and he closed his eyes like he could carry the weight of that grief for you.
βI keep seeing his face,β you whispered. βHe looked so scared.β
βI know that feeling,β he murmured. βI know, I see the fire every night.β
Your fingers curled into the blanket. He moved his hand and brushed your hair back behind your ear. The gentlest touch he could manage.
βYou made him forget the horrors he went through,β he said softly. βYou were there. That matters more than anything.β
You couldnβt stop crying, couldnβt even pretend to be the composed nurse anymore.
You werenβt her right now. You were just you, kneeling on the floor beside a patient who had become more than just a chart.
You stayed there, head buried into the side of the bed, tears soaking through the sheet, while Heeseung lay still, chest tight, body too raw to offer more than the steady, quiet presence youβd once given him.
Eventually, your sobs softened, worn out. Like the grief had burned through you fast and left only ash behind.
He spoke again, voice slow. βYou can sit up here, if you want.β
You shook your head. βI donβt want you to move.β Even in your pain, uou cared more for him.
βI wonβt.β He shifted his hand slightly, inviting. βJust stay beside me..β
So you did, because you werenβt really in the right state of mind to list all the reasons why you shouldnβt.
You climbed onto the edge of the bed slowly, not to disturb the tubes or bandages, and leaned gently against the side of his body. His good arm curled around your back.
Just for a moment you let yourself be held.
π.
It was quiet between you for a long while. His hand was warm where it rested on your back, too warm for someone whoβd spent the last few weeks surrounded by machines and medications and cold gauze.
You were still curled into the side of the bed, your cheek resting just beside the edge of his chest, body limp from the sobbing.
βHey.β He finally spoke.
You shifted, barely lifting your head. βMh?.β
He angled his neck enough to glance down at you. βWheel me downstairs.β
You blinked slowly. βDownstairs where?β
βThe cafeteria.β
You pulled back just enough to look at him properly. His face was worn, but his expression was serious.
You stared hard. βYouβre not allowed down there yet.β
He shrugged with one shoulder. βNeither was I allowed to have Jakeβs candy bars, but Iβve had three Twix and two mini bags of Doritos this week, and I havenβt died.β
Your brows lifted. βYouβve been cheating on your meal plan?β He gave a faint smirk. βReligiously.β
βYou sighed, pressing your fingers to your eyes. The last thing you wanted to do right now was escort a stubborn F1 driver out of his room for snacks like he hadnβt nearly burned alive three weeks ago.
But the truth was, your chest still hurt. The grief still sat in your bones, but it was quieter now, and something in his voice had shifted.
βFine,β you muttered, standing. βBut youβre wearing your sling, and your hospital bracelet stays visible. If anyone asks, youβre on a medically supervised movement.β
βLord,β he murmured. βYou make rule-breaking sound so sexy.β
You rolled your eyes, but the ache in your chest had already started to soften.
You helped him into the chair again, slower this time, letting him lean into you more than usual.
His body was getting stronger, but not by much, and even the act of standing made him wince. You adjusted his IV pole and tucked the light blue blanket across his lap before wheeling him carefully out into the corridor.
The hallway was mostly quiet as night shift had already begun. The elevators pinged with soft dings while you descended.
βDid you bring me down here to flirt with the volunteers again?β you asked as the doors opened on the ground floor.
βNo,β he said. βThey donβt make eye contact anymore. I think you scared them off.β
You snorted. βGood.β
The cafΓ© was dimly lit, the kind that looked like it was trying very hard to pretend it wasnβt inside a hospital.
You wheeled him to a table tucked in the corner, far from the noise of people or the murmur of the vending machines.
You walked up to the bar and ordered what heβd asked for, a hot chocolate with no whipped cream, and a bottle of water. The cashier rang it up, and just as you reached for your hospital-issued card, a hand beat you to it.
Heeseung had wheeled towards you, alone, and handed over a credit card without a word.
You looked at him sharply. βWhat the fuck are youββ
βI wanted to.β Ahe said quickly, βAnd I used the good arm.β He waved it for good measure.
