Masterlist - The Seven Acts Series
Book Two/Seven
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
WC: 38k
PAIRINGS: Park Sunghoon x Female Oc
CONTAINS: Body wear and tear, Jealousy, Angst/Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Silent Care, Chaotic Kid, Yearning, Mentions Angel and Devil, He Fell First, Shared History, Possessive Hoon, Dramatic Oc, Ni-ki as a older brother, Tension, Drama, Lil bit of Comedy, Enha ensemble cameos, Years of restraint turned into a quick burn. Confessions. Light Smut. Kim Sunoo trolling. Lmk if I missed anything.
an: Story Two of Seven. Something about Doctor Hoon just feels right. I may have went overboard with the love confessions. Oh well.
Airi
Airi Nishimura was not a morning person.
She could pirouette until her ribs gave out and land a triple spin with a fractured toe but ask her to be coherent before 9 a.m. and she’d rather be buried alive in glitter.
Still, here she was hair still damp, one sock missing under her sneakers, granola bar clenched between her teeth as she elbowed open the heavy glass door of LUX Entertainment’s training facility. Her leggings were inside out. Again. And the coffee in her hand? Burnt.
“Perfect,” she muttered to no one, stepping over a stray scarf on the floor like a gymnast on a balance beam.
The lobby of the entertainment complex was already in chaos. Choreographers barked instructions. A group of rookie idol trainees whispered anxiously in the corner. Someone was crying over a ripped leotard. Another girl looked like she hadn’t slept in a week.
Airi didn’t blink. She’d grown up in this kind of beautiful disaster.
She breezed past the front desk without a glance, ponytail bouncing, shoes thumping against the polished floor. Her coat slipped off one shoulder, and her duffel bag half zipped and definitely spilling makeup wipes swung violently at her side.
“Airi,” the assistant choreographer deadpanned as she passed. “You’re late.”
She didn’t slow down. “I like to make an entrance.”
“You’re supposed to stretch first.”
“I did. Emotionally.”
Someone snorted behind her.
She made it to the rehearsal studio just as the opening beats of the day’s routine thundered through the speakers. Her limbs ached before she even started not the good kind of ache, but the kind that whispered things like, maybe don’t land on that ankle again or one day you’ll wake up and your hip will just be gone.
But none of that showed on her face.
Airi Nishimura was a lot of things, overly blunt, emotionally stunted, selectively dramatic but weak wasn’t one of them. So she rolled out her shoulders, cracked her neck, and jumped straight into the opening routine like her bones didn’t feel like chalk and rage.
Halfway through the first run, Minami, her favorite disaster of a coworker, stumbled in, late as always, with a coffee the size of her head and a hair tie hanging from her wrist like a forgotten thought.
“I got you one,” Minami whispered, nudging a second coffee into Airi’s hand during a break.
“Is this love?” Airi muttered dramatically. “Tell your boyfriend to move out. You’re mine now.”
Minami rolled her eyes. “He’d thank you.”
They clinked coffee cups like wine glasses before collapsing onto the floor, limbs stretched out, chests heaving.
Around them, the studio continued spinning people moving, dancing, shouting, breaking, rebuilding.
Airi took a long sip and stared up at the ceiling, eyes following a flickering light that still hadn’t been fixed since last month. Her muscles were already locking up, her ankle throbbing beneath the warmth of her sock. But she kept it all in. She always did.
No one needed to know.
No one ever really asked.
And if they did, she’d just make a joke. Deflect. Pretend she wasn’t slowly breaking apart one tendon at a time.
She could fall apart later. Tonight, maybe. Or next week. Whenever her body forced her to.
For now? She was here. Sharp and soft and untouchable. The sarcastic little sister of someone important. A rising star with a ticking clock in her joints and a smile that dared anyone to pity her.
Let them try.
Sunghoon
Hospitals were meant to be sterile, clinical, quiet.
Whoever came up with that idea had clearly never stepped foot inside Hansung Medical Center on a Monday morning.
The orthopedic wing was barely holding it together a kid was wailing in Exam Room 2 like he’d been shot instead of just needing three stitches, an incoming trauma case was wheeled past with a mangled leg from a motorcycle crash, and a university football player in room 7 had managed to break three ribs and still flirt with the nurses between morphine doses.
