aespafan

Aeri didn’t come in the next day after the discovery. Or the day after that. At first, people assumed she was sick. Residents got sick all the time. Burnout, flu, panic-induced collapse from too many attendings yelling at them at once.

But then Cristina stopped seeing her in the cafeteria. Then George noticed her locker untouched. Then even Alex, who acted like he didn’t care about anyone, said, “She’s gone weird quiet.” And Heeseung noticed everything. Because her absence wasn’t normal absence for him.

It was deliberate. She wasn’t avoiding shifts, she was avoiding him.

The hospital, meanwhile, had its own chaos brewing.

Richard Webber had known Heeseung a long time ago, back when he was still just a regular neurosurgeon to most people in Boston circles and New York conferences and the old surgical world that felt smaller then. So when his other good friend and Heeseung’s wife, Hana arrived again though for her own reasons, Webber didn’t hesitate.

The hospital needed a temporary neonatal surgeon and consultant anyway. Coverage was tight, trauma was rising, and her credentials were impeccable, and she was looking to fix her relationship with Heeseung anyway so she took the job. 

So she stayed. Officially. Unavoidably. And that decision landed like a bomb no one quite admitted they heard go off.

After hearing about this, Heeseung found Webber in his office that afternoon. He didn’t knock properly. Just opened the door.

“What are you doing,” he said flatly. Webber looked up slowly. “Hello to you too.”

“You hired her.”

“She’s qualified.”

Heeseung’s jaw tightened. “She is not supposed to be here.”

“She’s a world-class neonatal specialist Dr. Lee.” Webber emphasized. 

“I don’t care.”

That created a pause.

Because Heeseung didn’t say things like that. Not about work. Not about anything.

Webber leaned back in his chair. “You think I wanted this to be complicated?”

“It is complicated.”

“It already was complicated, Heeseung.”

“She has a right to work,” Webber continued more quietly. “And you don’t get to erase your past just because you changed cities.”

“I didn’t erase anything.”

“You left.”

Heeseung’s hands tightened at his sides.

“I left because she cheated on me with my best friend,” he said sharply.

Webber didn’t react immediately. He already knew that part. Everyone in that circle did. But Heeseung wasn’t done.

“And now she shows up here like nothing happened,” he added. “And you put her in my hospital.”

“She wants to fix your relationship and she’s sorry”

“That doesn’t matter.”

Webber studied him for a long moment.

Then said quietly, “Does Aeri know any of this?”

That hit differently. Heeseung went still. No answer, which was the answer.

___________________________________________________________

Aeri’s friends found out through the worst possible channel: hospital gossip. “Where is she,” Cristina demanded to herself and the others. Izzie hesitated. “She hasn’t been answering texts.”

George looked uneasy. “Dr. Lee’s ex-wife is here.” Alex, immediately “Of course she is.”

Cristina’s expression hardened. “That’s why she’s gone.”

And then Heeseung finally tried to fix it. He went to her house. No answer. Again the next day. Nothing. He called. Straight to voicemail.

He stood outside her house for twenty minutes once before leaving without knocking. Because for the first time in a long time, he didn’t know how to solve something with precision. He only knew how to operate. And this wasn’t something you could cut cleanly.

____________________________________________________________

After Aeri came back to work, she realized very quickly that at the hospital, Hana was everywhere. Confidence, polished, elegant and calm in that way surgeons got when they knew they belonged in every room they entered.—

Meanwhile he didn’t know that Cristina had finally snapped. She cornered him outside the OR, “You’re messing her up,” she said flatly.

Heeseung stopped. “I’m not doing anything.”

“That’s the problem,” Cristina shot back. “You’re doing nothing while she disappears.”

His expression tightened. Cristina stepped closer. “She thinks she was a placeholder.”

That landed.

Heeseung’s voice dropped. “She’s not.”

“Then act like it.”

______________________________________________________________

Later that night, he finally found her. Stairwell again. She sitting halfway up, knees drawn in, scrubs loose, hair slightly messy like she hadn’t slept properly in days. She didn’t look up when he arrived.

“I’m busy,” she said automatically.

“No you’re not.”

Silence. Then she finally glanced at him. And the exhaustion there made something in his chest twist.

“You should be with your wife,” she said quietly.

“I am not with her.”

“You’re married.”

“I was,” he corrected.

“That’s not comforting.”

He stepped up a few stairs but kept distance. Careful. Controlled.

“Why didn’t you come to work,” he asked.

Aeri laughed once, dry. “Because I didn’t feel like watching history repeat itself.”

His jaw tightened. “That’s not what this is.”

“It looks exactly like it.”

A pause. Then she finally said it.

“I don’t do being the other woman, Heeseung.”

That hit harder than anything else. Because he understood what she was really saying.

He exhaled slowly. “You’re not.”

Aeri shook her head. “You don’t get to decide that.”

“I ended it with her months ago.”

“She’s still here.”

“That’s not my fault.”

“That’s not the point.”

Silence again. Heavy.

Then softer, almost breaking.

“I didn’t know any of this,” she whispered. “You didn’t tell me anything.”

Heeseung’s voice dropped. “I was going to.”

“When?”

He didn’t answer fast enough. That was enough. She looked away again, blinking hard like she was trying not to fall apart in front of him.

And for the first time, Heeseung looked genuinely afraid of losing control of something he couldn’t operate on.

“Aeri,” he said quietly.

She shook her head once.

“I need time,” she said.

Not a breakup. Not a door slammed. Just distance. And then she stood up and walked past him without waiting for a response. Leaving him alone in the stairwell with something worse than surgery complications. Regret he couldn’t fix quickly.

It wasn’t anything dramatic that broke Aeri. Not a confrontation. Not a fight. Not even Hana doing anything wrong. That was the worst part. It was just a long shift. Three traumas back to back, a coding patient they almost lost, and a pediatric consult that left she standing in the hallway longer than she should’ve been because she needed thirty seconds to stop feeling like her chest was collapsing.

And when she finally got through it all, when she finally peeled herself out of the OR scrubs and into the quiet of the locker room, Hana was there.

Not waiting for her. Just there in passing, washing her hands at the sink, sleeves rolled up, calm in that effortless way seasoned surgeons had.

Neonatal surgery. She had seen her work once. Tiny babies. Fragile lives. Absolute precision. And she was good. Not just good in the way people said things to be polite. She was beyond excellent.

Hana glanced up when she noticed she and offered a small, polite smile.

“Long case?” she asked gently.

She nodded. “Yeah.”

“Same.”

That was it. No tension. No hostility.

Just two surgeons at the end of a brutal day. Hana turned off the sink and paused like she was deciding something.

Then she said, “Heeseung used to do that thing with coffee when he’s stressed. Does he still?”

She blinked slightly. “I… think so.”

A faint smile crossed Hana’s face like she was remembering something not painful, just old.

“He always forgets to eat when he’s deep in a case,” she added, almost absentmindedly. “I used to bring him food to the OR doors. He’d act annoyed but still eat it.”

Her chest tightened without warning. Not because Hana was cruel. Because she wasn’t. She had a version of him that existed before she ever got there. Hana rinsed her hands, then looked at Aeri properly for the first time. And something softened in her expression.

“I’ve seen you,” Hana continued. “When he’s speaking. When you’re on his service. You keep up with him. Most people don’t.” Aeri swallowed. “It’s… just work.”

Hana shook her head slightly. “No. It’s not.”

Silence. She looked down at her hands, suddenly aware of how tired she was.

Hana hesitated, then added quieter, “I know this is… complicated.”

That word again. Complicated. Aeri let out a small breath that almost sounded like a laugh but didn’t make it all the way there.

“That’s one way to put it.”

Hana didn’t deny anything. Didn’t defend herself. Just nodded once like she understood more than she was saying. Then she left. And Aeri stood there alone in the locker room longer than she meant to.

She didn’t go home right away. She sat in her car in the hospital parking garage with the engine off, hands still shaking slightly from exhaustion she’d been ignoring all day. And then it hit her.

Just slowly, like something sinking.Hana wasn’t mean, she wasn’t insecure. Hana wasn’t trying to compete. She was just… real. Equal to him in every way the world measured things.  Same level. Same history.

And Aeri, she felt like something that happened in between.

A moment. A mistake he hadn’t intended to repeat. Her throat tightened before she even realized she was crying. It started small. Silent at first, like her body was trying to pretend it wasn’t happening. But then it wasn’t manageable anymore.

And suddenly she was crying in her car in a hospital parking garage at 10 p.m. with her scrubs still on, hands gripping the steering wheel like it could hold her together. Because she didn’t even hate Hana.

That was the worst part too. She admired her. Which made it worse in a way she couldn’t explain. Because if Hana was everything he used to love…

What was she supposed to be?

A beginning? A distraction? A temporary thing in a life that already had a full story?

Her phone buzzed once. Then again. Heeseung. Of course. She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Because she knew if she heard his voice right now, she would either break completely or run again. And she was already doing both.

He found her anyway. Of course he did. He checked the stairwell first. Empty. Locker room second. Empty. Then parking garage.

Heeseung stepped out into the cold concrete silence and immediately saw her car. Engine off. Lights still on. He walked over fast enough that his calm didn’t quite hold. And when he opened the driver’s side door, she didn’t even look up at first. Just wiped her face quickly like she could undo it. That was all it took.

His expression changed immediately.

“Aeri.”

Her name came out quieter than usual. Not commanding. Not clinical. Just… her name. She shook her head slightly. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t believe it for a second. He crouched slightly so he could see her face better. And when he did, something in him tightened hard.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Look at me.”

She tried. Failed.

Her voice cracked anyway. “I can’t do this.”

A pause.

“What part.”

Her laugh came out broken. “All of it.”

He went still. And then he just reached in slowly, carefully, like he was afraid she might disappear if he moved too fast, and rested his hand lightly on her arm. Not pulling. Just there.

“I saw her,” she whispered. “And shes just– she’s not like me.”

He frowned slightly. “Don’t.”

“It’s true.”

“It’s not.”

“She’s your wife.”

That word landed heavy between them. He didn’t correct it this time. Just exhaled slowly, like he was trying to keep something steady that wanted to fall apart.

“Aeri,” he said again, softer. “Look at me.”

This time she did. Barely. Eyes red, exhausted, completely overwhelmed. And he looked at her like she wasn’t an option in comparison to anyone else.Like she was just… her.

“I didn’t come back here for her,” he said quietly.

Her breath shook. “But she’s still part of you.”

“Yes,” he admitted. Honest. Always honest.

“But she’s not where I am.”

Silence. Aeriswallowed hard. “She knows you better.”

That one hit something deeper. Heeseung shook his head once. “She knew a version of me.”

“And me?” she asked quietly.

Something flickered in his expression.

“You’re not a version,” he said.

Then, after a pause, even softer,

“You’re just you.”

He waited. Didn’t rush her. Didn’t fix it for her. Just stayed crouched there in the cold parking garage with her like he had nowhere else to be.

She finally whispered, “I don’t know how to be okay with this.”

“I know.”

“And I don’t know how to stop feeling like I’m… less.”

His hand tightened slightly on her arm at that. Not possessive. Just grounding.

“You’re not less,” he said firmly.

A beat.

Then softer, “You’re where I am now.”

And that was when she broke properly. Not quietly this time. And he didn’t stop it. Just opened his arms and let her fall into him, holding her like he understood exactly what kind of pain didn’t show up on scans but still wrecked people anyway.

She pulled back from him first. Just enough to breathe without feeling like she was dissolving into him. Her hands stayed on his jacket for a second longer than she meant them to, then dropped.

“I hate this,” she said quietly.

Heeseung didn’t move away. “I know.”

“No, you don’t.” Her voice cracked slightly, which made her look angry at herself more than anything else. “I hate feeling like this.”

His expression tightened. “Like what.”

“Like I’m doing something wrong just by existing near you.”

That landed between them with weight. She wiped her face quickly again, frustrated now. “I don’t do this. I don’t… overlap people’s lives. I don’t become the problem in someone else’s marriage.”

Heeseung went still at that.

“Aeri,” he said carefully.

“I didn’t know,” she cut in immediately. “I didn’t know about her. I didn’t know about any of it. And now she’s here and she’s your wife and she’s— she’s a neonatologist and she’s perfect in this way that makes sense for you and I just—”

Her breath shook.

“I look like a mistake.”

The word made something in his face change. “No,” he said firmly.

But she wasn’t done.

“And you didn’t tell me,” she added, quieter now but sharper in a different way. “You didn’t tell me any of it. You let me find out in pieces like I was just supposed to absorb it and be okay.”

“I should have told you,” he said.

A pause. Then, more honest, “I was going to. I just didn’t expect her to show up here.”

“That’s not an answer,” Aeri whispered.

He exhaled slowly, running a hand once through his hair like he was trying to organize something that refused structure.

“You deserve the truth,” he said.

Then he looked at her fully.

“I was married,” he said. “To Hana.”

Her jaw tightened slightly at the name but she didn’t interrupt.

“We met in New York during fellowship,” he continued. “We were… good together. For a long time.”

A pause. Then his voice lowered a fraction. “Until we weren’t.”

Her eyes flicked up slightly at that. He didn’t soften it. Didn’t romanticize it. “She cheated on me,” he said simply.

That made her still. He nodded once, like confirming something clinical. “With my best friend,” he added.

Silence. The parking garage felt colder. She blinked once. “Oh.” He didn’t react to her shock. Just kept going because he didn’t look like he’d ever said it this cleanly before.

“I didn’t find out right away,” he said. “I started noticing things. Late nights. Missed calls. Strange rotations she kept covering with him.”

His jaw tightened slightly. “And then I walked in,” he finished quietly. “On them.”

Her chest pulled in sharply. He didn’t dramatize it. That was the worst part. He just stated it like something that had happened and continued happening after.

“I left,” he said. “Not because I stopped caring immediately. But because I couldn’t stay there and operate at the same time.”

A pause. “And I came here.”

She swallowed hard. “And she followed you.” He nodded once. “It’s over,” he said firmly. “It has been over for a long time.”

“But she’s still your wife,” she said quietly.

A beat. “Yes,” he admitted. “On paper.”

That word hit differently. She looked down at her hands again, voice smaller now.

“You should’ve told me,” she said again, but less sharp this time. More tired.

“I know,” he repeated. A pause stretched between them.

Then she whispered, “I feel stupid.” His expression changed immediately.

“No,” he said. But she shook her head slightly.

“I let this happen without knowing anything,” she said. “And now I’m here and she’s here and everyone knows history except me.”

He stepped closer carefully, not touching yet.

“You’re not stupid,” he said quietly.

“I feel like I am.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

She let out a shaky breath that almost became a laugh but didn’t. “I don’t want to be the person in the middle of something that already existed,” she admitted.

That was the real fear underneath everything. He understood it instantly. Because this wasn’t about Hana, not really. It was about replacement. About space already filled. About arriving too late to something that mattered.

He shook his head once.

“You’re not in the middle of us,” he said. Her eyes flicked up again, uncertain.

“There is no ‘us’ anymore,” he added quietly. “There hasn’t been for a long time.”

A pause. Then softer, more precise,“What there is now… is you and me.”

She searched his face like she was trying to find a crack in the certainty.

“I didn’t plan this,” she whispered.

“I know.”

“And I don’t want to be someone you use to forget her.”

That one made his expression sharpen again.

“You’re not that,” he said immediately. But she kept going, because once it started it didn’t stop.

“I don’t want to be the thing you run into because your life fell apart,” she said. “I don’t want to be the rebound version of your marriage.”

His voice dropped. “Look at me.”

She hesitated. Then did. Heeseung’s gaze was steady in a way that didn’t leave room for misunderstanding.

“I didn’t choose you because I was broken,” he said. “I chose you because you’re you.” A beat. “And that terrified me more than anything else that came before.”

That made her go still. Because it was honest in a way that didn’t flatter her.

It just placed her there. As something real. Something he hadn’t been prepared for.

He waited again.Let her breathe. Let her decide if she believed him. Her voice came out small. “I don’t know how to trust this.”

“I know,” he said again.

Then, after a pause, “But I’m not asking you to pretend it didn’t hurt.”

That softened something in her face despite herself.

“And I’m not asking you to compete with her,” he added. “You won’t win anything by trying to compare yourself to someone I’m done with.”

A long silence. Then Aeri finally whispered, “I don’t want to lose myself in this.”

His expression softened completely at that. “You won’t,” he said gently. “Not if I have anything to do with it.” And this time, when he reached for her hand, she didn’t pull away.

She let him hold her hand for exactly thirty seconds before reality came back. Because that was the problem with Heeseung. He made reality blurry. She looked down at their hands for a moment, then slowly pulled hers away. He noticed immediately.

Of course he did.

“Aeri,” he started quietly. But she shook her head once.

“No.”

The word hurt both of them a little.

She leaned back against the side of the car, exhausted beyond exhaustion now. Like the emotional weight of the last few days had finally settled fully into her bones.

“You have to figure this out,” she said softly.

His jaw tightened slightly. “I already did.”

“No, you didn’t.”

That stopped him. Because she wasn’t saying it cruelly. She was saying it honestly.

“You left,” she continued. “That’s not the same thing as figuring it out.”

Silence. Heeseung looked away briefly toward the concrete floor of the parking garage like he hated that she might be right.

“She came back here for you,” she said.

“She came back because Webber—”

“She came back because she still loves you.”

That landed harder. Not because it was surprising. Because it was true.

She swallowed hard before continuing. “And I’m not saying that means you have to love her back. I’m not saying you owe her anything after what she did.” A pause.

“But this whole thing still exists.”

Her voice cracked slightly on the last word.

“This marriage. This history. This unfinished mess between you two.”

Heeseung’s face hardened in frustration now, not at her.

At the situation. “I ended it emotionally a long time ago,” he said quietly.

“But not legally,” she replied immediately.

That one hit. Because it was true too. She looked at him with tired, honest eyes. “I can’t build something with you while you’re still standing halfway inside something else.”

He closed his eyes briefly at that. And for the first time since she’d met him, he genuinely looked lost. Not surgeon lost. Not tired. Personally lost.

“I didn’t think she’d matter anymore,” he admitted. Her chest tightened because she believed him. That was the awful part.

She believed he meant every word he said to her. But that didn’t magically erase the existence of another woman who still wore his last name. Another woman who had once built a life with him. Another woman who came all the way to Seattle hoping maybe there was still something left to save.

She looked away before she started crying again. “I don’t hate her,” she whispered. “I know.”

“She’s kind to me.” That made him visibly tense.

Like he knew that somehow made this even crueler.

“She talks about you like…” she swallowed hard. “Like she still knows you.”

He was quiet for a long moment. Then finally, “She does know me.”

“Exactly.”

Silence filled the parking garage again.

Heavy. Complicated. Then she looked back at him and said the thing she’d been avoiding all night. “If you choose her,” she said quietly, “I need you to actually choose her.”

His eyes snapped to hers instantly. “And if you choose me…” Her breath shook. “Then I need you to stop leaving parts of yourself somewhere else.” That hit something deep enough that he physically looked away for a second.

Because she wasn’t asking for ownership. She was asking for clarity. For honesty. For him to stop living in emotional limbo and dragging both women through it. She wrapped her arms around herself slightly against the cold.

“I can’t do the in-between thing,” she admitted softly. “It’ll destroy me.”

And god. That sentence. Because he could hear how true it was. How close she already was to losing herself trying to make sense of this. He stepped toward her again instinctively.

But this time she took one small step back. Not rejection. Boundary. And that somehow hurt more.

Heeseung’s voice lowered. “What are you asking me.” she looked at him for a long moment.

Then answered honestly. “I’m asking you to figure out if your marriage is actually over,” she whispered. A beat. “Before you ask me to stay.” That left nowhere to hide.

No comforting half-answers. No “it’s complicated.” Just truth. And for once, Heeseung didn’t know how to respond quickly. Because surgery trained him to act fast. To decide. To cut precisely. This was slower. Messier. Human.

She looked exhausted standing there. Eyes red from crying. Scrubs wrinkled from the longest shift imaginable. And still, still she was trying to do the right thing. Even though it was clearly hurting her.

Heeseung stared at her for a long moment before finally nodding once. Small. Heavy. “Okay,” he said quietly. Not agreement. Acceptance.

Acceptance that she deserved more than uncertainty. And somehow that made her eyes sting again. Because part of her wanted him to fight harder. Part of her wanted him to say there was nothing to figure out.

But another part, the smarter part, knew this was the only way either of them survived this without becoming cruel to each other.

She exhaled shakily. Then finally moved toward the driver’s seat again. Heeseung stepped back automatically to let her. But before she closed the door, he spoke again. “Aeri.”

She looked up. And for the first time in days, he looked completely unguarded. No chief. No calm surgeon composure. Just a man who loved someone at the worst possible time. “I didn’t expect to meet you,” he said quietly.

That almost broke her all over again. Because she believed that too. She looked down for a second before whispering, “I know.”

Then she got into the car and shut the door gently between them. And Heeseung stood there in the parking garage long after her taillights disappeared.

_____________________________________________________________

A week passed. A miserable, dragging, exhausting week. Aeri kept her promise to herself. She avoided him completely. No shared surgeries unless absolutely unavoidable. No lingering at nurses stations. No coffee left in lockers. No stairwell conversations. Nothing.

And it was awful. Because once you got used to someone being woven into your day, their absence became loud. She noticed it everywhere. The empty spot beside her during rounds. The lack of texts reminding her to eat. The fact that nobody looked at her across conference rooms anymore like they already knew what she was about to say.

Even the hospital felt different. Colder somehow.

Meanwhile Heeseung looked worse every day. Not dramatically. Only if you knew him. More tired. Quieter. Sharper around the edges. He worked longer hours. Took extra surgeries. Barely slept.

And somehow that made Aeri feel even worse because she knew him enough now to recognize avoidance when she saw it.

Cristina finally snapped by day six. “This is disgusting,” she announced while scrubbing in.

Aeri frowned tiredly. “What is.”

“The unresolved yearning.”

Aeri nearly dropped her gloves. “Cristina.”

“You both look like Victorian widows.”

“Please stop talking.”

Cristina squinted at her. “You miss him.”

She went quiet. That alone answered it.

Cristina sighed dramatically. “You’re both idiots.” Though the urge was there to interfere, she knew it wasn’t in her hands so she left it at that. 

The breaking point though, came late at night after a brutal trauma case. Aeri had been awake for almost twenty hours. Blood on her shoes. Head pounding. Emotionally hanging by a thread already. And then she saw him.

Heeseung standing alone outside an OR, reviewing scans under dim hallway light. Tired. So tired. And something inside her snapped instantly.

Before she could think better of it, she walked straight up to him, grabbed the sleeve of his scrub top, and said

“Come with me.”

He barely had time to react before she was dragging him down the hallway.

“Aeri—”

“Don’t talk.”

She yanked open the nearest empty on-call room door and pulled him inside before shutting it behind them. The second the lock clicked, silence crashed down around them. Heeseung looked at her carefully.

Messy hair. Exhausted eyes. Breathing uneven already. And underneath all of it, something breaking.

His voice softened immediately. “What happened.”

She crossed her arms tightly like she was physically trying to hold herself together.

“I hate this,” she whispered.

His chest tightened instantly.

“I know.”

“No,” she said shakily. “I hate that I got used to you.”

That hit him hard enough he actually went still. She laughed once through tears already threatening again. “I hate that you became part of my day so fast.”

He didn’t interrupt, he couldn’t. Because her voice was cracking apart slowly in front of him.

“I got used to your coffee orders and your stupid face and you stealing my charts to fix my notes,” she whispered. “And now every hallway feels wrong without you in it.”

Heeseung looked wrecked hearing it. Actually wrecked.

She wiped angrily at her eyes. “And I know I said you needed to figure things out and I know I meant it but—” Her voice broke completely then.

And suddenly she was crying. Not gracefully. Not quietly. Just overwhelmed.

“I miss you,” she admitted finally. The honesty of it almost destroyed him. He moved toward her instinctively but stopped himself halfway. Because he remembered the boundary. Remembered her asking him to choose clearly before asking her to stay. But shelooked up at him with tears running down her face and shattered every bit of restraint he had left.

“Come here,” he said softly. That was all it took.

She crossed the room instantly and crashed into him so hard he had to steady both of them. And then she was fully crying against his chest while he held her like he’d been trying not to touch her for days. His hand slid into her hair carefully.

“Hey,” he whispered. “Hey.”

“I hate you,” she cried weakly into his scrub top.

A quiet broken laugh escaped him. “I know.”

“No you don’t,” she mumbled miserably. “You made me all attached and emotionally dependent.”

“That sounds serious.”

“It is serious.”

He held her tighter. And for a moment neither of them spoke. Just breathing each other in again after a week of pretending distance fixed anything. Then she pulled back just enough to look at him.

Eyes red. Completely raw. And before she could stop herself, she said it.

The thing she’d been holding back this whole time. “Pick me.”

Heeseung froze. Aeri’s breath shook violently now but she kept going anyway because it was already out now and she couldn’t survive swallowing it back down.

“Please,” she whispered. His entire expression changed.

“I know it’s pathetic and I know I shouldn’t say it but I don’t care anymore.” Tears kept slipping down her face. “I love you and I need you to choose me.”

The room went dead silent. Heeseung looked at her like she’d reached directly into his chest and squeezed. She shook her head helplessly, crying harder now because once the truth started it wouldn’t stop.

“I need you to love me enough to end it properly,” she whispered. “I need you to want me more.”

That nearly broke him. Because there was nothing manipulative in her voice. Just fear. Fear that she would never matter more than history. More than marriage. More than the version of his life that came before her. He cupped her face carefully like she was something fragile.

“Aeri,” he said quietly.

But she kept crying.

“I know she hurt you,” she whispered. “And I know you loved her and maybe part of you always will but I can’t survive being halfway loved by you.”

His eyes closed briefly at that. She had no idea. No idea how deeply she already lived under his skin. When he looked at her again, he looked completely undone.

“I do love you,” he said softly. The words hit her so hard she stopped breathing. A tear slipped down her cheek immediately. He brushed it away with his thumb.

“And there has never been a halfway version of this for me,” he continued quietly. “Not once.”

She stared at him like she wanted to believe him so badly it hurt. Then he rested his forehead against hers and whispered the thing that finally shattered whatever distance remained between them.

“I will choose you.”

The night, Heeseung stayed in the on call room with her until dawn.  Neither of them slept much. Mostly they just existed beside each other in exhausted quiet after finally saying too many honest things all at once. She lay curled against his chest while rain tapped softly against the windows, listening to his heartbeat like she was trying to memorize it before he disappeared again.

“I’ll be back in three days,” he murmured quietly into her hair because he was letting her know he would be out of town for a procedure elsewhere.

 “What kind of surgery?”

“Complex aneurysm repair in Portland.”

She frowned sleepily. “That sounds horrible.”

“It probably will be.”

She tightened her arms around him slightly. “Don’t die.”

A soft laugh vibrated through his chest. “I’ll do my best.”

Then quieter, “You’ll see me in a few days, okay?”

She looked up at him in the dim light. And despite everything, despite all the complications still hanging between them, she believed him.

“Okay,” she whispered. He kissed her forehead softly before leaving the next morning. And for the first time in weeks, She let herself feel hopeful. Which was unfortunate timing.

________________________________________________________

The surgery in Portland ran long.

Complicated case. Unexpected bleeding. Hours longer than anticipated. By the time Heeseung returned to Seattle, he was exhausted enough that even breathing felt like work. And Hana was waiting for him in his office at the hospital.

Of course she was. He stopped in the doorway immediately. “How did you get in here.”

Hana sat calmly in the chair across from his desk, arms folded loosely. Not angry.. Just determined. And somehow that was harder to fight.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” she said quietly.

“I’ve been working.”

“You flew to another city.”

He shut the office door harder than necessary. “What do you want, Hana.”

That made something flicker across her face. Pain maybe. Because once upon a time, he used to say her name differently. Softer.

“I want you to stop pretending all these years meant nothing,” she said.

His jaw tightened immediately.

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Then what are you doing?”

Silence. Hana stood slowly. “You left,” she continued quietly. “You walked away without even trying to survive it.”

He let out a disbelieving laugh. “Survive what? You sleeping with my best friend?” Her face crumpled slightly at that.

Because no matter how composed she was, that truth never stopped hurting. “I know what I did,” she whispered.

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

The honesty disarmed him for half a second. Hana stepped closer carefully.

“I was selfish,” she admitted. “I was angry all the time and exhausted and we were barely seeing each other and instead of fixing it I ruined it.” He looked away sharply. Not because he disagreed. Because hearing her say it out loud reopened wounds he’d spent years suturing shut.

“But I loved you,” she said softly. “I still do.” That one landed heavy. And Hana’s eyes were glassy now too, though she refused to let tears fall.

“You don’t just throw away a marriage because it got ugly,” she whispered. “We promised each other.” His chest tightened painfully.

Because they had. Young and brilliant and stupidly in love once upon a time. They built a life together before they destroyed it. And somewhere inside him lived the ghost of a man who thought Hana would be beside him forever.

Hana looked at him carefully now.

“Is it her?”

Heeseung didn’t answer quickly enough. That was answer enough. Something sad crossed Hana’s face then, not bitter. Just sad.

“She loves you,” Hana said quietly.

His eyes flicked toward her immediately.

Hana gave a faint broken smile. “I can tell.”

Silence filled the office. Then she whispered the thing that finally cracked him open in the worst way:

“Please don’t erase us because you’re hurting.” Then suddenly everything became muddy again. It wasn’t love. Not desire. It was about responsibility. History. Promises.

And Heeseung, who could cut into a human brain without his hands shaking, suddenly couldn’t tell what the right thing was anymore.

So he made the decision he thought was safest. Most responsible. Most mature. He told Hana he wouldn’t file for divorce right now. Not yet. Not while everything still felt unresolved and bleeding open. And Hana cried quietly in relief for the first time since arriving in Seattle. Which somehow made him feel worse.

That evening she also insisted on dinner. “Just dinner,” Hana said softly. “Please.” He should’ve said no. Probably wanted to say no. But exhaustion and guilt and fifteen years of history made him agree anyway.

Mistake. Massive mistake. Because as they walked out of Seattle Grace together that evening, She walked in. Fresh coffee in hand. Backpack slung over one shoulder. Ready for a brutal twenty-four-hour shift.

And then she saw them.

Heeseung first. Then Hana beside him. Close enough together to look natural. Like people who belonged beside each other. The entire world seemed to stop moving for one horrible second.

Heeseung froze instantly. “Aeri—”

But her face had already changed. Not dramatic heartbreak. Worse, because there was recognition. Like she understood everything immediately without needing explanation. Hana looked between them slowly and went still too.

And Aeri, she smiled. Tiny. Polite.