You narrowed your eyes. βIβm on shift. I canβt let patients pay forββ
βIβm a grown man in a wheelchair, who needs your help standing while peeing, I think you deserve this.β
You stared at him for a second longer, but he didnβt waver. So you let it go, you took the tray with the drinks, careful not to spill the hot chocolate, and returned to the table.
When you set it down in front of him, he reached out for the bottle of water. He pushed the hot chocolate toward you.
You blinked, then frowned in confusion. βThis is yours.β
βI ordered it for you.β He explained as if it was the most obvious thing.
Your hands hovered for a second. βYou asked for it.β
βAnd then I gave it away.β He met your eyes, gaze soft but unwavering. βYouβve had a shit day, well, week. I figured chocolate was a safer bet than tequila.β
You slowly sat down, wrapping your hands around the warm cup. It steamed against your skin, thick and sweet-smelling.
βYou still shouldnβt be paying for me,β you muttered.
βI crashed a million-dollar car. You think Iβm worried about six bucks?β
You shook your head, trying to hide the way your lip tugged up just slightly.
He leaned back a little in the chair, the bottle of water resting between his thighs. βYouβre allowed to sit here,β he said, voice quiet. βNot just as my nurse but just as you.β
You stared down at the cup. βI donβt think I know how to be just me anymore.β
βYou do,β he said softly. βYou just havenβt had time to remember.β
You took a slow sip and the warmth bled into your chest. βI think I hate hospitals,β you whispered.
He tilted his head, watching you carefully. βSo do I.β
You wheeled him back before the nurse on dinner rounds made it to his floor.
Heeseung didnβt say much on the way up, he just kept his eyes ahead, arm still nestled in the sling, the blanket pooling loosely around his waist.
You stopped the wheelchair in front of his room, and opened the door wide enough for the chair to slip in.
He shifted a little as you rolled him in, wincing when the chair hit a bump in the threshold. βCareful,β he murmured.
βSorry,β you replied quickly, helping him ease into a comfortable position beside his bed before turning off the wheelchair brakes.
You were efficient again, going through motions youβd done a hundred times, but your fingers still trembled slightly when they brushed his wrist, adjusting the IV.
βThanks,β he said quietly. βFor taking care of me.β
You turned toward him. βItβs literally my job
βItβs more than that,β he said. βYou didnβt have to sit with me. You didnβt have to cry where I could see you.β
You swallowed, eyes briefly dropping to his blanket. βYeah, well, I guess Iβm not very professional.β
βYouβre too pretty to cry,β he said simply.
You rolled your eyes, stepping toward the cabinet to grab a clean set of saline wipes, trying to cover how your heart stuttered at the way heβd said itβ like a fact, not a compliment.
βDonβt start,β you warned. βIβm not starting,β he said. βIβm just saying.β
You turned back to him, arms crossed, and leaned against the cabinet. βAlright, fine. How are you feeling? Really.β
He blinked at you, then tilted his head slightly, making a face. βSore.β
βWhere?β You asked.
He shifted, jaw tightening as he angled his neck. βMy neck mostly. Probably the burn. It feels like itβs pulling when I sleep.β
βThatβs because you keep turning your head instead of using the pillow support,β you said, walking toward him again.
You reached gently toward his collarbone, pulling back the loose hospital shirt to peek at the gauze that covered the worst of the scarring.
βYou should kiss it better,β he said then, voice suddenly low.
You stopped, frozen in place. Your hand froze an inch from his skin, and his eyes flicked to your face, watching you for a reaction, but not pushing.
His lips tugged up, a faint, boyish grin pulling the corner of his mouth.
You stared at him, chest tight, then sighed through your nose and leaned in, fast, before you could think better of it, and pressed a quick kiss to the edge of his cheekbone.
Just enough to feel the warmth of his skin under your lips, to let the tension between you shift into something that made your stomach twist.
His smile widened, the surprise obvious on his face.
βHey,β he whispered, gaze following you as you straightened and stepped back. βThat was nice.β
βDonβt let it get to your head.β You said, holding a threatening finger to his face.
He laughed, low and hoarse. βToo late.β
You grabbed your clipboard, pretending to check his chart so you wouldnβt have to look at him while your face still felt warm.
βI should go,β you muttered, already walking toward the door. βDinner shiftβs starting on the east wing.β
βWaitββ
But you were already pulling the door open, glancing back at him just long enough to catch the way he looked at you now.
