Falling

How did you fall again?

That’s the first question everyone would ask. And honestly, you don’t even remember how it happened. Just that you were dashing for your life for the bus, and the next second the world tilted sideways.

Your left leg hit the curb –- oh right, the fucking curb…right. –- and tripped your whole body, and you swear you heard a sickening crack. The bus driver was just so nonchalant — dude didn’t even wait, just closed the door and drove off. And here you are, just lying on the ground — sprawled on the pavement like roadkill, clutching your leg and screaming into the heavens.

By the time the ambulance showed up, your pride was already in critical condition.

Hours later you wake on a hospital bed that feels too narrow for all the thoughts banging at your skull. Your left leg is wrapped in plaster, heavy and immovable, the fabric of the gown rubbing against the back of your knees. The antiseptic smell is steady and sharp, an invisible sting that licks at the back of your throat. Every breath brings a new pulse of pain; even the shallowest shift sends a hot trail of ache from calf to hip. In the silence between beeps you find yourself waiting for some angel in scrubs to appear: a gentle hand on your arm, a soft “you’ll be okay,” the kind of movie-moment consolation that would make everything feel less shameful than it is right now.

Instead, the curtain rips open and she walks, all sharp angles and a voice that drops into your memory like a stone in a still pond.

“Wow,” she drawls, her voice way too familiar. “I didn’t think you’d recognize me this fast. Most people do a double take at least.”

You blink once. Then twice. You almost convince yourself you’re hallucinating from the pain.

But no. It’s real.

Huh Yunjin.

The same girl who used to call you “bread shuttle” like it was your legal name. The same girl who’d slip you money with a smirk and order fried chicken, rice cakes, or whatever else her royal stomach craved, because “ugh, cafeteria lines are soooo long.”

For a second you blame the drugs. You blink at her; blink twice. No haze, no trick of the light. It’s her. Still her.

You can mentally replay the years back: the clipped laugh, the way she used to toss you cash and call you “bread shuttle” like it was your middle name. She had a habit of using her parents’ money like a magic wand — ordering an array of snacks at lunch, waving off queues with a flick of a wrist. Now she’s in scrubs: the cotton of the top soft against her collarbone, the badge at her chest catching a strip of fluorescent light, a clipboard under one arm that looks absurdly official in her hands. She moves like she owns that small rectangle of space at the foot of your bed.

Life really does kick you hard in the ass when you’re down.

You try to hide behind a pillow out of reflex. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you say, voice muffled into linen.

Yunjin pulls up the chair beside your bed, plopping down with way too much confidence for someone in training. “Aww, don’t be shy. You look cute in a patient gown.”

“Cute?” you repeat, peeling the pillow back. The word tastes wrong. “I look like I got run over by a truck.”

She glances at your leg, then at the chart, flipping pages with the kind of casual familiarity that annoys you more than it should. “More like tripping over your own feet,” she says. Her pen scratches; she reads out numbers with an actor’s detachment. “Anyway, left tibia fracture. Extensive bruising. Possible hairline near the ankle. Classic.” She snaps the folder closed like she’s finishing a scene. “Honestly, I thought your pride would snap first.”

You shoot her a look that was sharp enough to kill. “What the hell are you even doing here? Shouldn’t you be at, I don’t know, some shopping spree?”

“Excuse you.” She presses a hand to her chest, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know, I’m a nurse intern now.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Intern. As in… your parents ‘donated’ a wing to this hospital and gave you a scrub? That’s just nepotism.”

Her grin doesn’t falter. “Nepotism? Please. I call it…work experience?”

“Right. Of course.” You sigh and lean back. “So this is it, huh? Some fucked up comedy from above. Break my leg, then send you to babysit me.”

She leans forward, resting her chin on her hand. “C’mon. Admit it. You missed me a little.”

“Missed you?” You let out a bitter laugh. “The only thing I miss is the money you still owe me for all those cafeteria runs.”

