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tobiosbbyghorl · 2 months ago

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Code Blue, Hearts Too | psh

650 followers special!

pairing: student nurse! sunghoon x nurse! reader

wc: 10k

synopsis: Y/N, a dedicated nurse, and Sunghoon, a graduating student nurse, as they navigate the intense world of healthcare and a growing, undeniable attraction. From late-night shifts to stolen moments in supply closets, their professional bond turns into something deeper, but when rumors threaten Sunghoon’s graduation, Y/N pulls away to protect him. Can their connection survive the rules of mentorship, or will love break through the walls they’ve built?

The emergency department was already humming with tension when Y/N walked through the automatic doors, her badge swinging and her coffee still hot. Another day, another double shift. The fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly, but it was the familiar scent—antiseptic, sterile plastic, adrenaline—that grounded her. She was used to chaos. Thrived in it, even.

What she wasn’t used to was the new student nurse already standing at the nurses’ station, leaning far too comfortably against the counter like he owned the place.

He looked up as she approached, and the first thing she noticed was his face—sharp jawline, soft brown eyes, hair perfectly parted even at 6:58 in the morning. His ID badge hung around his neck, revealing:

Park Sunghoon. Student Nurse. Final Year.

“Morning,” he said with a smirk. “You must be Nurse L/N.”

She blinked. “And you must be too early.”

He laughed softly, unbothered. “I figured I should make a good first impression.”

“You’re not shadowing a CEO, Sunghoon. Just don’t kill a patient, and we’re good.”

He followed her down the hallway as she gave him a quick rundown of the day’s expectations. “You’ve been assigned to me for the next six weeks. Final rotation. That means I’m responsible for everything you do, good or bad. So, no flirting with patients, no disappearing for long bathroom breaks, and no thinking you know more than the nurses.”

“Do people usually flirt with patients?” he asked innocently, walking beside her. “Is that a thing?”

She gave him a look. “Not unless you want to be thrown into the linen chute.”

He grinned. “Noted.”

⸻

Just before the shift officially began, two more student nurses entered the ward—Jungwon and Sunoo—chatting quietly with clipboards in hand.

“Hey, you’re with Nurse L/N today, right?” Jungwon asked, glancing at Sunghoon with a quick smirk.

Sunghoon nodded. “Yeah. I’m with the scary one.”

Y/N raised a brow. “I can hear you.”

Sunoo stepped forward with a bright smile. “That’s why we like you, though. You keep us sharp.”

Y/N couldn’t help but smile back. “Good answer.”

Sunghoon blinked at the sudden friendliness. “Wait, you guys have already warmed up to her?”

Jungwon shrugged. “She actually helped me last week during a code. Told me exactly what to do. Super chill under pressure.”

“Also, she got me juice when I passed out during my first blood draw,” Sunoo added dramatically. “She’s basically our mom now.”

Y/N gave Sunghoon a look. “You could learn from your friends.”

“Oh, I will,” Sunghoon muttered, jaw tight. “I’ll be your favorite by week three.”

“We’ll see,” she said, already walking away. “Try to survive day one first.”

⸻

The shift was packed from the start. A suspected stroke in bay four. A toddler with a febrile seizure. A motorbike accident that left one man with a crushed femur and another with a punctured lung.

Sunghoon kept up better than she expected. He had quick hands and a focused stare. But there was still an edge of arrogance—like he knew he was good, and that made him a little reckless.

“Clamp the line tighter,” she barked at him as he adjusted a pressure bag. “You’re gonna let his pressure drop if you keep second-guessing.”

He nodded and followed, but she noticed the subtle clench of his jaw.

After the trauma was wheeled to CT, she caught him rubbing the back of his neck by the med cart.

“You did okay,” she admitted. “But this isn’t school. People crash fast here. You hesitate, they die.”

“I know,” he said. His tone was softer now. Less cocky. “I just—I didn’t want to screw it up.”

She looked at him a second longer than necessary. There was something in his voice. Vulnerability, maybe. But she turned away.

“Get used to screwing up,” she said. “Just don’t make a habit of it.”

⸻

They had dinner during their break—microwaved rice bowls in the staff lounge. Jungwon and Sunoo sat on the couch, halfway into a game of cards, while Sunghoon ended up at the table across from Y/N.

Sunoo glanced between them with a sly grin. “So, how’s Nurse Y/N treating you, Sunghoon?”

“She’s terrifying,” Sunghoon deadpanned.

“She’s nice to us,” Jungwon added with a shrug.

Y/N sipped her coffee with a smirk. “He just needs to earn it.”

Sunghoon met her eyes. “And how do I do that?”

“Stop trying to impress everyone and start listening,” she said simply.

He stared at her for a beat too long before replying, “You always this honest?”

“Only when I like someone,” she shot back, then stood. “You’ve got ten minutes left of break. Don’t be late.”

As she walked out, Sunoo elbowed Sunghoon with a grin. “Bro. You’re screwed.”

Sunghoon only sighed, eyes still on the door. “I know.”

⸻

Rounds were always chaotic, especially during the early shift change. Y/N walked quickly, her chart open in one hand, coffee in the other. Sunghoon trailed behind her, notepad tucked into his scrubs, trying to match her pace without tripping over a rolling IV pole.

“Keep up,” she said without looking back.

“I’m literally on your heels.”

“That’s the problem. Stay two steps behind. This isn’t a runway.”

He scoffed. “You walk like it is.”

She glanced over her shoulder with a raised brow. “Was that… your attempt at flirting?”

“No,” he said too fast.

She smirked. “Pity. I was gonna rate it a generous five.”

They reached the first bay—an elderly couple, Mr. and Mrs. Han, in for a minor fall. Mrs. Han sat beside the bed, clinging to her husband’s hand like he was still twenty-five and invincible.

“Good morning, Mr. Han,” Y/N greeted. “How’s the hip?”

“Still attached, thanks to you,” he said with a chuckle. Then his eyes drifted to Sunghoon, standing at the end of the bed, holding the chart.

Mrs. Han leaned in, squinting through her glasses. “Omo, is this your boyfriend?”

Sunghoon nearly dropped the clipboard.

Y/N laughed. “Definitely not. He’s a student.”

“He’s too handsome to be just a student,” Mrs. Han said slyly. “You should keep him.”

Sunghoon turned pink as Y/N smirked and scribbled something onto the chart.

“See? Even grandma’s rooting for you,” she muttered under her breath.

“She called me handsome,” he whispered back. “You’re just jealous.”

Y/N didn’t dignify that with a response—just handed him the chart and walked off.

He followed her into the next bay. “You are a little jealous.”

“I am your supervisor,” she said sweetly. “Don’t tempt me to assign you to mop duty.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“Wanna bet?”