“Dr. Park,” someone called, “we’re going to need you to-”
“I’m already heading there,” Sunghoon replied, not even glancing up from the tablet in his hand.
His voice was calm. Always calm. It cut through the chaos like a thread of ice, crisp, direct, and impossible to misinterpret.
Park Sunghoon was the kind of man who made silence out of noise. The kind of man who didn’t shout to be heard, people simply listened when he spoke. Rational. Reserved. Brilliant enough to make headlines, but private enough to never appear in them. The chief of orthopedics before he even turned thirty.
Today, like every day, he was immaculate with dark slacks pressed, white coat crisp, black hair neatly pushed back despite the rush. He moved with that sharp, precise efficiency that made interns both fear and worship him.
His pager vibrated again.
[OR Schedule Change – ACL Repair bumped to 5PM. Patient stable.]
He swiped the message away and turned a corner, brushing past a resident who looked like he was moments from cardiac arrest.
“Breathe,” Sunghoon muttered under his breath, and the poor guy straightened like a statue.
Behind him, nurses scrambled, phones rang, a wheelchair tipped over, and someone screamed about a vending machine eating their card.
Sunghoon barely blinked.
“Doctor,” Nurse Hana appeared at his side, trying to keep up with his long strides. “We’ve got a post-op in room 11 who’s asking for you personally.”
“Vitals?”
“Stable,” she replied.
“Then they can wait.”
“Also, the kid in exam 3 puked on the floor again.”
“Add that to his chart,” he said dryly.
She snorted. “You want me to document projectile range?”
“Would help with diagnostics.”
Sunghoon wasn’t a robot contrary to popular belief but he was someone who lived and breathed order. He had to. In a world where bones snapped like twigs and lives flipped on a dime, he was the constant. The one who never flinched. The calm in the storm.
“Doctor Park,” came another voice behind him. “The MRI scans you requested just came in.”
“Send them to my office. I’ll review them after the walk ins.”
Another buzz from his pager.
[Family consult in 30 mins – Room B16]
“Put them on a hold for ten,” he added, eyes scanning the hallway for whatever new emergency was headed his way.
But instead, it was Nurse Hana again this time, with a strange look on her face. Amused. Almost smug.
Sunghoon narrowed his eyes.
“What now?” he asked.
She cleared her throat. “You have…a walk in.”
He blinked. “That’s what we’re here for.”
“It’s a Nishimura Airi.”
Silence.
He closed his eyes. A slow, dramatic exhale left his chest.
“Ah,” he muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “My biggest headache is here.”
And just like that, the chaos didn’t seem so loud anymore.
Airi
Airi Nishimura kicked her legs back and forth, well, leg because the other one was currently propped up on the exam table, wrapped in a soft gel pack and throbbing like a traitor.
She let out a sigh, her puffed cheeks deflating like a balloon, and glanced at the wall clock in the sterile little room.
12:07 PM. Still no sign of the world’s most dramatic doctor.
“I know he’s going to say ‘I told you so,’” she muttered, staring at the ceiling like the fluorescent lights might blink back. “Then sigh like I gave him heartburn. Again.”
She would laugh if it didn’t feel like her ankle was being stabbed with invisible needles.
God, it hurts more than it did yesterday. And yesterday was pretty bad.
She hadn’t meant to let it get this bad. Really, she hadn’t.
But she had classes to teach younger dancers to train, routines to film, and a music video deadline hanging over her like a guillotine. One twinge turned into a small ache. A small ache turned into a limp. A limp turned into sharp pain…and then her ankle doubled in size this morning when she woke up, and she nearly screamed trying to get down the stairs.
So here she was. Hiding in an exam room like a kid waiting to get lectured by her teacher except her teacher was six feet of stormy eyes, quiet judgment, and maddening self control.
Airi snorted softly to herself.
Sunghoon always tried to pretend they weren’t friends. Like she wasn’t the little sister who followed him and Ni-ki around growing up, stealing all their snacks and annoying the hell out of them until one day she started showing up at his clinic as an actual adult with actual dance injuries and actual curves he tried very hard not to look at.
But she knew better.
He might sigh. He might scold. He might raise that perfect brow like she was the definition of chaos wrapped in a ponytail.
But he always saw her. Always listened. Always treated her first. And when he thought she wasn’t looking, his gaze lingered a second too long.
“Yeah, you love me,” she said out loud, grinning to herself as she adjusted the ice pack and winced. “Even if you try to act like I’m just another patient.”
