Chapter Text
It started with something small.
A fleeting moment. A glance that lasted just a second too long.
The night had been chaotic, the emergency room flooded with patients after a highway pile-up. Blood, broken bones, the sound of machines beeping frantically—it had been the kind of night that left a person exhausted down to their bones.
Myung-Sim had been steady throughout, moving with the quiet efficiency that made her the backbone of Doldam Hospital. But then, amid the chaos, there was him.
Kim Sabu had been in his element, issuing commands with sharp precision, working through the worst of the cases with his usual brilliance. She was used to seeing him like this—composed, focused, utterly in control. But then, there had been that one moment.
A nurse had nearly dropped a tray of surgical tools, and in the rush of everything, Myung-Sim had instinctively moved to catch it. The sudden motion sent her off balance, and before she could react, a firm hand caught her wrist, steadying her.
Kim Sabu.
It was brief. A second, maybe two.
But the warmth of his hand, the way his fingers curled gently around her wrist, the brief flicker of concern in his eyes as he glanced at her—it sent something sharp and unfamiliar through her chest.
“Careful,” he had murmured before letting go.
She hadn’t thought about it at the time, too occupied with stabilizing a patient. But now, hours later, lying in bed, she couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Why did her chest feel tight?
She placed a hand over her heart, frowning at the steady, quick rhythm beneath her palm.
It had to be stress. She barely slept these days, and her workload hadn’t exactly been light. But the more she thought about it, the more she recalled other moments—times when Kim Sabu’s voice alone had calmed her, times when she had felt something oddly warm when he laughed, times when she had found herself watching him a little longer than necessary.
Her chest clenched again, and she sat up abruptly, heart pounding.
No. It had to be a medical issue.
Did she have a heart problem?
The thought was ridiculous—she had no known cardiac conditions, no symptoms except… this feeling.
And yet, by the time the sun rose, she had made up her mind.
She needed an expert opinion.
The hospital was already buzzing with morning rounds when Myung-Sim walked into Kim Sabu’s office, forcing herself to keep her steps steady.
Kim Sabu glanced up from his desk, pushing his glasses up his nose. “You look terrible.”
“Good morning to you too,” she muttered, sitting across from him.
He narrowed his eyes, scanning her face. “Didn’t sleep?”
“Not really.”
Kim Sabu set down the patient file he had been reviewing, giving her his full attention. “Wae geurae?”
She hesitated. The rational part of her brain screamed at her to just drop it, but the persistent tightness in her chest—and the nagging need to understand—kept her rooted in place.
“I… I think something might be wrong with my heart.”
For the first time in a long while, she saw genuine alarm flash across his face.
“Your heart?”
She nodded, clearing her throat. “I’ve been feeling… this pressure. It’s not pain, exactly, but it’s noticeable. Tightness in my chest, occasional palpitations…” She exhaled, feeling foolish even as she said it. “It kept me up all night.”
Kim Sabu was already on his feet, his expression unreadable. “Come here.”
She blinked. “What?”
“Come here,” he repeated, gesturing toward the examination table.
“I didn’t mean for you to—”
“You came to me as a cardiothoracic surgeon, didn’t you?” His voice held that no-nonsense tone she had heard a thousand times before. “Let me check.”
Suppressing a sigh, she got up and sat on the edge of the table. She gingerly undid a few buttons of her uniform while he grabbed his stethoscope and looped it around his neck, stepping closer.
“Breathe normally,” he instructed, placing the diaphragm against her chest.
The instant the cool metal touched her skin, she felt another sharp squeeze in her chest—only this time, it wasn’t from some unknown condition.
It was him.
The closeness. The warmth of his presence. The steady way his eyes flickered with focus as he listened intently.
She swallowed hard, willing herself to calm down.
Kim Sabu remained oblivious, shifting the stethoscope slightly as he listened. “Heart rate’s a little fast,” he noted.
Of course it is, you idiot , Myung-Sim thought, fighting the urge to groan.