The kind of smile people gave right before they emotionally shut down completely.“Hey,” she said softly.

Heeseung stepped forward immediately. “Wait.” But she looked at Hana instead.

“You saved the baby in NICU today,” She said quietly. “The twenty-six-week preemie?”

Hana blinked slightly at the sudden subject shift. “Yeah.” 

“That was amazing work.”

Hana’s expression shifted into something almost pained because she realized instantly what Aeri was doing. Keeping herself together. Being gracious.

She nodded once. “Congratulations.”

Then finally she looked back at Heeseung. And whatever he saw in her eyes made his stomach drop violently. Because it wasn’t anger. It was disappointment. The deepest kind.

“You said a few days,” she whispered.

He opened his mouth immediately. “Aeri, I can explain—”

But she shook her head once. And that tiny movement somehow hurt more than yelling ever could.

“I have a shift,” she said quietly. Then she walked past them. Straight into the hospital. Not fast. Not crying. Just gone.

And Heeseung stood there unable to move because suddenly he realized he’d made the exact mistake she was terrified of from the beginning. He made her feel second

___________________________________________________________

The problem was that once Heeseung realized what he’d done, he knew couldn’t undo it. At least not immediately. Not cleanly. And that made it worse.

Because she disappeared before he could even try.Her twenty-four-hour shift ended the next morning. Then she vanished again. No answering texts. No picking up calls. Not in the stairwell. Not in the cafeteria hiding with terrible vending machine coffee like she usually did after long cases.

Nothing. And after the first twenty-four hours, Heeseung stopped functioning normally. Not visibly to everyone else. But enough. He reread scans three times. Forgot to sign post-op orders. Stood frozen outside an OR for almost a full minute because a nurse casually mentioned her name and his brain shorted out.

Webber noticed. Bailey definitely noticed. Cristina noticed immediately.

By hour forty-eight, even Hana noticed. “You should go find her,” Hana said quietly one evening. Heeseung looked exhausted. “I’ve tried.”Hana watched him carefully then.

And for the first time since Seattle, she fully understood the scale of this. Because this wasn’t attraction. Wasn’t a rebound. This man looked destroyed.

“You love her,” Hana said softly. And Hana’s heart broke a little more because she already knew the answer.

Meanwhile, Aeri was spiraling quietly in her apartment. Curtains closed.Phone off half the time. Barely sleeping. She replayed the hospital entrance over and over until it made her physically sick. Heeseung standing beside Hana. Hana smiling softly at something he’d said.

Them leaving together while she walked into another endless shift alone. It wasn’t even that anything inappropriate happened. That was the worst part. It just looked… right. Compatible. Adult. Like a marriage. And she hated herself for how deeply it wrecked her. Because she knew Hana loved him. Knew Heeseung once loved Hana enough to build an entire life around her. You didn’t erase that in a few months. No matter what he said.

By hour seventy-two, Cristina had enough. She showed up at her apartment with Bailey. Which honestly felt like the beginning of a hostage situation. Aeri opened the door looking absolutely awful.

Oversized hoodie. Hollow eyes. Hair messy. And Bailey took one look at her and said, “Oh, hell no.”

She blinked tiredly. “Good morning to you too.”

“You look like death warmed over,” Bailey snapped.

Cristina pushed past Aeri immediately into the apartment. “This place smells like emotional collapse.”

“I’m grieving.”

“You’re catastrophizing.”

She shut the door weakly. “Can you both leave.”

“No,” Bailey said immediately.

Cristina pointed toward the bedroom. “Go shower. You’re coming to work.”

“I quit.”

“No you didn’t.”

“I quit.”

Bailey crossed her arms. “You are not tanking your surgical career because a man has unresolved marital trauma.”

Aeri looked offended. “That’s an insane sentence.”

“And yet accurate.”

Cristina emerged from the kitchen holding expired yogurt with visible disgust. “She’s been surviving like a raccoon.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re decomposing.”

She groaned and dragged her hands over her face. “I can’t go back there.”

Bailey’s expression softened slightly then.

“Baby,” she said more quietly, “you cannot let heartbreak make you disappear.”

That hit harder than her expected. Because disappearing was exactly what she’d been doing. Cristina sat beside her on the couch finally, less sharp now too.

“You don’t stop being a surgeon because your feelings got hurt,” she muttered.

Aeri stared at the floor.

“He picked her,” she whispered.

Cristina immediately shook her head. “No. He picked confusion.”

“That’s worse.” Silence. Then Bailey crouched slightly in front of her.

“You listen to me,” Bailey said firmly. “That man may be brilliant with a brain, but he is currently stupid with his heart. That is not your fault.” She let out a broken laugh despite herself.

Bailey continued, “You are not weak because you loved somebody.” That one nearly made her cry again.

“And you are definitely not staying in this apartment another day looking like a sad orphan,” Cristina added.

“Cristina.”

“What? It’s true.”

So eventually, begrudgingly, she came back. And the second she walked into Seattle Grace, the entire energy shifted. Because she looked miserable.

Not dramatic. Not crying. Just deeply, visibly exhausted in a way that made people lower their voices around her instinctively. Even Alex and George stopped making jokes. Izzie looked one second away from crying herself. And then when Heeseung saw her, across the hallway outside neuro.

He froze instantly. Because she looked like she hadn’t slept properly in days. There were dark circles under her eyes. Her scrub top hung looser than usual. And worst of all, she looked at him carefully now.

Like someone trying not to touch a burn twice.

“Aeri,” he said quietly. She stopped walking. The entire hallway suddenly felt too still. And when she looked at him fully, he physically felt guilt hit his chest again.

Because she looked heartbroken. Not angry. Heartbroken.

“I called you,” he said softly.

“I know.”

“You disappeared.”

A tiny humorless laugh escaped her. “Yeah.”

He stepped closer carefully. “Can we talk.”

She looked down for a second. And when she spoke again, her voice sounded tired beyond words.

“I really believed you,” she whispered.

That sentence wrecked him instantly.

His face tightened hard. “Aeri —”

“You said you were choosing me.”

“I was.”

“But then you left with her.”

The simplicity of it made it worse. Because from her perspective, that’s exactly what happened.

Heeseung lowered his voice urgently. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Then what was it like.”

He opened his mouth. Stopped. Because the answer was complicated and messy and impossible to explain in a hallway. And she saw that hesitation immediately.

Of course she did. Something in her expression dimmed further.

“Right,” she whispered. “No.” He stepped closer again. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what.” 

“Decide what I mean before I say it.”

She looked at him with glassy tired eyes.

“You already did,” she whispered back. He could see exactly when she stopped believing she came first.

A pager suddenly went off somewhere down the hall. Neither of them moved. Then finally YN swallowed hard and said quietly “I have rounds.” Then she walked around him carefully and kept going down the hallway while Heeseung stood there feeling like he was watching something important slip through his hands in real time.

After that first day back, the hospital split itself without meaning to. Not officially. Not loudly.But people picked sides in quiet ways.And her people closed ranks around her immediately. Which was how Heeseung found himself blocked by Alex Karev outside an elevator at seven in the morning.

“She doesn’t want to talk to you,” Alex said flatly.

Heeseung looked exhausted already. “Move.”

“No.”

“Karev.”

“No, seriously.” Alex crossed his arms. “You look at her like she’s oxygen and then go to dinner with your wife. Figure your life out before you melt her brain any further.”

Heeseung’s jaw tightened instantly. Because the worst part was, he couldn’t even fully argue.

Alex shook his head once. “She’s barely functioning, man.”

That hit harder than intended. And before Heeseung could respond, the elevator doors opened behind Alex. Aeri stood inside holding charts against her chest.

The second she saw Heeseung, she froze. Then immediately looked down. Not avoidance anymore. That hurt worse somehow. Alex stepped into the elevator beside her protectively. The thing nobody realized, not even Aeri herself fully, was that this wasn’t just about Hana.

Hana was only the trigger. The deeper wound had been there long before Heeseung ever touched it. People left her. That was the pattern.

Her father emotionally disappeared years before her mother’s Alzheimer’s even took the rest of her away. Friends drifted. Relationships ended with her being “too much” or “not enough” depending on the day. Love always seemed temporary around her.

So when Heeseung arrived so suddenly, steady and warm and impossibly certain—it felt dangerous from the start. Because part of she had already been waiting for the moment he’d realize she wasn’t worth staying for.

And now Hana existed like proof. Beautiful. Brilliant. His equal in every visible measurable way. Someone who knew him before Seattle. Before Aeri . Someone who had years instead of months.

History instead of possibility. So every time she saw Hana quietly trying to reconnect with him, bringing coffee to his office once because she remembered how he liked it after overnight surgeries, standing beside him during consults like muscle memory still existed between them,looking at him with obvious lingering love, she felt herself shrinking.

Not because Hana was cruel. Because she wasn’t. If anything, Hana was painfully kind to her.

One afternoon Aeri accidentally overheard two nurses talking near the OR board.

“She came all the way from New York for him?”

“They were married a long time.”

“That’s kind of romantic.”

Her physically stopped breathing for a second. Romantic. Right. Because from the outside, maybe it was. A brilliant surgeon returning for the man she still loved. Trying to repair what broke. And Aeri?

She sounded like the complication. The younger resident caught in the middle. She walked away before they noticed her listening. Then locked herself in a supply closet for six full minutes trying not to cry during work hours.

Cristina found her anyway. Of course she did.

“You disappear like you’re fleeing from border patrol,” Cristina muttered while shoving the closet door open. She laughed weakly despite herself. “How did you find me.”

“You’re predictable when emotionally compromised.” Cristina leaned against the shelves, watching her carefully. Then quieter  “You know this isn’t about Hana anymore, right?”

She looked down immediately. Because yes. She did know. Cristina crossed her arms. “You think this proves something about you.” Silence. That answered enough. Aeri swallowed hard. “People always end up leaving Cristina.”

Cristina’s expression shifted slightly.

“They always do,” She whispered. And there it was. The real wound underneath all of it. Not jealousy. The deep awful belief that eventually everyone realized she was harder to love than they expected.

Cristina stared at her for a long moment before saying bluntly, “He’s losing his mind without you.”

She shook her head immediately. “That doesn’t matter.”

“It clearly does.”

“He still chose—”

“He chose guilt,” Cristina interrupted sharply. “And history. And obligation. That’s not the same thing.”

The other laughed bitterly. “That sounds comforting until you realize obligation still wins.”

That shut even Cristina up briefly. Because unfortunately that was true too.

_______________________________________________________________

But, it’s safe to say, Heeseung was unraveling quietly. Hana noticed it most clearly during dinner one night. Because technically he was there.Physically. But mentally? Gone.

“You love her more than you loved me,” Hana said suddenly. Heeseung looked up sharply.

Hana smiled faintly, but it looked sad. “You never looked this afraid with me.” That hit somewhere deep and uncomfortable. Because maybe she was right. His marriage with Hana had been built over years. Friendship. Ambition. Shared history. But she had somehow bypassed all of that and gone directly for the parts of him he kept hidden.

And now she wouldn’t even look at him properly anymore. Hana looked down quietly at her untouched food. “I think I came here too late,” she admitted softly.

Heeseung’s chest tightened painfully. Because despite everything, he didn’t hate Hana. He probably never fully would. She was woven into too much of his life.

But love had changed shape somewhere along the way. And now every time he pictured peace, it looked like Aeri laughing in his kitchen. Aeri asleep against his chest. Aeri dragging him into on-call rooms because she missed him too much to stay away. Not this. Never this. ___________________________________________________________

The next few weeks dragged on, quietly but also miserably for all parties involved. But of course, chaos always ends up unfolding at the hospital in Seattle, creating even further division. The day started normally enough that nobody noticed the shift until it was too late. It was loud, overbooked, chaotic in the usual way.

Dr. Burke was in one OR. Heeseung in another. Bailey yelling at interns somewhere down a hallway. Just another hospital day. Until the paramedics rolled in a trauma patient with a chest wound and a room full of people unknowingly walked into a disaster.

Aeri was assisting Burke in trauma when the patient arrived. Male. Mid-thirties. Severe abdominal injuries. Hypotensive. And one terrified paramedic refusing to remove her hand from inside the patient’s open abdominal cavity.

Burke frowned immediately. “What are you doing.” The paramedic looked pale enough to collapse. “You don’t understand,” she whispered. Aeri glanced at her strangely while pulling on gloves. “Ma’am, we need access to the wound.”

Then, the paramedic started crying, trying to explain that it feels wrong to just pull her hand out. .Actual panicked tears.

And then Alex Karev burst into the OR doors looking like he’d seen death itself because he kind of did in radiology when he saw the patient’s scans, “DON’T MOVE.” The entire room froze. Burke turned sharply. “Dr. Karev, what the hell—”

“There’s a bomb,” Alex said breathlessly. “In the guy’s body. He was building some shit at home and it went into him and it hasn’t detonated yet. We need bomb squad” Silence.

Complete silence. Aeri blinked once. “What?”

“The MRI scanned him downstairs,” Alex said. “The paramedic’s hand is stabilizing it.” Burke’s face went completely still. The paramedic started sobbing harder. “I can’t do this anymore.” And suddenly the room shifted from surgery to nightmare.

Burke moved carefully toward her. “Listen to me. Nobody moves quickly. Nobody panics.”

“I can’t hold it,” she cried. “I can’t—” she said before she literally just took her hand away without caring about the consequences.  But Aeri was a step ahead as she looked between the woman, the wound, Burke, then acted before fear caught up, on pure reflex, she snuck her hand into the open wound before the paramedic slipped hers out, and now she held the bomb steady. 

Burke snapped toward her instantly. “Absolutely not.” But the paramedic was already shaking violently. Aeri stepped forward carefully, warm blood immediately coated her glove. The bomb casing pressed cold against the side of her hand. Jesus Christ.

The paramedic sobbed harder. “You have it?” Aeri swallowed hard. “I think so.” “Think?” Burke repeated sharply. For one horrible second, nothing happened.

Then, just stillness. Aeri froze completely. Because now she understood. Everyone in this room can just die if she moved even slightly.

The paramedic stumbled backward crying hysterically while Burke immediately took control. “Nobody moves.”

Aeri looked down at the open body beneath her hand. Bomb. Actual bomb. Inside a human being. And her hand was the only thing keeping it stable. Her voice came out terrifyingly calm somehow.

“…Okay.”

Then the code black was called. Suddenly the hospital exploded into controlled chaos. Security flooding hallways. Bomb squad arriving. Patients evacuated. Doctors screaming across corridors trying to figure out what was happening. Nobody knew details yet.

Just bomb. Possible explosion. Trauma OR.

Heeseung was midway through closing a spine surgery when the overhead announcement hit.

“Code black. Code black.”

The entire OR stilled. His stomach dropped instantly.Instinctively. Something felt wrong. He stripped his gloves off faster than usual. “Close for me.” The resident blinked. “Dr. Lee—”

“Now.”

He was already leaving before anyone could argue. Outside the OR chaos had fully erupted. Nurses rushing. Security locking sections down. And Hana appeared from neonatal wing still in scrubs, eyes wide.

“What’s happening?”

“I don’t know.”

But he was already moving fast toward trauma.

Hana grabbed his arm instinctively. “Heeseung—”

He stopped just long enough for her to hug him quickly. And for one second she thought his panic was about her safety. But then Richard Webber appeared at the end of the hallway. And the look on his face changed everything.

Because Richard looked directly at Heeseung with something dangerously close to dread.

Heeseung pulled away immediately. “What happened.”

Webber hesitated.

That hesitation was enough. Heeseung’s voice sharpened. “Richard.”

Another beat. Then finally, “It’s Dr Kim.”

The world stopped. “What.”

“She’s in the OR.”

His chest tightened violently. “In surgery?” Richard looked sick. “She’s holding the bomb.” Silence. Absolute silence.

Hana’s hand fell from his arm immediately. Heeseung stared at Webber like the words physically didn’t process.

“…What.”

And down the hallway, chaos erupted louder.

Cristina screaming at Alex. George trying to hold Izzie back.

“MOVE!”

“She’s IN there!”

“She’s alone!”

Alex looked shattered himself. “You can’t go in!”

Cristina shoved him hard. “She is holding a BOMB, Karev!”

That was the moment it became real. Heeseung physically felt the blood drain from his face. Aeri. Inside. Alone. Holding an explosive device inside a patient’s body. His body moved before thought did. But Webber caught his arm hard.

“You cannot go in there.”

“Get off me.”

“Heeseung.”

“I said get OFF me.”

Every ounce of composure he normally carried was gone now. Completely gone. Because all he could picture was her terrified. Her trapped. Her thinking nobody was coming for her.

And suddenly the last week—the marriage, Hana, the confusion, all of it, became  horrifyingly irrelevant.

Cristina saw him then. And the fury on her face sharpened instantly.

“You don’t get to go in there now,” she snapped.

Heeseung looked wrecked already. “Cristina—”

“She cried for DAYS because of you!”

“I know.”

“And now she’s in there alone!”

“I KNOW.”

The hallway went silent for a second at the sound of him yelling.

Because Heeseung Lee never yelled. Ever. But now he looked barely held together.

Alex stepped forward quietly. “The bomb squad’s on the way.”

Heeseung’s breathing was uneven now. “How long has she been in there.” Nobody answered quickly enough. And somewhere deep inside the trauma wing, Aeri stood frozen beside an open body cavity with her hand wrapped around death itself. Completely unaware that outside the OR, the man who loved her looked like his entire world had just started collapsing in real tim

Then, eventually the hallway outside trauma OR two turned into a war zone. Security barricades. Bomb squad officers flooding the floor. Nurses huddled together whispering prayers they pretended weren’t prayers.

And every few minutes the doors opened just enough for Preston Burke to step out and give updates before going back in. Only Burke. Because nobody else was allowed near the room. Not with a live explosive sitting inside a patient’s chest cavity.

The first time Burke came out, Cristina nearly lunged at him.

“How is she?”

Burke looked grim behind his surgical mask. “Stable.”

“Stable?” Izzie repeated hysterically. “She’s holding a bomb!”

“She’s stable,” Burke repeated firmly. “And calm.”

That somehow made everyone feel worse. Because of course Aeri was calm. She always got eerily calm when terrified. Heeseung stood farther back against the wall, arms crossed so tightly his knuckles had gone white.

He hadn’t moved much since finding out. Hadn’t sat down. Hadn’t stopped staring at the OR doors. Hana stood nearby in stunned silence, watching him unravel in real time. And for the first time, she understood completely. There was no confusion left anymore.

No maybe. No unfinished emotional ambiguity. He loved Aeri. Terrifyingly. Completely. Burke looked toward the bomb squad commander waiting nearby. “What’s the plan.”

The commander exhaled grimly. “We’re bringing in protective gear.”

Cristina immediately snapped, “For her?”

The commander looked uncomfortable. “For Dr. Burke.”

The hallway erupted. “What?” George said sharply.

“Why only Burke?” Izzie demanded.

The commander kept his voice level. “The suit takes several minutes to secure properly. We cannot risk destabilizing the device while her hand is in direct contact with the explosive.”

Cristina stared at him like she wanted to kill him. “So she just gets nothing?”

“It’s too dangerous to move her.”

Heeseung finally spoke then. Quietly. “What are you saying.”

The commander looked toward him carefully. “If the device detonates, the blast radius inside the OR would—”

“I know what a blast radius is,” Heeseung cut in sharply.

The man hesitated. Then said it anyway. “She would not survive.”

Silence crashed down across the hallway. And something inside Heeseung visibly broke.. his face just… emptied. Like his brain rejected the sentence entirely.

Hana looked at him immediately. “Hee—” But he stepped away from everyone before she could touch him. Running a hand hard over his mouth. Breathing uneven now. Because suddenly every possible future in his head ended with her dying before he fixed any of this. Before he made things right.

Before she fully believed him again. Cristina’s eyes filled instantly with furious tears.

“She’s twenty-seven,” she whispered. 

Heeseung walked straight toward the OR doors. Webber caught him immediately. “No.”

“She’s alone in there.”

“You cannot go inside.”

“I don’t care.”

“That’s a live explosive!”

“I KNOW.”

The shout echoed down the hallway hard enough to silence everyone again.

Heeseung looked completely wrecked now. Eyes red. Breathing uneven. No composure left anywhere.

“I know,” he repeated hoarsely. “I know exactly what it is.”

His voice cracked slightly on the next sentence. “She’s terrified.”

That hurt everyone who heard it. Because underneath all the surgeon brilliance and chaos and bomb squads, Aeri was still just a scared twenty-seven-year-old girl standing alone with her hand inside a dying man’s chest. And Heeseung couldn’t get to her.

Burke emerged again before anyone could respond. This time already halfway into protective gear being strapped over his scrubs.

Burke glanced toward Heeseung briefly then away again. “She asked about him,” he said quietly. Heeseung’s head snapped up instantly.

“What.” Burke adjusted the heavy protective vest slowly. “She asked if you were still operating.”

His chest physically tightened. “She thought you didn’t know yet.” And suddenly Heeseung couldn’t breathe properly. Because even now, even standing over a bomb, Her instinct was to not burden him. The last thing she saw from him was him leaving with Hana.

The last thing she probably believed was that he chose someone else. And now she was in there maybe thinking she’d die before hearing otherwise. Heeseung pushed a hand into his hair roughly.

“Can I talk to her.”

The bomb commander shook his head. “Too risky.”

“Please.”

That word silenced the hallway.

Because Heeseung Lee did not beg. Ever. Burke looked at him for a long moment.

Then quietly “She keeps asking if everyone evacuated safely.” Cristina let out a broken sound somewhere behind him. Of course she was worried about other people. Of course.

Heeseung laughed once under his breath but it sounded awful. “That sounds like her.” Burke nodded slightly.

Then, after a pause:

“She’s trying very hard not to panic.” That one nearly took Heeseung to his knees. Because he knew exactly what that looked like. She was getting quieter. Stillness instead of screaming. Her fear folding inward until nobody noticed how bad it really was.

Hana watched him grip the wall beside him hard enough his hand shook. And finally she understood something devastating, If Aeri died, a part of Heeseung would go with her. 

____________________________________________________________

Everything happened too fast after that. 

One second she was still frozen beside the operating table, her gloved hand slick with blood and locked around the explosive buried inside a man’s chest. The next, the bomb squad technician was crouching beside her calmly saying, “Okay, doctor, on my count.”

Aeri genuinely couldn’t feel her legs anymore. Burke stood across from her in the heavy protective suit, eyes steady over his mask.

“You can do this,” he said firmly.

Her breathing shook.

“What if I move wrong.”

“You won’t.”

Easy for him to say. The bomb technician slowly positioned his own hand beside hers inside the cavity.

“Very slowly,” he instructed.

She swallowed hard enough it hurt. Then carefully, carefully—started pulling her hand away.

The second contact broke, the tech replaced her completely. Nothing exploded. Nobody breathed. Then“Move,” the technician ordered. She stumbled backward immediately, nearly collapsing from adrenaline crashing through her all at once.

Burke caught her arm hard before she hit the floor.

“Go,” he snapped. The bomb squad began wheeling the patient rapidly toward containment while Burke turned back toward the surgical table because the patient was still actively dying.

Aeri just stood there shaking violently. Alive. Still alive. The OR doors burst open. And suddenly the hallway chaos hit her all at once. People yelling. Security rushing.

She saw Heeseung. He reached her before anyone else could.

“Aeri.” His voice sounded wrecked. She looked up at him with wide stunned eyes, still trying to process the fact that she could move again. And the second he touched her shoulders, she broke. Not crying yet. Just collapsing into him like her body finally realized it didn’t have to stay upright anymore.

Heeseung wrapped both arms around her instantly.

Too tight. Like he physically could not hold her close enough after thinking she might die.

“Oh my god,” he whispered shakily into her hair.

She buried her face against his chest, hands gripping the back of his scrub top hard enough to wrinkle it. “I couldn’t move,” she whispered..

“I know.”

“I thought—”

Her voice cracked apart.

“I know,” he repeated desperately.

The hallway around them blurred. But Heeseung only saw her.

Alive. Breathing. In his arms. He pulled back just enough to look at her face. And she’d never seen him like this before. Not composed. Not controlled. Terrified. Actually terrified. His hands shook slightly against her shoulders as he looked over her face like he needed visual confirmation she was real.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, almost like he was trying to convince himself. She nodded weakly. Then suddenly, a deafening explosion ripped through the hallway. The entire building shook violently.

Glass shattered somewhere nearby. People screamed. She flinched hard instinctively against Heeseung as alarms erupted immediately afterward. The bomb.

The bomb had gone off. Smoke flooded part of the corridor behind them almost instantly. For one horrible second nobody moved. Then chaos exploded everywhere. Security shouting.

Doctors running. More screaming. Heeseung turned immediately, shielding Aeri against him with his entire body on instinct alone. And then the horrible realization spread down the hallway piece by piece. The blast had happened farther down containment route. Near the bomb squad. Not near her. Not near Burke.

The technicians. Aeri looked up slowly, still half-hidden against Heeseung’s chest.

“…Oh my god.” Nobody answered. Because everyone already knew. The silence told them enough. Several bomb squad members had been closest to the blast. Too close. And suddenly her face changed completely.

“No.”

Heeseung felt it instantly. Survivor’s guilt. Fast and vicious. “No no no—” she pulled away from him suddenly, eyes filling in horror. “They took it from me.”

“Aeri—”

“They took it from me!”

Her breathing became uneven again.

“They were right there—” Cristina rushed forward immediately. “Hey hey hey—”

But she looked shattered now. Like her brain couldn’t process the exchange that had just happened. She lived. They didn’t. Heeseung grabbed her face gently but firmly, forcing her to look at him.

“This is not your fault.”

Tears spilled instantly down her cheeks.

“They died because of me.”

“No.”

“Yes!”

Her voice cracked so sharply the hallway went quiet again.

“They took my place!”

His chest physically hurt hearing her say it.

“Listen to me,” he said urgently. “They knew the risk.”

“That doesn’t make them less dead!”

she looked devastated. Not relieved. Not grateful to be alive. Just horrified someone else wasn’t. Heeseung pulled her back against him immediately when her knees nearly gave out again. And this time she fully sobbed into his chest. The kind of crying that comes after terror finally leaves the body all at once. He held her through all of it.

One hand cradling the back of her head while the other wrapped around her waist like he was afraid the world might still try taking her from him. And over her shoulder, his eyes met Hana’s across the hallway. Hana stood completely still among the chaos.

Watching the way he held her. The way his entire body curved protectively around her without thought. Like loving her was instinct.

And in that moment, Hana finally understood there was nothing left to save.

Aeri barely remembered getting to the exam room afterward. Everything blurred together after the explosion. Sirens. Smoke. Someone checking her pupils. Cristina yelling at a nurse to get more blankets because she was shaking so hard her teeth wouldn’t stop chattering. And through all of it, Heeseung never let go of her.

Not once. His hand stayed locked around hers like if he released it for even a second, something terrible would happen again.The bomb squad casualties were already spreading through the hospital in whispers. Three dead. Multiple injuries.

And every single time Aeri overheard another detail, her face got paler.

“They died because I couldn’t—”

“No,” Heeseung said immediately for what felt like the hundredth time. But she looked unconvinced every single time.

Eventually Bailey physically stepped between them. “She needs evaluation,” she said firmly.

Heeseung nodded immediately. “I’m coming.”

“No you’re not.”

His head snapped up. “What.”

“Trauma contamination protocol,” Bailey said. “She needs a full workup first.”

“I’m a neurosurgeon, Bailey.”

“And right now you’re acting like her husband at a funeral.”

That landed harder than intended.Bailey softened slightly afterward. “She’s alive,” she said more quietly. “Let us take care of her.” Heeseung looked like he wanted to argue anyway. But she squeezed his hand weakly first.

“It’s okay,” she whispered.

No. It absolutely wasn’t okay. But he let go anyway because she asked him to. And watching her hand slip from his felt genuinely unbearable after the last two hours. The trauma evaluation room was freezing. Aeri sat on the edge of the bed wrapped in hospital blankets while nurses drew blood and checked her hearing for blast damage.

“Any ringing in your ears?”

“A little.”

“Nausea?”

“Yes.”

“Headache?”

“Yes.”

“Dizziness?”

She laughed weakly. “Probably.”

Nobody laughed back. The room was too tense for that. Because technically, she’d survived a bombing. A real one. One nurse carefully checked her arms for shrapnel while another explained they needed scans to confirm she hadn’t absorbed dangerous material from the explosive device.

She nodded automatically without really hearing. Her body felt strange now. Heavy. Far away. Like the adrenaline was finally draining out all at once and leaving her hollow behind. The door opened again. Burke entered still looking exhausted from surgery and partial bomb gear removal.

The second he saw her, his expression shifted subtly. Softer. “You did well,” he said quietly. She looked at him with glassy eyes. “People died.” Burke nodded once.

“Yes.” Not sugarcoating it. Not lying.

And somehow that honesty steadied her more than comfort would’ve. “They would have died regardless,” he added carefully. “You saved the patient.”

That didn’t feel real either. Saved. Killed. Survived. Everything blurred together horribly. A nurse stepped forward with another syringe. “We need one more blood panel.”

She nodded again automatically. Then suddenly the room tilted sideways. Hard. Her vision blurred instantly. Burke noticed first.

“Dr. Kim?” She blinked slowly.

And the next second her entire body just… gave out. One moment upright on the bed. The next collapsing sideways.

“Whoa—” The nurse barely caught her before she hit the floor. Outside the room, Heeseung was pacing so aggressively even Webber finally snapped. “Sit down.”

“No.”

“You are not helping anyone like this.”

“I don’t care.”

He looked awful. Still in blood-stained scrubs from earlier surgery. Eyes red-rimmed from stress and exhaustion. Hands shaking every few minutes when he thought nobody noticed. Hana stood farther down the hallway quietly watching him unravel.

And she knew.God, she knew now. This wasn’t temporary.  This wasn’t confusion. Heeseung looked like losing her had nearly stopped his heart. Then suddenly alarms sounded inside the exam room. Everything in him stopped.

“What happened?” A nurse rushed past. Heeseung grabbed the door before anyone could stop him. “Dr. Lee—” But he was already inside. She lay unconscious on the hospital bed while Burke checked her vitals. The sight nearly dropped him to his knees. “What happened.” “She fainted,” Burke answered calmly. “Her body’s crashing after adrenaline overload.” Heeseung moved instantly to the bedside anyway. “Aeri.” No response. His chest tightened violently. Because unconscious Aeri looked too still after everything today. Far too still. One nurse glanced at him sympathetically. “She’s okay.” But he barely heard her. He brushed shaking fingers against her hair carefully. And only then did he realize his own eyes were wet. Not crying fully. Just tears he hadn’t noticed happening. Burke saw. Quietly dismissed the nurses for a moment. The room emptied slowly until it was just the two surgeons and the unconscious girl between them. Heeseung stared down at her face. At the bruising beginning near her elbow from where Burke caught her during transfer. At the exhaustion carved into her features even unconscious. And after everything today, there wasn’t really a point lying anymore.