She leaned back, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as she let the ache settle and tried not to think about how badly this could mess things up.
If it was worse than a sprain…if it was a tear…
Her fingers curled around the edge of the exam table.
Please don’t be a tear.
She couldn’t afford another one, not right now, not with everything she had lined up. She had a contract to renew, choreography to finish, and a showcase next month in Singapore. Time wasn’t on her side.
Pain waits for no one and neither does the industry.
But she couldn’t ignore this anymore.
So she came. Because as much as she hated sitting still, as much as the idea of being benched made her stomach twist, she trusted him. Sunghoon was the only doctor who never treated her like a fragile doll or a flirty nuisance. He saw her as she was: a dancer trying to survive her passion, one fracture at a time.
And honestly? She’d rather be stuck in a room with him and all his cold shouldered lectures than with one of those weird old men who wore cologne like they were still in the '80s.
At least Sunghoon smells expensive when he scolds me.
She chuckled again, pressing her lips together to stifle the sound.
Any second now, she knew he’d open that door, sigh like the world was ending, and give her the look; the one that said she was the reason he had gray hairs even though he didn’t actually have any yet.
And maybe her heart would flutter the tiniest bit, like it always did when she caught him looking at her like she was more than just Ni-ki’s little sister.
But for now?
She waited. Wrapped in silence, cold gel, and her own steady heartbeat.
Airi Nishimura was five seconds from going feral.
Her phone had died twenty minutes ago. The air conditioning was too cold. She couldn’t feel her toes. Her ankle felt like it had grown a second heartbeat. And the posters on the wall were outdated and ugly.
Honestly, if she had to stare at the faded “Protect Your Bones!” skeleton chart for one more minute, she was going to start naming the bones out loud in bad accents just for fun.
Instead, she settled for humming.
Poorly.
It was her go to when she got bored, and thank God no one could hear because she couldn’t sing to save her life. That was the only reason she wasn’t an idol. Seriously. That and the fact she didn’t want to be one. And the fact that sometimes she danced so hard her knees screamed like banshees.
Still, these days you didn’t even need to sing. You just needed good PR and a jawline.
She chuckled to herself and tapped her fingers on the exam table like a drummer without a beat.
"Any day now, Doctor I-Have-Twenty-People-To-Save-First."
She could practically hear Sunghoon’s voice in her head. “This isn’t a daycare, Airi.”
She rolled her eyes at his imaginary scolding.
The real one was always worse.
Just as she leaned back, debating whether to draw a face on a tongue depressor for company, the door finally creaked open. Airi perked up instantly like a parched cat hearing a can open, but she remembered to reel it in.
She was twenty four. An adult. A grown woman. She would act accordingly.
So instead of bouncing off the table like she wanted to, she blinked slowly, uncrossed her arms with careful disinterest, and offered a dry reply.
“Doctor Park. What a surprise. Only been waiting a decade.”
Sunghoon walked in with a clipboard, a sigh, and an expression that made her want to throw a tongue depressor at his head.
He didn’t even look at her at first. Just set his files down, looked over something, and closed the door behind him with the type of deliberate calm that made her itch.
Then he looked up.
His gaze flicked over her then her leg, her face, her posture and he let out a sigh so dramatic it should’ve come with subtitles.
That sigh. That ‘Airi, why are you like this?’ sigh. Like she had just told him the earth was flat and she fully believed it.
“I’m already regretting opening that door,” he said, voice dry as ever, brows lifting like her presence alone was a threat to his blood pressure.
“Harsh,” she muttered, lips twitching. “I thought you liked having me around.”
His eyes met hers briefly just for a flicker and for a moment something unreadable passed across his face before it vanished, tucked neatly back under the cool exterior he always wore like a second skin.
Then he was walking toward her, not rising to her bait, not laughing at her joke, not even looking at her like he used to when they were younger and she could get him to crack a smile if she said the right thing.
God, he was so annoying.
He always treated her like she was still fifteen, like he hadn’t noticed she was an adult now. A woman with her own life. Her own body. A woman with boobs, and a nice ass if she does say so herself. Her own rapidly swelling ankle.
“Shoes off,” he said without looking, already pulling on his gloves.
She huffed but obeyed, slipping the sneaker off her injured foot and biting her lip at the way it throbbed as she moved.
