we met in june || choi san ⚽️
ONE: the injury
⚽️ summary -> Only a short time after signing a contract to become the new physical therapist for one of South Korea's top soccer teams, their star player, San, crumbles with a serious knee injury. You're in charge of taking care of him through his recovery process, but San is not exactly the nicest patient to deal with. Suddenly, your life takes a new direction as you get to know the grumpy player and watch him bond with your son.
⚽️ pairing -> physical therapist! (f) reader x injured soccer player! San
⚽️ genre/au -> sports romance, single parent, smut, fluff, angst
⚽️ warnings/tags -> series is 18+ MINORS DNI, sports injury, single parent, more fun warnings to come throughout the series ;)
⚽️ word count -> 3.0k (and counting)
⚽️ series status -> In progress
⚽️ taglist -> @jjhmk @yukine-smx @roe-sinning @meowmeowminnie @yeritheloml @y00nzin0 @yesv01 @halesandy @shegotboreddsoo @kangyeosangelic @gayliljoong @sanshineeeeee @kodzukein @baguette-atiny @seokwoosmole @nyeatinyjunkie @juliettechokilo @pockyddalgi @justaqueerbufoin @hwaightme @likexaxdaydream @ssaboala @gtr-skyline-lover @miriamxsworld @daegale @knucklesdeepmingi @naiify @yeoyeoland @arya9111 @mdibby @8tinytings @angelicyeo @wooyoungjpg @lonewolfjinji @asjkdk @charreddonuts @mangishii @yeoyeoland @pink-hwaberry @wooyoluvrr @maru-matt @pearltinyy @loveuwoo @m3chigo @northerngalxy @silverpixiedust23 @interweab @skz1-4-3 (if I missed you please lmk!! bold = can’t tag)
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next chapter ->
They say an injury can really change someone.
Ruin someone. Destroy someone.
As a person who has both lived through injuries and currently treats them, you would have to agree.
Injuries not only change you—they shape you. No matter what the injury is, the process, the mental games, the recovery—it takes a strong mind to find light at the end of the tunnel. One wrong move, one misstep, one…second. Bam. Life is different.
From running at full speed to lying stagnant—like a forgotten body of water once full of life and movement, now still and untouched. A mind that once felt free now felt compressed, lost, overwhelmed.
You see it, you've experienced it, you’ve worked so hard to get where you are.
And now you're here. No longer the athlete you used to be, but now using the hard-fought mind to help other athletes through their pain.
And well, clearly your athleticism passed on to your son, Jun, who was kicking a foam soccer ball around in the living room, acting as though he was a professional soccer player. He mumbled to himself as he ran around, chanting his own name, and when he kicked the ball through two boxes, he cheered and jumped around playfully.
“Gooooaaaaalll!” He roared, then giggled, and proceeded to grab the ball out of the “net.” The net was quite literally unpacked boxes that you left lying since you haven't found the time to break them apart. At least they had a use.
You just moved into this place about a week ago due to your new job assignment—you were placed with the most popular soccer team in the country, which is just a few blocks away. After the team kept experiencing multiple knee injuries, their management requested a specialist in the hopes of better rehabilitation. You proudly accepted the position, even if it required you to move.
Your son was young enough, and you did not have ties to your ex-husband anymore. That was long gone, that's for sure. Who knows what he’s doing now. Probably sleeping with anything that breathes…he definitely has every single std that exists. The only good thing that came out of that asshole was Jun.
You stood at the stove, nearly forgetting that you were making scrambled eggs. You quickly jumped back into cooking action and scraped the bottom of the pan before it burned.
Jun was still kicking the ball around the room. Typically, you’d be telling him to take it outside—but, well, your current place did not have any outdoor space. He loved soccer so much, how could you not find a way to let him play? A foam ball is what it is for now.
“Jun, honey,” you tried to get his attention. “Come eat, I made your favorite!”