Eventually, Aeri was back at work three days later. Which, according to Bailey, was both “medically questionable.” She moved through the hospital like nothing had happened. No dramatics. No breakdowns in hallways anymore. No visible shaking hands. Just focus. Like if she kept her head down long enough, the last week wouldn’t replay itself behind her eyes every time she blinked. Cristina didn’t like it. “You’re doing that thing,” she said one morning. She didn’t look up from her gloves. “What thing.” “The repression thing.” “I’m fine.” Cristina snorted. “That’s how I know you’re not fine.” Aeri finally glanced at her, tired but steady. “I’m working.” “Yeah,” Cristina said. “And avoiding.” That landed, but Aeri didn’t respond. Because she couldn’t afford to. Not with Heeseung back in the hospital. Not with the memory of his arms around her still sitting somewhere too close under her skin. Heeseung, meanwhile, was not okay in any functional sense of the word. He operated. He consulted. He saved lives. But between cases he looked like someone running on fumes and unfinished sentences. And worse, he stopped trying to intercept her as much. Not because he wanted to. Because every time he saw her now, she looked at him like she was trying not to fall apart again. And that made him hesitate. Just long enough for her to slip away. Hana noticed. Of course she did. She always noticed the space between people. That was part of why she’d been so good with him for so long. She found him one evening outside neurosurgery call rooms, leaning against the wall like gravity had gotten heavier than usual. “You’re avoiding her now,” Hana said quietly. He didn’t look up immediately. “I’m not.” Hana gave him a look. That familiar one. The one that used to make him explain himself. He exhaled slowly. “I’m not trying to make it worse.” “That’s not what it looks like.” Then Hana stepped closer, more gentle this time. “She’s back,” she said. “She’s alive. She’s working. That’s good.” He nodded once. But it didn’t reach his eyes. Hana studied him carefully. “You’re not even trying anymore,” she said softly. That finally made him look at her. “What do you want me to do,” he said quietly. “She won’t even stay in the same room as me.” Hana didn’t deny that. Because it was true. Aeri was avoiding him again. Not like before. Not panicked avoidance. Controlled avoidance. Professional distance that cut deeper than anger ever had. Hana looked at him for a long moment. Then said it. “You should give this a real chance.” He blinked once. “What.” “With her.” That wasn’t what he expected. Hana crossed her arms slightly, voice steady but not cold. “I’m not saying that because I don’t care,” she said. “I do.” Heeseung’s jaw tightened slightly. “I came here thinking I was going to fix something,” she continued. “I thought there was still a version of us that made sense.” “And then I watched you in that hallway,” she said quietly. “And I realized I wasn’t competing with her.” “I was competing with how you look at her.” That hit harder than anything else. Hana looked away briefly, swallowing something. “You didn’t even hesitate,” she added. “Not once when she was in danger.” His voice came out rough. “That doesn’t mean—” “It does,” Hana cut in gently. “It does.” Silence stretched between them. Just heavy. Then she looked back at him. “I don’t want you staying with me out of guilt,” she said. “And I don’t want her losing you because you’re afraid to make a choice that hurts someone.” Heeseung’s expression tightened. Because that was exactly where he was stuck. Hana softened slightly. “I loved you,” she said simply. “I still care about you.” He swallowed hard. “But I think I came back to a life that already moved forward without me.” That sentence sat there for a long moment. Then she added, quieter “And I think you already chose her. You’re just refusing to say it out loud.”

The next time Heeseung saw Aeri properly, it wasn’t planned. It never was. She was coming out of a trauma consult room when he stepped into the hallway from the opposite direction. They stopped at the same time. Of course they did. For a second neither of them moved. Then she straightened slightly. Professional mask on instantly. “Dr. Lee,” she said politely. That hurt more than silence. Heeseung’s hands tightened slightly at his sides. “Aeri,” he replied. A pause too long. Too loaded. She nodded once like that was enough interaction and started to walk past him. And he didn’t stop her. Not this time. But as she passed, his voice broke the pattern. Quietly.“Can we talk.” She stopped. Didn’t turn. Just stood there for a second like she was deciding whether surviving another conversation was worth it. Then finally, very softly: “I’m on shift.” “I know.” Silence again. Then she turned just slightly. Not fully facing him. Controlled distance. “What is it,” she asked. And Heeseung realized, standing there in a hospital hallway full of people who had no idea how much had already been said between them, that this was the moment. The one Hana had been talking about. The one Cristina had been warning him about. The one he’d been avoiding by accident and fear and exhaustion. He looked at her properly. At the way she held herself carefully now. At the way she didn’t step closer anymore. A “I need to be honest with you,” he said.

Her expression barely shifted. But something in her eyes tightened anyway. Because she already knew this wasn’t going to be simple. And for the first time since the bombing, there was no crisis to distract them.

Just choice. She didn’t turn fully toward him. She just held her place in the hallway like she was bracing against something she didn’t want to feel twice.

“You can do it later,” she said quietly. Then she started to walk again.

Heeseung’s voice stopped her before she could take more than two steps.

“There isn’t a later.”

That made her pause. Because every time something in her life mattered enough to be said out loud, it came with a deadline she didn’t choose. She closed her eyes for half a second. Then turned back. Still keeping distance like it was the only thing holding her upright.

“Don’t do that,” she said softly.

“Do what.”

“Make it sound final when you don’t even know what you’re saying yet.”

His jaw tightened slightly.

“I know exactly what I’m saying.”

That wasn’t true. And she saw it in him. Of course she did. She let out a small breath that almost became a laugh but didn’t.

Heeseung looked at her properly then, and for a moment everything else, Hana, the hospital, the last week of chaos—fell away again.

Just her. Still here. Still walking away from him every time he hesitated too long.

“I’m not asking you to decide anything right now,” he said quietly. Her eyes flickered slightly.

“Then what are you asking.”

Life was continuing like it wasn’t about to split open again. Heeseung exhaled slowly.

“I told Hana I wouldn’t divorce her yet.” That hit the space between them immediately.

She didn’t react outwardly at first. Just went very still. Then her voice came out softer than before.

“…okay.” That was all she said. But it wasn’t neutral. It wasn’t acceptance either. It was like something she’d already expected would happen eventually.

“No,” he said quickly. “That’s not what I meant.”

Aeri shook her head slightly.

“It’s fine,” she said, too calm now. “It makes sense.”

“It doesn’t.”

“It does,” she repeated quietly. “She’s your wife.”

A pause.

“And I’m not,” she added.

That sentence hurt because she didn’t say it like she was accusing him. She said it like she was reminding herself. Heeseung stepped forward half a step before stopping himself.

“I didn’t say I’m choosing her,” he said. Her eyes lifted to his again. Careful. Guarded.

“You didn’t say you’re choosing me either.” The exact problem.

He ran a hand through his hair once, frustration and exhaustion mixing together. “I’m trying to fix something I didn’t know how broken it was until it was already happening,” he said quietly.

She looked at him for a long moment. Then spoke gently, but firmly.

“That’s the thing,” she said. “You don’t fix it while keeping both hands on both sides.”

That made him stop. She swallowed slightly.

“I can’t be the place you go when it’s over,” she added. “And I can’t stand next to a marriage you’re still holding onto just because it’s easier than letting it go.”

His voice dropped lower. “It’s not about easy.”

Her expression tightened slightly.

“It always becomes about easy,” she said. “Eventually.”

That sat between them. Neither of them moving now.

Just standing in a hospital corridor full of life while their entire conversation felt like something breaking quietly underneath it.

Heeseung looked at her like he was trying to find the exact right thing to say that wouldn’t ruin everything further. And for once, he couldn’t find it fast enough. She nodded once, almost like she was giving herself permission to step back again.

“I have rounds,” she said softly.

Then she turned away. But this time he spoke again before she could fully leave.

“Aeri.”

She stopped. His voice was quieter now. “I’m not letting you disappear again,” he said, “I just need time to do this right.”

She wanted to believe that. She really did. But believing and surviving were starting to feel like two different things. So she finally turned her head slightly. Just enough for him to see her expression. Tired. Still soft somewhere underneath all the damage.

“Then don’t take so long you forget I was here,” she said quietly.

And then she walked away down the hallway. And for the first time, Heeseung didn’t follow.

The hospital kept moving like nothing had changed. That was the cruel part of it.

Trauma cases still came in. OR schedules still filled. Pages still went off at 3 a.m. like they always did. But inside the people who knew, everything was off balance.

She moved through her shifts with the same precision as before, but there was something muted about her now.  Like she’d turned the volume down on everything that could reach her too deeply.

Heeseung, looked like he was running on borrowed time. He still operated. Still led cases. Still made decisions with terrifying precision. But outside the OR, something in him had gone quiet in a way that wasn’t calm anymore. It was restraint.

Like every time he saw her down a hallway or across a nurses’ station, he had to physically stop himself from crossing the distance. And he always stopped.

He always stopped too late. Because she was already gone by then.

Hana stayed. Not intrusively. She didn’t try to force conversations anymore, but she also didn’t disappear. She still showed up at the hospital when required, still consulted on neonatal cases, still spoke to him like someone trying to rebuild something carefully from fragments.

And from the outside, it almost looked functional. They ate together once. Then again a few days later. Short conversations in his office. Shared silence that didn’t feel as sharp as before. It wasn’t love the way it used to be. But it wasn’t nothing either. It was just mutual understanding that something that was once so precious is coming to an end soon, and they were preparing to part ways respectfully. 

__________________________________________________________

She saw them by accident. It was late afternoon, too early for night chaos but late enough for exhaustion to blur everything at the edges. She was walking past the glass corridor near admin when she slowed without meaning to. Heeseung and Hana were standing together near the nurses’ station. Close enough that the familiarity was obvious.

Hana was talking softly, gesturing at something on a chart. Heeseung listened, nodding slightly, expression focused. Then he said something that made her smile. Warm. The kind of smile that belonged to years, not weeks. She stopped walking and her grip tightened slightly on her chart.

Because it did look like effort, like two people trying to repair something that had cracked but not fully shattered. Hana looked up at him then, briefly, and something passed between them that Aeri couldn’t fully read from this distance.

Heeseung said something softer after that, and Hana’s expression changed again, less guarded, more open. 

She felt that quiet sinking sensation in her chest that didn’t come with drama. She believes that they aren’t pretending, they were trying. Actually trying. She should’ve kept walking, but her body didn’t move for a few seconds anyway.

Until Cristina’s voice cut in behind her.

“Oh no.”

Aeri blinked once. “What.”

Cristina had followed her gaze instantly.

“Don’t do that,” Cristina said flatly.

“Do what.”

“That face.”

She exhaled slowly and finally looked away.

“I’m not doing anything.”

Cristina raised an eyebrow. “You’re staring at a man you’re trying to unlove while he stands with his wife like they’re rebuilding a life.”

Her jaw tightened slightly. “They are rebuilding a life.”

“That’s not your conclusion to make from ten feet away.”

Aeri didn’t respond. Because she didn’t trust her voice right then. Cristina stepped closer, softer now but still blunt.

“Have you talked to him since?”

She shook her head once.

“No.”

Cristina nodded like that confirmed something.

“Then you don’t know what that is,” she said. “You know what it looks like from a hallway.”

Aeri let out a quiet breath. “That’s enough sometimes,” she said.

______________________________________________________________

Later that night, Heeseung found her by accident. It was always like that lately. Like the hospital itself kept forcing proximity neither of them knew how to handle. She was alone at the supply station restocking before a night shift when she heard footsteps behind her.

She didn’t turn, she already knew. He stopped a few feet away. Neither of them spoke for a moment. Then quietly, “Hi,” he said.

She kept her eyes on the supplies. “Hi.” Another pause. Too long again. “I haven’t seen you in a while,” he said.

She almost laughed at that.. “You’ve been busy,” she replied.

That landed somewhere between them. Because “busy” wasn’t really the word. Heeseung took a slow breath.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

Aeri finally turned slightly. Not fully.

Just enough.

“For what,” she asked.

That was the question now. He hesitated. Not because he didn’t know, but because there were too many answers.

“For making you feel like you were second,” he said finally.

She looked at him for a long moment. Then nodded once. “Okay,” she said softly. Small  acknowledgment.

Heeseung’s voice dropped lower. “I’m still trying to figure things out,” he said.

Her expression didn’t change, but something in her eyes tightened slightly anyway.

“I know,” she said.

A pause. Then she added, quieter:

“You should.”

That wasn’t encouragement. It wasn’t cruelty either. Heeseung nodded slowly like he understood that boundary now without needing it spelled out again.

“Okay,” he said. “I still don’t want you disappearing from my life,” he added.

She looked down at her hands. “I’m not disappearing,” she said quietly. “I’m just not standing in the middle anymore.”

Heeseung didn’t try to argue this time. Just stood there for a second longer. Then nodded once.

“I understand,” he said softly. She picked up the rest of the supplies.

“Goodnight, Dr. Lee.”

“Goodnight, Aeri.”

The thing that finally shifted wasn’t something dramatic. No confrontation. No hallway confession. No crisis. It was a Tuesday.

A completely normal Tuesday that felt insulting in how ordinary it was. Aeri stood in the resident locker room staring at herself in the mirror longer than she meant to. Scrubs slightly wrinkled. Hair tied back the same way it had been for years. Tired eyes that still somehow didn’t match the rest of her.

She barely recognized the version of herself that had been living in this loop. Waiting. Pausing. Measuring her entire day around the possibility of seeing someone who still hadn’t fully chosen where he stood.

And suddenly something in her just… clicked. Like a decision finally landing after weeks of hovering. Cristina found her a few minutes later leaning against the lockers.

“You look like you’re about to either cry or commit a felony,” Cristina said.

Aeri didn’t look up. “I’m fine.” Cristina gave her a look. “That’s the third time you’ve said that this week. It’s slightly concerning.”

Aeri let out a small breath that almost became a laugh, but didn’t fully make it. “I’m tired,” she said instead.

Cristina softened slightly. “From what.”

That question sat there for a second too long. She finally looked at her, and for once there wasn’t confusion in her face. Just clarity.

“From waiting,” she said.

Cristina didn’t interrupt. Aeri pushed off the locker slowly. “I keep thinking I’m being patient,” she said quietly. “But I’m not. I’m just… paused.” Cristina’s expression shifted slightly at that.

She continued, voice steadier now. “I put my whole life on hold for someone who’s still figuring out if I fit into his,” she said. “And I hate that I let that happen.”

Cristina nodded once. “Good. That means you’re waking up.”

Aeri exhaled slowly. “I’m done doing that,” she said. Cristina didn’t smile, but something in her eyes approved. “Good,” she said again. “Because you’re annoying when you’re emotionally suspended.”

That actually pulled a real laugh out of Aeri this time. Small.

_________________________________________________________

After that, things changed quietly. Aeri didn’t announce anything. She just stopped orbiting. Stopped timing her routes through the hospital. Stopped looking up when she heard footsteps behind her. Stopped letting herself linger in spaces where she knew he might appear.

It wasn’t misery or anger anymore. It was distance. Clean, intentional distance.

And the strangest part was how quickly the hospital adjusted around it. Cristina stayed close. George checked in more. Izzie tried to bring food she didn’t ask for. Alex pretended not to care but subtly stopped letting anyone interrupt her in trauma.

And Heeseung noticed immediately. Of course he did.

At first, he thought it was just coincidence. Then patterns formed. She wasn’t in the same hallways anymore. Not at the same times. Not in the same spaces where they used to keep accidentally colliding into each other. And the absence started to feel louder than the presence ever had.

_______________________________________________________________

He saw her once that week. Across the surgical board. She was laughing at something Izzie said, head tilted slightly back, eyes brighter than they had been in weeks. Not directed at him. And something in him tightened painfully.

Because she looked like herself again. The version he first met without all the exhaustion layered on top. And she wasn’t looking for him at all.

Hana noticed his expression immediately.

“You’re staring,” she said softly.

He blinked once. “I’m not.”

Hana followed his gaze anyway. Saw Aeri. Understood instantly. Then looked back at him.

“She’s moving on,” Hana said gently. Heeseung didn’t respond. Because it didn’t feel like moving on. It felt like being removed from somewhere he had started to belong.

______________________________________________________________

That night, he tried again. Not in a hallway this time. He waited outside the intern lounge. Aeri came out alone, rolling her shoulders slightly like she was exhausted but functional. She saw him immediately. Stopped.

“Hi,” he said again.

Like an echo of every other attempt. Aeri nodded once. “Hi.” Heeseung took a breath.

“I noticed you’ve been avoiding me,” he said.

She tilted her head slightly. “I have,” she said.

That was it. No apology. No justification. He nodded slowly like he was trying to keep up.

“Can we talk,” he asked quietly.

She looked at him for a long moment. Not soft anymore. Not pulled in. “I think we already did,” she said. It was final in a different way.

Heeseung’s voice dropped slightly. “I didn’t get to finish.” She held his gaze for a moment longer than before. Then said, very gently:

“I did.” The hallway around them kept moving like always.

People passing. Phones ringing. Life continuing. And for the first time, Heeseung didn’t step forward to close the distance. She adjusted her badge, then shifted her bag slightly.

“I have rounds,” she said softly. Then she walked past him. And this time, he didn’t call her back because he finally understood she wasn’t waiting in that space anymore.

_________________________________________________________

It had been almost two months since the bomb patient. Long enough for the hospital to convince itself it had moved on. Long enough for routines to rebuild. Long enough for people to start saying things like “we’re back to normal” like normal meant anything after what had happened.

Aeri acted fine. That was the lie everyone accepted because she made it believable.

She showed up on time. Took cases. Smiled when spoken to. Made jokes when required. Ran trauma like nothing inside her had shifted permanently. But Cristina noticed the cracks first. Always did.

That morning had marked a month since Izzie and Cristina moved in with Aeri and they all became housemates. Cristina paused in the kitchen when she heard the shower running too long. Then she heard it.  A sound that didn’t belong in Aeri’s version of “fine.” Quiet. Broken. Crying.

She went still. Across the counter, Izzie slowly lowered her coffee. “Did you hear—”

“Yes,” Cristina said immediately.

They didn’t say anything else for a moment. Because there wasn’t much to say. Just the realization that she had been holding it together in public and falling apart where no one could interrupt her. And somewhere else in the hospital that morning, Heeseung heard about it anyway. Not directly. Never directly anymore.

Just fragments and whispers from Aeri’s best friends when they were discussing their concerns over her. .

“She’s been crying in the shower.”

“She thinks no one hears her.”

And something in him tightened so sharply it was almost physical. Because he didn’t even have access to being the reason anymore.

_________________________________________________________________________

After all this chaos already, one may think that life should get back to a better state. But that was never the case at Seattle Grace. 

The ferry disaster hit at noon. It started like chaos usually did. An announcement. Then another. Then suddenly the hospital was no longer a hospital but a command center for disaster triage.

Mass casualty. Multiple injuries. Possible drownings. Helicopters overhead. Ambulances pouring in. Surgeons pulled from ORs mid-procedure.

Aeri didn’t hesitate when she was assigned to the shoreline triage team. None of them did. Cristina went immediately. Heeseung was already in the field before most people finished reading the board. Hana stayed back at the hospital coordinating neonatal overflow.

And Aeri, she ended up near the edge of the dock, knees in wet sand, working fast. Too fast.

Bleeding patients lined up. Hypothermic victims being stabilized. People shouting, crying, fading in and out of consciousness. She moved from one to the next like muscle memory was the only thing keeping the world intact.

“Respirations weak.”

“Start IV.”

“Keep them warm.”

“Next.”

Everything was controlled. Everything was contained.

Until it wasn’t.

The patient she was assessing was half-submerged on a broken section of the ferry ramp. Unconscious. Barely breathing.

She knelt carefully beside him, checking airway positioning, fingers steady despite everything around her.

“Stay with me,” she said automatically. No response.

She shifted slightly closer, and the man jerked violently awake. No warning. Not gradual. A sudden, disoriented movement. His arm slammed into her shoulder. She lost balance instantly.

There was no dramatic scream. No slow fall. Just one moment of footing— and the next— cold water swallowing everything.

_____________________________________________________________

The shock hit first. Ice-cold, immediate, disorienting. She went under before she even processed what had happened. Her body reacted automatically at first.

She kicked once. Twice. She knew how to swim. She absolutely knew how to swim. But the water was dark. Debris moving around her. Noise above distorted and far away.

And something worse, her breath hitched at the wrong moment. Water entered her lungs. Panic spiked instantly. She tried to orient herself. Tried to push upward. But her body didn’t respond the way it should’ve. Because her brain wasn’t just processing drowning.

It was processing everything. The bomb. The weeks of exhaustion. The emotional collapse she’d been hiding. The constant holding on. And for one terrifying second, her body stopped fighting properly.

Above her, someone shouted her name. Not clearly. Muffled. But familiar enough to register somewhere deep. And then she went under again.

___________________________________________________________________

On the dock, chaos shifted after a few minutes when a patient informed someone that they saw a doctor fall into the water. “Doctor down!”

“Someone fell in!”

“Get a line—”

Cristina turned first, eyes snapping across the water. Then froze.

“Aeri—”

Heeseung heard it at the exact wrong moment. He was already pulling a patient onto a stretcher when he looked up. And saw it. The water. The movement. The gap where she should’ve been on the dock.

Something inside him shut off. Instantly.

“Aeri!”

He dropped everything. Actually dropped it. Ran.

Cristina was already moving too fast, yelling at people to get ropes, shouting her name like volume could change physics. But Heeseung reached the edge first. And saw nothing but ripples. No head above water. No sign of her resurfacing.

Just lake. Just cold, indifferent movement.

“Get her out!” Cristina screamed.

Heeseung didn’t hear most of it. Because all he could see was two months ago. Her in a hospital bed. Her unconscious. Her hand wrapped around a bomb.

And now, water. His body moved before thought again.

“Get a line,” someone shouted behind him. But he was already at the edge, scanning desperately.

“Aeri!” he shouted again, voice breaking this time. Nothing. Cristina grabbed his arm hard. “You can’t jump in without—”

“I don’t care!” That snapped something in her face. Because she knew that tone. That wasn’t protocol. That was terror. And then, a hand broke the surface. Faint. Struggling.

Aeri. Heeseung didn’t think. He jumped. Cold hit him instantly like a wall. He swam hard toward her, arms cutting through water that felt too heavy, too slow. “Aeri !” he choked out underwater.

She was barely visible. Fighting. But not effectively. He reached her just as her head dipped again. And grabbed her. Locked his arm around her immediately.

“Got you,” he gasped. Her body went slack for a second against him. Not unconscious. He kicked upward violently, dragging both of them toward air. Breaking the surface felt like tearing through something. She coughed immediately, choking, gasping for breath. He held her tighter.

“Breathe,” he said sharply. “Breathe.” Her hands clutched weakly at his scrubs underwater.

“I—” she tried, coughing again. “I’ve got you,” he repeated, voice shaking.

Cristina and others were already pulling them toward the dock. Ropes lowered. Hands grabbing. And when they finally got her up,  Aeri collapsed onto the dock coughing violently, soaked and shaking.

Heeseung stayed on his knees beside her immediately. Not letting go. Not even for a second. Her hands trembled against his wrists. And she looked up at him through wet hair and panic-shocked breathing like she couldn’t fully process what just happened.

“I’m fine,” she tried automatically. But her voice cracked. Heeseung stared at her for a long second. Then said, quietly but completely wrecked:

“No, you’re not.”

And for the first time in weeks, he didn’t sound like a man trying to fix something. He sounded like someone who had almost lost her again. 

The ambulance lights cut through everything like a warning that came too late. She was barely conscious by the time they got her off the dock.

Her skin was wrong. Not just pale, wrong. Cold in a way that made even the paramedics move faster than usual, voices sharper, hands more urgent. “Severe hypothermia,” one of them said quickly. “Possible aspiration. We’re losing temperature regulation.”

Heeseung was in the back of the ambulance before anyone could stop him. No argument. Cristina followed right after, still soaked, still furious, still terrified in a way she would never admit out loud. “Dr. Kim stay with us,” a paramedic was saying.

Her eyes were half-open. Not focused. Heeseung grabbed her hand immediately.

“Hey,” he said, voice breaking slightly. “Hey, look at me.” Her fingers twitched weakly against his. Too cold. Too still.

“We’re getting you to the hospital,” he continued. “You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.” But her breathing was uneven. Wrong rhythm. Cristina leaned forward. “Her temp?”

“Thirty-one and dropping,” the paramedic replied sharply. Heeseung’s stomach dropped. That was already critical. Her lips parted slightly like she was trying to speak, but only a weak sound came out.

He bent closer immediately. “What?” Her eyes flickered toward him. Not fully focused. And then her body suddenly stiffened. A sharp inhale. Then nothing. The monitor beside her spiked once, and dropped..

For half a second, nobody processed it. Then chaos detonated inside the ambulance. “No pulse!” “Start compressions!” “Charge—”

Cristina’s hand was already on the defibrillator before the words even finished.

Heeseung froze. Actually froze. Because for a split second his brain refused to accept it. Not again. Not her. Not like this.

“Aeri,” he said sharply, like his voice alone could pull her back. Nothing. The paramedic started compressions immediately.

“Two minutes from hospital!” someone shouted. But the monitor stayed flat. Continuous. Merciless. Heeseung grabbed her wrist harder. “Aeri,” he said again, voice cracking now. “Come on.” Nothing. Cristina looked up at him once mid-compression. And for the first time all day, even she looked scared.

“Clear!” someone shouted.

Shock delivered. Her body jerked slightly, but the line stayed flat. No rhythm. The ambulance felt too small suddenly. Too suffocating. Heeseung’s hand didn’t let go of hers. Not even when Cristina shouted again.

“Again!” Another shock. Another pause. Still nothing. Her face stayed slack and pale and terrifyingly still.

And Heeseung, Heeseung stopped breathing properly.

Because his brain went somewhere it wasn’t supposed to go. Back to the dock. Back to her falling. Back to the water swallowing her. Back to two months ago with the bomb. Back to every moment he almost lost her before this one.

And now, this.

“Don’t you do this,” he whispered under his breath, voice breaking completely now. “Don’t you leave me like this.”

Cristina didn’t look at him. She couldn’t.

“Charge again!” she snapped.

And the ambulance tore forward through traffic like the world outside didn’t know someone inside was slipping away. Heeseung leaned down closer, forehead nearly against her cold hand.

And in a voice no one else could hear over the chaos, he said, “I choose you.”

Like it mattered now. Like it could still reach her somewhere deep under all that silence.

But somehow, luck was slightly on his side. They got her pulse back in the most fragile way possible. Not stable or strong in any way, it was barely just enough.

A flicker on the monitor that kept disappearing like it couldn’t decide whether to stay. “Sinus rhythm—barely,” a resident said urgently. “She’s bradying again.”

“Keep compressions going,” Bailey snapped when they wheeled her out of the ambulance. “She’s not cold, she’s frozen. Keep warming blankets on her, get the bypass ready if we lose her again.”

The trauma room was chaos in controlled form. Hands moving. Orders flying. Machines beeping like a second heartbeat trying to replace hers. Aeri’s body looked almost unreal on the table.

So still. So small under the heat lamps and blankets. Heeseung stood in the doorway for exactly four seconds before Webber physically stepped in front of him.

“No,” Webber said immediately. Heeseung didn’t even blink. “I need to be in there.”

“You can’t.”

“I can help—”

“You are not a surgeon in this room right now,” Webber cut in sharply. “You are a man who is about to lose perspective.” Heeseung’s voice cracked. “That’s my—” He stopped. Couldn’t even finish it, because what was he even supposed to say?

Webber didn’t soften. “She’s coding in and out,” he said more quietly. “We don’t need you breaking down in there.” Heeseung’s hands were shaking now.

“I can’t leave her,” he said, voice lower, desperate. Webber held his gaze for a long second. Then nodded once to a nurse. And Heeseung was guided out. Just… removed. Like something too close to the center of disaster to be allowed inside it.

_____________________________________________________

Outside the room, the hallway felt wrong. Too bright. Too loud. Heeseung stood there like he didn’t understand what to do with his body anymore. His scrub top still damp from the water.

His hair still messy from the dock. His hands still shaking like they were waiting for something to hold. And behind the closed doors, machines kept fighting for her. He pressed both hands against the wall for a second. Then slid down slightly. Not fully sitting. Just collapsing halfway.

Eyes red. Breathing uneven. Trying not to lose it in front of everyone passing by. He heard her name once from inside.

“BP dropping!” And his head snapped up instantly. But the doors didn’t open. Nothing came out. Just more urgency behind them.

_______________________________________________________

Then Hana arrived. Fast footsteps down the corridor. Still in scrubs. Still mid-shift. She saw him before she even saw the doors. And she stopped. Completely. Because she didn’t need anyone to tell her. She already knew. The way he was standing.

The way he couldn’t look away from that room. The way his entire body looked like it was being held together by nothing.

“Heeseung” Her voice was quiet. He didn’t look at her at first. Couldn’t.

“Hana,” he said hoarsely. She stepped closer. Saw the wet scrubs. Saw the shaking hands. Saw the tears he wasn’t even trying to hide anymore. And everything clicked into place in a way that wasn’t painful so much as final.

“She’s inside,” Hana said softly. He nodded once. Like saying anything more would break him completely. Hana looked at the doors. Then back at him. And her expression shifted, not angry, not bitter. Her eyes just held deep understanding. Deep, quiet understanding that hurt more than anything else could have.

“I think I finally get it,” she said gently.

He didn’t respond. Because he couldn’t. Hana exhaled slowly.

“I thought I could come back and fix something that already existed,” she said. “But you’re not… torn.” A pause. “You never were.” Heeseung closed his eyes briefly. Hana continued, softer now.

“You love her,” she said simply. Heeseung’s voice came out broken immediately. “I can’t lose her.”

That was all he said. And it was enough. Hana nodded once, almost sadly. “I know,” she whispered. Then after a beat, “It’s already gone, Heeseung.” she mentioned their marriage, because she could see it now. The marriage she thought she could rebuild wasn’t being rejected by competition. It had already been replaced by something that never stopped forming.

Something she had walked back into too late. Hana looked at the doors again. The place where Aeri was fighting for her life.