He shut up after that—but the smug grin didn’t leave his face.

⸻

Later, they took vitals in the surgical observation ward, charted on tablets side-by-side, and bantered their way through patient interviews.

Sunghoon actually made her laugh at one point—like, really laugh—when a grumpy patient kept refusing meds and he deadpanned, “Sir, if you don’t take this Tylenol, I will personally write your obituary and make it dramatic.”

She snorted, then slapped his arm. “Stop. That’s not appropriate.”

“Did he take it, though?”

She shook her head, amused. “I hate that you’re good with people.”

He grinned. “Admit it. You like me a little.”

“Not even close.”

That softness—her half-smiles, the way she teased him without meaning harm, the way she still watched over him when she thought he wasn’t looking—lingered in his mind as they returned to the ER.

Sunghoon was mid-thought, debating whether to ask if she wanted coffee after rounds, when the trauma pager blared overhead.

CODE BLUE, TRAUMA BAY 2. MALE, 40s. UNRESPONSIVE. ETA 3 MINUTES.

The mood snapped.

Y/N was already moving. “Sunghoon, come on.”

They hit the trauma bay with barely a second to spare. The paramedics wheeled in a man pale and limp on the stretcher, the oxygen mask slipping slightly from his face.

“Suspected overdose,” one of the EMTs reported. “Unresponsive on scene. RR dropped en route.”

“Get him on the monitor,” the attending ordered. “Where’s the bag-valve mask?”

“I’ve got it,” Sunghoon said, reaching for the crash cart.

But the drawer jammed.

A beat passed.

Then another.

He looked up—saw the patient’s chest stalling. No air. No movement.

And he froze.

Everything blurred. The beeping. The shouting. His own heartbeat pounding louder than the alarms.

Y/N’s voice sliced through the chaos. “Bag him. Now!”

Still, his fingers didn’t move.

She shoved past him, mask already fitted in her hand. “I’ve got it!” she snapped, sealing the mask and beginning ventilation. “Start compressions! Move!”

The team jumped in, efficient, fast.

And Sunghoon just stood there.

Useless.

⸻

The patient stabilized. The code ended.

And Y/N didn’t say a word as she walked straight out of the bay.

Sunghoon followed her down the hall, chest tight, his skin burning with shame. When she pushed open the supply closet and yanked him in by the wrist, he didn’t resist.

The door clicked shut.

The air inside was tense and heavy. The overhead light flickered slightly, and the faint antiseptic scent filled the silence between them.

“What the hell happened out there?” she demanded.

He stared at the floor. “I—I froze. I know. I messed up.”

“You could’ve lost him, Sunghoon.”

“I know!” he snapped, voice breaking. “I knew exactly what to do, I just… I couldn’t move.”

She crossed her arms. “Why not?”

His voice dropped, defeated. “Because I didn’t want to do it wrong. Not in front of you.”

Y/N’s anger dulled into something more pained. “This isn’t about me.”

“It kind of is,” he admitted. “You’re the one I want to impress the most.”

That hung between them.

“You think I’m trying to be the best student nurse?” he asked, voice quieter now. “I’m trying to be good enough—for this place, for the patients… for you.”

Her lips parted slightly, surprised. But she didn’t move.

He took a hesitant step closer.

“I know I’m not there yet. But I want to be. And I need you to keep pushing me, even when I screw up. Especially then.”

Y/N’s brows furrowed, voice soft. “You scared me today.”

“I scared myself.”

He was too close now. The air too warm. Their eyes locked.

“You really care that much about what I think?” she asked, tone gentler.

He gave a short laugh, dry and honest. “You terrify me and I like it. That should tell you everything.”

She blinked—startled by the rawness of it.

The silence stretched, her heart thudding like it wanted to break the rules she’d set.

She reached for the door, voice low. “You’ll do better next time.”

He nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah.”

Her hand paused on the knob. “Sunghoon?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re not the only one who’s scared.”

Then she left.

Leaving him alone, pulse racing, staring at the door like it had taken all the air with it.

⸻

The supply closet door shut behind her with a quiet finality, and Sunghoon stood there for a full ten seconds before realizing he needed to breathe again.

He leaned against the shelves, exhaled, and scrubbed a hand over his face.

You’re not the only one who’s scared.

Her words replayed over and over in his head like a record skipping in a quiet room.

He was still flushed when he stepped back out into the hall, only to come face-to-face with two devils in pastel scrubs.

Sunoo raised an eyebrow. “So… you and Nurse Y/N gonna make out in every supply closet or just this one?”

Sunghoon nearly choked. “What the—how long were you standing there?”

“Long enough,” Jungwon said innocently. “Is that what they meant by hands-on learning?”

Sunghoon groaned and tried to walk past them, but Sunoo blocked the way like a mischievous wall of judgment.

“Oh no, you’re not getting out of this. What happened in there? She looked… flustered.”

“So did you,” Jungwon added helpfully.

Sunghoon narrowed his eyes. “You two seriously need to get a hobby.”

Sunoo gasped, fake-offended. “You are our hobby.”

“You’ve been heart-eyed for her since orientation,” Jungwon said, casually flipping through his clipboard. “It’s kind of adorable. Kind of pathetic.”

“I’m not—” Sunghoon began.

“—in love with her?” Sunoo cut in. “Please. You literally follow her around like a puppy. When she yells at you, you look happy.”

“I do not.”

“She called you incompetent yesterday,” Jungwon said. “You said ‘thank you’ like it was a compliment.”

Sunghoon sighed dramatically. “It was constructive criticism.”

Sunoo smirked. “Look, no shame. We get it. She’s hot. She’s terrifying. That’s… kind of your type?”

“I don’t have a type,” Sunghoon muttered.

“Oh, you do,” Jungwon said. “And it wears black compression socks, drinks three cups of coffee before 9 a.m., and rolls her eyes every time you try to impress her.”

Sunghoon scowled, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “You two are actually insane.”

“And you’re in denial,” Sunoo said brightly. “Just confess already.”

“Not happening.”

“Why not?”

“She’s a registered nurse. I’m still a student. And she literally threatened to assign me to mop duty yesterday.”

Sunoo wiggled his brows. “Kinky.”

“Get out of my face.”

⸻

Later that afternoon, the three of them reviewed cases together in the student breakroom. Y/N passed by once—just once—and Sunghoon immediately straightened up like he’d been caught doing something wrong.

She didn’t even glance at him.

But Sunoo did. He leaned over and whispered, “You’re so whipped, it’s actually poetic.”

Sunghoon threw a pen at him.