“I don’t hear any irregularities,” he continued, straightening. “Your lungs sound fine, too. No murmurs. No arrhythmia.”
She felt a ridiculous rush of relief—and maybe a bit of disappointment.
“So what’s causing the tightness?” she asked, still playing into the medical approach because there was no way she was going to admit the real reason.
Kim Sabu frowned in thought, crossing his arms. “It could be stress-related. Anxiety sometimes presents with physical symptoms, even in people who don’t typically experience it.”
She nodded slowly, as if considering it. “That makes sense.”
He studied her for a moment longer, then sighed. “Still, I want you to monitor it. If the tightness persists or worsens, we’ll do an ECG.”
She forced a smile. “Ne, Kim Sabu.”
His eyes narrowed at her teasing tone, but he said nothing as she hopped off the table.
“Get some rest,” he muttered, returning to his desk. “You overwork yourself too much.”
Myung-Sim turned to leave but paused at the door, glancing back at him.
For years, she had seen him as Kim Sabu—brilliant, exasperating, and a force of nature in the medical world. But now, her perception of him felt… different.
The way he had rushed to check her, the concern that had flashed in his eyes—it lingered in her mind, pressing against something unspoken.
Her chest still felt tight, but for a completely different reason.
And for the first time, she admitted to herself—this was not a heart problem.
It was something else entirely.
Something much harder to cure.
Myung-Sim had always been steady. Reliable. A constant presence at Doldam Hospital.
So when she suddenly started avoiding Kim Sabu, he noticed.
At first, he brushed it off. Maybe she was just busy. The hospital was always in chaos, and Myung-Sim had a knack for taking on more responsibilities than necessary.
But then, it kept happening.
It was in the little things.
During morning rounds, she positioned herself on the far side of the room, keeping her back to him as much as possible. If their paths were about to cross in the hallway, she would conveniently find something—or someone —to talk to, just long enough for him to pass.
She stopped lingering in his office to update him on patient statuses. She stopped engaging in their usual banter.
And then, the real kicker—she started handing off post-surgery briefings to another Nurse Park Eun-Tak.
That was when he knew something was definitely wrong.
It wasn’t just busyness. It wasn’t coincidence.
She was actively avoiding him.
Kim Sabu tried to convince himself that it wasn’t personal. Maybe she was just in a mood, or maybe she had some personal matters to deal with. But as the days passed, a nagging thought crept into his mind.
Was it because of the consultation?
He remembered the way she had come to him, clearly troubled. Her concern about her heart had been genuine, and though her vitals had been normal, something had been bothering her.
What if it really was a medical issue?
What if she hadn’t told him everything?
The thought unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
He found her in the supply room.
She was taking inventory, back turned to him, posture a little too rigid.
Perfect.
Kim Sabu leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Are you avoiding me?”
She tensed—just for a second, but he caught it.
“Aniyo,” she said, her voice maddeningly neutral.
He raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Yes, really.” She kept her focus on the clipboard in her hand, flipping a page. “I’ve just been busy.”
“Too busy to brief me on patients? Too busy to even be in the same room as me?”
She hesitated, just slightly, before scribbling something down. “You have other people for that.”
Kim Sabu frowned. Something was off, and the more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that she was hiding something.
He sighed. “Is this about your heart?”
That got her attention.
Her head snapped up, eyes widening slightly before she quickly looked away. “What?”
“You came to me with a concern, and now you’re acting like this. I checked your heart that day, and everything was fine, but if you’ve been experiencing more symptoms, you should’ve told me.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it.
For a moment, she looked almost guilty.
“Kim Sabu—”
“If there’s something wrong, I need to know,” he cut in, his tone more serious now. “If the tightness is still there, if the palpitations are worse—”
“My heart is fine! ” she burst out, exasperated.
He blinked.
She let out a slow breath, gripping the clipboard a little too tightly.
“My heart is fine,” she repeated, calmer this time. “It was never a medical issue.”
Something about the way she said it made his frown deepen.