And then she stepped back slightly. “I hope she lives,” she said quietly. And she meant it. Not for him. For her. Then she turned and walked away down the corridor, trying not to breakdown. And Heeseung stayed exactly where he was. Eyes locked on the doors. Waiting for the next update like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

______________________________________________________

It had been another 20 minutes. The doors opened before anyone heard anything. Not slowly. Not carefully. Just that sudden swing that meant something had changed inside the room. Burke stepped out first. Still in scrubs and gloves. But his face was different. Something heavier. Something that made the entire hallway go quiet before anyone even spoke.

Heeseung saw it immediately. The expression. That particular surgeon’s stillness that only shows up when everything has already been tried, and they were aware they had to deliver terrible news. .

And his body reacted before his mind caught up. “No,” he said under his breath. Burke stopped just outside the doors. Looked at him. And didn’t say anything right away.

That silence was the answer. Heeseung’s face changed instantly. Like something inside him gave out all at once. “No,” he said again, louder this time, voice breaking. “No, no—” He took one step forward and then stopped, like his legs forgot how to work. Burke stepped closer instead.

And for once, not the surgeon in charge, just the man who had been inside the room trying to hold someone back from disappearing. He put a steadying hand on Heeseung’s shoulder.

“She’s still in there,” Burke said quietly. That should have been comforting. It wasn’t. Because it didn’t sound like victory. It sounded like holding. Heeseung shook his head slightly, breathing uneven now. “You said she was stable.”

“She isn’t anymore.” His jaw tightened hard. Inside the room, monitors continued their uneven fight. Beeping that kept dipping. Coming back. Dipping again. Burke didn’t move his hand.

“She coded twice,” he said quietly. “We got her back twice.” Heeseung’s eyes burned immediately.

“And the third time?” he asked. Burke hesitated. That hesitation alone was almost worse than an answer. “We’re still in it,” Burke said finally. Heeseung’s knees went weak for a second.

Burke tightened his grip slightly, keeping him upright. “Don’t go down,” he said quietly. “Not yet.”

Heeseung let out a broken breath that almost turned into something worse. “I can’t lose her,” he said again, but this time it wasn’t controlled anymore. It was unraveling. Burke didn’t correct him.

Didn’t tell him to be professional. Didn’t tell him to step back. He just stayed there. A steady weight beside him in the hallway while the world kept breaking inside the room.

________________________________________________________

Inside, the trauma room was still chaos. Her body lay under warming blankets, lines everywhere, monitors screaming at intervals like the machine itself was exhausted.

“Push epi,” Bailey ordered sharply. “We’re losing perfusion again.”

“Core temp still thirty-two,” a resident said urgently. “We’re not gaining ground fast enough.”

Webber stood at the foot of the bed for a second, watching her. Longer than he should have. Then something in his expression shifted.

“She’s not leaving this room,” he said quietly. Bailey looked up. “Richard—”

“She’s not,” he repeated, sharper now. Something personal.

Because for a moment, she wasn’t just a patient. She was the kid who used to stand at the edge of his ORs back when he worked along with Aeri’s mom, asking questions no intern should know yet. The one who stayed late. The one he’d trusted early. The one who had been too good at surviving everything thrown at her until this moment.

“Again,” Webber said. Bailey stared at him for half a second. Then nodded.

“Charge.” Another shock. The room tensed. Machines stuttered. And then thankfully, a flicker. A weak rhythm trying to form itself out of nothing.

“Wait—” a resident said quickly. “I’ve got something—” “Keep going,” Bailey snapped immediately. “Don’t lose it.”

Webber stepped closer to the monitor. Watching. Not breathing.

“Come on,” he said under his breath. And then, another beat appeared. Then another. Still fragile. Still wrong. But no longer absent.

______________________________________________________

Outside, Burke finally spoke again. “She’s responding,” he said quietly. Heeseung’s head snapped up instantly. “What?” Burke nodded slightly.

“Barely,” he added. “But she’s coming back.”

Something in Heeseung’s face collapsed all over again—but this time it wasn’t just grief. It was relief so intense it almost hurt more. Burke kept his hand on his shoulder for another moment.

Then let go. Because even he understood that part of this wasn’t his to hold. Heeseung stayed frozen in the hallway. Eyes locked on the doors. It came out of him in pieces, like his voice couldn’t decide how to exist anymore.

“She knows,” Heeseung said suddenly, staring at the doors like if he looked away she’d disappear again. “She knows how to swim.”

Burke turned slightly.

Heeseung swallowed hard, breath shaking. “She grew up around water. She told me. She—she used to go with friends, she—” His hands lifted helplessly, like he could explain her into safety if he just got the details right fast enough.

“She wouldn’t just—” His voice broke. “She wouldn’t just go under like that.” Then it hit him harder.  His face crumpled. “She stopped fighting,” he whispered, like saying it out loud made it real. “She stopped fighting and I don’t know why she would do that.”

Burke stayed quiet for a second. Just watching him. Heeseung’s breathing got uneven again, like the words were dragging everything back into his chest.

“She knows how to swim,” he repeated, more urgently now, as if the fact itself should change what happened. “She can swim. She can—she should’ve been fine.”

His voice cracked completely on the last word. “Burke, she should’ve been fine.” That was the breaking point. The idea that skill should have protected her.

That knowledge should have mattered against shock and cold and panic and everything the body does when it stops listening. Burke finally spoke, very quietly.

“Dr. Lee.” Heeseung didn’t look at him. “Don’t,” Burke said, softer now. “Don’t do that to yourself.” Heeseung let out a broken laugh that wasn’t humor at all.

“Do what.” “Try to make it logical,” Burke said. “There’s nothing logical about what happens to the body under stress like that.” That landed, but it didn’t soothe anything.

Heeseung shook his head slightly, still staring at the doors. “I was right there,” he said. “I got her out and I still—” His voice gave out for a second. He swallowed hard, trying again.

“I still almost lost her again.”

Burke’s hand returned to his shoulder, firmer this time. “She’s in there now,” Burke said. “And she’s fighting.”

That word, fighting, made Heeseung shut his eyes. Because that was her. Even now. Even after everything. Still fighting. But it didn’t erase the image in his head. Her under the water. . He wiped his face quickly with the back of his hand, frustrated at himself for breaking but unable to stop it.

“I couldn’t reach her fast enough,” he said quietly.

Burke didn’t argue. Just stood beside him while the doors stayed closed and the monitors inside kept trying to turn silence into a rhythm again.

And somewhere beyond those doors, Aeri’s heart stumbled.

Then steadied.

Then stumbled again.

Like it was deciding whether to come back at all. By the time they got her out of trauma and into ICU, the hospital had already started to feel like it had aged a year in a single shift.

She was moved carefully, surrounded by warming blankets, forced-air heat systems, IV lines running constant fluids, monitors recalibrating to a slower, steadier rhythm that didn’t look like panic anymore. Hypothermia protocols. Post-arrest care. Watchful silence.

The kind of quiet that only exists when someone has almost not made it. They finally left her alone after the last adjustment. Just machines now. Just beeping. Just her.

A few hours passed like that. ICU never really sleeps, but it does dim into something softer at night, voices lowered, footsteps slower, everything careful around fragile life. 

She came back to consciousness the way people do after something too violent for the body to fully understand. Cold first. Then sound. Then weight. Her eyes opened halfway. Blinking. Confused.

The room felt too bright even though it wasn’t. Her body didn’t feel like it belonged to her yet.

A nurse noticed immediately and moved closer. “Hey,” she said gently. “You’re in ICU. You’re safe.” Aeri tried to speak but only a small sound came out. Her throat burned. The nurse checked her monitor quickly, then hesitated like she was deciding something.

Then softer: “Dr. Lee has been here all day,” she said. “He hasn’t really left. Do you… want to see him?” Aeri didn’t answer with words. She just nodded. Small. Like there wasn’t even a question.

The nurse gave a quick nod and stepped out. A moment later, the door opened again. And Heeseung was there. He didn’t look like a surgeon anymore. Not really. Hair slightly disheveled. Scrubs still on but wrinkled from sitting too long. Eyes red at the edges like he hadn’t stopped being afraid long enough to reset.

The second he saw her awake, something in his face changed so fast it almost hurt to watch. Relief first. Then disbelief. Then something softer that didn’t have a name. He stopped right by the bed. Didn’t rush her. Didn’t touch her yet.

Just looked at her like he needed to confirm she was real. Aeri tried to sit up slightly. Immediately regretted it. Her body shook faintly from the cold still lingering deep inside her. He moved closer instantly.

“No,” he said softly. “Don’t sit up.”

Her eyes found his. And that was it. Everything else in the room stopped mattering. The machines. The monitors. The ICU hum.

Just them. Her eyes filled almost immediately. Like her body finally caught up to everything she hadn’t been able to feel underwater.

Heeseung’s voice went quieter. “Hey,” he said gently. “Hey, it’s okay.”

She shook her head slightly, barely. Cold. Still so cold. Her lips parted like she was trying to say something but couldn’t get it out properly. He noticed immediately.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

Another small nod.

He exhaled shakily, like that answer made everything simple again. Without waiting for permission this time, he carefully pulled the chair closer.

Then hesitated just once. His voice soft:

“Can I?” she nodded again, faster this time. Tears sliding now. And that was all he needed. He shifted carefully onto the edge of the bed, moving slow so he didn’t disturb any lines or monitors, then gently leaned in and gathered her into him as much as the equipment allowed.

Not tight enough to risk anything.  Her hands immediately gripped the fabric of his scrubs like she’d been holding herself together by force alone and finally didn’t have to anymore.

He held her carefully, one arm behind her shoulders, the other steadying her side. “Okay,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.” Her face turned into his chest immediately, breathing uneven.

Still shaking. Still coming back. “I know,” he said immediately, firmer now. “I know.”

Her fingers tightened slightly. “I couldn’t breathe,” she whispered. “I know,” he repeated again, softer. “I saw you.” That made her cry harder. Just quiet, exhausted breaking. Like the fear had been waiting for permission to leave her body.

He didn’t stop it. Just held her through it. And after a while, when her breathing started to settle slightly, he spoke again, barely above a whisper. “I stayed,” he said. Her eyes lifted weakly toward him.

“I didn’t leave,” he added. And something in her expression shifted at that. Not relief exactly. Something deeper. Like her body finally believed she wasn’t alone in the aftermath anymore. Her grip loosened slightly, but she didn’t let go. Neither did he.

Just stayed there in the dim ICU light, her still half-frozen against him, his hand steady at her back, like if either of them moved too fast the world might still try to take her again.

He held her a little tighter when her breathing finally started to slow, like he was afraid the moment he loosened his grip she’d slip back into somewhere he couldn’t reach.

The ICU was still humming around them, but inside that small space it felt almost like it didn’t exist. Her fingers were still curled into his scrubs, weaker now but refusing to let go completely.

Heeseung swallowed hard. His voice came out rougher than he meant it to. “I know you know how to swim.” That made her still slightly, even in exhaustion.

He shook his head once, eyes fixed somewhere over her shoulder like he couldn’t bear looking at her face and saying it. “And I don’t know why…” his voice cracked, breath catching, “I don’t know why you weren’t.” A pause where he tried to steady himself and failed.

“I don’t know why you stopped fighting.” That last part broke more than the rest.

Because it wasn’t accusation. It was fear trying to make sense of helplessness.

Her eyes filled again immediately, but she didn’t pull away. She just stayed pressed against him like she didn’t have the energy left to exist anywhere else. He exhaled shakily, wiping his face with his wrist quickly like it would fix anything.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.” His hand tightened slightly at her back, grounding himself as much as her.

“I should’ve been faster. I should’ve—” He stopped, voice breaking again. “I should’ve never let you go into that water alone in the first place.”

She made a small sound, like she was trying to interrupt, but he kept going anyway, quieter now but more raw. “And I can’t…” He shook his head slightly. “I can’t lose you like that again.” Silence stretched for a second, only the machines filling it.

Then his voice dropped even lower. Almost like he was afraid of it.

“Don’t ever stop fighting.” He finally looked at her properly then, eyes red, completely unguarded. “I love you.” The words landed between them like something irreversible.

She froze slightly in his arms, like her body registered it before her mind could. He didn’t take it back. Didn’t soften it. Just stayed there holding her, shaking slightly himself now, forehead almost brushing her hair.

“I love you,” he repeated quieter, like he needed her to hear it again without the chaos of everything else. “So please… don’t stop fighting.”

And this time, when she clutched his scrubs again, it wasn’t just fear. It was her holding on too.

She didn’t answer right away. Not because she didn’t hear him. Because she did. Every word. Clearer than the machines. Clearer than the room. Clearer than everything she’d been drifting in and out of for the past few hours. Her fingers tightened slightly in his scrubs again, almost reflexively, like she needed something physical to confirm she wasn’t still underwater.

I love you.

Heeseung didn’t rush her. He stayed exactly where he was, one arm around her shoulders, the other steady at her back, breathing uneven but controlled enough to not overwhelm her.

“I’m here,” he said quietly after a moment. “You’re okay. Just… stay with me, okay?” Aeri swallowed. Her throat hurt. Her whole body still felt like it belonged to someone else. But his voice was real. His arms were real. And the way he was holding her wasn’t like earlier in the hallway weeks ago, or the chaos of the dock, or even the ambulance.

Her eyes finally lifted to his again. Slowly. Tired. Still glassy with tears that didn’t seem to know when to stop. Heeseung’s expression shifted immediately when he saw her looking at him like that.. Breaking a little more.

“Hey,” he whispered, like he was afraid to scare her away from the moment. “You’re here. You’re safe.” Her lips parted slightly.

Her voice came out weak, scratchy from the tube earlier, barely holding shape. “…you said it.”

He blinked once, like he didn’t fully understand. Then his breath caught.

“Oh,” he whispered. Aer stared at him like she was trying to make sense of him through exhaustion.

“You said it,” she repeated quietly. He nodded once, slowly, like he was bracing for impact.

“I did,” he said softly. Her eyes flickered down for a second, then back up again, searching his face like she didn’t trust what she was seeing. “You don’t say things like that,” she murmured.

A sad, almost broken half-smile touched his mouth for a second. “I know,” he admitted. That honesty did something to her. Because he wasn’t trying to make it smaller.

Wasn’t trying to walk it back. Just standing in it. Her grip on him loosened slightly, not letting go, just less frantic now. Still cold, still tired, but not slipping away the same way anymore. Heeseung noticed immediately. His hand moved gently up her back, slow circles like he was trying to remind her body it was allowed to rest.

“I meant it,” he added quietly. “Everything I said.” She closed her eyes for a second, like even that was too much to process all at once. When she opened them again, her voice was even softer. “…you can’t just say that and then leave again.”

That hit him instantly. His entire expression changed. “No,” he said quickly. Firm this time. Steady. “No, I’m not leaving.” “I’m done doing that to you.”

Her eyes searched his face again, like she wanted proof, not promises. He exhaled slowly, leaning his forehead just slightly closer to hers without fully touching.

“I don’t care how long it takes,” he said. “I don’t care how messy it is. I don’t care about anything else right now.” His voice dropped. “I’m not losing you again.”

Her breathing shook slightly, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, her forehead finally rested lightly against his chest again, like her body had decided it trusted gravity more when he was holding her. He stiffened for a second at the contact, then relaxed into it immediately, arms tightening just enough to be sure she was still there.

For a while, neither of them spoke. Just the steady beep of the monitor. Her breathing slowly evening out against him. His hand still at her back like a promise he didn’t know how to take back anymore.

And somewhere in that quiet ICU room, surrounded by machines and exhaustion and everything they had almost lost, it finally stopped feeling like survival.

And started feeling, very carefully, like staying. Aeri only let him leave after a long silence where she just watched him like she was memorizing the fact that he was still here at all.

“You should go back to work,” she said eventually, voice quiet but steadier now. Heeseung frowned slightly. “I don’t want to.” “I know,” she said, a faint hint of something almost like a smile. “But you’re still a doctor. And I’m… not dying anymore.”

That last part made his jaw tighten immediately. He didn’t like how close it still felt.

Still, she gave him a small nod, like permission she didn’t fully want to give but knew he needed. “Go,” she repeated softer. “I’ll be here.” That was the only thing that got him moving.

Even then, he lingered at the door for a second too long, looking back at her like he still didn’t trust the room to keep her safe without him in it. She  lifted her hand slightly from the blanket.

“Go,” she said again, but this time it was gentler. So he did. Like every step away from her was physically wrong.

_________________________________________________________

He didn’t even make it halfway down the corridor before he stopped. Hana was standing there. Still in scrubs. But she was holding a thin folder. And something in her face told him immediately what it was.

Heeseung slowed. Then stopped fully. “Hana,” he said quietly. She nodded once, holding up the folder slightly. “I brought them,” she said.

The word didn’t need clarification. Divorce papers. There was a beat of silence. Then Hana gave a small, tired exhale, almost like she’d been holding this in for longer than she admitted even to herself.

“I wasn’t sure how to do this,” she admitted. “I thought I would be angry. Or hurt in a way that made it hard.” A faint, almost self-aware smile crossed her face.

“But honestly?” she added, glancing at him. “I’ve been watching you for weeks. And I think I was the only one still confused about this situation.” Heeseung didn’t speak. He didn’t interrupt. Hana stepped a little closer, but not into his space.

Just enough to be honest. “You love her,” she said simply. He didn’t deny it. Didn’t hesitate. That in itself answered everything. Hana nodded like she expected that. “Yeah,” she said softly. “That’s what I thought.” A pause.

Then she tilted her head slightly, more thoughtful now than sad. “You know what’s funny?” she said. “I actually tried for a while to convince myself I could compete with that.” “I couldn’t.”

Heeseung finally looked at her properly. Hana’s expression stayed calm, but there was something warm in it too, strangely enough.

“It wasn’t even big dramatic moments,” she said, almost lightly. “It was small stuff.” She gave a faint, almost amused exhale.

“The way you look at her when she walks into a room like she just made gravity optional,” she said. “Or how you stopped mid-sentence during surgery that one day because she laughed outside the OR and you didn’t even realize you did it.” “Oh, and don’t even get me started on the bomb thing,” she added dryly. “You basically tried to become a human shield in a hallway. That was… honestly embarrassing for my dignity.”

That got the faintest flicker of something like a broken laugh from him. Hana softened slightly. “I don’t blame you,” she said. “I actually don’t. I think I just… arrived after the ending already happened.”

She held the folder out gently. “So let’s not drag it out.” Heeseung took it slowly. Their fingers didn’t linger. Just a clean handoff. She watched him for a second longer, then added more quietly, almost kindly:

“She’s good for you,” she said. “And you’re good for her. Even if you’re both kind of a disaster individually.” That earned another small, reluctant breath from him. Hana smiled faintly.

“Also,” she added, tilting her head, “if you make her cry again I will personally haunt you. Just so we’re clear.” Heeseung exhaled through his nose, something close to real amusement breaking through the exhaustion for the first time in days.

“I deserve that,” he murmured. “You really do,” she agreed. Then Hana stepped back. “I hope we can be okay,” she said. “Not like… friends friends. But not strangers either.” He nodded once. “We can be okay.”

That seemed to satisfy her. She gave him one last look, soft, final, no lingering bitterness. Then she turned and walked away.

__________________________________________________________

Heeseung stood there for a moment holding the papers. Strange how light they felt. Stranger how heavy everything else still was. Then he looked down the hall.

Back toward ICU. And without hesitation this time, he went back to her. She  was asleep when he came back. Not the restless, half-conscious kind from earlier. Real sleep this time.

Her breathing had evened out, the machines around her no longer screaming urgency into the room, just steady rhythm and soft monitoring tones. She looked smaller like this. Heeseung stopped at the doorway for a second, just watching her.

The divorce papers were still in his hand. He didn’t look at them for long. Just long enough to understand what they were asking of him. Then he signed.  Just a pen, a signature, and a quiet kind of certainty that had taken him far too long to reach.

He folded them carefully afterward.Handed them to the nurse at the desk outside ICU. “Please give them to the other Dr. Lee,” he said quietly.

_______________________________________________________

When he came back into the room, the lights were dimmer now. Shifted into night mode. Still curled slightly under the blankets, one hand resting loosely near the edge of the bed like she’d fallen asleep mid-thought and forgotten to pull it back in. Heeseung moved slowly this time. Like the room might still punish sudden movement.

He set his things down quietly. Then sat in the chair beside her for a moment. No urgency. No crisis. No hallway interruptions. No machines screaming at him. Just her. He exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face once, tired in a way that had nothing to do with hours anymore.

Then, carefully, he stood.

Moved closer. Carefully lifted the edge of the blanket. And got into the bed beside her without waking her. The mattress shifted slightly under his weight. She stirred faintly, making a small sound in her sleep, instinctively turning toward warmth. He immediately wrapped an arm around her gently, careful of IV lines and monitors, adjusting so she could settle against him without strain.

She exhaled softly, face relaxing almost instantly once she found him. Like her body recognized him before her mind could argue. He held her like that..

One hand resting at her back, the other near her shoulder, grounding her in place like he was afraid even sleep might try to take her away again. His forehead rested lightly near her hair for a moment.

And in the stillness, he finally let himself breathe properly for the first time in what felt like months.There were no more decisions left hanging between them now, waiting room versions of love and certainly no almosts.

He’d chosen her. She’d chosen him. And they both stayed. 

__________________________________________________________

Morning light in ICU always feels too clean for what people have been through.

Aeri blinked awake slowly, the kind of waking that doesn’t feel like entering a day so much as returning to it. Her body still ached in that dull, distant way hypothermia and trauma leave behind, but it wasn’t frightening anymore. It was just evidence.

She shifted slightly. Warmth shifted with her. That made her pause. She turned her head a little. And saw him. Heeseung was still there.

Asleep.

Half sitting, half lying against the side of her bed, one arm still loosely around her like he had refused to let go even in sleep. His hair was slightly messier than usual, face softer like exhaustion had finally caught up to him. There were faint shadows under his eyes that told her he hadn’t really left in a long time.

For a few seconds, she just watched him. Like she was checking if he was real or something her mind had made up in recovery. Then he stirred slightly, sensing the shift.

His eyes opened slowly. The second he saw her awake, fully awake, something in his face changed instantly. Alert. Relief. Fear still lingering underneath.

“You’re up,” he said quietly. 

She blinked once. “Yeah.” Then her mouth curved slightly, small and tired. “I think I’m allowed to leave now.”

That landed fully a second later. He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath since the moment she coded on that dock. “I’ll talk to Bailey,” he said immediately, already shifting like he would handle everything that needed handling.

A nurse came in a short while later, surprised but pleased to see her awake and stable. After a quick check of vitals and a few confirmations with Bailey, the decision was made quickly.

Medically stable. No longer hypothermic. Oxygen good. Labs improving. She could be discharged. The words should’ve felt big. Instead, they just felt… slow.

Like they were finally catching up to everything that had already happened. She sat up carefully while nurses helped remove lines and monitors. Heeseung stayed close the entire time, not hovering, just present. Ready if she needed anything. When it was finally done, and she was changed out of hospital gowns into a loose set of scrubs someone brought for her, she stood carefully at the edge of the bed.

He immediately moved closer without thinking. She didn’t pull away. Just accepted the support for a second longer than necessary. Then looked up at him. “You look tired,” she said.

A faint, almost amused breath left him. “You almost died.” “Again,” she added quietly. That got a small flicker in his expression. Then she reached for his hand. And when their fingers laced together, it didn’t feel like chaos anymore.

“I’m okay,” she said softly. He didn’t answer immediately. Just looked at her like he was still afraid the sentence might change at any second. Then he nodded once.

“I know,” he said. “I just don’t think I am yet.” That made her look at him more carefully. Because she knew that feeling too now.

They stood there for a moment longer before moving out of the room together, slower than everything that had brought them there, like neither of them were in a rush to re-enter the world outside just yet. The drive from the hospital felt quieter than anything had in months.

She sat in the passenger seat of Heeseung’s car, still wrapped in the hospital-issued hoodie someone had found for her, her body finally starting to feel like it belonged to her again instead of a stack of protocols and monitors.

He kept glancing at her at red lights without saying anything.

Like he was checking she was still real.

“You’re doing that thing again,” she said eventually, voice soft.

“What thing,” he asked.

“Staring like I might disappear if you don’t look fast enough.”

“Sorry,” he said quietly.

Aeri shifted slightly, turning her head toward the window.

“Don’t be.”

That was all she said. But her fingers were still loosely curled near his on the console the whole way.

____________________________________________________

Her house looked exactly like what people assumed a surgical intern’s place would look like when they were too tired to decorate life properly but still tried anyway. Big space. Warm lighting. Slight mess that made it feel lived in instead of staged.

The second they stepped inside, Aeri paused like her body didn’t fully recognize the concept of “home” as a place she was allowed to be sick in.

Heeseung noticed immediately.

“I’ve got you,” he said gently. She nodded once. But didn’t move further until he did first. So he did. He set her bag down, took off his jacket, and immediately started moving like he already knew the rhythm of her space without needing permission for it.

“Sit,” he said softly. “I can sit on my own,” she replied automatically.

“I know,” he said, not arguing. “Still sit.”

That made her huff a small, tired laugh and finally obey.

___________________________________________________________

Within an hour, the house had shifted. Heeseung had somehow taken over kitchen duty without asking, checking her meds schedule on his phone like it was another post-op chart. He made her drink water, eat something small, rest when she tried to insist she was fine.

She watched him from the couch with a faint, amused disbelief. “You’re bossy outside the OR too,” she muttered. “I’m consistent,” he said.

“That’s not a defense.”

“It is for surgeons.”

She shook her head slightly, but there was no real resistance in it.

The door opened later in the evening without warning. Keys. Familiar footsteps. Loud talking before anyone even fully stepped inside. “Okay, I’m telling you, if you try to make me do one more post-op—”

Izzie stopped mid-sentence. Cristina followed right behind her.

Both of them froze in the entryway. Because there was Heeseung. In their kitchen. Cooking something. Because of course he was. And there was Aeri. On the couch. Blanket over her legs.

Alive. Very much alive. A beat of silence stretched so long it became its own kind of noise. Then Cristina broke it first.

“…so he just lives here now?” she asked flatly. Aeri closed her eyes briefly. “Please don’t start.”

Izzie blinked. “Are we… interrupting something?” Heeseung turned slightly from the stove. “You live here too, apparently.”

Cristina narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t get comfortable.”

“I’m not,” he replied calmly. “This is temporary.”

Cristina looked at Aeri. Then at him. Then back at Aeri. “…this is not temporary,” she muttered.

Izzie, already walking in, immediately softened. “Okay, I’m glad you’re alive, but also why is there a man in our house cooking like he pays rent by simply caring for you?”

Aeri buried her face slightly into the blanket. “I don’t know anymore,” she said honestly. Heeseung, without turning around: “Eat before it gets cold.”

Cristina pointed at him. “He’s bossy.”

Aeri nodded. “Yeah.”

Heeseung: “You’re all loud.”

That got a reluctant laugh from Izzie.

Cristina sat down like she had accepted reality against her will. “Fine. But if he leaves dishes, I won’t hesitate to shove a scalpel up his ass”

Heeseung, startled, finally looked over his shoulder slightly. “Noted.”

_________________________________________________

The rest of the evening didn’t become less awkward. It just became shared.

Cristina arguing about everything out of habit. Izzie hovering between concern and relief. Aeri slowly coming back into herself in pieces. And Heeseung staying exactly where he said he would, like it was the most natural decision in the world.

At some point, she leaned back against the couch and exhaled. Tired. Heeseung noticed immediately and walked over, sitting on the edge of the couch beside her without asking. She leaned into him almost automatically.

Like her body remembered before her mind did. Cristina saw it. Of course she did.

“…I hate all of this,” she said. Izzie smiled faintly. “No you don’t.” Cristina didn’t deny it this time. And for the first time in a long time, the house didn’t feel like people orbiting separate disasters.

And finally, not alone.

Later, when the house finally quieted down and the noise of Cristina’s commentary and Izzie’s soft concern faded into distant rooms, Heeseung found Aeri where she’d drifted off again on the couch.

She just looked exhausted in the way recovery always leaves behind, like the body is still negotiating with everything it survived.

He crouched slightly beside her. “Hey,” he said softly.

Her eyes opened slowly.

“…what time is it,” she murmured.

“Late,” he answered.

That made her sigh faintly. He didn’t rush her. Just waited until she shifted a little, acknowledging him.

“I’ll take you to bed,” he said.

She blinked once. “I can walk.”

“I know,” he replied gently. “Still taking you.”

That got a small, tired look from her, but she didn’t argue anymore. Just let him help her up. She was steady, but he stayed close anyway, one hand hovering near her back like a reflex he hadn’t unlearned yet.

The hallway upstairs was quiet. Her room felt warmer somehow, familiar in a way hospital rooms never could be. Heeseung didn’t turn on too many lights. He guided her to sit on the edge of the bed, then reached for a blanket without being asked.

She watched him for a moment.

“You’ve been here all day,” she said.

“I said I would be,” he replied.

“I’m not going anywhere tonight either.”

That made her eyes linger on him a little longer than before. He hesitated then, like he’d been holding something in place all day and finally decided it couldn’t stay unspoken in the middle of her bedroom.

“I signed them,” he said quietly. It took her a second.

“…the papers,” she said, already understanding.

He nodded once. “Yeah.”

Silence settled immediately after that. He sat down on the edge of the bed beside her, hands loosely clasped together for a moment before he looked up.

“I didn’t do it because it was easy,” he said.

She didn’t interrupt.

“I did it because it was already done,” he continued. “Even before the signatures. Even before everything.” His voice softened. “I just stopped pretending I was still in it a while ago.”

She looked down at her hands for a second. Then back up at him.

“You didn’t tell me sooner,” she said quietly.

“I know,” he admitted immediately. No defensiveness. No delay. “I didn’t know how. And I didn’t want you to feel like you were part of something I hadn’t closed properly yet.” He leaned back slightly, exhaling.

“Hana and I… we’re done,” he said. “Properly.” Then, almost quieter:

“She was actually… really kind about it.” Aeri didn’t respond right away, just processing.

Heeseung glanced at her. “I’m not telling you this to put anything on you,” he said gently. “Or to make it feel like you owe me anything.” His voice tightened slightly.

“I just don’t want there to be anything between us that isn’t honest anymore.” That made her look at him more directly. Then she shifted slightly closer on the bed.

Just enough that the space between them stopped feeling like distance and started feeling like choice. “You could’ve told me earlier,” she said softly. “I know,” he repeated again. “I was scared you’d think I was using you as a reason to leave.”

Her expression changed slightly at that. More understanding than anything else. “I wouldn’t think that,” she said. That seemed to ease something in him.

He nodded slowly. “Good,” he whispered. She lay back slowly, adjusting the blanket.

Heeseung immediately stood to help, pulling it up properly around her shoulders like it was second nature now. She watched him do it.

