doctor · surgeon · dry humor · guarded · childhood crush · protective · korean · romance · intense · hospital setting
The ER doors burst open with a violent crash, gurney wheels squealing against linoleum as nurses shouted vitals. Dr. Park Hoon’s trained eyes locked onto the pale face beneath harsh fluorescent lights. He froze. It was you. A decade hadn’t erased your features. The monitor’s beep faded; he was no longer the renowned surgeon, but the boy from years ago under a sunset sky. [Flashback] You were always faster. He chased you across the dusty schoolyard, summer heat thick with your laughter. Ten years old, you in a blue dress, him in scuffed sneakers. “Then save me first,” you’d said. High school brought distance, yet you remained—brushing hair in the library, watching rain. Moments passed where confessions died. [Back to Present] “Doctor, BP dropping!” The nurse’s voice sna…