Her laugh cuts through the beeps, bright, unapologetic. It’s loud enough for a passing nurse to glance in, and she doesn’t care. “God, you’re still bitter. Fine — next time you’re discharged I’ll treat you to coffee. Happy?”

You shrug, the motion small, and say, “Yeah, sure, whatever.” The words are nonchalant and yet something in your chest lightens, absurdly.

She studies you for a second, then smirks. “Say it.”

You frown. “Say what?”

“‘Thank you, Yunjin.’” She sits up straighter, like she’s waiting for the applause she thinks she deserves.

You stare at her, unblinking. “Yeah, no. Not happening.”

“Oh, come on. Just once. Respect your healthcare professional.”

“Healthcare professional?” You snort. “You’re not even getting paid. If anything, you’re free labor with an ID badge.”

Yunjin gasps dramatically, clutching her clipboard like you just stabbed her. “How dare you slander the medical field like that?!”

“No, I’m slandering you.” You roll your eyes, almost into the back of your skull. “Relax. What are you gonna do? Force me to go buy bread again? Hate to break it to you, but I’m not very mobile right now.”

Her smirk turns wicked. “You know… that’s not a bad idea. Bed-shuttle has a nice ring to it.”

“That was terrible…” You groan. “Please shut up and just let me die.”

But she laughs again, softer this time, the sound filling the small hospital room. For a second, you catch her expression shift—something less smug, more… genuine.

Then it’s gone, replaced by that same grin. “Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of you.”

You close your eyes, deciding it’s safer not to look at her anymore. But even then, you can still hear the sound of her scribbling on that clipboard, humming softly like she owns the place.

Great. Out of all the nurses in Seoul –- no, in Korea. Wait, actually, worldwide –- you get stuck with her.

The painkillers hit hard the first few nights. Not enough to knock you out peacefully, though — just enough to drag you into one of those weird, murky dreams where nothing makes sense but everything feels real. And your brain decided to replay the moments back in high school.

You were standing in the middle of the cafeteria again, tray trembling in your hands. The vivid smell of fried oil and kimchi stew clung to the air, mixed with the sharp chatter of students. But none of it was yours. The fried chicken wings, the strawberry bread wrapped in plastic, the cold carton of chocolate milk — every piece you would devour right back then belonged to her.

“Hurry up,” came the voice, sharp and expectant.

You turned your head, and there she was. Yunjin. Sitting at the best table near the wide windows, her shoes propped up on the chair next to her, surrounded by friends who laughed too loud at every word she said. Sunlight caught on the glossy strands of her hair as she twirled them around her finger, not even glancing your way.

You stumbled forward, weaving between tables, almost dropping the tray when someone bumped your shoulder. Snickers followed you like a shadow. By the time you set it down in front of her, your hands were slick with sweat.

She didn’t thank you. She didn’t even look at you. Just pulled the chocolate milk toward herself with a flick of her wrist and said, casual as ever, “Don’t forget the fish cake skewers next period.”

Her friends giggled, some covering their mouths, some not even bothering. The sound made your ears burn.

You wanted to snap back, to tell her to get her own damn food. But when you opened your mouth, no words came out. Not a single sound. And then the cafeteria shifted. The room stretched wider, the tables multiplying, the chatter rising into a roar. Suddenly, every head turned toward you, hundreds of eyes pinning you to the spot. Students pointed, whispering at first, then chanting in unison. Bread shuttle. Bread shuttle. Bread shuttle. The word swelled until it was thunder. You tried to move, but your legs refused to work. Your tray slipped from your hands, crashing to the floor, bread scattering everywhere. The chant grew louder, pounding in your skull. Bread shuttle. Bread shuttle. Bread shuttle!

You jolted awake with a sharp gasp. Chest heaving.

The hospital room swam into focus. White walls. The steady beep of the monitor. The thin blanket sticking to your sweat-soaked skin. And above you, leaning closer, was a silhouette. Your heart lurched. For a fleeting second, you thought you were still trapped in the nightmare, that she’d followed you out of it.

But the outline sharpened. Scrubs, a loose ponytail, clipboard in hand. Yunjin.