You didnβt say anything else. You just stepped out, your heart pounding loud enough you were sure he could hear it, and let the door shut behind you with a soft click.
π.
By the third day of your ten-hour shift stretch, you could recognize the tone of the call button chime before the light even blinked above the door.
It was always Lee Heeseungβs, allways at the most inopportune momentsβ just when you had your gloves snapped on to help with someone elseβs chart, or when you were halfway through prepping a new IV bag.
And by now, you didnβt even need to guess what heβd say.
βMy pillow fell again.β
βMy waterβs too warm.β
βI finished the tissue box. I sneezed once and now itβs gone.β
βI think my skin feels itchy, but like, only a little. Is that bad?β
βDo you know where the remote is?β
Six times that day, and it wasnβt even five p.m.
So this time, you walked in before the chime finished echoing down the hall, your hands on your hips, the door swinging shut behind you with a firm thud.
βOkay,β you said, standing just inside the threshold, your brows raised. βI know youβre bored, and I know hospital life isnβt exactly thrilling, but unless youβve developed a new infection or spontaneously combusted again, I really donβt want to hear another call button chime from this room today.β
Heeseung looked up from the bed, blinking at you with the most unapologetically fake innocent expression youβd ever seen.
βYou donβt have to scold me like that,β he said, lifting a hand with mock pain. βIt hurts my feelings.β
βIt hurts my back,β you snapped, βto walk this hallway six times because you suddenly forgot where your mouth is after wiping it.β
He cracked a smile then, slow and crooked. βThat one wasnβt urgent, I just missed you.β
You blinked at him, deadpan.
βIβm serious,β he added quickly. βIβm not trying to be annoying. I mean, I am. But notβ¦ only.β
You slowly stepped closer to the bed, your arms crossing over your chest. βHeeseung.β
He lifted both hands in surrender, careful not to stretch his burned arm. βAlright. alright, Iβll stop. Iβll be good.β
You narrowed your eyes. You knew he felt alone, F1 season continued, Jake had meetings with his whole department since both his drivers were out and he was afraid heβd be replaced.
You knew, but it didnβt mean he had to drive you insane too. No pun intended.
βIβm sorry,β he said again, softer this time. βI know Iβm being a pain in the ass, that youβre tired, and I know itβs not fair to ask for attention when there are patients who actually need you.β
That startled you a little. His voice was sincere now, not playful.
The kind of honest that didnβt come easy to men like him, the men used to winning races and smiling through sponsorsβ press conferences and interviews. But he looked small now, even as he sat upright in the bed, chest tight in the bandages you changed every morning.
βIβm justββ he exhaled, his fingers twitching over the blanket. βIβm scared to leave. Thatβs the truth.β
You frowned, stepping to his bedside without thinking. βWhy would you be scared of leaving a hospital?β
βBecause I look like this.β He motioned vaguely to his body, to the sling, the burn that peeked from beneath the hem of his collar. βBecause I havenβt seen a mirror in weeks, and I know Iβve looked better. Because my hairβs gross and Iβve lost weight and I smell like antiseptic, and Iβve been stuck in this bed thinking that Iβll never feel like myself again.β
You opened your mouth, but he wasnβt done. βAnd because I finally got the courage to want something for myself. And that something is you.β
The words landed hard. You felt your arms drop slightly, hands now loose by your sides, the air between you suddenly tighter than before. You blinked your eyes, unsure if you were seeing or hearing his words right.
Heeseung looked up at you again, slower this time, less sure of himself than youβd ever seen him.
βI know you donβt owe me anything. Youβve been taking care of me because itβs your duty, and Iβve probably pushed boundaries I shouldnβt. Butβ¦β He swallowed, breath shallow. βI wanted to tell you now. Before I get discharged, because the second Iβm out of here, Iβm gonna be back in recovery, back in press cycles, and everyoneβs going to ask about the crash and Riki and the damn brakes, and Iβm not going to get to just sit with youβ¦ or make you laugh, ormake you roll your eyes like that.β
You stared at him, speechless, as if your body had finally shut down.