⸻

The hospital’s volunteer-run community clinic was smaller, slower-paced—an intentional shift from the high-pressure chaos of the ER. But that didn’t mean it was calm. It just had a different kind of buzz: tired patients with long waits, kids squirming in plastic chairs, and the hum of fluorescent lights overhead.

It was also—unfortunately for Sunghoon—where he had his Friday rotation.

With Y/N.

And Sunoo.

And Jungwon.

A dream and nightmare rolled into one.

⸻

Sunghoon stepped through the clinic’s back entrance, balancing a tray of vending machine coffees, and almost immediately collided with Y/N, who was shrugging into her navy cardigan.

“Whoa—sorry!” he said quickly, coffee tray wobbling.

She steadied it with one hand, the other grabbing his forearm instinctively. “You good?”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “You?”

Their eyes locked—just for a beat too long.

Then she dropped her hand and nodded at the cups. “Are any of those for me?”

He blinked. “Oh. Yeah. Here.” He handed her the exact one she liked: two sugars, no cream.

She raised a brow, impressed. “Look at you. Learning something useful.”

He smiled, a little proud. “Still terrified of you, though.”

“Good,” she said, smirking behind her cup. “Keeps you sharp.”

Sunghoon didn’t realize he was still watching her until Jungwon came up from behind and whispered, “Blink twice if you’re in love.”

Sunghoon glared. “Get a clipboard, Jungwon.”

⸻

Inside, the clinic was packed. They divided tasks: Y/N handled triage and diagnostics, while Sunghoon assisted with wound dressings and quick consults. Jungwon ran back and forth between rooms, and Sunoo—somehow—ended up entertaining the waiting kids by drawing cats on gauze pads.

Hours passed in a blur of stethoscopes, bandages, and sneaked glances.

Sunghoon was finishing up with an elderly patient when Y/N stepped into the room to help wrap the man’s foot.

Their fingers brushed as they reached for the gauze at the same time.

It was subtle—but the spark was immediate.

She didn’t pull away.

“Thanks,” he said quietly.

“For what?”

“Not giving up on me. After the code last week.”

Her eyes softened, just slightly. “I told you. You’ll get better.”

“I want to be the kind of nurse you’d trust on your team someday.”

A beat of silence.

Then her voice, softer. “You already are.”

⸻

Later, during a lull, Sunghoon collapsed into the break room chair, exhausted. Y/N was already there, legs curled under her on the worn-out couch, eating half a granola bar and scrolling through her phone.

He sat down across from her, resting his head against the wall.

She peeked over. “Long day?”

“I can’t feel my spine.”

She tossed him the other half of her granola bar. “Here. Eat. You look like you’re about to code yourself.”

He caught it mid-air, surprised. “You sharing snacks now? Is this… progress?”

“Don’t make it weird.”

“You’re literally hand-feeding me.”

“I threw it at your face.”

“Same thing.”

She laughed—just a soft one, but real. He’d take it.

That’s when Sunoo and Jungwon appeared in the doorway like twin demons.

“Wow,” Sunoo said loudly. “Intimate snack-sharing. We’ll leave you two alone.”

Sunghoon threw the granola wrapper at him.

“Do you guys need supervision?” Y/N asked, deadpan.

“Only if you’re into that,” Jungwon quipped.

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Go clean something.”

They didn’t move.

So she stood up—slowly—and added, “Or I’ll assign you both to bathroom inventory.”

They scrambled like rats.

Sunghoon was laughing when she sat back down beside him.

“You’re scarier than our preceptors.”

“I’m softer than I look,” she said.

And for a second, he saw it.

The quiet kindness. The way her guard slipped when she thought no one was watching. The warmth in her eyes when she wasn’t putting up walls.

He shifted closer.

She didn’t move away.

For one long moment, the clinic buzz faded. It was just them, shoulder to shoulder, sitting on a cracked leather couch with the fluorescent lights humming above.

Their faces were too close.

His voice came out a whisper. “Can I ask you something?”

Her eyes flicked to his, then his lips. “Yeah?”

He hesitated.

She leaned in just a little—

Then the intercom crackled: “Nurse Y/N, consult in Room 3.”

She blinked, pulled away fast. “Duty calls.”

He exhaled hard as she stood.

Before leaving, she paused, glanced back at him, and smirked. “Next time you want to kiss me, you might have to be faster.”

Then she was gone.

And Sunghoon sat there, stunned, heart in his throat, replaying that one sentence over and over.

⸻

Morning Shift.

The first patient of the day was an elderly man with a broken arm. He was chatty, more interested in talking about his cat than his injury, and Sunghoon was grateful for the distraction.

Y/N stood next to him, handing him the necessary forms with a soft smile, but the moment Sunghoon’s hand brushed hers again—completely by accident—there was that unmistakable charge in the air.

She cleared her throat and quickly moved to gather supplies. “You’re clumsy, Sunghoon,” she said, her voice a little higher than usual. “I’m surprised you’re not still tripping over your own feet.”

“I don’t trip—well, maybe a little,” he admitted with a sheepish grin. “But I’m learning.”

She rolled her eyes. “You better. Or I’ll have to start assigning you to less dangerous tasks. Maybe holding the clipboard for me. You know, the easy stuff.”

Sunghoon watched her as she worked, her eyes focused on the task at hand, yet the smallest smile tugged at the corners of her lips whenever their eyes met. He couldn’t help but wonder if she was trying to avoid something.

⸻

Lunchtime.

By noon, the clinic quieted down a bit. The lull was always the best time to catch a breath, and Sunghoon found himself walking into the break room to grab a drink. He didn’t expect to see Y/N sitting alone by the window, her coat draped over the chair beside her.

For a moment, the sight of her alone, so casually relaxed, made his chest tighten. He felt that familiar pull to sit next to her, to talk to her like they’d done so many times during their shifts. But this time, the tension was undeniable, like there was something more there, waiting to be addressed.

He approached cautiously, but as soon as she saw him, her gaze flicked up to meet his, and she froze.

“Sunghoon,” she said, her voice almost too soft. “What’s up?”

He didn’t trust his voice, so instead, he sat beside her. There was no question—it was comfortable. Despite the unspoken tension, there was a strange ease in the air between them.

Y/N turned her gaze back to the window, and Sunghoon mirrored her. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say. It felt like there was something pressing between them, but neither of them knew how to bring it up without breaking the fragile silence.

“You know,” she said, breaking the quiet, “You’re always quiet when you’re near me. Like you’re afraid to say something wrong.”

Sunghoon’s heart skipped a beat. He turned to look at her, only to find her watching him with that damn knowing expression. The one that had been driving him mad for weeks now.

“I’m not afraid,” he said, though his voice came out quieter than intended. “I just… don’t want to mess up.”

Her eyes softened, and for the first time in a long while, she looked at him without that professional edge.