“Geez,” she muttered, blinking at you. “You look like someone murdered you in your sleep.”

You swallowed hard, still disoriented. “…Was I… talking in my sleep?”

“Maybe. Something about bread.” “Goddamn it.”

Her laugh was soft, surprisingly not cruel this time. She adjusted your blanket, almost like she hadn’t even realized she was doing it. “Relax. You’re safe. Nobody’s making you carry trays anymore.”

You peeked out from under the blanket, glaring weakly. “Yet.”

“Yet,” she agreed with a smirk, then scribbled something on your chart like it was business as usual.

The next few days did get better, somehow.

Not because your leg stopped hurting. It didn’t. Every shift in bed felt like someone had stuffed hot coals under the plaster, and crutching to the bathroom was a humiliation you performed with great dignity (totally). No, you cursed yourself at the sheer absurdity of Yunjin being your current caretaker. Seriously, the same Yunjin who even haunted your nightmare till this day, is now ferrying food, refilling your water bottle, and fluffing your pillows as if it were her calling.

Talk about a twist of fate.

The funnier part is that you were technically allowed to be the picky one. It was in the job description where nurse interns had to look after their patients. That included you.

Of course, you didn’t want to go overboard. You weren’t out to humiliate her or anything. But, every now and then… It felt really good to throw a jab. Like this morning.

The curtain slid open and Yunjin strolled in, balancing a tray with one hand like she’d been born to do it. “Rise and shine, patient of the year,” she chirped, dropping it onto your table.

The smell hit you before you even looked. Plain rice. Watery soup. Kimchi that looked like it had been fermented since the Joseon dynasty.

You wrinkled your nose. “This looks like prison food.”

She gasped, hand on her chest. “Excuse you. This is a balanced hospital meal, carefully prepared for optimal recovery.”

You poked at the soup with your spoon. The broth was practically clear. “Balanced how? It’s ninety percent water.”

“That’s hydration,” she countered.

“And the rice is ninety percent starch.” “That’s energy.”

You lifted the kimchi container with two fingers, grimacing. “And this smells like poison.”

“That's…hm…” She eased into the chair beside you and crossed her legs with that effortless, annoyingly composed posture you remembered. “…wow. The hell, you’re even more of a diva as a patient than I was as a student.”

You smirked. “The difference is, I actually have a broken leg. What was your excuse, Yunjin?”

Her jaw fell open. “Douche! You’ve been waiting years to say that, haven’t you?”

“Yup,” you said, spooning some of the soup into your mouth. You gagged dramatically. “And karma tastes like shit.”

Yunjin rolled her eyes and stood up. “Fine. Be like that. I’ll get you something else before you wither away from your stupidly high standards.”

She grabbed the unfinished tray and stalked out, muttering under her breath about ungrateful patients (aka. You). Fifteen minutes later, she was back. This time with a convenience store bag dangling from her wrist. She plopped it onto your lap.

“Here. Sandwiches, chips, and chocolate milk. The VIP treatment.”

You unwrapped the sandwich, eyeing her suspiciously. “Did you buy this with your own money, or did you bill it to the hospital?”

“Ha ha. Funny.” She pulled out the chair again, plopping down with a huff. “Don’t flatter yourself. I was hungry anyway, so I bought extra.”

You took a bite, savoring the fresh bread like it was a five-star meal. Then, with your mouth still full, you said, “Thanks, bread shuttle.”

Her head snapped toward you, eyes wide. “You fucking did not just—”

“I did.” You smirked, chewing slowly. “Bread shuttle. Who would’ve thought?”

She covered her face with both hands, groaning dramatically. “I cannot believe the universe is fucking with me like this.”

“Feels right, doesn’t it?” You leaned back smugly. “The roles have reversed. I’m winning now.”

She peered at you through her fingers, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Watch out. If I’m your shuttle, I’m starting a delivery fee.”

“You already did,” you shot back. “High school tariffs are still unpaid. Ten bucks, minimum.”