βI just needed you to know,β he said finally. βWhen Iβm back on my feet and when I look like me againβ¦ Iβm going to ask you out, properly. If youβll let me.β
Your heart was pounding, because somewhere deep down, maybe youβd known. Known from the moment he reached for the hot chocolate and slid it across the table. Known from the way he watched you like you were the only anchor he had left.
You didnβt know what to say, not yet. Your mouth felt dry and your chest felt tight, but your feet stepped closer anyway, drawn like a magnet.
You didnβt kiss him this time. You didnβt touch him either. You just looked down at him, eyes skimming his face, the new pink of his healing skin, the glint of defiance still in his expression.
βYou still canβt press the call button,β you said quietly.
His smile broke again, wider this time. Like sunlight on rained down pavement.
βAlright,β he whispered. βThen I guess Iβll just have to wait for you.β
π.
You didnβt see Heeseung for almost three weeks.
He still came to the hospital, that much you knew, rehabilitation was mandatory, even for someone as stubborn as Ferrariβs golden boy.
He was scheduled twice a week for physical therapy, and he visited Riki when he could, sometimes staying an hour or more in the kidβs room.
But your shifts never overlapped. It was strange, how easily someone could vanish into the same building you worked in, the same halls youβd memorized with your eyes closed.
You didnβt try to ask around. You didnβt dig through records or prod the therapists in the staff lounge.
You didnβt let it show on your face that every time the elevator dinged on your floor, your eyes flicked up before you could stop yourself.
He was healing at home now. Taking care of his own burns, which had scabbed and scarred over with that red-purple finish that made your heart twist the last time you saw them.
You imagined him moving stiffly through some fancy condo, with his water always cold, pillows never out of reach, tissues unused because there was no one around to pass them.
However, you saw Riki often. He was in less pain now, and more alert to his surroundings.
Still sour most days, snappy and restless from staying still for so long, but there was a spark there, something sharp behind his eyes when he talked about rehab. He wanted to walk, he wanted to drive again. Even if it was far off for the time being.
βHeeseung comes in all weird,β Riki muttered one afternoon while you adjusted the IV tubing above his bed. βLike, in baseball caps and hoodies. As if people wonβt recognize him if he covers half his face and walks with that stupid gait.β
βMaybe heβs trying not to get mobbed,β you murmured, flicking the drip line with your nail. βHe had fans even in the hospital.β
βHe just doesnβt want people to look at him,β Riki said, a little quieter. βNot until his skin looks normal.β
You didnβt answer that. You just gave him a sip of water and changed the subject, but it stayed with you.
That night, for the first time, you opened Instagram and typed Ferrari into the search bar.
The page was easy to find. It was verified, with the bold logo, all red and gold and glory.
You scrolled past the highlight reels, the merchandise links, the footage of pit crews moving like insects in reverse. You skimmed captions about sponsors, about prep for the next season, about hopeful outlooks. And then you found his name.
Lee Heeseung, back in training. Slowly regaining strength in his right arm, working with team specialists twice a week. Determined to be ready for next seasonβs opener.
There was a photo. Blurry, and taken from behind. Heeseung bent forward, sweat soaking through a dark training tee, fingers curled over a steering simulator.
His profile was partly visible, bandage still over the side of his neck, his jaw clenched, dark hair longer than it had been in the hospital.
He looked thin and tired. But he looked alive.
You stared at the photo for longer than you should have. Then, against your better judgment, you hit the follow button.
You didnβt expect it to change anything. You didnβt expect him to see it, even, his feed was full of likes and mentions from fans all over the world, probably flooded every minute.
But something about it made you feel closer. Like youβd walked into a corner of his life no one had given you permission to touch.
Like you were choosing to see him now, not as your patient, not as a body in bandages, but as someone aching to be more than that.
You still didnβt see him in βreal lifeβ, but you started noticing the gap he left in your day.
The way your shift felt a little quieter without his voice drifting out of his VIP room.
How your eyes scanned the hallway out of habit, expecting his lanky frame to come sauntering around the corner with a sarcastic comment ready. How the call button in his old room remained untouched, almost dusty with disuse.
You didnβt let yourself think about it too much. You had other patients. You had other wounds to clean, other charts to fill.
You had boys younger than Riki who didnβt know what comfort felt like, who cried into your sleeves when no one else was looking.