Then, quietly “Can you stay the night,” she said. He paused for half a second. Then nodded.

“Yeah,” he said simply. “If you’ll let me.”

Her eyes stayed on him for a long moment. Then she reached out slightly, fingers brushing his wrist. “I think I already did,” she murmured. That made his breath catch quietly.

He sat back down beside her, slower this time, like the moment needed space to exist without breaking it. And when the room finally went still again, it didn’t feel like endings anymore.

Aeri didn’t come in the next day after the discovery. Or the day after that. At first, people assumed she was sick. Residents got sick all the time. Burnout, flu, panic-induced collapse from too many attendings yelling at them at once.

But then Cristina stopped seeing her in the cafeteria. Then George noticed her locker untouched. Then even Alex, who acted like he didn’t care about anyone, said, “She’s gone weird quiet.” And Heeseung noticed everything. Because her absence wasn’t normal absence for him.

It was deliberate. She wasn’t avoiding shifts, she was avoiding him.

The hospital, meanwhile, had its own chaos brewing.

Richard Webber had known Heeseung a long time ago, back when he was still just a regular neurosurgeon to most people in Boston circles and New York conferences and the old surgical world that felt smaller then. So when his other good friend and Heeseung’s wife, Hana arrived again though for her own reasons, Webber didn’t hesitate.

The hospital needed a temporary neonatal surgeon and consultant anyway. Coverage was tight, trauma was rising, and her credentials were impeccable, and she was looking to fix her relationship with Heeseung anyway so she took the job. 

So she stayed. Officially. Unavoidably. And that decision landed like a bomb no one quite admitted they heard go off.

After hearing about this, Heeseung found Webber in his office that afternoon. He didn’t knock properly. Just opened the door.

“What are you doing,” he said flatly. Webber looked up slowly. “Hello to you too.”

“You hired her.”

“She’s qualified.”

Heeseung’s jaw tightened. “She is not supposed to be here.”

“She’s a world-class neonatal specialist Dr. Lee.” Webber emphasized. 

“I don’t care.”

That created a pause.

Because Heeseung didn’t say things like that. Not about work. Not about anything.

Webber leaned back in his chair. “You think I wanted this to be complicated?”

“It is complicated.”

“It already was complicated, Heeseung.”

“She has a right to work,” Webber continued more quietly. “And you don’t get to erase your past just because you changed cities.”

“I didn’t erase anything.”

“You left.”

Heeseung’s hands tightened at his sides.

“I left because she cheated on me with my best friend,” he said sharply.

Webber didn’t react immediately. He already knew that part. Everyone in that circle did. But Heeseung wasn’t done.

“And now she shows up here like nothing happened,” he added. “And you put her in my hospital.”

“She wants to fix your relationship and she’s sorry”

“That doesn’t matter.”

Webber studied him for a long moment.

Then said quietly, “Does Aeri know any of this?”

That hit differently. Heeseung went still. No answer, which was the answer.

___________________________________________________________

Aeri’s friends found out through the worst possible channel: hospital gossip. “Where is she,” Cristina demanded to herself and the others. Izzie hesitated. “She hasn’t been answering texts.”

George looked uneasy. “Dr. Lee’s ex-wife is here.” Alex, immediately “Of course she is.”

Cristina’s expression hardened. “That’s why she’s gone.”

And then Heeseung finally tried to fix it. He went to her house. No answer. Again the next day. Nothing. He called. Straight to voicemail.

He stood outside her house for twenty minutes once before leaving without knocking. Because for the first time in a long time, he didn’t know how to solve something with precision. He only knew how to operate. And this wasn’t something you could cut cleanly.

____________________________________________________________

After Aeri came back to work, she realized very quickly that at the hospital, Hana was everywhere. Confidence, polished, elegant and calm in that way surgeons got when they knew they belonged in every room they entered.—

Meanwhile he didn’t know that Cristina had finally snapped. She cornered him outside the OR, “You’re messing her up,” she said flatly.

Heeseung stopped. “I’m not doing anything.”

“That’s the problem,” Cristina shot back. “You’re doing nothing while she disappears.”

His expression tightened. Cristina stepped closer. “She thinks she was a placeholder.”

That landed.

Heeseung’s voice dropped. “She’s not.”

“Then act like it.”

______________________________________________________________

Later that night, he finally found her. Stairwell again. She sitting halfway up, knees drawn in, scrubs loose, hair slightly messy like she hadn’t slept properly in days. She didn’t look up when he arrived.

“I’m busy,” she said automatically.

“No you’re not.”

Silence. Then she finally glanced at him. And the exhaustion there made something in his chest twist.

“You should be with your wife,” she said quietly.

“I am not with her.”

“You’re married.”

“I was,” he corrected.

“That’s not comforting.”

He stepped up a few stairs but kept distance. Careful. Controlled.

“Why didn’t you come to work,” he asked.

Aeri laughed once, dry. “Because I didn’t feel like watching history repeat itself.”

His jaw tightened. “That’s not what this is.”

“It looks exactly like it.”

A pause. Then she finally said it.

“I don’t do being the other woman, Heeseung.”

That hit harder than anything else. Because he understood what she was really saying.

He exhaled slowly. “You’re not.”

Aeri shook her head. “You don’t get to decide that.”

“I ended it with her months ago.”

“She’s still here.”

“That’s not my fault.”

“That’s not the point.”

Silence again. Heavy.

Then softer, almost breaking.

“I didn’t know any of this,” she whispered. “You didn’t tell me anything.”

Heeseung’s voice dropped. “I was going to.”

“When?”

He didn’t answer fast enough. That was enough. She looked away again, blinking hard like she was trying not to fall apart in front of him.

And for the first time, Heeseung looked genuinely afraid of losing control of something he couldn’t operate on.

“Aeri,” he said quietly.

She shook her head once.

“I need time,” she said.

Not a breakup. Not a door slammed. Just distance. And then she stood up and walked past him without waiting for a response. Leaving him alone in the stairwell with something worse than surgery complications. Regret he couldn’t fix quickly.

It wasn’t anything dramatic that broke Aeri. Not a confrontation. Not a fight. Not even Hana doing anything wrong. That was the worst part. It was just a long shift. Three traumas back to back, a coding patient they almost lost, and a pediatric consult that left she standing in the hallway longer than she should’ve been because she needed thirty seconds to stop feeling like her chest was collapsing.

And when she finally got through it all, when she finally peeled herself out of the OR scrubs and into the quiet of the locker room, Hana was there.

Not waiting for her. Just there in passing, washing her hands at the sink, sleeves rolled up, calm in that effortless way seasoned surgeons had.

Neonatal surgery. She had seen her work once. Tiny babies. Fragile lives. Absolute precision. And she was good. Not just good in the way people said things to be polite. She was beyond excellent.

Hana glanced up when she noticed she and offered a small, polite smile.

“Long case?” she asked gently.

She nodded. “Yeah.”

“Same.”

That was it. No tension. No hostility.

Just two surgeons at the end of a brutal day. Hana turned off the sink and paused like she was deciding something.

Then she said, “Heeseung used to do that thing with coffee when he’s stressed. Does he still?”

She blinked slightly. “I… think so.”

A faint smile crossed Hana’s face like she was remembering something not painful, just old.

“He always forgets to eat when he’s deep in a case,” she added, almost absentmindedly. “I used to bring him food to the OR doors. He’d act annoyed but still eat it.”

Her chest tightened without warning. Not because Hana was cruel. Because she wasn’t. She had a version of him that existed before she ever got there. Hana rinsed her hands, then looked at Aeri properly for the first time. And something softened in her expression.

“I’ve seen you,” Hana continued. “When he’s speaking. When you’re on his service. You keep up with him. Most people don’t.” Aeri swallowed. “It’s… just work.”

Hana shook her head slightly. “No. It’s not.”

Silence. She looked down at her hands, suddenly aware of how tired she was.

Hana hesitated, then added quieter, “I know this is… complicated.”

That word again. Complicated. Aeri let out a small breath that almost sounded like a laugh but didn’t make it all the way there.

“That’s one way to put it.”

Hana didn’t deny anything. Didn’t defend herself. Just nodded once like she understood more than she was saying. Then she left. And Aeri stood there alone in the locker room longer than she meant to.

She didn’t go home right away. She sat in her car in the hospital parking garage with the engine off, hands still shaking slightly from exhaustion she’d been ignoring all day. And then it hit her.

Just slowly, like something sinking.Hana wasn’t mean, she wasn’t insecure. Hana wasn’t trying to compete. She was just… real. Equal to him in every way the world measured things.  Same level. Same history.

And Aeri, she felt like something that happened in between.

A moment. A mistake he hadn’t intended to repeat. Her throat tightened before she even realized she was crying. It started small. Silent at first, like her body was trying to pretend it wasn’t happening. But then it wasn’t manageable anymore.

And suddenly she was crying in her car in a hospital parking garage at 10 p.m. with her scrubs still on, hands gripping the steering wheel like it could hold her together. Because she didn’t even hate Hana.

That was the worst part too. She admired her. Which made it worse in a way she couldn’t explain. Because if Hana was everything he used to love…

What was she supposed to be?

A beginning? A distraction? A temporary thing in a life that already had a full story?

Her phone buzzed once. Then again. Heeseung. Of course. She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Because she knew if she heard his voice right now, she would either break completely or run again. And she was already doing both.

He found her anyway. Of course he did. He checked the stairwell first. Empty. Locker room second. Empty. Then parking garage.

Heeseung stepped out into the cold concrete silence and immediately saw her car. Engine off. Lights still on. He walked over fast enough that his calm didn’t quite hold. And when he opened the driver’s side door, she didn’t even look up at first. Just wiped her face quickly like she could undo it. That was all it took.

His expression changed immediately.

“Aeri.”

Her name came out quieter than usual. Not commanding. Not clinical. Just… her name. She shook her head slightly. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t believe it for a second. He crouched slightly so he could see her face better. And when he did, something in him tightened hard.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Look at me.”

She tried. Failed.

Her voice cracked anyway. “I can’t do this.”

A pause.

“What part.”

Her laugh came out broken. “All of it.”

He went still. And then he just reached in slowly, carefully, like he was afraid she might disappear if he moved too fast, and rested his hand lightly on her arm. Not pulling. Just there.

“I saw her,” she whispered. “And shes just– she’s not like me.”

He frowned slightly. “Don’t.”

“It’s true.”

“It’s not.”

“She’s your wife.”

That word landed heavy between them. He didn’t correct it this time. Just exhaled slowly, like he was trying to keep something steady that wanted to fall apart.

“Aeri,” he said again, softer. “Look at me.”

This time she did. Barely. Eyes red, exhausted, completely overwhelmed. And he looked at her like she wasn’t an option in comparison to anyone else.Like she was just… her.

“I didn’t come back here for her,” he said quietly.

Her breath shook. “But she’s still part of you.”

“Yes,” he admitted. Honest. Always honest.

“But she’s not where I am.”

Silence. Aeriswallowed hard. “She knows you better.”

That one hit something deeper. Heeseung shook his head once. “She knew a version of me.”

“And me?” she asked quietly.

Something flickered in his expression.

“You’re not a version,” he said.

Then, after a pause, even softer,

“You’re just you.”

He waited. Didn’t rush her. Didn’t fix it for her. Just stayed crouched there in the cold parking garage with her like he had nowhere else to be.

She finally whispered, “I don’t know how to be okay with this.”

“I know.”

“And I don’t know how to stop feeling like I’m… less.”

His hand tightened slightly on her arm at that. Not possessive. Just grounding.

“You’re not less,” he said firmly.

A beat.

Then softer, “You’re where I am now.”

And that was when she broke properly. Not quietly this time. And he didn’t stop it. Just opened his arms and let her fall into him, holding her like he understood exactly what kind of pain didn’t show up on scans but still wrecked people anyway.

She pulled back from him first. Just enough to breathe without feeling like she was dissolving into him. Her hands stayed on his jacket for a second longer than she meant them to, then dropped.

“I hate this,” she said quietly.

Heeseung didn’t move away. “I know.”

“No, you don’t.” Her voice cracked slightly, which made her look angry at herself more than anything else. “I hate feeling like this.”

His expression tightened. “Like what.”

“Like I’m doing something wrong just by existing near you.”

That landed between them with weight. She wiped her face quickly again, frustrated now. “I don’t do this. I don’t… overlap people’s lives. I don’t become the problem in someone else’s marriage.”

Heeseung went still at that.

“Aeri,” he said carefully.

“I didn’t know,” she cut in immediately. “I didn’t know about her. I didn’t know about any of it. And now she’s here and she’s your wife and she’s— she’s a neonatologist and she’s perfect in this way that makes sense for you and I just—”

Her breath shook.

“I look like a mistake.”

The word made something in his face change. “No,” he said firmly.

But she wasn’t done.

“And you didn’t tell me,” she added, quieter now but sharper in a different way. “You didn’t tell me any of it. You let me find out in pieces like I was just supposed to absorb it and be okay.”

“I should have told you,” he said.

A pause. Then, more honest, “I was going to. I just didn’t expect her to show up here.”

“That’s not an answer,” Aeri whispered.

He exhaled slowly, running a hand once through his hair like he was trying to organize something that refused structure.

“You deserve the truth,” he said.

Then he looked at her fully.

“I was married,” he said. “To Hana.”

Her jaw tightened slightly at the name but she didn’t interrupt.

“We met in New York during fellowship,” he continued. “We were… good together. For a long time.”

A pause. Then his voice lowered a fraction. “Until we weren’t.”

Her eyes flicked up slightly at that. He didn’t soften it. Didn’t romanticize it. “She cheated on me,” he said simply.

That made her still. He nodded once, like confirming something clinical. “With my best friend,” he added.

Silence. The parking garage felt colder. She blinked once. “Oh.” He didn’t react to her shock. Just kept going because he didn’t look like he’d ever said it this cleanly before.

“I didn’t find out right away,” he said. “I started noticing things. Late nights. Missed calls. Strange rotations she kept covering with him.”

His jaw tightened slightly. “And then I walked in,” he finished quietly. “On them.”

Her chest pulled in sharply. He didn’t dramatize it. That was the worst part. He just stated it like something that had happened and continued happening after.

“I left,” he said. “Not because I stopped caring immediately. But because I couldn’t stay there and operate at the same time.”

A pause. “And I came here.”

She swallowed hard. “And she followed you.” He nodded once. “It’s over,” he said firmly. “It has been over for a long time.”

“But she’s still your wife,” she said quietly.

A beat. “Yes,” he admitted. “On paper.”

That word hit differently. She looked down at her hands again, voice smaller now.

“You should’ve told me,” she said again, but less sharp this time. More tired.

“I know,” he repeated. A pause stretched between them.

Then she whispered, “I feel stupid.” His expression changed immediately.

“No,” he said. But she shook her head slightly.

“I let this happen without knowing anything,” she said. “And now I’m here and she’s here and everyone knows history except me.”

He stepped closer carefully, not touching yet.

“You’re not stupid,” he said quietly.

“I feel like I am.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

She let out a shaky breath that almost became a laugh but didn’t. “I don’t want to be the person in the middle of something that already existed,” she admitted.

That was the real fear underneath everything. He understood it instantly. Because this wasn’t about Hana, not really. It was about replacement. About space already filled. About arriving too late to something that mattered.

He shook his head once.

“You’re not in the middle of us,” he said. Her eyes flicked up again, uncertain.

“There is no ‘us’ anymore,” he added quietly. “There hasn’t been for a long time.”

A pause. Then softer, more precise,“What there is now… is you and me.”

She searched his face like she was trying to find a crack in the certainty.

“I didn’t plan this,” she whispered.

“I know.”

“And I don’t want to be someone you use to forget her.”

That one made his expression sharpen again.

“You’re not that,” he said immediately. But she kept going, because once it started it didn’t stop.

“I don’t want to be the thing you run into because your life fell apart,” she said. “I don’t want to be the rebound version of your marriage.”

His voice dropped. “Look at me.”

She hesitated. Then did. Heeseung’s gaze was steady in a way that didn’t leave room for misunderstanding.

“I didn’t choose you because I was broken,” he said. “I chose you because you’re you.” A beat. “And that terrified me more than anything else that came before.”

That made her go still. Because it was honest in a way that didn’t flatter her.

It just placed her there. As something real. Something he hadn’t been prepared for.

He waited again.Let her breathe. Let her decide if she believed him. Her voice came out small. “I don’t know how to trust this.”

“I know,” he said again.

Then, after a pause, “But I’m not asking you to pretend it didn’t hurt.”

That softened something in her face despite herself.

“And I’m not asking you to compete with her,” he added. “You won’t win anything by trying to compare yourself to someone I’m done with.”

A long silence. Then Aeri finally whispered, “I don’t want to lose myself in this.”

His expression softened completely at that. “You won’t,” he said gently. “Not if I have anything to do with it.” And this time, when he reached for her hand, she didn’t pull away.

She let him hold her hand for exactly thirty seconds before reality came back. Because that was the problem with Heeseung. He made reality blurry. She looked down at their hands for a moment, then slowly pulled hers away. He noticed immediately.

Of course he did.

“Aeri,” he started quietly. But she shook her head once.

“No.”

The word hurt both of them a little.

She leaned back against the side of the car, exhausted beyond exhaustion now. Like the emotional weight of the last few days had finally settled fully into her bones.

“You have to figure this out,” she said softly.

His jaw tightened slightly. “I already did.”

“No, you didn’t.”

That stopped him. Because she wasn’t saying it cruelly. She was saying it honestly.

“You left,” she continued. “That’s not the same thing as figuring it out.”

Silence. Heeseung looked away briefly toward the concrete floor of the parking garage like he hated that she might be right.

“She came back here for you,” she said.

“She came back because Webber—”

“She came back because she still loves you.”

That landed harder. Not because it was surprising. Because it was true.

She swallowed hard before continuing. “And I’m not saying that means you have to love her back. I’m not saying you owe her anything after what she did.” A pause.

“But this whole thing still exists.”

Her voice cracked slightly on the last word.

“This marriage. This history. This unfinished mess between you two.”

Heeseung’s face hardened in frustration now, not at her.

At the situation. “I ended it emotionally a long time ago,” he said quietly.

“But not legally,” she replied immediately.

That one hit. Because it was true too. She looked at him with tired, honest eyes. “I can’t build something with you while you’re still standing halfway inside something else.”

He closed his eyes briefly at that. And for the first time since she’d met him, he genuinely looked lost. Not surgeon lost. Not tired. Personally lost.

“I didn’t think she’d matter anymore,” he admitted. Her chest tightened because she believed him. That was the awful part.

She believed he meant every word he said to her. But that didn’t magically erase the existence of another woman who still wore his last name. Another woman who had once built a life with him. Another woman who came all the way to Seattle hoping maybe there was still something left to save.

She looked away before she started crying again. “I don’t hate her,” she whispered. “I know.”

“She’s kind to me.” That made him visibly tense.

Like he knew that somehow made this even crueler.

“She talks about you like…” she swallowed hard. “Like she still knows you.”

He was quiet for a long moment. Then finally, “She does know me.”

“Exactly.”

Silence filled the parking garage again.

Heavy. Complicated. Then she looked back at him and said the thing she’d been avoiding all night. “If you choose her,” she said quietly, “I need you to actually choose her.”

His eyes snapped to hers instantly. “And if you choose me…” Her breath shook. “Then I need you to stop leaving parts of yourself somewhere else.” That hit something deep enough that he physically looked away for a second.

Because she wasn’t asking for ownership. She was asking for clarity. For honesty. For him to stop living in emotional limbo and dragging both women through it. She wrapped her arms around herself slightly against the cold.

“I can’t do the in-between thing,” she admitted softly. “It’ll destroy me.”

And god. That sentence. Because he could hear how true it was. How close she already was to losing herself trying to make sense of this. He stepped toward her again instinctively.

But this time she took one small step back. Not rejection. Boundary. And that somehow hurt more.

Heeseung’s voice lowered. “What are you asking me.” she looked at him for a long moment.

Then answered honestly. “I’m asking you to figure out if your marriage is actually over,” she whispered. A beat. “Before you ask me to stay.” That left nowhere to hide.

No comforting half-answers. No “it’s complicated.” Just truth. And for once, Heeseung didn’t know how to respond quickly. Because surgery trained him to act fast. To decide. To cut precisely. This was slower. Messier. Human.

She looked exhausted standing there. Eyes red from crying. Scrubs wrinkled from the longest shift imaginable. And still, still she was trying to do the right thing. Even though it was clearly hurting her.

Heeseung stared at her for a long moment before finally nodding once. Small. Heavy. “Okay,” he said quietly. Not agreement. Acceptance.

Acceptance that she deserved more than uncertainty. And somehow that made her eyes sting again. Because part of her wanted him to fight harder. Part of her wanted him to say there was nothing to figure out.

But another part, the smarter part, knew this was the only way either of them survived this without becoming cruel to each other.

She exhaled shakily. Then finally moved toward the driver’s seat again. Heeseung stepped back automatically to let her. But before she closed the door, he spoke again. “Aeri.”

She looked up. And for the first time in days, he looked completely unguarded. No chief. No calm surgeon composure. Just a man who loved someone at the worst possible time. “I didn’t expect to meet you,” he said quietly.

That almost broke her all over again. Because she believed that too. She looked down for a second before whispering, “I know.”

Then she got into the car and shut the door gently between them. And Heeseung stood there in the parking garage long after her taillights disappeared.

_____________________________________________________________

A week passed. A miserable, dragging, exhausting week. Aeri kept her promise to herself. She avoided him completely. No shared surgeries unless absolutely unavoidable. No lingering at nurses stations. No coffee left in lockers. No stairwell conversations. Nothing.

And it was awful. Because once you got used to someone being woven into your day, their absence became loud. She noticed it everywhere. The empty spot beside her during rounds. The lack of texts reminding her to eat. The fact that nobody looked at her across conference rooms anymore like they already knew what she was about to say.

Even the hospital felt different. Colder somehow.

Meanwhile Heeseung looked worse every day. Not dramatically. Only if you knew him. More tired. Quieter. Sharper around the edges. He worked longer hours. Took extra surgeries. Barely slept.

And somehow that made Aeri feel even worse because she knew him enough now to recognize avoidance when she saw it.

Cristina finally snapped by day six. “This is disgusting,” she announced while scrubbing in.

Aeri frowned tiredly. “What is.”

“The unresolved yearning.”

Aeri nearly dropped her gloves. “Cristina.”

“You both look like Victorian widows.”

“Please stop talking.”

Cristina squinted at her. “You miss him.”

She went quiet. That alone answered it.

Cristina sighed dramatically. “You’re both idiots.” Though the urge was there to interfere, she knew it wasn’t in her hands so she left it at that. 

The breaking point though, came late at night after a brutal trauma case. Aeri had been awake for almost twenty hours. Blood on her shoes. Head pounding. Emotionally hanging by a thread already. And then she saw him.

Heeseung standing alone outside an OR, reviewing scans under dim hallway light. Tired. So tired. And something inside her snapped instantly.

Before she could think better of it, she walked straight up to him, grabbed the sleeve of his scrub top, and said

“Come with me.”

He barely had time to react before she was dragging him down the hallway.

“Aeri—”

“Don’t talk.”

She yanked open the nearest empty on-call room door and pulled him inside before shutting it behind them. The second the lock clicked, silence crashed down around them. Heeseung looked at her carefully.

Messy hair. Exhausted eyes. Breathing uneven already. And underneath all of it, something breaking.

His voice softened immediately. “What happened.”

She crossed her arms tightly like she was physically trying to hold herself together.

“I hate this,” she whispered.

His chest tightened instantly.

“I know.”

“No,” she said shakily. “I hate that I got used to you.”

That hit him hard enough he actually went still. She laughed once through tears already threatening again. “I hate that you became part of my day so fast.”

He didn’t interrupt, he couldn’t. Because her voice was cracking apart slowly in front of him.

“I got used to your coffee orders and your stupid face and you stealing my charts to fix my notes,” she whispered. “And now every hallway feels wrong without you in it.”

Heeseung looked wrecked hearing it. Actually wrecked.

She wiped angrily at her eyes. “And I know I said you needed to figure things out and I know I meant it but—” Her voice broke completely then.

And suddenly she was crying. Not gracefully. Not quietly. Just overwhelmed.

“I miss you,” she admitted finally. The honesty of it almost destroyed him. He moved toward her instinctively but stopped himself halfway. Because he remembered the boundary. Remembered her asking him to choose clearly before asking her to stay. But shelooked up at him with tears running down her face and shattered every bit of restraint he had left.

“Come here,” he said softly. That was all it took.

She crossed the room instantly and crashed into him so hard he had to steady both of them. And then she was fully crying against his chest while he held her like he’d been trying not to touch her for days. His hand slid into her hair carefully.

“Hey,” he whispered. “Hey.”

“I hate you,” she cried weakly into his scrub top.

A quiet broken laugh escaped him. “I know.”

“No you don’t,” she mumbled miserably. “You made me all attached and emotionally dependent.”

“That sounds serious.”

“It is serious.”

He held her tighter. And for a moment neither of them spoke. Just breathing each other in again after a week of pretending distance fixed anything. Then she pulled back just enough to look at him.

Eyes red. Completely raw. And before she could stop herself, she said it.

The thing she’d been holding back this whole time. “Pick me.”

Heeseung froze. Aeri’s breath shook violently now but she kept going anyway because it was already out now and she couldn’t survive swallowing it back down.

“Please,” she whispered. His entire expression changed.

“I know it’s pathetic and I know I shouldn’t say it but I don’t care anymore.” Tears kept slipping down her face. “I love you and I need you to choose me.”

The room went dead silent. Heeseung looked at her like she’d reached directly into his chest and squeezed. She shook her head helplessly, crying harder now because once the truth started it wouldn’t stop.

“I need you to love me enough to end it properly,” she whispered. “I need you to want me more.”

That nearly broke him. Because there was nothing manipulative in her voice. Just fear. Fear that she would never matter more than history. More than marriage. More than the version of his life that came before her. He cupped her face carefully like she was something fragile.

“Aeri,” he said quietly.

But she kept crying.

“I know she hurt you,” she whispered. “And I know you loved her and maybe part of you always will but I can’t survive being halfway loved by you.”

His eyes closed briefly at that. She had no idea. No idea how deeply she already lived under his skin. When he looked at her again, he looked completely undone.

“I do love you,” he said softly. The words hit her so hard she stopped breathing. A tear slipped down her cheek immediately. He brushed it away with his thumb.

“And there has never been a halfway version of this for me,” he continued quietly. “Not once.”

She stared at him like she wanted to believe him so badly it hurt. Then he rested his forehead against hers and whispered the thing that finally shattered whatever distance remained between them.

“I will choose you.”

The night, Heeseung stayed in the on call room with her until dawn.  Neither of them slept much. Mostly they just existed beside each other in exhausted quiet after finally saying too many honest things all at once. She lay curled against his chest while rain tapped softly against the windows, listening to his heartbeat like she was trying to memorize it before he disappeared again.

“I’ll be back in three days,” he murmured quietly into her hair because he was letting her know he would be out of town for a procedure elsewhere.

 “What kind of surgery?”

“Complex aneurysm repair in Portland.”

She frowned sleepily. “That sounds horrible.”

“It probably will be.”

She tightened her arms around him slightly. “Don’t die.”

A soft laugh vibrated through his chest. “I’ll do my best.”

Then quieter, “You’ll see me in a few days, okay?”

She looked up at him in the dim light. And despite everything, despite all the complications still hanging between them, she believed him.

“Okay,” she whispered. He kissed her forehead softly before leaving the next morning. And for the first time in weeks, She let herself feel hopeful. Which was unfortunate timing.

________________________________________________________

The surgery in Portland ran long.

Complicated case. Unexpected bleeding. Hours longer than anticipated. By the time Heeseung returned to Seattle, he was exhausted enough that even breathing felt like work. And Hana was waiting for him in his office at the hospital.

Of course she was. He stopped in the doorway immediately. “How did you get in here.”

Hana sat calmly in the chair across from his desk, arms folded loosely. Not angry.. Just determined. And somehow that was harder to fight.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” she said quietly.

“I’ve been working.”

“You flew to another city.”

He shut the office door harder than necessary. “What do you want, Hana.”

That made something flicker across her face. Pain maybe. Because once upon a time, he used to say her name differently. Softer.

“I want you to stop pretending all these years meant nothing,” she said.

His jaw tightened immediately.

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Then what are you doing?”

Silence. Hana stood slowly. “You left,” she continued quietly. “You walked away without even trying to survive it.”

He let out a disbelieving laugh. “Survive what? You sleeping with my best friend?” Her face crumpled slightly at that.

Because no matter how composed she was, that truth never stopped hurting. “I know what I did,” she whispered.

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

The honesty disarmed him for half a second. Hana stepped closer carefully.

“I was selfish,” she admitted. “I was angry all the time and exhausted and we were barely seeing each other and instead of fixing it I ruined it.” He looked away sharply. Not because he disagreed. Because hearing her say it out loud reopened wounds he’d spent years suturing shut.

“But I loved you,” she said softly. “I still do.” That one landed heavy. And Hana’s eyes were glassy now too, though she refused to let tears fall.

“You don’t just throw away a marriage because it got ugly,” she whispered. “We promised each other.” His chest tightened painfully.

Because they had. Young and brilliant and stupidly in love once upon a time. They built a life together before they destroyed it. And somewhere inside him lived the ghost of a man who thought Hana would be beside him forever.

Hana looked at him carefully now.

“Is it her?”

Heeseung didn’t answer quickly enough. That was answer enough. Something sad crossed Hana’s face then, not bitter. Just sad.

“She loves you,” Hana said quietly.

His eyes flicked toward her immediately.

Hana gave a faint broken smile. “I can tell.”

Silence filled the office. Then she whispered the thing that finally cracked him open in the worst way:

“Please don’t erase us because you’re hurting.” Then suddenly everything became muddy again. It wasn’t love. Not desire. It was about responsibility. History. Promises.

And Heeseung, who could cut into a human brain without his hands shaking, suddenly couldn’t tell what the right thing was anymore.

So he made the decision he thought was safest. Most responsible. Most mature. He told Hana he wouldn’t file for divorce right now. Not yet. Not while everything still felt unresolved and bleeding open. And Hana cried quietly in relief for the first time since arriving in Seattle. Which somehow made him feel worse.

That evening she also insisted on dinner. “Just dinner,” Hana said softly. “Please.” He should’ve said no. Probably wanted to say no. But exhaustion and guilt and fifteen years of history made him agree anyway.

Mistake. Massive mistake. Because as they walked out of Seattle Grace together that evening, She walked in. Fresh coffee in hand. Backpack slung over one shoulder. Ready for a brutal twenty-four-hour shift.