She lost it then — a laugh that made the patient in the next bed groan for quiet. She slapped a hand over her mouth to muffle it, but you saw the amusement in her eyes. “You keep score? Pathetic.”

“And you’re still annoying,” you replied, sipping the chocolate milk she brought.

“Yeah, well…” She trailed off, fiddling with the hem of her scrub top. For the first time, she didn’t fire back instantly. Instead, she glanced at your leg, then back at you. “That annoying rich kid doesn’t usually stick around to make sure you’re eating.”

The sentence hung there, odd and soft. You weren’t going to let the room go mushy on your watch, so you waved the change away with a mouthful of sandwich. “Well, you’re terrible at picking food,” you said, because sarcasm is a reflex.

Her eyes narrowed, but the corner of her mouth twitched up again. “You know what? Next time, I’m spitting in it.”

You chuckled, leaning back into the pillows as you chewed. For once, it wasn’t the pain meds making you feel light.

And it became a routine. Three times a day, she’d show up with food and some ridiculous comment. Sometimes she’d sneak in extras, like an unopened juice box or a pudding cup she’d “liberated” from the staff fridge.

When you raised an eyebrow at her generosity, she shrugged. “Perks of knowing where the stash is. Don’t tell anyone.”

“You mean don’t tell your supervisor before they fire you.” “Exactly.”

But you kept your demands small. A glass of water here, an extra blanket there — minor tyrannies, not full-blown dictatorship. Still, she always came. Even on the days the ward was busy and her pager screeched, she found five minutes to push your tray in and tell you the funny bits from the hallway: the old man who pretended the call bell was a disco light, the other intern who’d tripped over his own shoes, the woman who tried to smuggle dumplings past visiting hours.

She’d be halfway through telling you some dumb story about another patient who tried to flirt with her, then her pager would buzz and she’d jump to her feet. Then, as always, the pager would go off and she’d be up, muttering, “Ugh, duty calls.” She’d grin at you through the curtain as she left. “Don’t miss me too much,” she’d say, light like a dare.

“Yeah, yeah,” you’d wave her off, putting on your best tragic face. “Go save lives. Abandon me again.”

And then she’d disappear, leaving you alone with your tasteless porridge and the faintest echo of her laugh. You hated to admit it, but the space next to your bed always felt quieter when she was gone.

It happened during lunch.

Yunjin strolled in like she owned the place, hips swaying with overconfidence, pushing the lunch tray cart as if she were an overpriced street vendor working a night market. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she announced grandly, though you were clearly the only one listening, “today’s Michelin-star special: rice that tastes like cardboard and soup that looks suspiciously like someone’s bathwater!”

You let out a weak sigh, the corner of your mouth twitching despite yourself. “Are you even allowed to roast your own hospital like that?”

“No, but I only do it to annoy you.” She set the tray on the counter and hummed as she started fussing with the bowls, like she was trying to make them look appetizing.

You wanted to snap back — something about how the soup smelled like wet socks left out in the rain as usual — but before the words even formed, it happened. The patient in the bed next to yours suddenly let out a strangled gasp. The sound was jagged, guttural. Then his whole body convulsed violently against the sheets, jerking hard enough to knock over his water cup.

The spoon in your hand clattered onto your tray. Your brain stalled. Those five seconds felt slower than anything ever. What? What? What the fuck happened? Is he ok? He was just fine five seconds ago? Your body tensed up. What do you do? What can you do? Fuck, fuck, fuck. Should you call someone?

Yunjin reacted before it reached two.

The hum on her lips cut off instantly. She was already at the man’s side, voice sharp and grounding, not a single note of hesitation. “Sir? Can you hear me?” Her hands were steady as she rolled him onto his side, sliding a pillow beneath his head to cushion the thrashing, moving like she had rehearsed this a hundred times. She kept his limbs clear, making space without restraining him.

Your heart pounded in your throat. Still frozen, gripping the blanket, useless.

“Seizure!” Yunjin barked, spotting a nurse passing by. “Get the doctor, please!”