He didn't budge. This time, instead of playing around with the ball, he held it in his hands in front of him, his gaze attached strongly to the television on the wall. His mouth was agape, watching intently.
“Soccer superstar Choi San will not play today, and for further notice, after an apparent knee injury in last night’s game,” the announcer spoke with a tone of disappointment. You watched the TV, then your son, watching him smile as his favorite player appeared on the screen. You were sure that the context of the broadcast was completely disregarded on his part—his eyes only seeing his hero.
Choi San’s photo appeared on the corner of the screen, his dark eyes glistening, his lips curled up in a smirk. He sported a nasty bruise on his cheek, probably from an elbow, but it made him look even sexier. However, the juxtaposition of the smile and the video playing behind him made you uneasy.
The commentators spoke, but you didn't hear what they were saying—all you saw was the replay of the injury, knowing exactly what happened to him. He planted his right leg, but his momentum took him too far—his knee buckles inward, he screams in pain, and he is carried off on a stretcher. Everyone in the stadium fears the worst.
The announcers took over the screen now, the video behind them, his picture there as well.
“Well, we have word that he has undergone imaging to define the injury, but we have no word at this point about his current condition.”
Your chest tightened. This was a normal occurrence for you—to feel a sort of…pull in response to an injury. Your mind flashed with memories of your own recovery, the event, the injury, the pain. You shook it all away, turning off the stove and putting your attention back on your son.
Luckily, since Choi San was off the screen now, he gave you the time of day.
“Wow, is he more important than me?” you scoffed playfully while plating his food, adding a few cut-up strawberries. “I see how it is!”
Jun giggled and ran up to you. You scooped him up, groaning jokingly. “My goodness, you’re getting heavy.” You poked his nose. “Soon you'll be bigger than me.”
He smiled. “One day I’ll look like San! He’s so big and strong.”
You ruffled his dark hair, watching him squirm a bit. Setting him down, you grabbed his plate. “Let's eat, and then you have daycare.”
“Pfft,” he hissed, shaking his head. “No, I want to stay here.”
“You know you have to go, bubs.” You settled him at the table and gave him his fork. “It will be over before you know it.”
He didn't respond to that. He just dug into his eggs like a madman on a mission.
After he finished up, you grabbed an apple, tossed it in your bag, clipped your hair up, and made your way to daycare.
—
Work was still fresh and new to you. You were still settling into the new program and team, learning all of their habits and training protocols. You weren't currently tasked to a specific player, but you understood how things ran at the facility and the routines.
You were setting up your office in the rehabilitation center of the sports complex, feeling as if unpacking boxes was the epitome of your life. After finishing the last box, you tossed yourself onto your office chair, causing it to spin a bit. You let out a big, dramatic sigh.
But just as you started settling in, your boss came up to you, a slight grimace on his face.
“Y/N?” he mumbled softly, knocking on your open door. He stood hesitantly, and you already knew by the look on his face what he was going to ask of you. “So, our center forward—”
“Choi San?” you asked, eyebrows raised, your body sunken in your chair.
He nodded, biting the corner of his lip. “Uh, yeah. Choi San’s MRI results came back. Not good. Not good at all.” He entered your office, reaching out to hand you a folder labeled “Choi, S.” He nodded at the folder. “Take a look.”
I already knew what was going to be inside the folder. As I read it over, I saw the words “complete rupture of the anterior cruciate ligament” and “medial meniscus tear.” It never gets easier seeing those words. Your mind flashes back again, your knee aching as you read, as if you were reading your own diagnosis. You thought about how San was feeling at this point.
You closed the folder. “Does he know?”
Your boss nodded. “Yeah, um,” he swallowed, leaning over the chair in front of him. “He didn't say much. We already scheduled him for surgery. The sooner we get him in, the quicker we can get him back on the field.”
You sat up a bit. “Yes, but, I mean… It's more important for him to heal on his own timeline,” you blinked. “Recovery isn't linear. This will be hard for him.”