But late at night, when you walked home in silence, something in you still flickered with that unfinished sentence. With that look in his eyes the last time you left his room.
π.
Saturdays werenβt yours to work, but the fire from three nights ago had overflowed the ER.
Nurses had been calling out, supplies were low, and patients kept pouring in with second-degree burns and smoke in their lungs, soot in their hair and soot in their blood.
You hadnβt had lunch. You barely remembered what youβd eaten for breakfast.
Your scrubs were wrinkled, your badge strap sticky with someoneβs dried medication, your shoes creaked wet from a mop bucket you stepped in by accident. All you wanted was to go home, shower, and sleep for fourteen uninterrupted hours.
So when you stepped out the side exit, your usual escape route to avoid the busier front doors, and found a sleek, glimmering black car parked right in the middle of the access road, you groaned out loud.
βThe hellβ¦β you muttered under your breath, narrowing your eyes.
You looked around first, no security in sight and no staff nearby.
The car was expensive, way too shiny to belong to a low waged doctor, but the way it was angled made your jaw clench.
Right in the path of emergency lanes. If an ambulance pulled in, it would have to slow down, stop before it hit it and possibly lose a life.
You stepped toward the driverβs side window without hesitation, rapping your knuckles against the glass firmly.
You didnβt expect it to roll down that fast. And you definitely didnβt expect him.
Heeseung turned toward you slowly, lips twitching up into the smallest smile, his eyes scanning you like you were a familiar song playing again for the first time in weeks.
He had a hat on, but he pulled it off the second he saw your face. His skin had lost the swollen, raw shine, there were still scars on his jawline and neck, but they were faded now, pinked and healing.
βHi,β he said quietly.
You just blinked, hands mid-air, paused knock on the window. βWhatβ what are you doing here?β you asked.
βI was waiting for you,β he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. βYour shift ended half an hour ago.β
βI stayed behind because the trauma and burning bay was still full.β You explained, brows furrowed.
βYeah, I heard about the fire.β His brows dipped a little. βI figured you wouldnβt leave on time.β
You glanced at the car again, then back at him βYouβre parked in the middle of the road.β
He shrugged, leaning his elbow against the wheel, lazy and composed and so infuriatingly calm. βYou always said I was reckless.β
βThatβs notβ Heeseung, you canβt park here. What if an ambulance came in?β You nagged.
βThen I wouldβve moved.β His smile widened slightly. βI saw you coming out. You were holding your bag like it was about to break.β
You looked down at your satchel, at the way it was sagging from your shoulder, the straps barely stitched. You hadnβt realized he was watching.
βYou look exhausted,β he said. βI didnβt mean to scare you or get in the way. I justβ¦ I wanted to talk to you.β
You hesitated, swallowing hard. βYou couldβve texted.β
βI donβt have your number.β You paused again, jaw tightening. The handsome fucker was right.
He read the hesitation in your expression because his voice softened when he added, βItβs not anything heavy. I just wanted to see youβ¦. talk. If thatβs okay.β
βI should go home,β you said, but your voice didnβt sound as sure as it should have.
βI know,β he replied, tone level. βIβm not trying to trap you. I justβ¦ thought maybe youβd want to come for a short drive.β
You opened your mouth to protest again, but he mustβve seen it in your face, that flicker, that tiny weakening you always had with him, because he leaned across the passenger seat and pushed the door open.
The smell of his cologne wafted out faintly, clean and unfamiliar. Not the antiseptic you used to associate with him, but something warmer.
βFifteen minutes,β he said. βAnd Iβll drive slow.β
You stood there another heartbeat before sighing heavily and slipping in, dropping your bag between your feet. βYou canβt park like that again.β you grumbled, pulling your seatbelt on.
βI wonβt,β he said, already shifting the gear. βUnless it gets me your attention.β
The car was too smooth, barely a hum beneath your thighs as he pulled onto the road.
He didnβt take the highway. Instead, he drifted toward the north side of the city, where the buildings thinned and the roads turned narrow and winding.
You didnβt say anything for a while, and the radio was off, creating a not so awkward silence.
The windows cracked just enough for the wind to kiss your temples. Heeseung kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gear shift. His fingers tapped to a rhythm only he heard.