“You’ve been trying really hard, haven’t you?” she asked gently. “To be better. To be good enough.”

Sunghoon didn’t know how to respond to that, so he just nodded, feeling an unfamiliar tightness in his chest.

Before he could say anything else, the door to the break room slammed open, and in walked Sunoo and Jungwon, both grinning like they knew something he didn’t.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Sunoo said, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm. “A quiet moment between the nurse-in-training and the actual nurse?”

Sunghoon shot him a glare, but Jungwon was already leaning in, whispering to him, “Is this where you confess, or do we need to stage a covert mission?”

Y/N snorted, unable to hide her amusement, and that was enough to send Sunghoon’s frustration bubbling over. “You two are impossible,” he muttered under his breath, though there was no real malice behind his words.

Jungwon tapped Sunghoon’s shoulder and pointed to the door. “We’re on call in five. Time to get back to pretending to be competent, right?”

⸻

Late Night Shift.

By the time evening rolled around, the shift had become a blur. The patients were all routine, but the real chaos was brewing in the air between him and Y/N. They were slowly closing up for the night when she caught him staring at her again.

This time, she didn’t let it slide.

“You’re looking at me again,” she said, a little teasing, but her voice was softer than before. “Is there something on my face?”

Sunghoon snapped out of his trance, but before he could answer, a loud beeping noise interrupted them—the monitor at the nurse’s station was flashing.

Without thinking, Sunghoon jumped up to check, but as he did, his foot caught on the edge of the chair, and he stumbled forward.

Y/N rushed to catch him, her hands landing on his chest, and their faces were suddenly inches apart.

Neither of them moved.

For a long second, neither of them said anything. Sunghoon’s pulse was pounding in his ears as he realized how close they were, how easy it would be to just lean in…

But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

The moment passed, but it left them both breathless.

“I—” Sunghoon began, but Y/N cut him off.

“Just get the monitor,” she said quickly, stepping back.

Sunghoon nodded, feeling the heat on his face. It was like a weight pressing down on his chest, and he wasn’t sure if he could handle it for much longer.

He got the monitor under control, but as he walked back to Y/N, he couldn’t help but feel the unspoken tension pulling them back together.

Before he could say anything, Sunoo and Jungwon walked by the hallway, glancing at them, then smirking.

“Guys, it’s cute, but please—no one’s dying of a broken heart in here,” Sunoo said, grinning.

Jungwon looked at Sunghoon with a pointed expression. “It’s okay, man. We’re all rooting for you.”

Sunghoon shot them a glare.

⸻

The shift was fast-paced, the patients endless, and Sunghoon had just barely managed to catch his breath before the next task was assigned. But of course, there was no time to relax when Heeseung was always around—always moving with an easy confidence, his every action smooth and practiced.

Today, Heeseung was working alongside him, but it felt like they were in two different worlds. Sunghoon was still in the “nursing student” mode—trying to prove he could keep up with the seasoned professionals. Meanwhile, Heeseung? He was the rock star nurse, the one who made every task look effortless.

It started with something small—seemingly small.

⸻

The Gauze Incident.

The moment came when they were both assigned to a patient who had just come in for a minor procedure. The patient’s wound needed to be dressed, and Sunghoon, eager to prove himself, darted toward the supply cabinet to grab the necessary materials.

Just as he reached for the gauze, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He whipped around to see Heeseung, who was holding the exact same gauze package with a smile that felt just a little too knowing.

“Beat you to it,” Heeseung said casually, as if he’d already won the race.

Sunghoon stiffened, his stomach tightening in irritation, even though he tried to keep his tone neutral. “Yeah, I see that. But I still have to prep the patient.”

Heeseung grinned. “Sure, sure. But just remember, it’s not about speed. It’s about precision.”

Sunghoon couldn’t help the eye roll that escaped him. Precision? What’s he talking about? “You’re such a show-off.”

“I’m just confident,” Heeseung replied, winking. “You’ll get there, rookie.”

Sunghoon forced a smile, not able to mask the flicker of frustration in his chest. He could feel the tension creeping in. I can’t let him get to me. It’s just a gauze. But the truth was, it wasn’t just the gauze. It was the way Heeseung made everything seem so effortless. The way he talked to patients with ease, the way they all gravitated toward him, and the way Y/N sometimes looked at him, laughing like he was the funniest person in the room.

That’s not just it, Sunghoon realized. It’s about her.

⸻

The Stethoscope Challenge.

Later that afternoon, things escalated again when Sunghoon found himself in another friendly “competition” with Heeseung—this time over the stethoscope. They’d both been asked to check on a patient’s vitals simultaneously.

Sunghoon moved to the patient’s left side, securing the stethoscope around his neck and preparing to listen to the patient’s heart rate. Heeseung was already by the other side, but before Sunghoon could even start, Heeseung placed his hand gently on the patient’s wrist.

“Let me do it,” Heeseung said with a lazy smile, his voice smooth, almost playful. “I’ve got this.”

Sunghoon’s brows furrowed. “We’re supposed to do this together, remember?”

“Sure,” Heeseung replied, but he didn’t budge. “But the patient is already relaxed with me.”

Sunghoon felt his jaw clench. So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh? He wanted to argue, to snap back, but the patient was watching them, and he couldn’t risk looking petty.

He took a breath, stepping aside reluctantly. “Fine. But you’re really pushing it, Heeseung.”

Heeseung gave him a knowing smile. “I’m just here to help.”

⸻

The Final Showdown—Who Gets the Chart First?

The final straw came when they both reached the nurse’s station at the same time. There was one chart left to be signed off on—just one. And Y/N was standing by the station, casually reviewing some papers, her back to them.

Heeseung’s eyes lit up the moment he saw the chart. He moved toward it like a predator zeroing in on its prey.

“I’ll get it,” Heeseung said, his tone teasing. “I’ve got some notes for the patient. You mind, Sunghoon?”

Sunghoon’s heart rate picked up, the competitive edge in him flaring. I don’t mind? You think you can just take it?

Before Heeseung could make his move, Sunghoon stepped forward, grabbing the chart with just a little more force than necessary.

“I’ve got it,” Sunghoon said quickly, his voice firmer than he’d intended. “You’ve been signing off everything else, Heeseung. Let me handle this.”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow. “Alright, alright. I wasn’t trying to steal it from you, geez. Just thought I’d help out.”

Sunghoon didn’t care. It wasn’t about the chart. It was about winning—proving he could keep up.

⸻

Y/N’s Subtle Observation.

As the day wore on, Y/N noticed the little “games” they’d been playing—mostly because she’d caught them a few times. She watched Sunghoon’s brow furrow whenever Heeseung took charge, and she noticed the way Sunghoon was almost overcompensating—whether it was rushing through his tasks, answering questions before they were asked, or just trying to prove something.