If it wasn’t medical, then what—
Before he could press further, she turned away, going back to the shelves.
“If that’s all, Kim Sabu, I still have work to do.”
He could take a hint.
For now.
But this wasn’t over.
Not by a long shot.
Kim Sabu was not the type to let things go.
Especially when something didn’t make sense.
He prided himself on his ability to read people—patients, students, doctors. He could tell when someone was hiding symptoms, when they were pushing themselves too hard, or when they were about to break.
So why couldn’t he figure this out?
Why was Myung-Sim avoiding him?
And why did she look at him like that sometimes—like she wanted to say something but always held back?
His instincts told him to observe. If she wasn’t going to tell him, he would figure it out himself.
So he started watching her.
It wasn’t obvious—not at first. He simply paid attention.
When he walked into a room, he noted the way her posture stiffened ever so slightly before she forced herself to relax.
During meetings, he saw how she made a conscious effort to speak to everyone except him, even though he was right there.
When she laughed at something someone said, she would glance his way as if checking to see if he noticed—then quickly look away if their eyes met.
It was infuriating.
What the hell was going on in that head of hers?
One evening, as the hospital quieted down, Kim Sabu sat in his office, staring blankly at a patient report.
It was useless.
He couldn’t focus because his mind kept circling back to her.
This wasn’t just about avoidance anymore. It was about why.
He leaned back in his chair with a sigh, rubbing his temples.
Was she angry at him? He couldn’t recall anything that would warrant this kind of cold shoulder.
Was she hiding something about her health? But she had said her heart was fine.
Had he unknowingly offended her?
That thought made him pause.
Kim Sabu was not exactly known for his gentle bedside manner, but Myung-Sim had always been able to handle him. If anything, she was one of the few people who could push back when he was being particularly impossible.
And yet, now she avoided him like he was some kind of plague.
It was driving him insane.
Finally, he let out a groan, standing up abruptly.
He needed to confront her. Again.
Because whatever this was—it had to stop.
It started with a storm.
Doldam Hospital had seen its fair share of extreme weather, but tonight’s downpour was particularly relentless. Rain lashed against the windows, and the wind howled through the trees, rattling the power lines.
It was the kind of storm that made even the most experienced doctors feel a little uneasy.
Myung-Sim had just finished her patient charts when she overheard one of the interns whispering near the nurses’ station.
“The storage room door got jammed again. Sabu-nim is inside, and the lock won’t budge.”
Her heart stopped.
Kim Sabu was stuck in the storage room?
For a brief, shameful second, she considered walking in the opposite direction. She had spent the past week avoiding him like the plague—did she really want to get trapped in a room alone with him now?
But then common sense kicked in.
She was the head nurse. And Kim Sabu, for all his brilliance, had the patience of a caffeinated surgeon with a scalpel.
Which he was.
Sighing, she grabbed the keys from the station and made her way down the dimly lit hallway.
She knocked on the heavy metal door. “Kim Sabu?”
From the other side, she heard a sharp scoff. “Took you long enough.”
She rolled her eyes before trying the lock. It didn’t budge.
She tried again. Nothing.
“Did you force this shut?” she accused.
“I closed a door, Sussaem,” he said dryly. “Not exactly a crime.”
She sighed. “Hang on. I’ll try the other key.”
She slid it in. Turned.
Click.
The door creaked open just as a gust of wind from the hallway pushed her forward.
Right into Kim Sabu’s chest.
The impact sent her off balance, and before she could react, his hands shot up, catching her by the arms.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
The room was dim, the scent of antiseptics and old paper lingering in the air. She was far too aware of his grip on her, the solid warmth of his hands against her skin.
Her heart pounded.
Too fast. Too loud.
She quickly stepped back. “You’re welcome,” she muttered.
But before she could make her escape, a loud BANG echoed through the hallway—followed by darkness.
The emergency lights flickered on just as she realized what had happened.
The wind must have slammed the door shut.
Kim Sabu tested the handle. “Locked again.”
“What?” Her voice shot up.