And then she saw them.

Heeseung first. Then Hana beside him. Close enough together to look natural. Like people who belonged beside each other. The entire world seemed to stop moving for one horrible second.

Heeseung froze instantly. “Aeri—”

But her face had already changed. Not dramatic heartbreak. Worse, because there was recognition. Like she understood everything immediately without needing explanation. Hana looked between them slowly and went still too.

And Aeri, she smiled. Tiny. Polite.

The kind of smile people gave right before they emotionally shut down completely.“Hey,” she said softly.

Heeseung stepped forward immediately. “Wait.” But she looked at Hana instead.

“You saved the baby in NICU today,” She said quietly. “The twenty-six-week preemie?”

Hana blinked slightly at the sudden subject shift. “Yeah.” 

“That was amazing work.”

Hana’s expression shifted into something almost pained because she realized instantly what Aeri was doing. Keeping herself together. Being gracious.

She nodded once. “Congratulations.”

Then finally she looked back at Heeseung. And whatever he saw in her eyes made his stomach drop violently. Because it wasn’t anger. It was disappointment. The deepest kind.

“You said a few days,” she whispered.

He opened his mouth immediately. “Aeri, I can explain—”

But she shook her head once. And that tiny movement somehow hurt more than yelling ever could.

“I have a shift,” she said quietly. Then she walked past them. Straight into the hospital. Not fast. Not crying. Just gone.

And Heeseung stood there unable to move because suddenly he realized he’d made the exact mistake she was terrified of from the beginning. He made her feel second

___________________________________________________________

The problem was that once Heeseung realized what he’d done, he knew couldn’t undo it. At least not immediately. Not cleanly. And that made it worse.

Because she disappeared before he could even try.Her twenty-four-hour shift ended the next morning. Then she vanished again. No answering texts. No picking up calls. Not in the stairwell. Not in the cafeteria hiding with terrible vending machine coffee like she usually did after long cases.

Nothing. And after the first twenty-four hours, Heeseung stopped functioning normally. Not visibly to everyone else. But enough. He reread scans three times. Forgot to sign post-op orders. Stood frozen outside an OR for almost a full minute because a nurse casually mentioned her name and his brain shorted out.

Webber noticed. Bailey definitely noticed. Cristina noticed immediately.

By hour forty-eight, even Hana noticed. “You should go find her,” Hana said quietly one evening. Heeseung looked exhausted. “I’ve tried.”Hana watched him carefully then.

And for the first time since Seattle, she fully understood the scale of this. Because this wasn’t attraction. Wasn’t a rebound. This man looked destroyed.

“You love her,” Hana said softly. And Hana’s heart broke a little more because she already knew the answer.

Meanwhile, Aeri was spiraling quietly in her apartment. Curtains closed.Phone off half the time. Barely sleeping. She replayed the hospital entrance over and over until it made her physically sick. Heeseung standing beside Hana. Hana smiling softly at something he’d said.

Them leaving together while she walked into another endless shift alone. It wasn’t even that anything inappropriate happened. That was the worst part. It just looked… right. Compatible. Adult. Like a marriage. And she hated herself for how deeply it wrecked her. Because she knew Hana loved him. Knew Heeseung once loved Hana enough to build an entire life around her. You didn’t erase that in a few months. No matter what he said.

By hour seventy-two, Cristina had enough. She showed up at her apartment with Bailey. Which honestly felt like the beginning of a hostage situation. Aeri opened the door looking absolutely awful.

Oversized hoodie. Hollow eyes. Hair messy. And Bailey took one look at her and said, “Oh, hell no.”

She blinked tiredly. “Good morning to you too.”

“You look like death warmed over,” Bailey snapped.

Cristina pushed past Aeri immediately into the apartment. “This place smells like emotional collapse.”

“I’m grieving.”

“You’re catastrophizing.”

She shut the door weakly. “Can you both leave.”

“No,” Bailey said immediately.

Cristina pointed toward the bedroom. “Go shower. You’re coming to work.”

“I quit.”

“No you didn’t.”

“I quit.”

Bailey crossed her arms. “You are not tanking your surgical career because a man has unresolved marital trauma.”

Aeri looked offended. “That’s an insane sentence.”

“And yet accurate.”

Cristina emerged from the kitchen holding expired yogurt with visible disgust. “She’s been surviving like a raccoon.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re decomposing.”

She groaned and dragged her hands over her face. “I can’t go back there.”

Bailey’s expression softened slightly then.

“Baby,” she said more quietly, “you cannot let heartbreak make you disappear.”

That hit harder than her expected. Because disappearing was exactly what she’d been doing. Cristina sat beside her on the couch finally, less sharp now too.

“You don’t stop being a surgeon because your feelings got hurt,” she muttered.

Aeri stared at the floor.

“He picked her,” she whispered.

Cristina immediately shook her head. “No. He picked confusion.”

“That’s worse.” Silence. Then Bailey crouched slightly in front of her.

“You listen to me,” Bailey said firmly. “That man may be brilliant with a brain, but he is currently stupid with his heart. That is not your fault.” She let out a broken laugh despite herself.

Bailey continued, “You are not weak because you loved somebody.” That one nearly made her cry again.

“And you are definitely not staying in this apartment another day looking like a sad orphan,” Cristina added.

“Cristina.”

“What? It’s true.”

So eventually, begrudgingly, she came back. And the second she walked into Seattle Grace, the entire energy shifted. Because she looked miserable.

Not dramatic. Not crying. Just deeply, visibly exhausted in a way that made people lower their voices around her instinctively. Even Alex and George stopped making jokes. Izzie looked one second away from crying herself. And then when Heeseung saw her, across the hallway outside neuro.

He froze instantly. Because she looked like she hadn’t slept properly in days. There were dark circles under her eyes. Her scrub top hung looser than usual. And worst of all, she looked at him carefully now.

Like someone trying not to touch a burn twice.

“Aeri,” he said quietly. She stopped walking. The entire hallway suddenly felt too still. And when she looked at him fully, he physically felt guilt hit his chest again.

Because she looked heartbroken. Not angry. Heartbroken.

“I called you,” he said softly.

“I know.”

“You disappeared.”

A tiny humorless laugh escaped her. “Yeah.”

He stepped closer carefully. “Can we talk.”

She looked down for a second. And when she spoke again, her voice sounded tired beyond words.

“I really believed you,” she whispered.

That sentence wrecked him instantly.

His face tightened hard. “Aeri —”

“You said you were choosing me.”

“I was.”

“But then you left with her.”

The simplicity of it made it worse. Because from her perspective, that’s exactly what happened.

Heeseung lowered his voice urgently. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Then what was it like.”

He opened his mouth. Stopped. Because the answer was complicated and messy and impossible to explain in a hallway. And she saw that hesitation immediately.

Of course she did. Something in her expression dimmed further.

“Right,” she whispered. “No.” He stepped closer again. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what.” 

“Decide what I mean before I say it.”

She looked at him with glassy tired eyes.

“You already did,” she whispered back. He could see exactly when she stopped believing she came first.

A pager suddenly went off somewhere down the hall. Neither of them moved. Then finally YN swallowed hard and said quietly “I have rounds.” Then she walked around him carefully and kept going down the hallway while Heeseung stood there feeling like he was watching something important slip through his hands in real time.

After that first day back, the hospital split itself without meaning to. Not officially. Not loudly.But people picked sides in quiet ways.And her people closed ranks around her immediately. Which was how Heeseung found himself blocked by Alex Karev outside an elevator at seven in the morning.

“She doesn’t want to talk to you,” Alex said flatly.

Heeseung looked exhausted already. “Move.”

“No.”

“Karev.”

“No, seriously.” Alex crossed his arms. “You look at her like she’s oxygen and then go to dinner with your wife. Figure your life out before you melt her brain any further.”

Heeseung’s jaw tightened instantly. Because the worst part was, he couldn’t even fully argue.

Alex shook his head once. “She’s barely functioning, man.”

That hit harder than intended. And before Heeseung could respond, the elevator doors opened behind Alex. Aeri stood inside holding charts against her chest.

The second she saw Heeseung, she froze. Then immediately looked down. Not avoidance anymore. That hurt worse somehow. Alex stepped into the elevator beside her protectively. The thing nobody realized, not even Aeri herself fully, was that this wasn’t just about Hana.

Hana was only the trigger. The deeper wound had been there long before Heeseung ever touched it. People left her. That was the pattern.

Her father emotionally disappeared years before her mother’s Alzheimer’s even took the rest of her away. Friends drifted. Relationships ended with her being “too much” or “not enough” depending on the day. Love always seemed temporary around her.

So when Heeseung arrived so suddenly, steady and warm and impossibly certain—it felt dangerous from the start. Because part of she had already been waiting for the moment he’d realize she wasn’t worth staying for.

And now Hana existed like proof. Beautiful. Brilliant. His equal in every visible measurable way. Someone who knew him before Seattle. Before Aeri . Someone who had years instead of months.

History instead of possibility. So every time she saw Hana quietly trying to reconnect with him, bringing coffee to his office once because she remembered how he liked it after overnight surgeries, standing beside him during consults like muscle memory still existed between them,looking at him with obvious lingering love, she felt herself shrinking.

Not because Hana was cruel. Because she wasn’t. If anything, Hana was painfully kind to her.

One afternoon Aeri accidentally overheard two nurses talking near the OR board.

“She came all the way from New York for him?”

“They were married a long time.”

“That’s kind of romantic.”

Her physically stopped breathing for a second. Romantic. Right. Because from the outside, maybe it was. A brilliant surgeon returning for the man she still loved. Trying to repair what broke. And Aeri?

She sounded like the complication. The younger resident caught in the middle. She walked away before they noticed her listening. Then locked herself in a supply closet for six full minutes trying not to cry during work hours.

Cristina found her anyway. Of course she did.

“You disappear like you’re fleeing from border patrol,” Cristina muttered while shoving the closet door open. She laughed weakly despite herself. “How did you find me.”

“You’re predictable when emotionally compromised.” Cristina leaned against the shelves, watching her carefully. Then quieter  “You know this isn’t about Hana anymore, right?”

She looked down immediately. Because yes. She did know. Cristina crossed her arms. “You think this proves something about you.” Silence. That answered enough. Aeri swallowed hard. “People always end up leaving Cristina.”

Cristina’s expression shifted slightly.

“They always do,” She whispered. And there it was. The real wound underneath all of it. Not jealousy. The deep awful belief that eventually everyone realized she was harder to love than they expected.

Cristina stared at her for a long moment before saying bluntly, “He’s losing his mind without you.”

She shook her head immediately. “That doesn’t matter.”

“It clearly does.”

“He still chose—”

“He chose guilt,” Cristina interrupted sharply. “And history. And obligation. That’s not the same thing.”

The other laughed bitterly. “That sounds comforting until you realize obligation still wins.”

That shut even Cristina up briefly. Because unfortunately that was true too.

_______________________________________________________________

But, it’s safe to say, Heeseung was unraveling quietly. Hana noticed it most clearly during dinner one night. Because technically he was there.Physically. But mentally? Gone.

“You love her more than you loved me,” Hana said suddenly. Heeseung looked up sharply.

Hana smiled faintly, but it looked sad. “You never looked this afraid with me.” That hit somewhere deep and uncomfortable. Because maybe she was right. His marriage with Hana had been built over years. Friendship. Ambition. Shared history. But she had somehow bypassed all of that and gone directly for the parts of him he kept hidden.

And now she wouldn’t even look at him properly anymore. Hana looked down quietly at her untouched food. “I think I came here too late,” she admitted softly.

Heeseung’s chest tightened painfully. Because despite everything, he didn’t hate Hana. He probably never fully would. She was woven into too much of his life.

But love had changed shape somewhere along the way. And now every time he pictured peace, it looked like Aeri laughing in his kitchen. Aeri asleep against his chest. Aeri dragging him into on-call rooms because she missed him too much to stay away. Not this. Never this. ___________________________________________________________

The next few weeks dragged on, quietly but also miserably for all parties involved. But of course, chaos always ends up unfolding at the hospital in Seattle, creating even further division. The day started normally enough that nobody noticed the shift until it was too late. It was loud, overbooked, chaotic in the usual way.

Dr. Burke was in one OR. Heeseung in another. Bailey yelling at interns somewhere down a hallway. Just another hospital day. Until the paramedics rolled in a trauma patient with a chest wound and a room full of people unknowingly walked into a disaster.

Aeri was assisting Burke in trauma when the patient arrived. Male. Mid-thirties. Severe abdominal injuries. Hypotensive. And one terrified paramedic refusing to remove her hand from inside the patient’s open abdominal cavity.

Burke frowned immediately. “What are you doing.” The paramedic looked pale enough to collapse. “You don’t understand,” she whispered. Aeri glanced at her strangely while pulling on gloves. “Ma’am, we need access to the wound.”

Then, the paramedic started crying, trying to explain that it feels wrong to just pull her hand out. .Actual panicked tears.

And then Alex Karev burst into the OR doors looking like he’d seen death itself because he kind of did in radiology when he saw the patient’s scans, “DON’T MOVE.” The entire room froze. Burke turned sharply. “Dr. Karev, what the hell—”

“There’s a bomb,” Alex said breathlessly. “In the guy’s body. He was building some shit at home and it went into him and it hasn’t detonated yet. We need bomb squad” Silence.

Complete silence. Aeri blinked once. “What?”

“The MRI scanned him downstairs,” Alex said. “The paramedic’s hand is stabilizing it.” Burke’s face went completely still. The paramedic started sobbing harder. “I can’t do this anymore.” And suddenly the room shifted from surgery to nightmare.

Burke moved carefully toward her. “Listen to me. Nobody moves quickly. Nobody panics.”

“I can’t hold it,” she cried. “I can’t—” she said before she literally just took her hand away without caring about the consequences.  But Aeri was a step ahead as she looked between the woman, the wound, Burke, then acted before fear caught up, on pure reflex, she snuck her hand into the open wound before the paramedic slipped hers out, and now she held the bomb steady. 

Burke snapped toward her instantly. “Absolutely not.” But the paramedic was already shaking violently. Aeri stepped forward carefully, warm blood immediately coated her glove. The bomb casing pressed cold against the side of her hand. Jesus Christ.

The paramedic sobbed harder. “You have it?” Aeri swallowed hard. “I think so.” “Think?” Burke repeated sharply. For one horrible second, nothing happened.

Then, just stillness. Aeri froze completely. Because now she understood. Everyone in this room can just die if she moved even slightly.

The paramedic stumbled backward crying hysterically while Burke immediately took control. “Nobody moves.”

Aeri looked down at the open body beneath her hand. Bomb. Actual bomb. Inside a human being. And her hand was the only thing keeping it stable. Her voice came out terrifyingly calm somehow.

“…Okay.”

Then the code black was called. Suddenly the hospital exploded into controlled chaos. Security flooding hallways. Bomb squad arriving. Patients evacuated. Doctors screaming across corridors trying to figure out what was happening. Nobody knew details yet.

Just bomb. Possible explosion. Trauma OR.

Heeseung was midway through closing a spine surgery when the overhead announcement hit.

“Code black. Code black.”

The entire OR stilled. His stomach dropped instantly.Instinctively. Something felt wrong. He stripped his gloves off faster than usual. “Close for me.” The resident blinked. “Dr. Lee—”

“Now.”

He was already leaving before anyone could argue. Outside the OR chaos had fully erupted. Nurses rushing. Security locking sections down. And Hana appeared from neonatal wing still in scrubs, eyes wide.

“What’s happening?”

“I don’t know.”

But he was already moving fast toward trauma.

Hana grabbed his arm instinctively. “Heeseung—”

He stopped just long enough for her to hug him quickly. And for one second she thought his panic was about her safety. But then Richard Webber appeared at the end of the hallway. And the look on his face changed everything.

Because Richard looked directly at Heeseung with something dangerously close to dread.

Heeseung pulled away immediately. “What happened.”

Webber hesitated.

That hesitation was enough. Heeseung’s voice sharpened. “Richard.”

Another beat. Then finally, “It’s Dr Kim.”

The world stopped. “What.”

“She’s in the OR.”

His chest tightened violently. “In surgery?” Richard looked sick. “She’s holding the bomb.” Silence. Absolute silence.

Hana’s hand fell from his arm immediately. Heeseung stared at Webber like the words physically didn’t process.

“…What.”

And down the hallway, chaos erupted louder.

Cristina screaming at Alex. George trying to hold Izzie back.

“MOVE!”

“She’s IN there!”

“She’s alone!”

Alex looked shattered himself. “You can’t go in!”

Cristina shoved him hard. “She is holding a BOMB, Karev!”

That was the moment it became real. Heeseung physically felt the blood drain from his face. Aeri. Inside. Alone. Holding an explosive device inside a patient’s body. His body moved before thought did. But Webber caught his arm hard.

“You cannot go in there.”

“Get off me.”

“Heeseung.”

“I said get OFF me.”

Every ounce of composure he normally carried was gone now. Completely gone. Because all he could picture was her terrified. Her trapped. Her thinking nobody was coming for her.

And suddenly the last week—the marriage, Hana, the confusion, all of it, became  horrifyingly irrelevant.

Cristina saw him then. And the fury on her face sharpened instantly.

“You don’t get to go in there now,” she snapped.

Heeseung looked wrecked already. “Cristina—”

“She cried for DAYS because of you!”

“I know.”

“And now she’s in there alone!”

“I KNOW.”

The hallway went silent for a second at the sound of him yelling.

Because Heeseung Lee never yelled. Ever. But now he looked barely held together.

Alex stepped forward quietly. “The bomb squad’s on the way.”

Heeseung’s breathing was uneven now. “How long has she been in there.” Nobody answered quickly enough. And somewhere deep inside the trauma wing, Aeri stood frozen beside an open body cavity with her hand wrapped around death itself. Completely unaware that outside the OR, the man who loved her looked like his entire world had just started collapsing in real tim

Then, eventually the hallway outside trauma OR two turned into a war zone. Security barricades. Bomb squad officers flooding the floor. Nurses huddled together whispering prayers they pretended weren’t prayers.

And every few minutes the doors opened just enough for Preston Burke to step out and give updates before going back in. Only Burke. Because nobody else was allowed near the room. Not with a live explosive sitting inside a patient’s chest cavity.

The first time Burke came out, Cristina nearly lunged at him.

“How is she?”

Burke looked grim behind his surgical mask. “Stable.”

“Stable?” Izzie repeated hysterically. “She’s holding a bomb!”

“She’s stable,” Burke repeated firmly. “And calm.”

That somehow made everyone feel worse. Because of course Aeri was calm. She always got eerily calm when terrified. Heeseung stood farther back against the wall, arms crossed so tightly his knuckles had gone white.

He hadn’t moved much since finding out. Hadn’t sat down. Hadn’t stopped staring at the OR doors. Hana stood nearby in stunned silence, watching him unravel in real time. And for the first time, she understood completely. There was no confusion left anymore.

No maybe. No unfinished emotional ambiguity. He loved Aeri. Terrifyingly. Completely. Burke looked toward the bomb squad commander waiting nearby. “What’s the plan.”

The commander exhaled grimly. “We’re bringing in protective gear.”

Cristina immediately snapped, “For her?”

The commander looked uncomfortable. “For Dr. Burke.”

The hallway erupted. “What?” George said sharply.

“Why only Burke?” Izzie demanded.

The commander kept his voice level. “The suit takes several minutes to secure properly. We cannot risk destabilizing the device while her hand is in direct contact with the explosive.”

Cristina stared at him like she wanted to kill him. “So she just gets nothing?”

“It’s too dangerous to move her.”

Heeseung finally spoke then. Quietly. “What are you saying.”

The commander looked toward him carefully. “If the device detonates, the blast radius inside the OR would—”

“I know what a blast radius is,” Heeseung cut in sharply.

The man hesitated. Then said it anyway. “She would not survive.”

Silence crashed down across the hallway. And something inside Heeseung visibly broke.. his face just… emptied. Like his brain rejected the sentence entirely.

Hana looked at him immediately. “Hee—” But he stepped away from everyone before she could touch him. Running a hand hard over his mouth. Breathing uneven now. Because suddenly every possible future in his head ended with her dying before he fixed any of this. Before he made things right.

Before she fully believed him again. Cristina’s eyes filled instantly with furious tears.

“She’s twenty-seven,” she whispered. 

Heeseung walked straight toward the OR doors. Webber caught him immediately. “No.”

“She’s alone in there.”

“You cannot go inside.”

“I don’t care.”

“That’s a live explosive!”

“I KNOW.”

The shout echoed down the hallway hard enough to silence everyone again.

Heeseung looked completely wrecked now. Eyes red. Breathing uneven. No composure left anywhere.

“I know,” he repeated hoarsely. “I know exactly what it is.”

His voice cracked slightly on the next sentence. “She’s terrified.”

That hurt everyone who heard it. Because underneath all the surgeon brilliance and chaos and bomb squads, Aeri was still just a scared twenty-seven-year-old girl standing alone with her hand inside a dying man’s chest. And Heeseung couldn’t get to her.

Burke emerged again before anyone could respond. This time already halfway into protective gear being strapped over his scrubs.

Burke glanced toward Heeseung briefly then away again. “She asked about him,” he said quietly. Heeseung’s head snapped up instantly.

“What.” Burke adjusted the heavy protective vest slowly. “She asked if you were still operating.”

His chest physically tightened. “She thought you didn’t know yet.” And suddenly Heeseung couldn’t breathe properly. Because even now, even standing over a bomb, Her instinct was to not burden him. The last thing she saw from him was him leaving with Hana.

The last thing she probably believed was that he chose someone else. And now she was in there maybe thinking she’d die before hearing otherwise. Heeseung pushed a hand into his hair roughly.

“Can I talk to her.”

The bomb commander shook his head. “Too risky.”

“Please.”

That word silenced the hallway.

Because Heeseung Lee did not beg. Ever. Burke looked at him for a long moment.

Then quietly “She keeps asking if everyone evacuated safely.” Cristina let out a broken sound somewhere behind him. Of course she was worried about other people. Of course.

Heeseung laughed once under his breath but it sounded awful. “That sounds like her.” Burke nodded slightly.

Then, after a pause:

“She’s trying very hard not to panic.” That one nearly took Heeseung to his knees. Because he knew exactly what that looked like. She was getting quieter. Stillness instead of screaming. Her fear folding inward until nobody noticed how bad it really was.

Hana watched him grip the wall beside him hard enough his hand shook. And finally she understood something devastating, If Aeri died, a part of Heeseung would go with her. 

____________________________________________________________

Everything happened too fast after that. 

One second she was still frozen beside the operating table, her gloved hand slick with blood and locked around the explosive buried inside a man’s chest. The next, the bomb squad technician was crouching beside her calmly saying, “Okay, doctor, on my count.”

Aeri genuinely couldn’t feel her legs anymore. Burke stood across from her in the heavy protective suit, eyes steady over his mask.

“You can do this,” he said firmly.

Her breathing shook.

“What if I move wrong.”

“You won’t.”

Easy for him to say. The bomb technician slowly positioned his own hand beside hers inside the cavity.

“Very slowly,” he instructed.

She swallowed hard enough it hurt. Then carefully, carefully—started pulling her hand away.

The second contact broke, the tech replaced her completely. Nothing exploded. Nobody breathed. Then“Move,” the technician ordered. She stumbled backward immediately, nearly collapsing from adrenaline crashing through her all at once.

Burke caught her arm hard before she hit the floor.

“Go,” he snapped. The bomb squad began wheeling the patient rapidly toward containment while Burke turned back toward the surgical table because the patient was still actively dying.

Aeri just stood there shaking violently. Alive. Still alive. The OR doors burst open. And suddenly the hallway chaos hit her all at once. People yelling. Security rushing.

She saw Heeseung. He reached her before anyone else could.

“Aeri.” His voice sounded wrecked. She looked up at him with wide stunned eyes, still trying to process the fact that she could move again. And the second he touched her shoulders, she broke. Not crying yet. Just collapsing into him like her body finally realized it didn’t have to stay upright anymore.

Heeseung wrapped both arms around her instantly.

Too tight. Like he physically could not hold her close enough after thinking she might die.

“Oh my god,” he whispered shakily into her hair.

She buried her face against his chest, hands gripping the back of his scrub top hard enough to wrinkle it. “I couldn’t move,” she whispered..

“I know.”

“I thought—”

Her voice cracked apart.

“I know,” he repeated desperately.

The hallway around them blurred. But Heeseung only saw her.

Alive. Breathing. In his arms. He pulled back just enough to look at her face. And she’d never seen him like this before. Not composed. Not controlled. Terrified. Actually terrified. His hands shook slightly against her shoulders as he looked over her face like he needed visual confirmation she was real.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, almost like he was trying to convince himself. She nodded weakly. Then suddenly, a deafening explosion ripped through the hallway. The entire building shook violently.

Glass shattered somewhere nearby. People screamed. She flinched hard instinctively against Heeseung as alarms erupted immediately afterward. The bomb.

The bomb had gone off. Smoke flooded part of the corridor behind them almost instantly. For one horrible second nobody moved. Then chaos exploded everywhere. Security shouting.

Doctors running. More screaming. Heeseung turned immediately, shielding Aeri against him with his entire body on instinct alone. And then the horrible realization spread down the hallway piece by piece. The blast had happened farther down containment route. Near the bomb squad. Not near her. Not near Burke.

The technicians. Aeri looked up slowly, still half-hidden against Heeseung’s chest.

“…Oh my god.” Nobody answered. Because everyone already knew. The silence told them enough. Several bomb squad members had been closest to the blast. Too close. And suddenly her face changed completely.

“No.”

Heeseung felt it instantly. Survivor’s guilt. Fast and vicious. “No no no—” she pulled away from him suddenly, eyes filling in horror. “They took it from me.”

“Aeri—”

“They took it from me!”

Her breathing became uneven again.

“They were right there—” Cristina rushed forward immediately. “Hey hey hey—”

But she looked shattered now. Like her brain couldn’t process the exchange that had just happened. She lived. They didn’t. Heeseung grabbed her face gently but firmly, forcing her to look at him.

“This is not your fault.”

Tears spilled instantly down her cheeks.

“They died because of me.”

“No.”

“Yes!”

Her voice cracked so sharply the hallway went quiet again.

“They took my place!”

His chest physically hurt hearing her say it.

“Listen to me,” he said urgently. “They knew the risk.”

“That doesn’t make them less dead!”

she looked devastated. Not relieved. Not grateful to be alive. Just horrified someone else wasn’t. Heeseung pulled her back against him immediately when her knees nearly gave out again. And this time she fully sobbed into his chest. The kind of crying that comes after terror finally leaves the body all at once. He held her through all of it.

One hand cradling the back of her head while the other wrapped around her waist like he was afraid the world might still try taking her from him. And over her shoulder, his eyes met Hana’s across the hallway. Hana stood completely still among the chaos.

Watching the way he held her. The way his entire body curved protectively around her without thought. Like loving her was instinct.

And in that moment, Hana finally understood there was nothing left to save.

Aeri barely remembered getting to the exam room afterward. Everything blurred together after the explosion. Sirens. Smoke. Someone checking her pupils. Cristina yelling at a nurse to get more blankets because she was shaking so hard her teeth wouldn’t stop chattering. And through all of it, Heeseung never let go of her.

Not once. His hand stayed locked around hers like if he released it for even a second, something terrible would happen again.The bomb squad casualties were already spreading through the hospital in whispers. Three dead. Multiple injuries.

And every single time Aeri overheard another detail, her face got paler.

“They died because I couldn’t—”

“No,” Heeseung said immediately for what felt like the hundredth time. But she looked unconvinced every single time.

Eventually Bailey physically stepped between them. “She needs evaluation,” she said firmly.

Heeseung nodded immediately. “I’m coming.”

“No you’re not.”

His head snapped up. “What.”

“Trauma contamination protocol,” Bailey said. “She needs a full workup first.”

“I’m a neurosurgeon, Bailey.”

“And right now you’re acting like her husband at a funeral.”

That landed harder than intended.Bailey softened slightly afterward. “She’s alive,” she said more quietly. “Let us take care of her.” Heeseung looked like he wanted to argue anyway. But she squeezed his hand weakly first.

“It’s okay,” she whispered.

No. It absolutely wasn’t okay. But he let go anyway because she asked him to. And watching her hand slip from his felt genuinely unbearable after the last two hours. The trauma evaluation room was freezing. Aeri sat on the edge of the bed wrapped in hospital blankets while nurses drew blood and checked her hearing for blast damage.

“Any ringing in your ears?”

“A little.”

“Nausea?”

“Yes.”

“Headache?”

“Yes.”

“Dizziness?”

She laughed weakly. “Probably.”

Nobody laughed back. The room was too tense for that. Because technically, she’d survived a bombing. A real one. One nurse carefully checked her arms for shrapnel while another explained they needed scans to confirm she hadn’t absorbed dangerous material from the explosive device.

She nodded automatically without really hearing. Her body felt strange now. Heavy. Far away. Like the adrenaline was finally draining out all at once and leaving her hollow behind. The door opened again. Burke entered still looking exhausted from surgery and partial bomb gear removal.

The second he saw her, his expression shifted subtly. Softer. “You did well,” he said quietly. She looked at him with glassy eyes. “People died.” Burke nodded once.

“Yes.” Not sugarcoating it. Not lying.

And somehow that honesty steadied her more than comfort would’ve. “They would have died regardless,” he added carefully. “You saved the patient.”

That didn’t feel real either. Saved. Killed. Survived. Everything blurred together horribly. A nurse stepped forward with another syringe. “We need one more blood panel.”

She nodded again automatically. Then suddenly the room tilted sideways. Hard. Her vision blurred instantly. Burke noticed first.

“Dr. Kim?” She blinked slowly.

And the next second her entire body just… gave out. One moment upright on the bed. The next collapsing sideways.

“Whoa—” The nurse barely caught her before she hit the floor. Outside the room, Heeseung was pacing so aggressively even Webber finally snapped. “Sit down.”

“No.”

“You are not helping anyone like this.”

“I don’t care.”

He looked awful. Still in blood-stained scrubs from earlier surgery. Eyes red-rimmed from stress and exhaustion. Hands shaking every few minutes when he thought nobody noticed. Hana stood farther down the hallway quietly watching him unravel.

And she knew.God, she knew now. This wasn’t temporary.  This wasn’t confusion. Heeseung looked like losing her had nearly stopped his heart. Then suddenly alarms sounded inside the exam room. Everything in him stopped.