Sunghoon crouched in front of her like a storm cloud in scrubs, gentle but serious, all doctor mode, and it took everything in her not to fidget under the weight of his hands on her skin.
“Let me guess,” he muttered. “You felt pain a week ago, ignored it, kept dancing, and now you’re here because your ankle looks like a puff pastry.”
She opened her mouth ready to argue.
He looked up with a perfectly arched brow as if asking her to challenge him.
She shut it.
God, she hated when she got silent. But she hated more how he looked at her like she was a reckless kid who didn’t know when to stop and not someone who had been breaking her body for her dreams since she was sixteen.
“I had responsibilities,” she said finally, her voice low. “It wasn’t the right time to stop.”
He didn’t say anything at first.
Just pressed his fingers gently along the bone, checking for swelling, for heat, for anything worse and she swore her heart beat faster than it should have.
Not from pain.
Not really.
Just from the fact that he was touching her. Close to her. And still looking at her like she didn’t mean more than she should.
Because that was the thing with Sunghoon.
His hands were warm, but his eyes never lingered long enough.
Even if sometimes, just sometimes, she caught them doing exactly that.
Sunghoon
If Park Sunghoon had to describe Airi Nishimura in a single word, it would be: loud.
Not volume wise. Not exactly. Though, yes she had a voice that filled rooms, opinions like fireworks, and the ability to turn a ten second story into a five minute opera complete with unnecessary impressions and questionable sound effects.
But more than that, she was just…loud in her presence.
Wherever she went, Airi happened. Her energy didn’t knock on doors; it barged in, kicked its shoes off, and made itself comfortable.
And somehow, some way, he had gotten used to it.
Which was probably the problem.
She was sitting on the paper covered exam table, legs swinging slightly, her ankle swollen and pink, a matching pout blooming across her face like she was two seconds away from a full blown tantrum.
“I told you it wasn’t that bad,” she grumbled as he wrapped the compression bandage carefully, his gloved hands precise.
“It’s sprained,” Sunghoon replied without looking up. “You’ll need crutches for a few days. At least.”
He didn’t say I told you so.
Didn’t remind her that dancing through injury was the worst possible decision she could’ve made. Didn’t even mention that she probably made it worse by waiting.
But when her groan echoed off the walls like she had just been sentenced to a year of house arrest, he nearly rolled his eyes.
“Crutches?” she whined, dragging the word out like it personally offended her.
“Unless you’d prefer a wheelchair,” he offered, deadpan.
She gasped. “Are you kidding me? Do you know what they’ll say at practice? ‘Here comes Airi on her elderly scooter-’”
He tuned her out as she kept rambling, ranting about pride and grace and ‘looking like a broken flamingo,’ while he finished securing the bandage. But he didn’t stop her. Never did. Somewhere along the line, he’d stopped trying to interrupt her outbursts altogether. It was easier to let the storm rage until it ran out of wind.
Besides, she was funny when she got like this.
He almost chuckled.. almost when she compared herself to an old man with a hip replacement. But he held back. He was working. He was composed. He was not about to laugh at one of her jokes.
Still…
He guessed growing up around her had made him immune to the chaos. To the way her emotions had always come fast and hot, wearing no disguise. And while he never matched that energy, never let his own feelings live out loud like hers did, he watched. Listened. Memorized.
Maybe that’s why he always knew when something was wrong.
Like now.
Because even as she groaned dramatically about how crutches would ruin her aesthetic, he caught it, the slight tremor in her voice, the way she kept glancing at her phone like it might suddenly power back on and solve all her problems.
She was worried.
About work. About her body. About what came next if this injury didn’t heal fast enough.
But of course, she wouldn’t say that.
Instead, she puffed her cheeks out and slumped backward, muttering, “Guess I’ll just retire early. A flamingo’s life wasn’t meant to last.”
Sunghoon shook his head, standing. “You’ll survive.”
“Wow,” she said, eyes narrowed. “Soothing bedside manner, as always.”
He didn’t rise to the bait. He just peeled off his gloves, dropped them in the bin, and turned to jot notes in her chart.
But as he reached for the clipboard, his fingers brushed hers, he hadn’t noticed her hand there, resting on the edge of the table.
He didn’t pull back right away. Didn’t even feel the instinct to. His hand lingered, callused fingertips grazing soft skin.