To your surprise, he just waved a hand in dismissal. "I have faith in him. And you." He pointed at the folder. "Which is actually why I'm here."
Immediately, you didn't like where this was going.
"What do you mean?"
Your boss pulled out the chair across from your desk and sat down. "After surgery, San's case is going to become your responsibility."
You stared at him. "My responsibility?"
"Primary therapist," he clarified. "You'll oversee everything. His rehab plan, progress evaluations, and return-to-play assessments. The works."
You laughed once, mostly out of disbelief. "You're kidding."
"I wish I was." He leaned forward and folded his hands together. "The club wants consistency. One person handling his recovery from start to finish. Given your specialization, you're the obvious choice."
The obvious choice.
Great. You had barely finished unpacking your office.
You had finally settled into a routine that worked. The center was busy but manageable, your patient load varied enough to keep every day interesting, and for the first time in years, your life felt balanced. You could leave work at work and still make it home in time for dinner with your son.
Now they wanted you attached to one athlete around the clock.
"What exactly does 'primary therapist' mean?" you asked carefully, your mind spinning with the possibilities.
Your boss gave you an apologetic smile. "It means he'll be your number one priority."
You groaned. "Come on."
"I'm serious." He slid a paper across your desk. "He'll be coming into the center every other day once he's cleared for outpatient rehab. You'll also be conducting home visits during the early stages of recovery."
You nearly swallowed your own tongue in shock at his words. "Home visits?"
"House calls. Just until he's able to manage more independently."
You dropped your head back against the chair. You held back an aggravated groan. You didn't even know this man, but thinking about all of the time you might lose with your son, the more you want to tear your hair out.
"Look, I know it's a lot. But San's recovery is important to the organization."
Important. That was one way to put it.
The club's star center forward tearing his ACL was probably every executive's nightmare.
You glanced down at the folder again. Honestly, you couldn't even be irritated with him. An injury like this could be devastating. You knew that better than anyone.
With a sigh, you reached for the paperwork.
"Fine."
"Fine?"
"Yeah, fine. It’s fine, I’ll do it."
Your boss looked visibly relieved.
"Thank you."
"Yeah, yeah."
After he left, you sat alone in your office, staring at the thick folder.
A small smile tugged at your lips as you thought about your son. If there was one person in the world who would be excited about this, it would be him.
Maybe, if things went well, he'd get the chance to meet Choi San.
The thought made the situation slightly less annoying.
Well, only slightly.
-
A week later, you received a phone call telling you that San’s surgery went well and he was now at home recovering. You knew firsthand how difficult the first few weeks were adjusting to life after ACL surgery. Today, though, he should be okay. The nerve block would take care of any pain…well, for a short while.
Your best friend, Mingi, was sprawled across your couch, arms wrapped around the back of it. He sported a backwards cap and a ginormous grin as your son crawled around him like a junglegym. “Do you know that your mommy is working with Choi San?” He gasped playfully, tickling Jun. “Isn't that fun? Oh, you gotta make sure she lets you meet him—”
“Mingi,” you hissed from the table, where you were working on the protocol you received from the surgeon. “He’s recovering from a major surgery. There's no way I’d bring that up. Besides, I’m sure that's the last thing he wants to deal with.” Listen, you loved your son more than anything—but you knew damn well that a hurting, depressed athlete would much rather stay in their own head than deal with a crazed five-year-old fan.
You shut your computer, noticing Jun’s sad expression. “Oh, honey, maybe after he gets better.”
Jun blinked at you. “Is he hurting?”
You nodded. “Oh, yes. But just for now. He’ll be okay and back to playing in no time.” As you reassured Jun, Mingi gave you a knowing look. He knows that this man will not get back on that field for at least 7 months, maybe longer.
Despite that, Mingi lifted Jun up enthusiastically, standing up from the couch and spinning him in circles. “You hear that? You’ll get to meet your favorite player!”