“What happened?” A nurse rushed past. Heeseung grabbed the door before anyone could stop him. “Dr. Lee—” But he was already inside. She lay unconscious on the hospital bed while Burke checked her vitals. The sight nearly dropped him to his knees. “What happened.” “She fainted,” Burke answered calmly. “Her body’s crashing after adrenaline overload.” Heeseung moved instantly to the bedside anyway. “Aeri.” No response. His chest tightened violently. Because unconscious Aeri looked too still after everything today. Far too still. One nurse glanced at him sympathetically. “She’s okay.” But he barely heard her. He brushed shaking fingers against her hair carefully. And only then did he realize his own eyes were wet. Not crying fully. Just tears he hadn’t noticed happening. Burke saw. Quietly dismissed the nurses for a moment. The room emptied slowly until it was just the two surgeons and the unconscious girl between them. Heeseung stared down at her face. At the bruising beginning near her elbow from where Burke caught her during transfer. At the exhaustion carved into her features even unconscious. And after everything today, there wasn’t really a point lying anymore.

Eventually, Aeri was back at work three days later. Which, according to Bailey, was both “medically questionable.” She moved through the hospital like nothing had happened. No dramatics. No breakdowns in hallways anymore. No visible shaking hands. Just focus. Like if she kept her head down long enough, the last week wouldn’t replay itself behind her eyes every time she blinked. Cristina didn’t like it. “You’re doing that thing,” she said one morning. She didn’t look up from her gloves. “What thing.” “The repression thing.” “I’m fine.” Cristina snorted. “That’s how I know you’re not fine.” Aeri finally glanced at her, tired but steady. “I’m working.” “Yeah,” Cristina said. “And avoiding.” That landed, but Aeri didn’t respond. Because she couldn’t afford to. Not with Heeseung back in the hospital. Not with the memory of his arms around her still sitting somewhere too close under her skin. Heeseung, meanwhile, was not okay in any functional sense of the word. He operated. He consulted. He saved lives. But between cases he looked like someone running on fumes and unfinished sentences. And worse, he stopped trying to intercept her as much. Not because he wanted to. Because every time he saw her now, she looked at him like she was trying not to fall apart again. And that made him hesitate. Just long enough for her to slip away. Hana noticed. Of course she did. She always noticed the space between people. That was part of why she’d been so good with him for so long. She found him one evening outside neurosurgery call rooms, leaning against the wall like gravity had gotten heavier than usual. “You’re avoiding her now,” Hana said quietly. He didn’t look up immediately. “I’m not.” Hana gave him a look. That familiar one. The one that used to make him explain himself. He exhaled slowly. “I’m not trying to make it worse.” “That’s not what it looks like.” Then Hana stepped closer, more gentle this time. “She’s back,” she said. “She’s alive. She’s working. That’s good.” He nodded once. But it didn’t reach his eyes. Hana studied him carefully. “You’re not even trying anymore,” she said softly. That finally made him look at her. “What do you want me to do,” he said quietly. “She won’t even stay in the same room as me.” Hana didn’t deny that. Because it was true. Aeri was avoiding him again. Not like before. Not panicked avoidance. Controlled avoidance. Professional distance that cut deeper than anger ever had. Hana looked at him for a long moment. Then said it. “You should give this a real chance.” He blinked once. “What.” “With her.” That wasn’t what he expected. Hana crossed her arms slightly, voice steady but not cold. “I’m not saying that because I don’t care,” she said. “I do.” Heeseung’s jaw tightened slightly. “I came here thinking I was going to fix something,” she continued. “I thought there was still a version of us that made sense.” “And then I watched you in that hallway,” she said quietly. “And I realized I wasn’t competing with her.” “I was competing with how you look at her.” That hit harder than anything else. Hana looked away briefly, swallowing something. “You didn’t even hesitate,” she added. “Not once when she was in danger.” His voice came out rough. “That doesn’t mean—” “It does,” Hana cut in gently. “It does.” Silence stretched between them. Just heavy. Then she looked back at him. “I don’t want you staying with me out of guilt,” she said. “And I don’t want her losing you because you’re afraid to make a choice that hurts someone.” Heeseung’s expression tightened. Because that was exactly where he was stuck. Hana softened slightly. “I loved you,” she said simply. “I still care about you.” He swallowed hard. “But I think I came back to a life that already moved forward without me.” That sentence sat there for a long moment. Then she added, quieter “And I think you already chose her. You’re just refusing to say it out loud.”

The next time Heeseung saw Aeri properly, it wasn’t planned. It never was. She was coming out of a trauma consult room when he stepped into the hallway from the opposite direction. They stopped at the same time. Of course they did. For a second neither of them moved. Then she straightened slightly. Professional mask on instantly. “Dr. Lee,” she said politely. That hurt more than silence. Heeseung’s hands tightened slightly at his sides. “Aeri,” he replied. A pause too long. Too loaded. She nodded once like that was enough interaction and started to walk past him. And he didn’t stop her. Not this time. But as she passed, his voice broke the pattern. Quietly.“Can we talk.” She stopped. Didn’t turn. Just stood there for a second like she was deciding whether surviving another conversation was worth it. Then finally, very softly: “I’m on shift.” “I know.” Silence again. Then she turned just slightly. Not fully facing him. Controlled distance. “What is it,” she asked. And Heeseung realized, standing there in a hospital hallway full of people who had no idea how much had already been said between them, that this was the moment. The one Hana had been talking about. The one Cristina had been warning him about. The one he’d been avoiding by accident and fear and exhaustion. He looked at her properly. At the way she held herself carefully now. At the way she didn’t step closer anymore. A “I need to be honest with you,” he said.

Her expression barely shifted. But something in her eyes tightened anyway. Because she already knew this wasn’t going to be simple. And for the first time since the bombing, there was no crisis to distract them.

Just choice. She didn’t turn fully toward him. She just held her place in the hallway like she was bracing against something she didn’t want to feel twice.

“You can do it later,” she said quietly. Then she started to walk again.

Heeseung’s voice stopped her before she could take more than two steps.

“There isn’t a later.”

That made her pause. Because every time something in her life mattered enough to be said out loud, it came with a deadline she didn’t choose. She closed her eyes for half a second. Then turned back. Still keeping distance like it was the only thing holding her upright.

“Don’t do that,” she said softly.

“Do what.”

“Make it sound final when you don’t even know what you’re saying yet.”

His jaw tightened slightly.

“I know exactly what I’m saying.”

That wasn’t true. And she saw it in him. Of course she did. She let out a small breath that almost became a laugh but didn’t.

Heeseung looked at her properly then, and for a moment everything else, Hana, the hospital, the last week of chaos—fell away again.

Just her. Still here. Still walking away from him every time he hesitated too long.

“I’m not asking you to decide anything right now,” he said quietly. Her eyes flickered slightly.

“Then what are you asking.”

Life was continuing like it wasn’t about to split open again. Heeseung exhaled slowly.

“I told Hana I wouldn’t divorce her yet.” That hit the space between them immediately.

She didn’t react outwardly at first. Just went very still. Then her voice came out softer than before.

“…okay.” That was all she said. But it wasn’t neutral. It wasn’t acceptance either. It was like something she’d already expected would happen eventually.

“No,” he said quickly. “That’s not what I meant.”

Aeri shook her head slightly.

“It’s fine,” she said, too calm now. “It makes sense.”

“It doesn’t.”

“It does,” she repeated quietly. “She’s your wife.”

A pause.

“And I’m not,” she added.

That sentence hurt because she didn’t say it like she was accusing him. She said it like she was reminding herself. Heeseung stepped forward half a step before stopping himself.

“I didn’t say I’m choosing her,” he said. Her eyes lifted to his again. Careful. Guarded.

“You didn’t say you’re choosing me either.” The exact problem.

He ran a hand through his hair once, frustration and exhaustion mixing together. “I’m trying to fix something I didn’t know how broken it was until it was already happening,” he said quietly.

She looked at him for a long moment. Then spoke gently, but firmly.

“That’s the thing,” she said. “You don’t fix it while keeping both hands on both sides.”

That made him stop. She swallowed slightly.

“I can’t be the place you go when it’s over,” she added. “And I can’t stand next to a marriage you’re still holding onto just because it’s easier than letting it go.”

His voice dropped lower. “It’s not about easy.”

Her expression tightened slightly.

“It always becomes about easy,” she said. “Eventually.”

That sat between them. Neither of them moving now.

Just standing in a hospital corridor full of life while their entire conversation felt like something breaking quietly underneath it.

Heeseung looked at her like he was trying to find the exact right thing to say that wouldn’t ruin everything further. And for once, he couldn’t find it fast enough. She nodded once, almost like she was giving herself permission to step back again.

“I have rounds,” she said softly.

Then she turned away. But this time he spoke again before she could fully leave.

“Aeri.”

She stopped. His voice was quieter now. “I’m not letting you disappear again,” he said, “I just need time to do this right.”

She wanted to believe that. She really did. But believing and surviving were starting to feel like two different things. So she finally turned her head slightly. Just enough for him to see her expression. Tired. Still soft somewhere underneath all the damage.

“Then don’t take so long you forget I was here,” she said quietly.

And then she walked away down the hallway. And for the first time, Heeseung didn’t follow.

The hospital kept moving like nothing had changed. That was the cruel part of it.

Trauma cases still came in. OR schedules still filled. Pages still went off at 3 a.m. like they always did. But inside the people who knew, everything was off balance.

She moved through her shifts with the same precision as before, but there was something muted about her now.  Like she’d turned the volume down on everything that could reach her too deeply.

Heeseung, looked like he was running on borrowed time. He still operated. Still led cases. Still made decisions with terrifying precision. But outside the OR, something in him had gone quiet in a way that wasn’t calm anymore. It was restraint.

Like every time he saw her down a hallway or across a nurses’ station, he had to physically stop himself from crossing the distance. And he always stopped.

He always stopped too late. Because she was already gone by then.

Hana stayed. Not intrusively. She didn’t try to force conversations anymore, but she also didn’t disappear. She still showed up at the hospital when required, still consulted on neonatal cases, still spoke to him like someone trying to rebuild something carefully from fragments.

And from the outside, it almost looked functional. They ate together once. Then again a few days later. Short conversations in his office. Shared silence that didn’t feel as sharp as before. It wasn’t love the way it used to be. But it wasn’t nothing either. It was just mutual understanding that something that was once so precious is coming to an end soon, and they were preparing to part ways respectfully. 

__________________________________________________________

She saw them by accident. It was late afternoon, too early for night chaos but late enough for exhaustion to blur everything at the edges. She was walking past the glass corridor near admin when she slowed without meaning to. Heeseung and Hana were standing together near the nurses’ station. Close enough that the familiarity was obvious.

Hana was talking softly, gesturing at something on a chart. Heeseung listened, nodding slightly, expression focused. Then he said something that made her smile. Warm. The kind of smile that belonged to years, not weeks. She stopped walking and her grip tightened slightly on her chart.

Because it did look like effort, like two people trying to repair something that had cracked but not fully shattered. Hana looked up at him then, briefly, and something passed between them that Aeri couldn’t fully read from this distance.

Heeseung said something softer after that, and Hana’s expression changed again, less guarded, more open. 

She felt that quiet sinking sensation in her chest that didn’t come with drama. She believes that they aren’t pretending, they were trying. Actually trying. She should’ve kept walking, but her body didn’t move for a few seconds anyway.

Until Cristina’s voice cut in behind her.

“Oh no.”

Aeri blinked once. “What.”

Cristina had followed her gaze instantly.

“Don’t do that,” Cristina said flatly.

“Do what.”

“That face.”

She exhaled slowly and finally looked away.

“I’m not doing anything.”

Cristina raised an eyebrow. “You’re staring at a man you’re trying to unlove while he stands with his wife like they’re rebuilding a life.”

Her jaw tightened slightly. “They are rebuilding a life.”

“That’s not your conclusion to make from ten feet away.”

Aeri didn’t respond. Because she didn’t trust her voice right then. Cristina stepped closer, softer now but still blunt.

“Have you talked to him since?”

She shook her head once.

“No.”

Cristina nodded like that confirmed something.

“Then you don’t know what that is,” she said. “You know what it looks like from a hallway.”

Aeri let out a quiet breath. “That’s enough sometimes,” she said.

______________________________________________________________

Later that night, Heeseung found her by accident. It was always like that lately. Like the hospital itself kept forcing proximity neither of them knew how to handle. She was alone at the supply station restocking before a night shift when she heard footsteps behind her.

She didn’t turn, she already knew. He stopped a few feet away. Neither of them spoke for a moment. Then quietly, “Hi,” he said.

She kept her eyes on the supplies. “Hi.” Another pause. Too long again. “I haven’t seen you in a while,” he said.

She almost laughed at that.. “You’ve been busy,” she replied.

That landed somewhere between them. Because “busy” wasn’t really the word. Heeseung took a slow breath.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

Aeri finally turned slightly. Not fully.

Just enough.

“For what,” she asked.

That was the question now. He hesitated. Not because he didn’t know, but because there were too many answers.

“For making you feel like you were second,” he said finally.

She looked at him for a long moment. Then nodded once. “Okay,” she said softly. Small  acknowledgment.

Heeseung’s voice dropped lower. “I’m still trying to figure things out,” he said.

Her expression didn’t change, but something in her eyes tightened slightly anyway.

“I know,” she said.

A pause. Then she added, quieter:

“You should.”

That wasn’t encouragement. It wasn’t cruelty either. Heeseung nodded slowly like he understood that boundary now without needing it spelled out again.

“Okay,” he said. “I still don’t want you disappearing from my life,” he added.

She looked down at her hands. “I’m not disappearing,” she said quietly. “I’m just not standing in the middle anymore.”

Heeseung didn’t try to argue this time. Just stood there for a second longer. Then nodded once.

“I understand,” he said softly. She picked up the rest of the supplies.

“Goodnight, Dr. Lee.”

“Goodnight, Aeri.”

It started accidentally. At least that’s what they told themselves the first time.

Aeri had been cleared for longer shifts again, which meant their schedules started overlapping in dangerous ways,  stolen hallway conversations, hands brushing near scrub sinks, lingering eye contact across OR galleries that lasted just slightly too long.

And Heeseung had already been bad before.

Now? Now he looked at her like he’d nearly lost her and still hadn’t recovered from getting her back. Which was apparently very bad for professionalism. The first time they disappeared into an on-call room after everything settled between them again, it wasn’t even planned.

She had just walked into his office after a brutal trauma case, still flushed from adrenaline, hair messy from surgery cap lines. Heeseung looked up from paperwork. Then immediately knew he was doomed.

“What,” she said suspiciously.

He leaned back slightly in his chair, eyes dragging over her face in that devastatingly calm way he had. “You look pretty.”

She blinked once.

“…I literally have blood on my shoe.”

“And yet.”

That made her laugh. Which made him smile. Which made her completely lose focus. She stepped closer without really thinking about it, still holding her chart against her chest.

“You’re distracting,” she muttered.

“You came into my office.”

“You looked at me first.”

“That’s because you walked in.”

“This feels circular.”

He was already standing by then. She barely had time to register it before he was close enough that her brain stopped functioning properly.

“You should go back to work,” she said weakly. “Probably.” Neither of them moved.

Then she grabbed his scrub top and kissed him first. It’s safe to say he responded with the same energy, if not, even more intensified. That was the beginning. 

_________________________________________________

After that, it became a problem. A recurring one.

Seattle Grace was stressful, exhausting, emotionally catastrophic at all times, and apparently their solution to that became finding empty rooms and kissing each other senseless between surgeries. Cristina caught on almost immediately.

Mostly because she started returning from “charting” looking suspiciously flustered. “You disappear a lot for someone recovering from hypothermia,” Cristina said one afternoon.

Aeri nearly choked on her coffee. “What does that mean.” “It means your hair is messed up and Dr. Lee looks emotionally fulfilled for the first time in years.”

Izzie gasped. “Oh my God.” George looked horrified. “At the hospital?!” Alex, without looking up from his chart: “You people are all idiots for acting surprised.”

Aeri buried her face in her hands.

________________________________________________________

The worst part was that Heeseung found the whole thing deeply amusing. Especially because she always acted like she was the responsible one right before dragging him somewhere private. One night, she cornered him near an empty stairwell after a seventeen-hour shift.

“You’ve been staring at me all day,” she accused quietly. He looked entirely unashamed. “Correct.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You started this.”

“I absolutely did not.”

He stepped closer slowly. “Aeri.”

Her breathing immediately betrayed her. Which made him smile slightly.

“You literally pulled me into an on-call room because I held a pediatric patient’s hand.”

“That was emotionally vulnerable and therefore your fault.”

He laughed softly at that, leaning closer.

“You’re cute when you’re trying to justify yourself.”

“You’re cute all the time which is actually very irritating for me personally.”. And five minutes later they were absolutely not where they were supposed to be.

_____________________________________________________________

The on-call rooms themselves became almost absurdly sentimental over time. Not just rushed kisses anymore. Sometimes it was her falling asleep against his chest for twenty minutes between pages.

Sometimes it was him fixing her scrub cap while she sat on the bed rambling half-deliriously about a surgery complication. Sometimes it was just breathing together in silence after impossible days.

And yes, sometimes Cristina banged on the door yelling:

“I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE. PEOPLE ARE DYING.”

To which Aeri once yelled back:

“WE’RE HELPING.”

Cristina looked physically offended for the rest of the day.

__________________________________________________

One particularly awful overnight shift ended with her exhausted beyond reason, leaning against him in an empty on-call room at 4 a.m. “I think my body is shutting down,” she mumbled into his shoulder.

He rubbed slow circles against her back. “You said that three shifts ago.” “And I meant it then too.”

“…thank you for putting up with my bullshit.”

That softened him instantly every single time. He tilted his head slightly until his forehead rested against hers.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” he said softly. She looked up at him through tired eyes. Then narrowed them suspiciously. “That was disgustingly romantic.”

“I’m in love with you,” he replied calmly. “You’re gonna have to deal with that.” She stared at him for a second. Then smiled so brightly it nearly ruined him on the spot.

And somewhere outside the room, the hospital was falling apart and rebuilding itself like always. But inside those stolen moments, they kept choosing each other anyway.

______________________________________________________

Months had passed. It happened so casually that neither of them realized the damage until it was already done. Enough for their relationship to settle into something real and lived-in instead of fragile.

Heeseung practically lived at the house now. Cristina complained about it daily while simultaneously stealing his coffee. Izzie adored him and still looked vaguely traumatized whenever he walked into the kitchen too early and caught him and Aeri being affectionate.

And Aeri, she was happy. Actually very happy. The kind that showed in tiny things. Humming while studying charts. Smiling to herself during surgeries. Falling asleep against him on the couch without fighting it first.

It was easy. Too easy, maybe. Which was why neither of them saw the small landmine coming.

___________________________________________________

It was late. Like around 3 am. Rain against the windows. Half-eaten takeout on the coffee table. Aeri curled against his side while reading through a surgical journal she absolutely wasn’t retaining anything from.

Heeseung was half distracted, scrolling through something on his phone while absently playing with her fingers. Domestic. Then Cristina burst into the room looking annoyed about something.

“If either of you ever get married,” she announced flatly, “I’m not giving a speech.”

Aeri snorted immediately. “Nobody asked you to.” “I’m serious. I refuse. Love is embarrassing.” Heeseung laughed softly under his breath.

Then, without thinking, “You’d still be there though.”

Cristina froze dramatically. “Excuse me?”

But Heeseung wasn’t looking at her anymore. He was looking down at Aeri. “You’d absolutely show up,” he continued lightly. “You’d complain the whole time, but you’d be there. Probably as the maid of honor. You’re eventually going to  help me propose.”

Silence. Aeri had gone completely still against him. Immediate stillness.

Heeseung felt it before he fully understood it. Cristina noticed too because of course she did. Her eyes immediately widened slightly. “Oh,” she muttered. “Ummmm.” Aeri pulled away too quickly. Just abrupt enough to hurt. “I’m tired,” she said suddenly, standing.

Heeseung blinked once. “Aeri what—” “I have an early shift.”

Her voice was too even. And before either of them could stop her, she was already walking upstairs.

Cristina stared after her. Then slowly looked back at him. “…I’m so confused.”

________________________________________________________

The next day was awful. Avoidant. Kinda like the old times. She left before he woke up. Didn’t answer texts properly. Stayed busy at work in ways that were very clearly intentional. By the time he found her late that evening in an empty intern lounge, irritation had already replaced confusion.

“You’re avoiding me,” he said immediately.

She didn’t look up from the chart she wasn’t reading.

“No I’m not.”

“You disappeared all day.”

“I was working.”

“You didn’t even look at me.”

That finally made her exhale sharply and put the chart down.

“Okay, what do you want me to say?”

He stared at her.

“The truth would be nice.”

She looked away immediately. And suddenly he knew. His voice softened slightly.

“…was it what I said last night?”

She laughed once under her breath, humorless.

“Of course it was.”

He stepped closer slowly. “Aeri—”

“No.” She stood quickly. “Don’t do that thing where you get calm and understanding before I even know how to explain myself.”

“I’m trying to understand.”

“I know.” Her voice cracked slightly on the last word and she looked frustrated at herself for it. Then finally, quieter:

“I’m sorry for disappearing.”

Heeseung watched her carefully. “Why did you.”

She crossed her arms tightly. Because suddenly she looked smaller than she had in months. Like something old had climbed back up inside her.

“Because… my parents,” she said abruptly. “Their marriage was horrible.” Heeseung stayed quiet. She shook her head slightly.

“You already know. It was…not dramatic horrible all the time. Which almost made it worse.” A bitter breath left her. “They just stayed miserable forever.” “They loved each other in this exhausting, ugly way where everyone kept getting hurt and nobody left.”

Heeseung’s expression softened immediately. She looked away. “And then my mom got sick and everything just…” She swallowed hard. “Disappeared piece by piece.”

The room stayed quiet. “I grew up watching marriage make people cruel,” she admitted softly. “Or trapped. Or resentful.” “So no,” she said quickly, almost defensive now. “I don’t want that.”

Heeseung absorbed that slowly. Then asked carefully:

“You don’t want marriage?”

She hesitated. And that hesitation alone told him enough.

“I don’t think I ever do,” she admitted quietly. That hurt him more than he expected. It showed slightly before he could stop it.

She saw immediately. And instantly got defensive again because vulnerability always turned into panic for her eventually.

“See?” she said sharply. “That look right there.”

“What look.”

“The one where you realize I’m disappointing you.”

His jaw tightened slightly. “You’re not disappointing me.”

“But you want that.” “You do.”

He didn’t answer immediately.

Which was answer enough. She laughed once again, strained now.

“Great.”

“That’s not fair,” he said finally.

“What isn’t?”

“You deciding what I’m feeling before I even say it.”

She shook her head. “You don’t have to say it. I know.”

“And you don’t think maybe I deserve a conversation instead of you disappearing every time you get scared?” Her eyes flashed immediately.

“I’m not scared.”

“You vanished for a day because I casually mentioned a wedding.”

“Because it matters!”

“So does this!”

The room went silent. Both of them breathing harder now. Heeseung ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

“I love you,” he said. “I’m trying to build a life with you. So yeah, hearing you say you never want marriage—” “I never said I didn’t love you!”

“I know that!” His voice cracked louder than intended. Then quieter, but more painful somehow: “But I don’t know what you see long-term if every serious thing scares you enough to run.”

She stared at him. Wounded now. Angry because she was wounded. “You think I’m broken because I don’t want what you want?”

“No,” he said immediately. But the hesitation before it ruined everything. Her face fell. “Okay,” she whispered.

And suddenly he realized too late that this wasn’t about weddings anymore. It was about her deepest fear. That loving her eventually became exhausting. Impossible. And that he would also be someone who would eventually leave. He stepped forward immediately.

“Aeri—” But she backed away first. And that hurt him too. 

_____________________________________________________

The house felt wrong the next day. Weird, though not angry enough to explode, but tense in that careful way where every sound feels deliberate.

She had avoided him again after the fight. Not fully disappearing this time. Short answers. Barely any eye contact. Staying downstairs until late because she knew he was upstairs.

And Heeseung let it happen for most of the day because he knew pushing her too hard when she shut down usually made things worse.

But by night, he was done pretending distance was solving anything.

He found her in their bedroom sitting at the edge of the bed in oversized sleep clothes, pretending to read something on her laptop she clearly hadn’t processed in ten minutes.

He stood in the doorway for a second. Then quietly:

“Are you gonna avoid me forever?”

She closed her eyes briefly.

“No.”

“But you are right now.” She set the laptop aside slowly.

“I don’t know what to say.” He stepped further into the room.

“You could, again,  start with the truth.”

That made her jaw tighten slightly. Heeseung sat down across from her, not too close yet. Just hurt in a quieter way.

“I’m trying really hard to understand where you are,” he said softly. “But every time we get close to talking about something serious, you panic.”

She looked down immediately. He continued carefully. “I want a life with you.” “I want a home with you. I want…” He stopped briefly, exhaling. “I don’t know. Real things.”

Her chest tightened instantly. Because that was exactly the problem. Real things. Permanent things. Things that could rot and break and trap people inside them. Heeseung looked at her for a long moment before asking the question that shifted everything again.

“Do you even want kids?” She froze. Completely. And that did hurt him instantly. His expression changed before she even answered.

“Aeri….” “I don’t know,” she said quickly. But it sounded too fast. He stared at her.

“You don’t know,” he repeated quietly. She wrapped her arms around herself slightly. “I never pictured it.” “Marriage or kids or any of that.”

The room went still. Heeseung looked away for a second like he physically needed to. When he looked back, his eyes were already hurt.

“You really don’t want any of it.” Her voice got smaller immediately, “It’s not that simple.”

“Then explain it to me.”

She stood abruptly, too full of restless panic to stay sitting anymore.

“I told you I grew up watching people ruin each other trying to force forever,” she said. “I watched my dad slowly stop loving my mom while staying married to her anyway because leaving would make him look terrible.”

Heeseung stayed quiet.

“And then she got sick and suddenly everyone acted like that erased years of misery.” Her voice cracked slightly. “It didn’t.” She shook her head hard. “I don’t want to wake up one day trapped in something I can’t leave.”

That landed heavily. He understood it. He understood exactly why she was afraid. But it still hurt.

“Do you think that’s what I want?” he asked quietly.

“No.”

“Then why does it feel like you think loving you is some kind of prison sentence waiting to happen?”

Her eyes flashed immediately because that hit too close. “That’s not what I said.”

“But it’s what you believe.” He stood slowly now too. “I. Love. You. ,” he said, voice tightening. “And every time I imagine my future, you’re there.”

“But when you imagine yours…” He swallowed hard. “…am I there?”

“Of course you are.”

“Then why does every version of commitment make you recoil from me?”

“I’m not recoiling from you!”

“You literally froze because I mentioned a proposal casually!”

“Because it scares me!”

“And what am I supposed to do with that?” he asked finally, frustration breaking through. “What happens five years from now? Ten?”

She looked cornered now. Not angry anymore. He ran a hand through his hair harshly.

“I want kids someday,” he admitted quietly. That made her eyes look down immediately.

“I want a family. I want…” He laughed once bitterly. “God, I want boring things with you. I want Sunday mornings and a house and little versions of you running around destroying my furniture.”

She looked devastated by that image instead of comforted. And he saw it. Saw the fear instead of warmth.

Her voice came out small. “I can’t promise you that.” He nodded slowly once. Like he already knew. “And I don’t know what to do with that,” he admitted. That sentence shattered the room open completely.

Because suddenly this wasn’t theoretical anymore. Was this incompatibility? Real, terrifying incompatibility between two people deeply in love? Or was it just Aeri’s psychological fears holding her back?

Her eyes filled slightly. He looked wrecked already too. But neither of them moved toward each other this time. Just stood there in the same room feeling the distance stretch anyway.

______________________________________________

After that conversation, something shifted in Heeseung. He stopped reaching for her first.

Stopped climbing into bed and pulling her against him automatically. Stopped lingering in doorways just to steal another minute with her before shifts. He wasn’t cruel.

That almost made it harder. He was still gentle. Still respectful. Still there. Just… careful now. Like he suddenly didn’t know how much of himself he was allowed to invest in a future she might never want with him.

And she felt every inch of that distance immediately. It hollowed the house out. The first night he fell asleep facing away from her, she stared at his back until sunrise.

The first morning he left for work without kissing her forehead absentmindedly, she sat in the kitchen afterward feeling stupidly close to tears over something so small.

And at the hospital it was somehow even worse. Because he was normal there too. Professional. Like he was deliberately containing himself now. No touching her hand in hallways. No pulling her into empty on-call rooms. No soft looks across OR galleries that made her stomach flip.

Nothing.

She realized very quickly she had gotten frighteningly used to being loved loudly by him.

And now that he’d gone quiet. she missed him everywhere.

____________________________________________________

Cristina found her sitting on the floor of an empty stairwell halfway through a shift, knees pulled to her chest, staring at absolutely nothing. “You look terrible,” Cristina said bluntly.

She looked up tiredly. “Thank you.” Cristina sat beside her anyway.

For a minute neither spoke. Then, “He’s avoiding me.”

Cristina snorted softly. “Yeah. Obviously.” Aeri frowned. “Whose side are you on?”

“Nobody’s. I’m Switzerland. You’re both annoying.” That should’ve made Aeri smile.

Instead her face crumpled slightly. “I hate this.” Cristina looked at her then properly. And immediately softened underneath all the usual sharpness. Because Aeri looked genuinely miserable. Sad in a way Cristina almost never saw from her. “I think I hurt him,” she admitted quietly. Cristina raised an eyebrow. “You did.”

“Thanks.”

“You asked.”

Aeri dropped her head back against the wall. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” she groaned. 

Cristina’s expression changed as she scoffed. “Nothing’s wrong with you.” Aeri laughed weakly. “Really? Because apparently I hear the word marriage and react like someone threatened me with a weapon.” Cristina shrugged slightly. “That’s because your childhood was basically a psychological warfare.”

Aeri looked down. “I just…” She swallowed hard. “I love him so much and somehow that makes me more scared, not less.” Cristina nodded slowly.

“That’s normal.”

Aeri blinked at her. Cristina rolled her eyes immediately. “Not the marriage panic specifically. You’re uniquely a tiny bit insane there.” That finally pulled the tiniest smile from her. But Cristina continued more seriously:

“You think if you love someone enough, losing them will destroy you.”

Aeri’s smile disappeared immediately. Because yes. Exactly that. Cristina leaned back against the wall beside her.

“My dad left,” she said simply. “Remember?” Aeri nodded slightly.

“And my mom spent my entire childhood trying to turn me into someone worth staying for.” Cristina shrugged. “So trust me, I get the instinct to never need anybody enough that they can ruin your life.”

Aeri stared at her quietly and Cristina looked over. “But that’s not what you’re doing anymore.” “You already need him.”

That hit hard because it was true. Cristina’s voice softened slightly. “And honestly? He needs you too. Everyone can see it.”