You finally asked, βWhere are we going?β
βYouβll see.β he smirked.
The hill was quiet. Just far enough from town that the lights behind you blurred into a string of distant sparks, like stars upside down.
He pulled up to the edge, beside a lookout you vaguely recognized from photos, some popular spot kids used to park and drink or kiss in late at night.
But now it was just the two of you, and the sun was melting behind the skyline, leaving streaks of orange and dusty violet stretching across the horizon.
He killed the engine as you sat still, unsure. He turned to you. βYouβve been following the Ferrari page.β
You flushed before you could stop it, your eyes darting to the glovebox. βYou noticed?β
βYou think I wouldnβt?β he asked, tilting his head. βYour username has your badge number and Jake asked me if it was you when he saw the notification. Heβs the one who runs the profile.β
You cringed. βI misclicked.β
βI like it that you follow it.β He took a breath, shifting to face you slightly. βI wasnβt lying that day. I know I was half gross with hair oily and calling for tissues every five minutes. But I meant what I said.β
You chewed your bottom lip, hands clasped together on your lap.
βIβve thought about you every damn day,β he said, voice low. βEvery burn I cleaned, every stretch I did to move my arm againβ¦ it was all with your voice in my head, lecturing me, cussing under your breath, or humming while you changed my dressings.
He chucked softly, βIβm not trying to romanticize what you didβ it was your job, I know that. But you were the only part of that room that didnβt feel like pain.β
Your throat tightened. The silence around you pressed against your chest.
βSo,β he said, after a moment. βNow that Iβm here, and I donβt look like a half-melted wax figure, Iβm going to ask again.β
He leaned in a little, not enough to touch you. Just enough to make the air shiver between your knees.
βWould you go out with me?β
You looked at him, really looked at the scars that would never fully fade, at the honesty stretched across his face. At the way his fingers curled and uncurled on his thigh, nervous.
Not Heeseung-the-racer. Not Heeseung-the-patient. Just the man who held you when you broke down and offered you hot chocolate to cheer you up.
ββ¦Youβre still kind of a pain in the ass,β you whispered.
He grinned, soft and warm and so stupidly pretty. βIβm hoping you like that about me.β
You rolled your eyes and looked away. But your voice cracked into something almost smiling as you said, βOkay.β
His inhale was slow, asif he didnβt believe you yet.
βYeah?β he asked, like he needed to hear it again.
You turned back to him and nodded. βYeah.β
π.
You hadnβt meant for it to happen so naturallyx, but the nights at his place started slipping into your week like a warm spring breeze.
He picked you up after long shifts when you didnβt feel like taking the bus, and youβd slip into his fancy car still in your scrubs, smelling faintly of antiseptic and latex gloves, too tired to talk.
And he never asked you to. He just opened the passenger door, let you rest your head against the window, and drove home in silence, music turned low and hand reaching across the console to hold yours.
His mansion, because there was no way around calling it that, wasnβt what you expected.
You thought itβd be filled with trophies and screaming red logos, but it was just neat and quiet.
His bedroom was painted in soft shades of gray and navy, his kitchen smelled like coffee beans and a hint of vanilla, and the couch was so wide youβd often curl up in the corner with a blanket and not move for hours.
You didnβt have the energy for fancy dates or being out in public. You certainly didnβt want to be photographed, you didnβt ant some journalist writing a two-paragraph caption about how Heeseungβs latest girl was just some tired nurse with eyebags and oversized jackets.
And Heeseung never made you feel small for it. Whatever he chose for his life you didnβt have to force yourself to be a part of.
Most nights were spent curled on the sofa, a Netflix movie you barely registered playing in the background.
You would start the evening upright, knees tucked in, a warm drink in your hands, and end it slouched sideways, your cheek against his shoulder, breath even and shallow as sleep claimed you halfway through the plot.
Heβd carry you, sometimes. Tuck you in and kiss your forehead lightly. Other nights, you made it to bed on your own, and he would join you an hour later, warm and silent, pressing himself carefully to your back, still stiff because of his healing skin.
He had noticed your pills early on. The first time, you thought youβd been slick about it, hiding them behind your hand as you opened the bottle near the sink.