The nurse bolted. Within seconds, the doctor stormed in with two more staff, their voices colliding—“Airway, oxygen, get me vitals.” Machines beeped, curtains swished, the whole ward seemed to spin. But your eyes never left Yunjin. Even when the professionals crowded in, she stayed right there until the doctor gently nudged her aside. Only then did she step back, composure snapping back onto her shoulders like a coat she was desperate not to drop.

She moved like nothing had happened, wiping her hands with sanitizer and straightening her badge. She turned back to your tray, casually lifting the lid off the soup.

“Sorry about that,” she said lightly, as if she hadn’t just jumped into an emergency. “Rice or soup?”

“…Are you serious right now?” “What?”

“You—” You gestured wildly toward the next bed, where the doctor was still monitoring the patient. “That! You just—how the hell did you even—?”

Yunjin shrugged, ladling soup into the bowl like she hadn’t just been super professional. “Basic protocol. Side recovery position. Keep the airway clear. It wasn’t that complicated.”

“Not complicated?” Your voice cracked. “He was—he was literally—” You stopped, words failing.

Her lips curved into the faintest, smug little smile. But when she set the spoon down, you noticed it. The tremor. Her hand was shaking, just enough to make the metal rattle faintly against the tray.

“…Yunjin, your hand.”

She froze, glanced down, then quickly shoved both hands into her scrub pockets. “Adrenaline,” she muttered, eyes flicking away. “It happens.”

For once, you didn’t have anything sarcastic to say. The usual remarks about nepotism or rich-girl antics dried up in your throat. You just looked at her, really looked. Her shoulders were stiff, her breathing a little uneven, her usual smug mask slipping just enough for you to glimpse the nerves underneath.

She wasn’t just coasting through this. She cared. Maybe too much.

“…You were good,” you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Her head snapped toward you. “Huh?”

You shifted, suddenly self-conscious. “Back there. You were… good. Fast. Like, you knew what to do.”

A slow grin spread across her face, one you instantly regretted provoking. “Wow. Was that a compliment? From you?”

You groaned, dragging a hand over your face. “Don’t make it weird.”

“It’s already weird,” she teased, leaning closer. “You actually praised me. This is so rare. I should get someone to notarize it.”

“Yunjin—”

“No, seriously. Do it again. Say it with feeling.” “Oh shush. You’re so annoying.”

She laughed, throwing her head back, the sound loud enough to draw another annoyed glance from a nurse. When she finally calmed down, she sat back in the chair, still smiling. But this time, the smile was softer. Less mocking.

“…Thanks,” “For what?”

“For noticing.” She tapped her pocket lightly, where her hand was still hidden, still trembling. “Nice to know that someone did.”

The words hung between you, heavier than you expected. You shifted awkwardly, then grabbed your spoon and jabbed at the soup. “Whatever. Don’t let it get to your head.”

Yunjin smirked again, her shield snapping back into place. “Too late. Compliment’s going in my scrapbook.”

But even as she laughed and went back to fiddling with your health checklog, you couldn’t shake the image of her moving without hesitation, steady and sharp when it mattered most. The hand tremor didn’t erase what you saw—it only made it clearer.

She was trying. Harder than you ever gave her credit for.

It stuck in your head like a song you couldn’t hate-skip.

Even a few days later, you still couldn’t shake off the image of Yunjin during that seizure incident. The way she moved — decisive, calm, and faster than you thought she was capable of — played back in your head at the most random times. You hated that the image felt, in a weird way, impressive. This wasn’t the brat from school who treated you like a glorified delivery app. This was someone who actually gave a damn.

But the daydreaming ended as your friend barged into the hospital room with the energy that made the nurses frown at the hallway commotion. She plopped a convenience store bag on your table, full of chips, soda, and things that probably weren’t on your “recovery diet.”

“You’re welcome,” she said smugly, settling into the chair beside your bed.

You were just about to complain about the water soup again when the door opened with a soft creak. Yunjin walked in, pushing the lunch cart as usual. Her hair was tied back neatly, her scrubs spotless, but there was a bounce in her step, a little too confident for an intern.