Later that evening, she caught him in the break room, leaning over a sink with a sigh, clearly worn out.

“You okay?” Y/N asked, her voice soft. “You’ve been on edge today.”

Sunghoon blinked, turning toward her with a forced grin. “Yeah, just the usual stuff. You know, keeping up with Heeseung.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been competing with him all day.”

Sunghoon rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s nothing. Just a little fun, right?”

Y/N crossed her arms, tilting her head, a teasing glint in her eyes. “You sure? You look like you’ve been trying to prove something.”

Sunghoon stiffened. Am I that obvious?

She smiled lightly, uncrossing her arms. “You know, Sunghoon, Heeseung’s not trying to take your spot. He’s just… well, Heeseung.”

Sunghoon’s heart skipped at her words, but the tension in his chest didn’t fully ease. “I know,” he muttered. “I just want to make sure I’m good enough.”

Y/N blinked, surprised. “Good enough for what?”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, and the silence hung thick in the air. Finally, he sighed. “For you, for this place. Just… good enough.”

Y/N smiled warmly at him, her gaze softening. “You are good enough, Sunghoon. You just have to believe it.”

⸻

The Unspoken Realization.

As they prepared to clock out for the day, Sunghoon stood by Y/N, suddenly aware of how much he wanted her to see him as more than just a student nurse. More than just a guy who was trying to catch up to the others.

And maybe—just maybe—Heeseung’s friendly competition wasn’t the real issue here.

⸻

The storm outside howled, fierce winds rattling the hospital windows as rain hammered the roof in a relentless downpour. The usual hum of the hospital was muted, the corridors quieter than usual, the usual rush of foot traffic dampened by the weather. Nurses and doctors alike had been instructed to stay inside the building, as the storm had caused flooding in some parts of the city. Shifts had been extended, and the team was stuck for the foreseeable future.

For Sunghoon, this felt like the longest night of his life.

He glanced at Y/N from across the hallway as she pulled on her scrub jacket, the wind outside gusting against the walls. Their shifts had been chaotic; patients were coming in non-stop, the ER was backed up, and now, a fresh round of complications had left the staff running in every direction.

Heeseung, the ever-present, confident nurse, had already been assigned to a new hospital—his skills in high demand after a major staffing shortage at a nearby clinic. Sunghoon hadn’t been thrilled about the change. It had always been a strange dynamic between him and Heeseung, but with Heeseung gone, something felt… off. Even though the rivalry was never overt, it had kept Sunghoon on his toes, pushing him to prove himself. Without it, there was an empty space that he hadn’t anticipated.

“Hey, Y/N,” Sunghoon called, walking over to where she was standing near the break room, peering out the windows, her face thoughtful. She turned to him, offering him a tired smile.

“Everything okay?” she asked, her voice softer than usual.

“Just…” he paused, glancing out the window at the rain. “Just a lot of work tonight.”

Y/N nodded. “I know what you mean. I think everyone’s running on fumes.”

He smiled faintly, his eyes still lingering on her. “We should grab some blankets. For when the night goes longer than expected. The storm might have knocked out the heater in the supply closet.”

“I’m on it,” Y/N said. “Meet you there?”

He nodded, then both turned to head down the hall toward the supply closet, where extra blankets were kept in case the night stretched into the early hours. As they walked, the silence between them felt heavier than usual—comfortable, but somehow laced with unspoken things.

The supply closet was small, even for the two of them. It was cluttered with boxes, extra sterile gauze, and various supplies, and when Y/N reached for the top shelf to grab the blankets, she bumped against Sunghoon’s chest.

She froze for a moment, and in that brief instant, the proximity felt much too intimate—too personal, as if the world outside was momentarily paused. The small, stillness lingered in the air between them, heavy and thick.

Sunghoon’s breath hitched, and he felt the warmth of her body against his, the electricity that surged through him at the contact. His hands instinctively reached for the shelf as well, brushing against hers.

Her back brushed his chest again as she shifted, and the small, confined space made everything feel a little too close. Neither of them said a word, the silence amplifying the tension between them.

After a long pause, Sunghoon’s voice dropped, a hushed tone as if he were unsure whether he should say it. “You always smell like lavender.”

Her breath caught at his words. She hadn’t expected that—his comment felt almost too personal, but it also felt like something that had been there all along. Something he’d noticed, but never mentioned.

Y/N turned slightly to meet his eyes, and she felt a rush of warmth in her chest. “It’s a body wash I’ve been using for months,” she explained softly, not sure why she was offering the detail but suddenly wanting to share something with him.

He smiled faintly, his gaze softening for a moment. “It’s nice.”

They stood there for a few beats longer than necessary, the moment stretched thin by the closeness, the space too small, the unspoken things too large between them. He almost wished he could say more—ask her why she always smelled like that, if she wore it on purpose, or if it was just something she didn’t notice.

But before he could, the sudden noise of the emergency paging system broke the spell, and they were jolted back to reality. The quiet of the night came crashing in, dragging them both back into the chaos of the hospital.

⸻

The break room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of a flashlight that Y/N had managed to find after the power went out. It flickered, casting shadows across the room, but it was the only light they had. Sunghoon and Y/N sat at the small table, their faces illuminated by the flickering light, a quiet exhaustion settling over them.

“I can’t believe we’re stuck here all night,” Y/N said, letting out a deep sigh as she leaned back in her chair.

“Yeah,” Sunghoon agreed, his voice quiet, but his gaze lingering on her. “But… I’m kind of glad you’re here.”

Y/N smiled, but it was softer than usual, the tension from earlier still lingering in the air. “I think you’re just happy I’m not running off to work at another hospital,” she teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Sunghoon chuckled, the sound low and warm. “You know I’m not that dramatic.”

“Not dramatic?” Y/N raised an eyebrow, as if not believing him. “Come on, you’re definitely one of those ‘everything’s a crisis’ type of people.”

His smile faded a little, and he leaned forward slightly, his hand brushing the edge of the table, closer to hers. “Maybe. But it’s different when I’m around you.”

Her heartbeat quickened, and she could feel the charge in the air between them. She reached for her mug of coffee, trying to hide the way his words made her feel, trying to pretend she didn’t notice how the space between them felt just a little bit too small.

The flashlight flickered again, and for a moment, the silence stretched between them—heavy, thick, filled with unspoken words.

Y/N’s hand moved instinctively across the table, her fingers brushing his, and they both paused. The soft contact was a momentary connection, but it felt significant. His fingers curled around hers, gently, but there was an intensity in his touch that made her heart skip.