But he leaned over and asked, βYou okay?β
You nodded, embarrassed, trying to swallow them quickly. βJust for digestion, yβknow? My stomach gets weird after long shifts. I donβt alwaysβ¦ well, canβt always eat right after I see something.β
His expression softened like youβd pressed a hand over his chest. He didnβt say anything right away, he just took the glass from your hand, poured you another, and passed it back silently.
βYou donβt have to explain it,β he said quietly. βI get it.β
You werenβt sure he could get it. He didnβt have to hold broken children or stitch the soft skin of dying women, and he didnβt have to stand still while a monitor flatlined.
But he had burned for someone else. Heβd jumped in front of a car going too fast to stop, taken the brunt of it, let himself be crushed and concussed to save a boy who wasnβt ready to die.
So maybe he did understand.
When you came over one Saturday morning, he was more animated than usual.
He was wearing a dark sweater and cargo pants, with hair half-damp from a shower, and his bandage finally gone from his wrist, his body almost healed.
He still couldnβt grip with his right hand properly. He said the nerves were healing slowly, but heβd been trying.
βCβmere,β he grinned, reaching for your bag to drop it by the entrance. βI want to show you something.β
You blinked at him, one eyebrow rising. βShow me what?β
βJust come.β He tugged at your hand and pulled you toward the garage.
You hadnβt really stepped inside the main garage before. The house had two: one for his daily cars, and the other for, well, whatever this was. The second he flipped the lights on, you saw it.
His car. That car.
The one that had been twisted into fire and pain months ago. The one youβd seen on the news, reduced to smoldering steel.
Now it sat before you, with a brand new frame, the same number, and the same paint job, the shine of it almost surreal under the ceiling lights.
βYou got it back,β you murmured.
βI got her back, my Scarlet.β he said, voice soft with affection. βItβs not exactly the same frame, and weβve upgraded a few things. Butβ¦ yeah. Sheβs mine again.β
You walked slowly around it, trailing your fingers just barely along the side. βAnd youβll drive again.β
βAs soon as they let me.β
βAnd your hand?β He held it up, flexing it in the air. βStill annoying as hell. But Iβve been cooperating with the exercises.β
You smiled, turning to him. βThatβs a first.β
He grinned, full of boyish pride. Then he nodded toward the other side of the garage. βThereβs someone else I want you to meet officially.β
You followed him without question.
Jake was waiting near the workbench, hands shoved in his pockets, his hair tied back with a cap. He looked better than the last time youβd seen him in a panic outside the hospital room, pacing the hall and begging for updates.
βJake,β Heeseung said, his voice low but proud, βthis is Y/N.β
Jake smiled and extended his hand. βYouβre the nurse who yelled at the three others for pampering him with pudding.β
You laughed as you shook it. βThey were fangirling and he was still high on morphine. Someone had to keep his ego in check.β
Heeseung groaned behind you. βYouβre never going to let that go.β
βNot a chance.β
Jake grinned even wider. βI like her.β
βSheβs not just my nurse anymore,β Heeseung said quietly, and when you glanced back at him, he was looking straight at you. βSheβs my girl now.β
The words shouldnβt have knocked the air out of your chest the way they did. You werenβt sixteen anymore, youβd had men call you worse and sweeter things in the heat of a moment, but thisβ this was soft and real.
You didnβt say anything right away. Just smiled, nodded a thank you to Jake, and let Heeseung lead you upstairs again, through the back hallway.
When the door to the garage closed behind you and the silence settled again, you reached for him before he could say anything else.
you pressed your hands to his cheeks gently, careful of the last faint scar that still lingered along the side of his jaw, and kissed him.
He stilled at first, stunned. Then he leaned in, warm and steady, one hand sliding to your hip, the other brushing the back of your neck.
It was the kind of kiss that made time pause. With no rush, no fire behind your teeth. Just slow, deep breaths and the rhythm of his lips against yours, like heβd been waiting too long to ask again.
When you pulled away, you stayed close, your forehead resting against his.
βYou are a wonderful person, Lee Heeseung.β You breathed out.
βYou make me better.β He murmured.
You smiled, kissed the tip of his nose, and said, βNo, thatβs all you.β