He exhaled sharply. “Looks like we’re both stuck now.”
Myung-Sim closed her eyes. This had to be some cruel joke.
Trapped.
In a small, enclosed space.
With Kim Sabu.
The silence stretched between them.
Kim Sabu had leaned against the shelf, arms crossed, looking far too unbothered for someone who had just been locked in a room.
Meanwhile, Myung-Sim was standing rigidly by the door, arms glued to her sides as if moving even an inch closer to him would be a very bad idea.
“Relax,” he said. “Someone will come looking for us.”
She swallowed. “Right.”
She needed to focus. Think of this logically.
She was a nurse. He was a doctor. They were colleagues.
She had worked with him for years.
So why did standing in this tiny room with him feel so— dangerous?
Kim Sabu sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, are you going to tell me what’s going on with you?”
She stiffened. “Nothing is going on.”
He shot her a pointed look. “Right. You’ve been avoiding me for days because nothing is going on.”
Her fingers curled into fists.
“I told you—I’ve just been busy.”
His gaze narrowed. “Bullshit.”
She flinched.
Kim Sabu was relentless when he wanted answers. And now, with nowhere to escape, she could feel his focus entirely on her, peeling away her defenses like layers of gauze.
Her chest felt tight again.
She took a deep breath.
Then another.
Kim Sabu frowned. “Is it happening again?”
“What?”
“The tightness in your chest,” he said, straightening up. “You’re breathing differently.”
Oh, for god’s sake.
She turned away. “It’s not a medical issue, Kim Sabu.”
He was quiet for a moment. Then—
“Then what is it?”
You. It’s you.
The realization slammed into her like a freight train.
It had been him all along.
The reason she couldn’t sleep. The reason she kept replaying that stupid moment in her head—the way he had held the stethoscope against her chest, completely oblivious to the way it had sent her into a spiral.
Kim Sabu was why her heart was acting this way.
And she hated it.
She hated that she couldn’t control it, couldn’t treat it like an illness with a clear diagnosis.
Most of all, she hated that he was standing there, looking at her with those sharp, perceptive eyes, waiting for an answer she couldn’t give.
“I—”
The words stuck in her throat.
Kim Sabu sighed. “If you don’t tell me, I’m just going to assume it’s a health issue and force you to get tests done.”
Her eyes widened. “You wouldn’t.”
He smirked. “Try me.”
She groaned, pressing a hand to her forehead. “You are unbelievable. ”
“And you’re being suspicious. ”
Another silence fell.
Then, finally, she exhaled and muttered under her breath, “It’s just stress.”
Kim Sabu didn’t look convinced, but before he could press further, footsteps echoed outside.
A moment later, the door swung open, revealing Dr. Nam with an amused expression.
“Oh,” he said. “Were you two having a moment?”
Myung-Sim bolted.
Kim Sabu stayed behind, still leaning against the shelf, watching her retreating figure with a frown.
Something was definitely off.
And now, he was determined to figure it out.
The storm had passed by morning, but the tension between Kim Sabu and Myung-Sim hadn’t.
She had spent the night tossing and turning, replaying the storage room incident over and over in her mind.
Why did being that close to him make her heart race?
Why did she feel like running every time he looked at her for too long?
And why, for the love of everything sacred, did her chest still tighten every time she thought about him?
She needed to get a grip.
And she almost managed to convince herself that everything was fine—until the patient emergency that afternoon.
The ER was chaos.
A young man had been brought in after a traffic accident, his chest crushed by the impact. A flail chest injury, multiple broken ribs, and dropping oxygen levels—it was bad.
Kim Sabu took charge, barking orders as Myung-Sim worked beside him, pushing aside her emotions in favor of pure instinct.
The patient suddenly coded.
“Starting compressions,” Myung-Sim announced, immediately pressing down on his chest.
Kim Sabu grabbed the defibrillator. “Charging.”
The room was tense as everyone worked in sync.
"Clear!"
The patient jolted.
Nothing.
Myung-Sim didn’t hesitate—she started compressions again.