“Lunch is served,” she declared, setting the tray down with mock grandeur. “Today’s special: more mystery soup, a roll of questionable bread, and the chef’s personal touch, me.”

Your friend’s grin widened. Those are the grins that mean trouble. Her eyes darted back and forth between you and Yunjin, hungry for gossip.

“Ohhh,” she said slowly, dragging the sound out. “So this is Yunjin.”

Your stomach dropped. You could hear the sentence fold in on itself: all the old stories, every petty complaint you’d ever made, primed and ready to be spewed. Before she could open her mouth you slapped a hand over it, hard and instinctive.

“Don’t,” you hissed, fingers clamped to her lips. The look you shot her could have frozen the vending machine.

“Mmph?!” she squeaked against your palm.

Yunjin, meanwhile, had started unpacking the tray, humming casually. “What’s that about?”

You forced a smile, keeping your hand firmly over your friend’s mouth. “She was just saying how I told her you’re… uh… actually a pretty good lad.”

Yunjin glanced over, one brow arched. “A lad? That’s… new. Should I be worried about what you tell your friends?”

You coughed. “N-no. It’s, uh, a compliment. Kinda.”

Your friend wriggled free and pointed accusingly at you. “Compliment?! You were the one who—”

You smacked her forehead with your other hand, hard enough that she yelped. “Ow! What the hell!” she whisper-yelled, rubbing her forehead.

Yunjin’s eyes narrowed, suspicious. “You were the one who… what?”

Your friend froze, caught between throwing you under the bus and self-preservation. She bit her lip, then plastered on a fake smile. “…Who said you were really reliable? Like, golden retriever reliable. Yeah.”

Silence stretched for a beat. Then Yunjin burst out laughing, warm and unguarded. “A golden retriever? That’s… honestly the nicest thing I’ve been called all week. I’ll take it.”

You exhaled in relief as she turned back to the tray, ladling the soup into a bowl. She blew gently on the surface before placing it in front of you like it was fine dining. “Open up,” she said casually, holding out the spoon.

You blinked at her. “Wait. You’re—are you fucking around?”

“Do I look like I’m fucking around?” Her tone was light, but her eyes were daring you. “Come on, you’re still recovering. And besides—” She flicked her gaze toward your friend, who was already halfway through her chips. “—she’s clearly too busy raiding her own stash.”

“Hey—” your friend started, but a chip was already halfway to her mouth. Loyalty, it seemed, had been traded for snacks.

You looked back at Yunjin, who was tilting her head with that infuriating patience. “Don’t make me say ‘ahhh’ for you,” she teased.

You sighed, because the soup smelled harmlessly warming and the spoon was hovering in front of you like a dare. You leaned forward, took a bite, and the simple broth settled in your mouth with more comfort than it had any right to. There was nothing special about the flavour — no new ingredients whatsoever — but the way she watched you while you ate made it matter.

“You’re making a weird face,” Yunjin noted, watching you closely. “Too hot?”

“N-no,” you stammered. “It’s fine. It’s good.”

Your friend nearly choked on her soda from laughing. “You should see yourself right now. Totally whipped.”

“Shut up,” you snapped, cheeks burning as Yunjin tilted her head curiously.

“Whipped?” she echoed, lips curling into a slow grin. “That’s… interesting.”

“It’s not like that,” you muttered, trying to sink into your pillow. “She’s messing around with me.”

“Mmhm,” she hummed, clearly unconvinced, as she scooped another spoonful and nudged it toward your lips. “Eat. Before I start believing her.”

You blinked at the spoon, at the little tremor you’d glimpsed in her hand days ago, at the warm curve of her mouth. Then, ridiculousness and honesty doubling up in the same breath, you let yourself lean forward again and take the bite.

The soup was still soup. Your embarrassment, however, was suddenly a flavourful thing you couldn’t swallow down. As the steam curled up between you, Yunjin’s eyes met yours — no teasing now, only that odd, quiet look you’d finally learned to read — and for the first time in a long time you couldn’t deny it.