Aeri’s eyes burned. “I’m scared he’ll wake up one day and regret me.” Cristina frowned like the idea offended her personally.

“Aeri.”

“No, seriously—”

“He literally signed divorce papers and had a near nervous breakdown over you drowning.”

She looked away quickly.

Cristina kept going anyway.

“That man looks at you like you hung the stars personally. He’s not halfway in this.”. Then quieter: “You are.”

SHe flinched slightly at that. Cristina sighed. “You keep acting like marriage and kids automatically become your parents’ marriage and your childhood.” She shook her head. “But you know what your parents never had?”

“What.”

Cristina looked at her directly.

“A choice.” Cristina continued: “Your mom stayed because she got sick. Your dad stayed because he felt guilty. None of that had anything to do with love by the end.” “You and Heeseung aren’t trapped. You’re choosing each other.”

That landed somewhere deep. Cristina leaned forward slightly now.

“And to be honest, you need to stop deciding your future based on fear before it even happens.” Aeri looked down at her hands.

“What if I’m bad at it?”

Cristina barked a short laugh. “Please. You’re good at everything. It’s actually irritating.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

Cristina nudged her shoulder once. “You don’t have to decide your entire life tomorrow. But if you love him, and you do—you at least owe him honesty that isn’t filtered through panic.”

She sat there quietly for a long time after that. Then finally whispered: “I miss him.”

Cristina’s expression softened again immediately. “I know.” Then, because she was still Cristina:

“You’re both disgustingly in love. Figure it out so I can stop living in a medical drama.”

_________________________________________________________

The page made absolutely no sense. Heeseung was halfway through reviewing scans when his pager went off with a location instead of a consult code. No patient name. No trauma number. Just coordinates and a short message from a nurse downstairs saying:

“Dr. Y/N said to come immediately.” Which already felt suspicious. By the time he drove out there, Seattle had gone fully dark around him, the roads quieter the farther he got from downtown. And honestly he thought something was wrong.

Because she didn’t page him dramatically unless it mattered. So when he finally pulled up and stepped out of the car, he stopped dead.

Candles.

Hundreds of them.

Soft glowing light spread across an open stretch of land overlooking the skyline in the distance. There was a partially marked foundation area staked out in the dirt already, faint outlines barely visible in the dark.

And in the middle of all of it, Aeri.

Holding flowers. Looking absolutely terrified. Heeseung stared at her for a full second.

“…what is happening.”

She immediately panicked. “I had a speech,” she blurted.

He blinked. “And now you’re here and I forgot like eighty percent of it.” “Aeri—”

“No wait, don’t talk yet because if you interrupt me I might actually throw up.”

That shut him up immediately. She was visibly nervous. Like genuinely nervous in a way he almost never saw from her. Her fingers tightened around the bouquet as she took a shaky breath.

“I know this is insane,” she started quickly. “And probably emotionally aggressive. Cristina said it was emotionally aggressive.”

That sounded exactly like Cristina.

“But you were avoiding me,” she continued, words speeding up nervously now, “and I hated it and I realized I would literally rather have terrifying conversations with you forever than have you look at me like you were slowly teaching yourself how to live without me.” Heeseung’s expression shifted, softening before she even finished.

She looked like she might cry already. “I know I freaked out,” she said. “I know I did. And I know I made you feel like I didn’t see a future with you but that’s not true.” Her voice cracked slightly. “That’s actually the problem.”

He swallowed hard. She laughed nervously through tears already forming. “I love you so much it scares me,” she admitted. “Like genuinely terrifies me.” The wind moved softly through the candles around them. Heeseung didn’t move. He watched her like he was afraid breathing too hard would stop her.

She looked down for a second before continuing more quietly. “My whole life, love always turned into something painful eventually.” She shook her head slightly. “And I think I convinced myself that if I never wanted marriage or kids or permanence then maybe nothing could ever destroy me that badly.”

“But then I met you.” Her eyes lifted back to his. “And you ruined that strategy completely.” That almost broke him on the spot.

She kept talking anyway, rambling now because she was nervous and emotional and incapable of stopping once she started. “I don’t care about my parents anymore,” she said quickly. “Okay maybe I do a little psychologically, but I don’t want their life. I want mine.” A shaky breath. “And mine has you in it. Everywhere.”

His eyes were already glassy now. She also laughed weakly.

“And I still don’t fully know about kids,” she admitted honestly. “Babies are sticky and terrifying and what if ours inherit your ego—” He let out a startled laugh through the emotion. “But,” she continued immediately, voice softer now, “when you talked about little versions of me running around your house…”

Her throat tightened. “…I didn’t hate it.” A tear finally slipped down her cheek.

“I actually think I want it if it’s with you.” That destroyed whatever composure he had left. He looked completely overwhelmed now. Her hands were shaking around the flowers. “And I know forever is scary,” she whispered. “But losing you was scarier.”

Just wind and candlelight and both of them trying not to emotionally collapse.

Then she looked around suddenly, almost frantic again. “And also—I bought land.” He blinked.

“…you what.” She pointed vaguely downward at the ground beneath them. “This. I bought this.”

He stared at her. She started rambling faster immediately.

“I know that sounds unhinged but I saw it weeks ago and I kept coming back and then I realized every time I pictured a home it was here and it was with you and there was probably a dog and maybe kids eventually and big windows because you like natural light—”

“Aeri.”

“And I know I’m bad at this and I know I get scared and run away but I don’t want to anymore.” Her voice broke completely then.

“I want to build a life with you so bad. I want to build a life with you so insanely badly that I literally bought land to build a house for us.” That did it.

Heeseung crossed the distance between them so fast she barely got another breath in before he was holding her face in both hands and kissing her. Messy enough that she made a startled sound against his mouth before immediately kissing him back just as desperately. The bouquet got crushed slightly between them. When he finally pulled back, both of them were breathing unevenly.

He looked wrecked. She looked completely wrecked. “You bought land,” he said again like he still couldn’t process it. She nodded shakily. “I bought land.” A disbelieving laugh escaped him.

And suddenly he was crying too. Actually crying. “You are completely insane,” he whispered.

“I know.”

“But you bought land.”

“You wanted a house!”

His laugh broke into something emotional again and he pulled her against him immediately, arms wrapping around her so tightly she almost stumbled.

She buried her face into his shoulder instantly. “I’m sorry,” she whispered shakily. “I’m so sorry I got scared and avoided you.” He held the back of her head gently.

“Hey,” he murmured. “Hey.” “You came back.” And somehow that mattered most.

Heeseung pulled back just enough to look at her again, both hands still holding her face like he physically could not let go yet.

The candles flickered around them in the wind, throwing warm light across her tear-streaked cheeks, the crushed bouquet still trapped awkwardly between their bodies.

And she just looked at him with this terrified, hopeful expression like she’d handed him her entire heart and was waiting to see if he’d keep it. “I bought land,” she repeated softly, almost disbelieving herself now. Heeseung laughed again through tears, shaking his head once like he genuinely couldn’t process the sentence.

“You bought land,” he echoed.

“I know how that sounds.”

“It sounds insane.”

“I know.” Her voice shook again immediately, words spilling out faster now that she’d finally started. “I kept thinking about what you said,” she admitted. “About wanting boring things.”

His expression softened instantly. “And I realized…” She laughed weakly through tears. “I realized I wanted them too.” She looked around the open space, the marked foundation outlines barely visible beneath the candles. “I kept driving here after shifts,” she confessed quietly. “And I’d stand here and imagine things.”

Heeseung stared at her completely wrecked already.

“A kitchen,” she whispered. “And a couch. And your stupid expensive coffee machine because you’re a coffee snob.” “That’s true,” he murmured automatically.

“And books everywhere because apparently between us we own six thousand.” A shaky smile crossed her face. “And maybe one day there’s little socks on the floor because we forgot to do laundry.”

She kept going anyway. “And maybe we fight sometimes because I leave charts everywhere and you hover when I’m sick and our kids inherit both our god complexes—”

“Our kids?”

Her face immediately turned red. “Don’t make that the focus right now.” He couldn’t stop smiling suddenly. Big enough that she almost started crying harder just seeing it. “You thought about kids,” he said softly.

“I thought about your kids,” she corrected immediately. “Which feels different.” He laughed wetly, wiping at his face with one hand.

“Aeri.”

“But the point is,” she interrupted quickly, panicking again, “I realized the reason all those things that scared me wasn’t because I didn’t want them.” Her voice got smaller. “It’s because I wanted them enough to be terrified to lose them.”

He looked at her like she’d just unlocked something he’d been trying to reach for months. She swallowed hard. “I love you so much,” she whispered. “And I think part of me believed if I never admitted I wanted forever then maybe it couldn’t hurt me if I lost it.”

A tear slid down her cheek again. “But I almost lost you anyway.” He pulled her against him again immediately, one arm wrapping tightly around her waist while the other cradled the back of her head.

“You’re not losing me,” he whispered fiercely into her hair. She laughed shakily. “You literally tried to emotionally distance yourself for like a week and I nearly lost my mind.”

“That was because I thought you didn’t want a future with me.”

“I do.”

She said it instantly. Without hesitation this time.

“I do,” she repeated softer. “I want one so bad.” Heeseung leaned back enough to look at her again. He looked around finally, really taking it in now. The view. The skyline glowing softly in the distance. The outlined beginnings of something not built yet.

And suddenly he could see it too. Her there. Years from now. Morning light through windows. Bare feet in kitchens. Laughter somewhere deeper in the house. A life.

His chest hurt with how much he loved her. “You know,” he said softly, “most people start with dinner reservations.” She sniffled. “I panicked and escalated.” 

“That’s one way to describe this.” She groaned softly, embarrassed now that the emotional adrenaline was wearing off.

“I had a better speech in my head.”

“I don’t think you understand,” he said quietly. His thumb brushed gently beneath her eye, wiping another tear away. “That was the best thing anyone’s ever said to me.” “Oh no,” she whispered. “Don’t say sweet things right now I’m already unstable.” He laughed softly and kissed her forehead.

Then her cheek.

Then finally her mouth again, slower this time.. When he pulled back, their foreheads rested together naturally.

“So,” he murmured.

“So?”

“You wanna build me a house?”

Her smile trembled immediately.

“Our house,” she corrected softly.

Heeseung looked at her for a long moment after that.

Then nodded once. “Yeah,” he whispered. And standing there surrounded by candles and dirt and unfinished dreams, for the first time in her life, forever didn’t feel like a trap to her. It felt like home waiting to happen.

______________________________________________________

Heeseung was still holding her when the emotional intensity finally started softening into something lighter. They were both less on the verge of total collapse. She was tucked against his chest, sniffling occasionally while trying to recover from the fact that she had apparently confessed her future dreams beside a field of candles like a deeply unstable romance movie protagonist.

And Heeseung, he was smiling.

Actually smiling against her hair in that helpless, fond way that only ever happened with her. Then suddenly he leaned back slightly, narrowing his eyes at her. “You know this is a problem.”

She blinked. “What is.” “You.”

“That feels rude after I just emotionally transformed.” He ignored that completely.

“Do you understand how much pressure you just put on me?” She stared at him.

“I’m serious,” he said, pointing vaguely around them. “You bought land. LAND, Aeri.”She started laughing immediately.

“You can’t just do this.”

“I literally can. I did.”

“Now my proposal has to compete with a whole real estate purchase.”

That made her laugh harder, the sound echoing softly through the open space around them. He shook his head like he was genuinely offended.

“I had plans.”

“You still have plans.”

“Not anymore. You escalated beyond normal levels.”

She grinned up at him finally, eyes still glassy.

“So you are gonna propose.”. She gasped dramatically. “Oh my God.”

“Don’t start.”

“You already thought about it!”

“Obviously I thought about it,” he said like it was the most offensive question she could’ve asked. “I’m in love with you.”

She looked delighted by that answer. He groaned softly, already regretting how honest he was around her. “This is exactly the issue,” he muttered. “You say one emotional thing and suddenly I’m confessing life plans.”

“You love me.”

“I do.”

“You wanna marry me.”

“I do.”

“You wanna build me a house.”

“Our house.”

“You wanna put babies in—”

“Aeri.”

She fully dissolved into laughter then, hiding her face against his chest while he tried and failed to look stern. “You are impossible,” he said.

“You’re obsessed with me.”

“That’s unrelated.”

“It absolutely is not.”

He shook his head, but he was smiling too hard now for any of the fake annoyance to land properly. Then his expression softened again as he looked around one more time. Her standing here waiting for him with flowers and fear and hope all tangled together.

“You really did all this because you want a future with me,” he said quietly.

Her smile softened instantly too.

“I really do.” 

“If you still want one with me.”

The answer came immediately. Without hesitation.

“Always.”

He cupped her cheek gently. “But,” he added.

Her narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “What.” “You’re banned from grand romantic gestures for at least a year.” She gasped. “Excuse me?”

“I need time to recover financially.” “You’re dramatic.”

“You bought land!”

“For us!”

“Exactly,” he said. “Now I have to somehow top that when I propose.”

Her entire face went soft immediately at the word again. He noticed. And his expression changed too. “I will, by the way,” he said quietly.

Her breath caught slightly.

“What.”

“I’m going to marry you someday.”

The wind moved softly around them again.

She looked at him like her heart physically didn’t know how to hold this much feeling at once.

He brushed his thumb across her cheek slowly. “And when I ask,” he murmured, “you better act surprised after making me survive all this.” She laughed shakily through fresh tears.

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

“No,” she whispered, looking at him like he was everything. “I really, really don’t.”

______________________________________________________

Heeseung practically shoved her into the passenger seat afterward because apparently emotional declarations and surprise real estate purchases did not exempt her from being exhausted.

“You’re cold,” he muttered while pulling his jacket tighter around her.

“I’m literally fine.”

“You’ve cried for an hour outdoors.”

“That feels judgmental.”

“It is.”

She smiled anyway, cheeks pink from cold and emotion and the fact that he kept looking at her like she’d personally rewritten his entire future tonight. The drive home felt soft. Her hand stayed tangled with his over the console almost the whole drive while the city lights passed around them.

Every few minutes she’d glance at him and start smiling all over again for no reason. By the fourth time, he narrowed his eyes slightly.

“What.”

“You’[re so obsessed with me,” she said dreamily.

He groaned immediately. “You’re gonna be unbearable now.”

“You literally admitted it.”

“That’s not related.”

“It’s deeply related.”

She laughed quietly, resting her head against the window. But underneath all the teasing, there was something warm settling inside her chest. ____________________________________________________

By the time they got home, the house was dark except for the kitchen light Cristina always forgot to turn off. She barely made it inside before Heeseung caught her wrist gently.

“Wait.”

She blinked sleepily. “Hm?”

“Come upstairs.”

Something in his tone made her pause. So she followed him. Up the stairs. Into their bedroom.

Heeseung closed the door softly behind them, then walked toward the dresser quietly while she watched him with growing confusion.

“What are you doing.”

“Hang on.”

That immediately made her suspicious.

“Oh my God, are you proposing right now?”

“No.”

“Because I bought land?”

“Aeri.”

She grinned slightly, but it faded when she noticed him pulling out a small velvet box from the back of a drawer. Her breath caught instantly.

The room suddenly felt very still. Heeseung turned back toward her slower this time.

And for once, he looked nervous. Not surgery nervous. Not life-or-death nervous. Something softer. More vulnerable.

Her chest tightened immediately. “Heeseung…”

He walked back toward her carefully, holding the little box loosely in one hand.

“This isn’t a proposal,” he said quietly before she could panic. “Okay?” She nodded once anyway, already emotional for reasons she didn’t fully understand yet.

He stopped in front of her. Then opened the box. Inside was a ring.. Elegant. Old enough to feel lived-in.

She stared at it silently.

“My mom’s,” he said softly.

That hit her so hard she physically stopped breathing for a second. He looked down at the ring briefly before continuing. “She used to tell me she wanted me to give this to someone who felt like home.”

His voice got quieter there. “And I think…” He laughed softly under his breath. “I think she would’ve loved you embarrassingly fast.”

Her eyes immediately filled again.

He smiled faintly at that. “You don’t have to answer anything tonight,” he said gently. “I’m not asking for a wedding date. I’m not asking you to suddenly stop being scared.”

“I just need you to know I’m serious about you.” “I never got the chance to give this ring to Hana, because it didn’t feel completely right either. But if there’s one thing in my life I will always be sure about, it's you.”

The room felt too small for how hard her heart was beating. He carefully took the ring from the box.

“You said tonight that you wanted to build a life with me.” His eyes lifted back to hers.

“So this…” he said softly, taking her trembling hand carefully into his, “is me telling you I’m building one with you too.” He slid the ring gently onto her finger.

Not her left hand, her right. A promise. Not pressure. And somehow that made it infinitely more emotional.

“There’s no deadline on this,” he whispered. “No trap. No expectations you have to force yourself into overnight.” His thumb brushed against her knuckles softly.

“Just me loving you for as long as you’ll let me.”

She broke immediately after that. A soft, wrecked sound left her as she threw herself into him, arms wrapping tightly around his neck.

He caught her instantly, holding her close while she cried into his shoulder.

“You’re so unfair,” she mumbled tearfully.

He laughed quietly against her hair. “Why.”

“You keep saying things that make me wanna marry you right now.”

That startled a real laugh out of him. Warm and disbelieving all at once.

“Well,” he murmured, holding her tighter, “good thing I’m playing the long game.” She pulled back just enough to look at him again, eyes wet, ring glinting softly under the bedroom light. And suddenly forever didn’t feel like some terrifying cliff edge anymore.

The bar had been loud enough to blur everything.

Music shaking the glasses, rain hitting the windows of the tiny downtown place, exhausted surgeons and interns and strangers all packed too close together. Aeri had only gone because her moving boxes were still sitting unopened in her apartment and she didn’t want to spend another night alone with cardboard and anxiety.

And then there was him. Tall. Calm. Stupidly handsome.

He’d been sitting beside her for maybe twenty minutes before she realized he was flirting. Because he didn’t flirt like other men. No smirking pickup lines. No cocky nonsense. He just looked at her like she was the only thing in the room worth focusing on.

“You’re nervous,” he’d said casually while swirling whiskey in his glass. “I’m not.” “You keep tapping your finger.”

She immediately stopped tapping and narrowed her eyes at him. “That’s invasive.”

“It’s observant.”

“You always this annoying?” His mouth twitched. “Usually worse.”

And god, the chemistry after that had been ridiculous. The kind where every accidental touch felt intentional. Where the air got hotter every time they leaned closer. Where her laugh kept getting quieter because she kept noticing his eyes dropping to her mouth.

She still didn’t even know his full name when they ended up back at his hotel. Temporary. That was the agreement. No names beyond first names. No expectations. No future. Just one reckless night before she started residency at Seattle Grace in the morning. And it had been… intense. Not just physically. Emotionally too, somehow. Like he understood her too quickly.

Like when she’d sat on the edge of the bed afterward in his shirt, staring at the rainy city outside the window, and he’d quietly asked, “First day tomorrow?” She’d looked over slowly. “How’d you know that?” “You have that look.”

“What look?”

“Like you’re trying not to panic.”

And she remembered laughing softly before mumbling, “I’m going to throw up. I can feel it.”

“You won’t.”

“You sound very sure.”

“I am.”

It annoyed her how comforting that was. And then morning came. She woke up alone. No note. No number. Just the faint smell of his cologne on the pillow beside her.

________________________________________________________________

Seattle Grace was chaos. Attendings barking orders. Nurses running everywhere. Residents half asleep and terrified. Aeri stood with the other interns clutching her coffee hard enough to deform the cup. “This is humiliating,” she muttered. Beside her, Cristina whispered, “I haven’t blinked in six minutes.” “I think I’m actively dying.”

“You look actively dying.”

“Thank you.”

Then Bailey walked in. Everyone straightened instantly. “The five of you are not special,” she snapped immediately. “You graduated medical school yesterday and suddenly think you’re surgeons. You’re not surgeons. You’re barely people.”

Aeri blinked slowly. “Oh my god,” she whispered. “I’m afraid.”

Bailey continued marching while speaking. “You will answer every page. You will stay out of my way. And if you embarrass me, I will personally make your lives miserable.” Aeri leaned toward Cristina again. “I think she could kill someone with her eyes.”

“She already killed me.”

Then Bailey stopped outside the conference room doors. “New Chief of Neurosurgery starts today,” she said sharply. “You speak when spoken to. Understood?”

Then the doors swung open.Aeri  looked up casually.

And froze. Because him.Him. The man from last night walked into the room in a navy scrubs with a coffee in one hand and that same infuriatingly calm expression on his face.

Except now everyone around her suddenly straightened like royalty had arrived. One of the attendings immediately stepped forward. “Dr. Lee.”

Dr. Lee. Aeri’s soul left her body. Heeseung’s eyes lifted lazily toward the interns, and stopped directly on her. Immediate recognition. Immediate tension. For one horrible second neither of them moved. Then Bailey was talking again but Aeri physically could not hear her because all she could think was: I slept with the Chief of Neurosurgery.

His face barely changed. Which honestly made it worse. Just composed. Controlled. Professional. Meanwhile Aeri looked seconds away from cardiac arrest.

Cristina nudged her slightly. “You okay?”

 “No.”

“No like actually your face is pale.”

“No literally I need to evacuate the building.”

And then Heeseung spoke for the first time. Deep voice. Smooth. Controlled.

“Welcome to Seattle Grace everyone. It’s a beautiful day to save lives isn’t it?”

Aeri wanted to die because his eyes stayed on her for half a second too long. Like he was remembering everything too. The bar. The hotel room. Her hands in his hair. The way she’d laughed against his mouth.

God.

“Neurosurgery requires precision,” he continued calmly. “Discipline. Control under pressure. So I hope you’re all competent enough for that”

Aeri stared at the floor. Control under pressure was crazy considering this man had literally pinned her against a hotel door twelve hours ago.

“And if you can’t keep up,” he finished, “you won’t last here.”His gaze flicked to her again.

Tiny. Barely noticeable. But devastating. Because now there was the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes. Like he knew she was losing her mind.

Bailey clapped sharply. “Move.” Everyone scattered instantly.

Aeri turned around so fast she nearly walked directly into a crash cart. “Sorry— sorry—”

She grabbed the handle awkwardly. Then froze again because Heeseung was suddenly right there beside her. Close. Way too close.

His voice dropped quietly enough that nobody else could hear. “You survived your first five minutes.” Aeri stared up at him in disbelief. “You left.” One eyebrow lifted slightly.

“That’s your first statement to your boss?”

“You’re my boss?”

“You didn’t know what I did.”

“You didn’t tell me!”

“You didn’t ask.”

“That is psychotic behavior.”

For the first time, an actual smile threatened at the corner of his mouth. And it completely ruined her.

Then Bailey yelled from down the hall, “Dr. Kim unless you plan on marrying that hallway MOVE.”

Aeri jumped instantly. “Yep. Moving. Alive. Going.” She speed-walked away in total humiliation.

Meanwhile Heeseung watched her go with the smallest smile still lingering on his face. And for the first time since taking the position at Seattle Grace, he was genuinely interested in something.

________________________________________________________________

Eventually Aeri became spectacular at avoiding Neurosurgery. It took less than twenty-four hours. The second she saw his lean tall figure in navy scrubs anywhere near her hallway she would literally pivot and disappear. One time she walked into a supply closet for forty minutes because she spotted Heeseung exiting an elevator. Another time she made direct eye contact with him across the nurses station and immediately turned around so fast she smacked into Karev.

“What is wrong with you?” he snapped. “Nothing.”

“You just concussed yourself on my shoulder.”

“I’m thriving actually.”

Meanwhile Heeseung noticed all of it. Every sudden escape. Every panicked reroute. Every time she somehow vanished the moment he entered a room. And honestly it was becoming entertaining. Especially because she was terrible at being subtle.

So by the third day, he decided he was done watching her flee.

The surgical floor was chaos that afternoon. Residents rushing charts around, nurses weaving through stretchers, overhead pages going off every thirty seconds. Aeri was speed-walking down the hallway with scans tucked against her chest, muttering to herself.

“Okay. Neuro consult. Don’t pass out. Don’t embarrass yourself. Don’t accidentally sleep with another department head—”

“Too late for that one.”

She stopped so abruptly she nearly dropped the scans.Heeseung stood at the end of the hallway in dark blue scrubs, scrub cap hanging loose around his neck, coffee in one hand.

God. It was unfair how much better he looked in scrubs.More dangerous somehow.

Less polished than the suit from orientation. More real. Sleeves pushed slightly up his forearms. Tired eyes from surgery. That stupid calm expression still fully intact.

Aeri immediately looked left. Escape route.

Unfortunately he noticed. “Don’t,” he said casually.

“I wasn’t doing anything.”

“You were about to run.”

“I walk quickly.”

“You turned around so fast you hit a crash cart.”

“…that crash cart came out of nowhere.”

His mouth twitched. Aeri pointed awkwardly down the hall. “Well. Anyway. Busy. Medicine. Human suffering.” Then she tried to sidestep him.

He moved too. Directly into her path. And now suddenly they were tucked into the quieter corner beside an empty patient room, close enough that her brain fully stopped functioning again.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said, while looking down at her with the same expression from the bar, she felt her knees go jellylike.

Aeri stared at him. “You’re the Chief of Neuro.”

“Yes.”

“And I’m an intern.”

“Yes.”

“And we slept together.”

A pause.

“Yes.”

“Do you hear how insane that sounds?”

He leaned one shoulder lightly against the wall beside her. “You seemed less concerned two nights ago.” Her face immediately heated.

“That is so inappropriate.”

“You started it.”

“I absolutely did not.”

“You kissed me first.”

She opened her mouth.Closed it.

“…irrelevant.”

Now he was definitely smiling.Small. Lazy. Dangerous. And she hated how much she liked being the reason for it. People passed by the hallway entrance but neither of them moved. The tension was ridiculous.

Aeri swallowed. “You left.”

There it was again. That softer thing underneath all her chaos. Heeseung noticed immediately. His expression shifted slightly. Less teasing now.

“I had surgery at five in the morning.”

“You still could’ve left a note.”

“You said temporary.”

Her chest tightened annoyingly because he wasn’t wrong.

“I know,” she muttered.

For a second neither of them spoke. Just stared at each other while the hospital moved around them. Then Heeseung glanced at the scans in her arms. “Whose imaging?”

“Post-op spinal tumor.”

“Show me.”

Professional switch.

Instant. It genuinely startled her every time. She handed him the scans automatically and watched his eyes narrow in concentration. And this was worse somehow. Because now she got why everyone respected him so much. He looked completely different when he worked. Sharper. Intense. Focused in a way that consumed the entire room.

He pointed lightly at one image. “Compression here. Did you catch that?” Aeri stepped closer instinctively to look. Their shoulders brushed. Both of them paused for half a second.

Then she forced herself to focus. “I thought edema at first.”

“Reasonable assumption. But look at the margins.”

His voice had lowered slightly while explaining it.

Calm. Patient. And so damn attractive.

Aeri blinked at the scans before looking up at him. “You’re doing teacher voice.”

“What?”

“That voice attendings do when they’re pretending residents aren’t idiots.”

A laugh escaped him quietly. Actually escaped. And YN stared because oh. Oh no. He was devastating when he laughed.

Then Bailey’s voice suddenly echoed from down the hallway.

“Dr. Aeri !”

Aeri jumped like she’d committed a federal crime.

Bailey narrowed her eyes immediately upon seeing them standing close together.

“…why are you cornered in my hallway?”

Aeri pointed at Heeseung instantly. “Him.”

Traitor.

Heeseung looked entirely unbothered. “We were discussing imaging.”

Bailey stared at both of them with terrifying suspicion. Then at Aeri specifically.

“You look stressed.”

“I am stressed.”

“You always look stressed.”

“Exactly.”

Bailey continued staring. Aeri physically felt herself sweating.

Then Bailey finally sighed. “Go admit your patient before I admit you to psych.”

Aeri nodded immediately. “Yep. Going. Absolutely.” She grabbed the scans from Heeseung too fast and papers scattered everywhere.

“Oh my god.”

She crouched instantly to pick them up.

Heeseung crouched too at the exact same time. Their hands brushed reaching for the same page. And for one stupid second they both froze again. The tension came rushing right back.

Bailey looked between them slowly.

“…I don’t even want to know,” she muttered while shaking her head before walking away.

Aeri closed her eyes in horror.

“We’re dead.”

Heeseung handed her the last scan carefully.

“You’re dramatic.”

“She knows.”

“She suspects.”

“She absolutely knows.”

Another faint smile.

Then he leaned slightly closer before speaking quietly enough that only she could hear.

“You should stop running from me.”

Aeri breath caught embarrassingly fast.

“And why’s that?”

His eyes stayed on hers for a beat too long.

“Because eventually,” he said softly, “I’ll catch you.”

_______________________________________________________________

Later that same week, Aeri came to the conclusion that the universe hated her.

There was genuinely no other explanation.

Because out of every attending at Seattle Grace, every possible rotation, every surgical service—

she got assigned to Neurosurgery. Specifically under his service. Aeri stared at the assignment board in complete silence. “No,” she whispered.

Beside her, Cristina squinted at the board. “Oh you’re doomed.”

“I need to fake my death.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“I slept with him Cristina.”

Cristina blinked once. Then twice.

“…you WHAT?”

Aeri slapped a hand over her mouth instantly because nurses were nearby.

“Stop saying it loud!”

“You said it loud!”

“I trusted you!”

“You absolutely should not have!”

Before she could spiral further, a calm voice sounded behind her.

“Dr. Kim.”

She froze instantly. Heeseung stood there already in scrubs, surgical cap hanging around his neck again, tablet tucked under one arm. Every single resident straightened the second he appeared. Meanwhile Aeri considered launching herself through the nearest window.

His gaze moved to the board. Then to her.

“You’re on my service.”

Aeri stared at him flatly. “Unfortunately.”

One of the senior residents physically choked trying not to laugh. Because nobody talked to Dr. Lee like that. But Heeseung only looked amused. Deeply amused.

“Conference room in five,” he said calmly. “Try not to run away before then.”

Then he walked off. Cristina grabbed Aeri violently the second he disappeared.

“WHAT WAS THAT.”

“I DON’T KNOW.”

“YOU’RE FLIRTING WITH YOUR BOSS.”

“I’M TRYING NOT TO.”

“You’re failing horrifically.”

________________________________________________________________

Rounds were torture. Actual torture.

Because Heeseung was one of those terrifyingly brilliant attendings who asked rapid-fire questions while walking impossibly fast through hallways. And somehow Aeri kept ending up directly beside him.

“Symptoms of increased intracranial pressure.”

“Headache, nausea, vomiting, papilledema.”

“Differential?”