Kim Sabu shocked him a second time.
Then—
A heartbeat.
The relief was palpable.
But just as Myung-Sim stepped back, exhaustion catching up to her, her knees suddenly buckled.
And before she could hit the ground, strong hands caught her.
Kim Sabu.
His grip was firm, his voice sharp with concern. “What the hell—are you alright?”
She nodded quickly, trying to steady herself. “I just—stood too long, I guess.”
He didn’t look convinced.
And then—before she could stop him—his hand was at her wrist, checking her pulse.
Fast. Too fast.
She jerked away. “Kim Sabu—”
He frowned. “Your heart’s racing.”
No kidding.
Before she could protest, he was already tugging her toward an empty bed.
“Sit,” he ordered as he closed the drapes.
“I don’t need to—”
“Myung-Sim.” His voice softened. “Just let me check.”
She let out a frustrated sigh but complied, mostly because she knew he wouldn’t let it go otherwise.
He reached for his stethoscope and pressed the diaphragm to her chest.
And just like before, the world tilted.
She was far too aware of him—of how close he was, of the weight of his hand against her shoulder as he listened.
He was frowning again. “Still fast. No irregularities, though.”
She swallowed hard.
Because of course her heart was racing.
He was the problem.
But instead of stopping, he kept going—tilting his head, deep in thought, muttering things about stress, hydration, possible anemia.
And all she could do was sit there, staring at the way his brows furrowed in concentration, at the small scar on his temple, at the way his lips pressed together as he tried to figure her out like she was just another medical puzzle to solve.
It was unbearable.
It was too much.
Before she could think, she blurted out, “It’s you.”
He froze.
For the first time in his life, Kim Sabu looked completely caught off guard.
His hand lowered, and he blinked at her, confused. “Huh?”
She hadn’t meant to say it.
But now that she had, there was no taking it back.
Her heart pounded.
She could feel her ears burning, her entire body tensed like a wound-up spring.
And Kim Sabu—brilliant, impossible, utterly oblivious Kim Sabu—just stared at her.
“What do you mean, me ?” he asked slowly.
She inhaled sharply.
And then, before she lost the nerve, she snapped—
“You’re the reason my heart’s been acting like this, Kim Sabu!”
Silence.
Complete, utter silence.
Her words hung in the air, heavy and unshakeable.
Kim Sabu blinked once. Twice.
And then—
“Oh.”
Oh?!
That was it?!
She gaped at him, her face burning. “ Oh ?! That’s all you have to say?!”
He looked genuinely dumbfounded. As if the idea had never occurred to him before.
Which, knowing him, it probably hadn’t.
His brain was wired for medicine, not this.
But now that she had said it, something shifted.
His eyes flickered with realization.
His own pulse jumped.
Because suddenly, he was remembering every time she had looked away too quickly.
Every time she had avoided him.
Every time she had been flustered.
And he—who had spent his entire life diagnosing people, solving problems, fixing what was broken—realized that this wasn’t something he could just stitch up and move on from.
His hand lowered from her shoulder, but he didn’t move away.
“Myung-Sim…” His voice was quieter now, more careful.
She held her breath.
He swallowed, glancing down for a moment as if collecting his thoughts. Then—
“…What do you want me to do about it?”
Her heart stopped.
Because she didn’t have an answer.
She hadn’t thought that far ahead.
And now, sitting here, watching Kim Sabu look at her like she was an equation he hadn’t solved yet—she felt completely and utterly exposed.
“I—”
The drapes flew open.
“Sabu-nim, you’re needed in the OR,” a nurse called.
Kim Sabu exhaled sharply.
“Coming,” he said.
But before he left, he glanced back at Myung-Sim.
And in that moment—just for a second—something flickered in his expression.
Something new.
Something she wasn’t sure if she was ready for.
Then he was gone.
And Myung-Sim was left alone—heart pounding, breath uneven, the weight of her own words crashing down on her.
Because she had just admitted it.
And now, there was no going back.