Great. As if one broken leg wasn’t enough, you were apparently on track to break the other one too, just by falling for her.

You didn’t notice how much your world had tilted toward her until the doctor told you the words you’d been dying to hear:

“You’re clear to be discharged by tomorrow.”

Relief flooded you so fast you nearly laughed. No more endless bowls of flavorless soup. No more antiseptic stench clinging to your nose. No more symphonies of snores from every direction at night. Freedom, sweet, blessed freedom, was finally within reach.

And yet…something else crept in with relief. Actually, you’re very aware of what it is: a hollow pang at the thought of not seeing Yunjin every day.

That evening, she appeared like clockwork, a chart tucked under her arm, pen dangling from her lips, hair tied back in a loose mess that somehow looked intentional. She leaned against the bedrail, her tone breezy but her eyes betraying a flicker you didn’t miss.

“Well, it looks like my favourite patient’s out of here tomorrow,” she announced. “Congrats, you’re finally free.”

You scoffed, but your chest felt stupidly warm. “Favorite patient? That’s sappy, even for you.”

“You’re the only one who doesn’t throw tantrums,” she countered, dropping your file on the table. “So, what’s the plan? Back to racing buses with your two left feet?”

“Very funny.” You gave her a pointed look. “Maybe I’ll just invest in a bike.”

“Or,” she leaned on the bedrail, eyes gleaming, “maybe you learn to wake up on time.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. The banter was easy now, natural in a way that left you a little dazed afterward.

After she set your paperwork on the table, you gripped on your bedsheet tightly, then blurted out, “Hey… wanna go for a walk?”

Her brows shot up. She glanced at the wheelchair parked at the foot of your bed, then back at you. “A walk. In that?”

“Walking is a state of mind,”

For a second, she just stared at you. Then she let out this loud, unrestrained laugh that made your ears heat up. “You’re unbelievable. Fine. Let’s go before I change my mind.”

The hospital hallway trip wasn’t exactly inspiring. White walls, a faint antiseptic tang, the squeak of rubber soles echoing here and there. But somehow it felt lighter with her beside you. Livelier. Every now and then, she’d deliberately steer you closer to the wall, grinning whenever you panicked.

“Yunjin, I swear if you crash me—”

She tilted the handles just enough to make you swerve near the corner, then corrected smoothly. “Relax. My hands are steady. You’ve seen them.”

That pulled a pause out of you. Your grip on the armrests eased a little as you remembered the seizure incident. The same hands that had been shaking afterward, but never once faltered while it mattered. “…Yeah. I have,” you admitted quietly.

Something flickered in her eyes at your tone, but she didn’t comment. Instead, she kept pushing, letting the silence settle just enough before breaking it.

“So. Walking buddy. What should we talk about? Politics? Weather? Soup quality in hospital cafeterias?”

You rolled your eyes. “I have been so vocal about it. And again, it’s dogshit.”

She laughed, the sound bouncing off the sterile walls, and the conversation rolled on from there. Dumb school memories. Music. How the cafeteria meat you were ordered to get looked suspiciously like erasers. Somewhere in the middle, you finally asked her the question that has been gnawing inside you.

“So,” you began, tilting your head to glance up at her, “you never really told me why you chose this.”

“Choose… what?” “Nursing. Doing, uh… this.”

Her stride slowed, hands tightened slightly on the handles, and for once she didn’t shoot back with some quick-witted remark. “…My grandma,” she said finally, her voice softer than usual. “…She got sick a few years back. Cancer. We spent months in hospitals. The nurses… they were the ones who made it bearable. They were… very comforting. Warmth. Sometimes the only people who treated her like she wasn’t just a patient.”

You slowly twisted in your chair to see her face, but she was looking straight ahead. Her lips pressed thin, like she didn’t want them to tremble.

“And I realized… I wanted to be that for someone else. To matter like that.”