Their fingers stayed intertwined for a moment too long, the silence in the room amplifying the weight of the simple act. It was as if everything in that moment froze, the noise of the storm outside, the chaos of the hospital, all faded away, leaving only the two of them.

Before either of them could say anything else, the door to the break room burst open, and a nurse rushed in, face urgent.

“Emergency in Room 312. We need both of you!”

The moment shattered. Sunghoon quickly stood up, and Y/N followed, their fingers reluctantly separating. The energy between them had shifted, but before they could explore it further, they were both thrust back into the chaos of the night.

⸻

As they rushed to the room, Sunghoon couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed between them. He wasn’t sure what to make of the touch, the soft words, the unspoken promise in her eyes. But for the first time, he was certain of one thing—he didn’t want to leave this feeling behind.

And as Y/N walked beside him, the storm still raging outside, a soft thought crossed his mind. Maybe, just maybe, this storm could lead them to something more.

⸻

By the time the emergency in Room 312 was stabilized and the chaos temporarily quelled, the hospital halls fell into a lull. The storm outside still raged, but inside the ER, the tension had eased—just enough for the exhaustion to creep in.

Y/N leaned against the nurse’s station, stretching her back and letting out a low groan. “I think my spine turned to dust an hour ago.”

Sunghoon plopped into the chair beside her, rubbing his eyes and sighing. “If it makes you feel better, I’m at the stage where I’d sell my soul for a warm pillow and a blanket.”

She let out a tired laugh, bumping her shoulder into his. “You’re such a drama queen.”

“Says the one who moaned like a grandma five seconds ago.”

Their laughter echoed softly down the hall, warm and sleepy.

Sunghoon watched her as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Her face looked tired, but beautiful in the faint glow of the emergency lights still running in parts of the wing. He hesitated for a moment, then tilted his head slightly toward the dim hallway.

“Come on,” he said quietly, voice mischievous. “Break room’s empty.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes playfully. “You planning to sneak in a nap during shift hours, Mr. Almost-Graduate?”

He grinned. “What’s the point of being your favorite student if I don’t abuse that privilege at least once?”

“You’re assuming you’re my favorite.”

“I know I’m your favorite,” he said without missing a beat, walking backward with a cocky little smile that made her roll her eyes—and follow him.

⸻

The break room was quieter than before. A few blankets from earlier were tossed in the corner, and the fluorescent lights above flickered gently. A faint hum of vending machines filled the silence. The storm still whispered against the windows, but everything else inside felt still.

Sunghoon sprawled onto the couch, pulling one of the thin blankets over himself before motioning for her to join him. “Come on. I’m not sleeping while you’re still out here suffering.”

“I’m not suffering,” she scoffed, but her limbs were lead-heavy, and the couch looked painfully inviting.

After a second’s hesitation, she sat beside him, both of them squished onto the narrow couch. Their bodies brushed—knees bumping, shoulders aligned, the kind of closeness that was undeniably intimate, but too comfortable to feel awkward anymore.

Y/N tugged the blanket to share it between them.

“I swear to God, if you fall asleep and drool on my shoulder, I’m clocking out and leaving you to fend for yourself,” she muttered, adjusting the blanket.

Sunghoon turned his head lazily toward her. “I don’t drool. I’m a classy sleeper.”

“Sure you are,” she teased. “I’m sure Jungwon would back you up.”

“Jungwon said I look peaceful when I sleep.”

“Oh, so you’ve got a sleep witness.”

“Jealous?” he smirked.

She elbowed him, making him grunt and laugh.

A silence settled over them, not uncomfortable, but filled with something softer. Sleep tugged at both their eyes, and slowly, her head tilted to the side—landing gently against his shoulder.

Sunghoon froze.

He didn’t dare move.

Her lavender scent filled his senses again, and despite the thunder rolling outside, all he could hear was her quiet breathing. His heart pounded a little harder, not from nerves anymore, but from the sheer awareness of her.

⸻

It wasn’t long before a familiar crinkle broke the silence—Sunoo, standing at the door holding a bag of vending machine snacks with a mischievous smirk.

“Well, well, well,” he said, popping a chip into his mouth dramatically. “What do we have here?”

Y/N jerked awake, blinking rapidly as she sat up. “Sunoo?! How long were you standing there?”

“Long enough to consider leaving you two snacks as an offering.”

“Shut up,” Sunghoon muttered, his ears slightly pink.

Jungwon appeared behind Sunoo, holding two bottles of water and raising an eyebrow. “Didn’t realize this couch came with couple’s privileges.”

“We weren’t doing anything,” Y/N said, though she was already grabbing a chip bag to change the subject. “Just resting.”

Sunoo’s eyes twinkled as he sat on the arm of the couch. “Resting… dangerously close.”

Sunghoon grabbed the chips from her hand and popped one in his mouth just to stop himself from saying something dumb. His pulse still hadn’t slowed from having her so close just moments ago.

Y/N, lips twitching in amusement, grabbed them right back.

They all sat there for a while, sharing snacks, teasing each other, and basking in the strange, cozy quiet of a hospital caught in the eye of a storm. The power flickered again, and the vending machine buzzed like it might give up—but inside the room, the warmth stayed.

At some point, Sunoo and Jungwon dozed off in the chairs. And once again, Sunghoon and Y/N found themselves shoulder to shoulder on the couch, sharing warmth beneath a scratchy hospital blanket.

This time, when her head landed on his shoulder again—he didn’t freeze.

He leaned into it.

And smiled.

Because maybe being stuck in the hospital overnight wasn’t the worst thing in the world… not when he had her next to him.

⸻

The hospital was always buzzing—monitors beeping, wheels squeaking across linoleum, pagers ringing through the air. But lately, it buzzed with something else.

Whispers.

It started small. A knowing glance here. A muttered comment there.

Then someone caught sight of Sunghoon loitering near the nurse’s station long after his shift had ended—clearly waiting for her. Another time, he’d “just happened” to help Y/N restock linens she didn’t ask for. He stood closer than necessary when talking to her, smiled wider than usual, eyes lingering a beat too long.

To the untrained eye, it could’ve been harmless.

But hospitals breed gossip like bacteria.

⸻

“Park,” a voice called out one morning during pre-rounds.

Sunghoon turned, raising a brow as one of his fellow student nurses, Minji, approached him. She crossed her arms.

“You might want to tone it down,” she said flatly. “People are talking.”

Sunghoon blinked. “Tone what down?”

“You and Y/N,” she said pointedly. “You’re being obvious. Some of the senior staff are starting to notice. You don’t want this getting reported, do you? You’re graduating soon. Don’t risk it.”

He stiffened.

The warning settled like lead in his gut.

⸻

Y/N heard about the rumors from a different nurse, in a passing whisper that hit her like a slap. It was framed casually—“You know people are saying he’s a little too attached to you, right?”—but the implications rang loud in her head.