You couldn't help but smile at the scene. You and Mingi went to the same college. He was in a totally different program—architecture, which was pretty damn cool—but you met during a geography prerequisite during freshman year. You clicked immediately, and the rest was history. You once thought that he would be the one for you. You’ve tried it—it just didn't feel right.
Just as you were going to join in the conversation again, your phone rang, startling you. A text message popped up on your phone from your supervisor. You had a feeling that this was going to be what greeted you today—the start of your assignment.
The text was split up into multiple messages. The first message stated that your first official visit wasn't at the rehabilitation center but at his home. You already assumed that from the conversation you had with him in your office.
You weren't a caretaker. Physical therapy was one thing. Playing nursemaid was another. But something inside you felt an intense pull to this case—there must be a reason for the home visits besides the obvious.
The next chat bubble mentioned that, according to his discharge notes, he lived alone and would need help navigating the first few days after surgery.
It was hard to believe that a man lived alone. More so, it was hard to believe that he didn't have anyone to take care of him and that he needed home visits.
Your boss then sent one more text.
Then you froze.
You looked again. And then a third time. "No way."
Mingi looked over to you with a confused expression, an eyebrow raised as he entertained Jun.
The address was familiar…too familiar. The apartment number wasn't even far from yours.
Just a few doors down the hall.
Of all the places in the city, Choi San apparently lived in the same building as you. You held back, blurting it out to Mingi—he had a big ass mouth and would one hundred percent blab about his location to the entirety of the community—so you replied with a thumbs up and closed your phone.
You start this journey with San tomorrow morning. Your stomach churned just thinking about it. You couldn't tell if it was nerves, irritation, or genuine empathy. Knowing that he was just down the hallway, alone, recovering from surgery, you felt a pull to make sure he was okay. Someone shouldn't be left alone after a procedure like that, right?
As Mingi messed around with Jun, you opened your phone again to send a message to your boss.
He lives a few doors down from me. Is he alone right now? He should not be alone.
Within seconds, he responds.
He is…
Overtime pay if you go over and check on him?
You furrowed your brows. Looking up to Mingi, you hesitated. Jun would be fine if you went over since Mingi was there. Extra money, too? Why not? Also, no one should be left alone… You sent him a message back, letting him know you were going over.
Standing up from your spot at the table, Mingi’s gaze whipped over to you. Jun was content with watching soccer highlights on the TV. “What’s wrong?”
You scratched your elbow, pausing before pushing in your chair and going to grab your bag on the kitchen island. “Oh, uh,” you ran a hand through your hair. “I was called in for work.”
Mingi frowned. “Oh, really? It’s kind of late for that.”
You looked at the clock above the stove. It was nearing Jun’s bedtime. “I know, but I get paid overtime for it.” You nodded towards Jun. “I could get him the new cleats he’s been wanting. Could you put him to bed for me if I’m not back in time?”
You could tell that Mingi wanted to say more. He didn't, though, and nodded. “Yeah, of course. Little man and I are good here.”
You made your way over to him and gave him a smooch on the cheek. “Oh, thank you, Mingi, you’re a lifesaver.” You squeezed his bicep, totally missing the reaction he gave. His cheeks flushed, but you were zooming out of the door quickly, both excited and irritated and, to be honest, every other emotion under the sun.
You were excited to build a relationship with him for your son. You were nervous about dealing with another ACL recovery, knowing the memories it would bring back to you. And you were irritated that you didn't get to have a glass of wine before bed like you do every Wednesday. You called it Wine Wednesday—it'll probably be ‘whine’ Wednesday today.
You gave your son a big smooch as well, told him to be good for Uncle Mingi, stepped out into the hallway and made your way toward his apartment.
The closer you got, the more surreal it felt.
You stopped in front of the door, adjusted the strap of your bag, and knocked. A few seconds passed, then you heard slow footsteps approaching from the other side.
And the lock clicked open.