Your chest tightened. For the first time since you’d been stuck in this place, you forgot about your leg, the bland food, all the remarks about her riding on her parents’ money. All you could think about was the conviction in her voice, the way her eyes shone even in the dim light.

Her next words came even softer and shakier. “To be honest, I wanted to quit the first month. Everyone thought I was just another rich girl playing dress-up. Some still do. But… I like it. More than I thought I would, even when it’s hard.”

You turned slightly in the chair to look up at her, catching that crease of worry she was trying to hide. For once, you didn’t reach for sarcasm. “…you’re doing good,” you said, plain and honest. “Better than I ever thought you would.”

Her steps slowed. She blinked down at you, lips parting just a little, before breaking into a small smile that wasn’t teasing or smug, just… real. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. I think I might cry.”

“Shut up,” you blurted, panicked at the thought. “That’d be embarrassing.”

Her laugh broke through the heaviness, bright and teasing again. She shoved the chair forward playfully, making you grab the wheels to steady yourself.

You two ended up circling the hallways for nearly an hour, trading stories and jabs like old classmates rediscovering an old rhythm. By the time she wheeled you back into your room, you realized something: for all the white walls and sterile smells, tonight felt more alive than anything outside waiting for you.

It’s certainly going to be lonely after discharging.

You spend the morning in a daze of paperwork and fluorescent light — doctors’ signatures, nursing initials, a stack of discharge forms that somehow require three stamps and someone else’s patience. Changing back into your own clothes feels like stepping into a different skin; the cotton of your hoodie is miracle-soft against the plaster, and you breathe like the world’s edges have softened.

She arrives with your final set of forms tucked under her arm, hair tied back in that messy, workday way that somehow makes you look twice. “So… guess this is goodbye, huh?” she says, casual as a shrug, but her gaze lingers on you longer than it should. “There aren’t any water soups outside these white walls, you know.”

You grin, but your stomach is doing that stupid flip people talk about in movies. If you don’t say something now you’ll spend the next week replaying this exact moment and kicking yourself.

“Hey, Huh Yunjin.”

“Hm?”

“…Are you free on your day off?”

The eyebrow raise you get is instantaneous, like she didn’t expect you to actually ask. “Depends. Why? Are you going to make me your bread shuttle again?”

You force your eyes to meet hers. “No. Just… maybe coffee. My treat.”

Her brows shot up. “Coffee?”

“Yeah.” You scratch the back of your neck as if the motion will make you less nervous. “Consider it… a thank-you. For not letting me die, for actually—” Your mouth jams up like the words are shy. “—for everything, really.”

Yunjin tilted her head, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then, slowly, that sly grin spread across her face. “So this is you asking me out, huh?”

You flush, voice scrambling out faster than you planned. “I— it’s just coffee. Don’t jump the gun here.” Way too defensive. Good one, sucker.

Her grin widened, mischievous and soft all at once. She leaned down, her face level with yours, eyes glinting. “You realize the irony here, right? I used to make you run around for bread. And now you’re the one asking me out.”

You groaned. “Don’t remind me, damn it.”

She straightens and tucks the forms into your discharge folder like it’s nothing, then taps the edge of the chair with her pen. “Alright. Coffee it is. But mark this down—if you bail, I’m putting it on your permanent record.” Her grin widens into something softer. “And if you suddenly get cold feet, I’ll just drag you there myself.”

"Don’t worry, I will make it.”

She chuckled as she leaned closer, her voice dropping to a playful murmur. “Good, then it’s a date.”

Your brain short-circuits on the last line. You manage something like, “Y-yeah. Okay. A date then.”

She nods, eyes bright and maybe, just a little bit tender. “Good. I’ll pick the place. Don’t be late.”

As she turns to go, she pauses, glancing back over her shoulder with that casual half-smile that’s somehow all the warmth you need. “And hey—try not to sprint for any buses for at least a week, yeah?”

“I’ll… try.”

By the time you step out of the hospital, the city feels louder, brighter, more alive than before. But under all of it, one thought beats louder than anything else:

…yeah, you were absolutely falling hard. For Yunjin.