She was immediately on high alert.

The next day, she pulled away.

Back to form. Back to structure. Strict again, focused. She corrected Sunghoon’s charting without the usual teasing, kept conversations painfully professional, didn’t look at him longer than necessary.

Sunghoon noticed the shift instantly.

He didn’t push at first—thought maybe she was tired.

But after a full day of being treated like just another name on her roster, he cornered her near the stairwell after shift.

“Y/N,” he called out softly.

She turned too quickly, like she’d been hoping he wouldn’t speak to her at all. “Sunghoon. I have to head upstairs—”

“No,” he said gently but firmly. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I haven’t—”

“You have,” he interrupted, voice laced with quiet hurt. “You won’t even look at me.”

She exhaled, jaw tight. “I heard what people are saying.”

“So what?” he said, stepping forward. “They’re rumors. Who cares?”

“I do,” she snapped, eyes glinting with something between fear and frustration. “You’re graduating soon. Do you want to risk that because someone thinks I’ve been too friendly?”

“It’s not just friendly.”

She flinched.

His voice was low, sincere.

“I like you,” he admitted, brows drawn. “I thought—God, I hoped—you knew that by now.”

She looked away, swallowing hard. “That’s the problem.”

The silence that followed was thick. Unbearable.

Sunghoon looked at her like he was trying to memorize her face. “I get it. I do. But don’t treat me like I’m just some dumb kid with a crush. That’s not fair.”

“I’m your mentor,” she whispered.

“For now,” he replied. “But I won’t be forever.”

She didn’t answer.

And he didn’t push.

⸻

The last day of clinicals arrived too fast.

The entire ward seemed to buzz with energy. Everyone loved Sunghoon—patients, staff, even the notoriously grumpy supervisor from OR. Jungwon and Sunoo teased him mercilessly, snapping photos and calling him “our local hospital heartthrob.”

Someone made him a tiny paper crown.

Y/N had stayed out of the spotlight all morning, but as the clock inched toward shift end, she quietly arranged a little celebration near the nurse’s station. Just for the student nurses.

There were cupcakes. Coffee. Printed polaroids of funny moments throughout their time in the hospital.

When Sunghoon approached, the others cheered. Y/N smiled and handed him a small gift bag—a pen engraved with “You’re going to make a great nurse.”

He looked down at it, and then at her, eyes glassy. “You planned this?”

She nodded. “You earned it.”

Their fingers brushed briefly. Too brief.

The party moved on around them—Sunoo making a toast about how he’d miss ��his emotional support rival” and Jungwon giving a half-serious speech like it was an awards show.

But eventually, Sunghoon had to go.

Y/N stood by the elevators when he approached. He looked good in his uniform—hair still a little messy from hours of movement, but eyes bright and full of something she refused to name.

“I just wanted to say thanks,” he said. “For everything.”

She offered a polite smile. “You did all the work. I just guided you.”

“That’s not true,” he said, holding out a small white envelope. “Don’t open it here.”

Her fingers curled around it without thinking.

He hesitated a second, then stepped into the elevator.

And just before the doors closed, he said softly, “If things were different, maybe I’d ask for more than your mentorship.”

⸻

Later that night, she opened the letter in her apartment.

It was short, neat handwriting she immediately recognized.

Y/N, my boss nurse

Thank you for being more patient with me than I deserved.

Thank you for pushing me when I wanted to give up.

Thank you for being someone I looked forward to seeing every day.

I’m sorry if I made things harder.

I never wanted to jeopardize your job or my future.

But I meant everything I ever said to you.

And if it ever feels like things can be different…

Call me.

[XXX-XX-XXX]

Y/N stared at the digits at the bottom of the page for a long, long time.

Her heart thudded in her chest.

Because even though he was gone now—finished, graduated, moved on—he’d left behind more than a number.

He’d left hope.

⸻

Sunghoon’s graduation ceremony was held in one of the city’s larger academic halls, packed wall to wall with caps, gowns, and the proud hum of voices echoing beneath the tall ceiling. Families clutched bouquets. Cameras clicked. Applause rang in waves as each name was called.

From his seat near the front, Sunghoon scanned the crowd automatically.

He told himself not to look.

Told himself she wouldn’t be here.

She hadn’t called. She hadn’t texted. It had been weeks since that letter.

But still.

Hope was a stubborn thing.

And then, in the upper left wing of the balcony—half-shrouded by shadows and dressed in scrubs like she’d come straight from shift—he saw her.

Y/N.

She sat alone. No flowers, no fanfare. Just her hands clasped neatly in her lap, eyes quietly following him as he stood to walk across the stage.

Their eyes met for only a second.

But it was enough.

She was there.

She came.

And in that fleeting, barely-there glance, everything in his chest that had been wound tight slowly… unraveled.

⸻

After the ceremony, his phone buzzed.

He was surrounded by noise—Jungwon snapping goofy selfies, Sunoo loudly pretending to cry and thanking “his baby boy Sunghoon” for surviving three years of caffeine and chaos.

But none of that compared to the message that lit up his screen:

Y/N: congrats, my fav student nurse.

Sunghoon’s heart did something ridiculous.

He grinned.

Wide. Giddy. Stupid.

⸻

He stood at the edge of the campus lawn, people swirling around him like a celebration in motion. But his world had narrowed down to one small screen and six simple words.

She came.

She watched.

She texted.

And maybe—just maybe—she hadn’t closed the door entirely.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment before he finally typed back:

Sunghoon: Didn’t think you’d come.

Sunghoon: You didn’t say anything.

Sunghoon: But I’m glad you were there.

The typing bubble on her end appeared. Then disappeared. Then appeared again.

He waited, holding his breath.

Finally:

Y/N: I wasn’t sure I should be.

Y/N: But I’m proud of you. So proud.

Y/N: You’re going to be an amazing nurse.

Sunghoon bit his lip, fighting the urge to grin again.

Sunghoon: Guess that means I��m not your student anymore, huh?

A pause.

Then—

Y/N: No. You’re not.

A beat passed. Then another message came.

Y/N: So if you wanted to ask me to dinner…

Sunghoon blinked.

Stared.

Smiled.

And finally, under the fading sunlight and the buzz of celebration around him, he replied:

Sunghoon: I thought you’d never ask.

⸻

Sunghoon double-checked his reflection in the café window, smoothing down his collar before pushing the door open. He wasn’t nervous—he told himself that multiple times during the ride over.

But the way his heart skipped when he spotted Y/N sitting at the corner table, sipping on something iced and lavender-colored, betrayed him entirely.

She looked up and smiled.

And everything tilted just a little.

⸻

“You’re late,” she said, eyebrow raised, though her tone was soft.

“Traffic,” he replied, sliding into the seat across from her. “And existential dread.”

She laughed. “Still dramatic.”

He grinned. “Still your favorite.”

Her smile faltered for the smallest second, caught between nostalgia and something new. “I didn’t know if you’d actually say yes.”

“I’ve been waiting for a chance to say yes.”

Her fingers curled around her cup. “I didn’t think it’d feel this strange.”

He tilted his head. “Does it feel wrong?”

“No,” she murmured. “Just… different. We’re not at the hospital. No buzzers. No supply closets. No patients between us.”

“No rules,” he added quietly.

A beat of silence passed.

And in it, the air between them changed—just slightly.

She looked up, voice more tentative. “And no excuses.”

Sunghoon swallowed. “Do we need any?”

⸻

They talked for hours—eating slow, sharing bites of dessert, laughing at old moments from the ward. He told her about his first interview next week, she teased him for almost fainting during his first blood draw. The ease came back like muscle memory, but underneath it, something new had settled in.

Something less guarded.

When they walked out into the warm night, the sidewalk was quiet and still damp from an earlier drizzle.

He walked her to her car.

“I really missed this,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

She leaned against her door. “I did too. More than I wanted to admit.”

There was a moment—brief, heavy, weighted with all the words they hadn’t yet said.

He took a step closer.

“You know this doesn’t have to be one dinner, right?” he asked.

She tilted her chin up. “What are you saying?”

“I want more,” he said. “More than just a dinner. More than supply closet tension. More than one kiss that never happened.”

She bit her lip, softening. “We really never did kiss, huh?”

“Not officially.”

The pause lingered just long enough for the air to still.

Then, finally, she said, “So kiss me now. Let’s make it official.”

And when he did—when his hand came up to gently cup her cheek and his lips met hers in a kiss that was sweet and sure and years in the making—there were no rules, no titles, no student or mentor.

Just them.

[Bonus scene]

The break room was dim, lit only by the flickering vending machine light and the steady glow of a desk lamp someone had left behind. The hospital night shift was unusually quiet—an eerie calm that made it the perfect time to cram for the nursing board exam… if you weren’t already dead tired.

Y/N leaned back in the creaky couch, stifling a yawn as she reached for the flashcards. “Alright, Park. One more round and then I’ll let you take a five-minute nap that lasts two hours.”

Sunghoon sat cross-legged on the floor in front of her, hoodie sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his hair tousled and eyes slightly bloodshot from the long shift and even longer studying. His books were sprawled across the coffee table with color-coded tabs sticking out like battle scars.

He looked up with a lazy grin. “I’m starting to think you like torturing me.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And yet you begged me to quiz you.”

“Because I like the sound of your voice when you talk about cardiac meds,” he teased, grinning when she rolled her eyes.

She threw a peanut butter cup at him. “Focus, Romeo. Signs of digoxin toxicity. Go.”

He caught the candy mid-air, still smirking. “Green halos, bradycardia, GI upset, visual disturbances… and my personal favorite, confused ghosts.”

She blinked, then snorted. “You mean confusion. But sure, ghosts. You’d find a way to flirt with a specter, wouldn’t you?”

“Only if she wore lavender.” He glanced up at her meaningfully, a little more serious now. “You always smell like that.”

She paused, lips parting slightly.

Lavender. The same scent as the lotion she kept in her locker, the one she only used on night shifts to stay calm. He remembered.

“Sunghoon…” she said quietly.

But he looked away first, cheeks faintly pink, mumbling, “Keep going. If I fail, I’m blaming you.”

⸻

It had been three agonizing weeks since he took the exam, and Sunghoon swore he aged at least a decade.

He was walking out of a convenience store when the notification pinged on his phone: NCLEX Results Available.

He didn’t even wait to get to his car. Right there in the middle of the sidewalk, he tapped through the results portal with shaking hands.

Status: Passed.

He just stood there, wind cutting through his hoodie, staring at the screen until his vision blurred.

He passed.

He actually passed.

There were a million people he could’ve called first, but his fingers moved on instinct. He pulled out the pen she had given him—still kept safely in his hoodie pocket—and clicked it like a grounding motion before opening his messages.

[Sunghoon🩵]: RN, officially. Passed on the first try.

He attached a picture of himself holding his results, eyes glassy and grin too wide. The background was a little blurry, but he made sure one thing was clear—the lavender pen in his hand.

Y/N didn’t respond for two whole minutes.

Then:

Y/N: Told you. Superhero material.

Y/N: You remembered the pen?

[Sunghoon🩵]: I brought it to the exam. It was my lucky charm.

Another pause. Then:

Y/N: I’m proud of you. So proud.

And for a moment, all the exhaustion, anxiety, and stress of the past few months faded beneath those words.

⸻

He hadn’t planned to stay at the same hospital.

At first, he wanted to explore, stretch his wings. Try something new.

But then… the thought of not seeing her in the hallway, not hearing her call out sarcastic remarks across the station, or missing her coffee cup balanced beside the vitals cart—it made his chest ache more than he wanted to admit.

So when an opening popped up at the hospital where he did his clinicals, he applied in secret.

He even used a different email so she wouldn’t catch on.

And when the offer came—with the exact department she’d be in—he accepted immediately.

Jungwon called him dramatic.

Sunoo just said, “You’re either in love or insane.”

He just grinned. “Aren’t they kind of the same thing?”

⸻

Y/N was already three hours into her shift, juggling charts, setting up orientation packets, and trying not to scream at the broken coffee machine.

“Okay,” she said, clapping her hands to get the new nurses’ attention. “Today’s gonna be a mess, so smile through the pain. I’ll give you your assignments after a quick tour of the east wing.”

A few sleepy groans and nervous nods followed.

She turned around to lead them out—and then stopped dead in her tracks.

There he was.

Fresh uniform. ID badge clipped to his scrub pocket. Hair pushed back. And that damn smile on his face.

Park. Freaking. Sunghoon.

Y/N blinked. “You…”

“Surprise,” he said, flashing his badge like a movie reveal. “Guess who’s officially your coworker now?”

“You applied here?”

“Yup.”

“Without telling me?”

“That ruins the drama,” he said, stepping closer so the others couldn’t hear. “Still my favorite boss nurse.”

She tried not to smile. Really, she did.

But he pulled the lavender pen from his chest pocket, tapping it against his clipboard meaningfully.

And just like that, she was smitten all over again.

“You’re going to make this shift hell for me, aren’t you?”

He leaned in, eyes warm. “Only if you don’t assign me to bed 3. I heard the patient there likes flirting with tall nurses.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re impossible.”

He winked. “And yet, here I am. For you, Boss Nurse”

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