She didn’t move either. Not for a beat.
Not until her voice, suddenly softer, filled the air. “So…do I get a lollipop, or are you the kind of doctor who only gives those to the good little patients?”
He looked up slowly as his black hair fell slightly into his eye.
Her eyes were waiting for him.
Something unspoken stretched between them, like the air had shifted. But it passed. Like always. Like it had to.
“You’re lucky I don’t prescribe you a leash,” he muttered instead, dry as ever.
She laughed, tossing her head back.
And even though he turned away again, even though he pretended not to hear how pretty her laugh was. His fingers still remembered the shape of hers. And his pulse didn’t calm for a long, long time.
It didn’t take a genius to see that Airi was hurting over the next hour.
But she’d never admit it. Not with words, anyway.
Instead, she was talking a mile a minute about how “crutches are basically death on sticks,” while attempting to balance on one like a one woman circus act. Her voice was bright, full of sarcasm, her usual deflective performance.
Sunghoon didn’t say much in return. He didn’t have to.
He’d known her long enough to read the space between her sentences. Almost fourteen years of memories gave him that quiet fluency.
The way she was adjusting the hem of her sweater even though it didn’t need fixing. The way she wasn’t meeting his eyes. The way her laugh had a sharp edge not because something was funny, but because if she didn’t laugh, she might crumble.
Her ankle was worse than she let on. He could tell by the swelling, the tension in her jaw when she thought he wasn’t looking, the fact that she hadn’t danced around the exam room like she usually did. Not even a single pirouette in protest.
She was scared.
And it made something twist in his chest.
But he didn’t push. He never did.
He just adjusted the crutches to the correct height in silence, crouched beside her with the same focus he used in surgery. When he gently pressed down on the handles to check the fit, she winced barely but he caught it.
“Try walking with them,” he said simply, standing to his full height.
She obeyed, still making dramatic sound effects under her breath. “Doctor Park, you’ve doomed me. I’ll never walk sexy again.”
He huffed. “You never did.”
That earned him a scoff and a glare over her shoulder, playful, familiar. Her way of saying thank you without actually saying it.
He walked her to the edge of the hallway, where she’d turn left to head to the front desk for discharge.
“I’ll send your chart to the front. You’re clear to go.”
She paused. “...That’s it?”
Sunghoon nodded.
“No lecture? No ‘I told you so’? No dramatic threats to break both my legs if I ever wait this long again?”
“I think one leg is enough for now.”
Airi blinked at him.
Then she smiled. Not wide. Not bright. But real.
And that…that was enough to make his throat feel a little tight.
“Thanks,” she said, almost too quietly.
He gave her a short nod and turned away before it could mean more than it should.
There were other patients waiting, a boy with a fractured wrist, a diabetic teen whose sugar levels had just crashed, and a pro football player in exam room nine with suspected rib fractures. His pager buzzed like it was having a seizure in his coat pocket.
But even as he slipped back into the storm of white coats, beeping monitors, and the blur of shifting emergencies.
His mind kept circling back to Airi.
To the stubborn tilt of her chin. To the wince she thought he missed. To the way she hadn't once mentioned how scared she was of what this could mean for her career.
He felt bad.
But he couldn’t tell her what to do. That had never been their dynamic. And even if it had, she’d never listen. Airi would drag herself to a dance floor on broken bones if it meant proving she still could.
All he could do was be there.
In the quiet way he always had been. In this way she never acknowledged, but always trusted. The way that told him…someday, this might not be enough.
But for right now, it was.
And Sunghoon disappeared down the hallway with the soft echo of her crutch taps still trailing behind him.
Airi
She was going to murder Nishimura Riki.
There would be no body, no evidence, no trace. Just a faint trail of crushed carrots, one crutch left standing at a crooked angle, and security footage conveniently mysteriously erased. She’d watched enough true crime to know how not to get caught.
And judging by the smug look on her brother’s face as he rolled past aisle five on the shopping cart like it was his personal skateboard, he deserved it.
“I swear to God, Riki!” Airi snapped, hobbling after him like an angry flamingo on her borrowed crutches. “I hope your dinner party explodes.”
“It’s not a dinner party,” he called back. “It’s a vibe. A friend gathering. Don’t be weird.”
“You dragged me out of bed on my day off,” she huffed, catching up as he skidded to a stop near the frozen dumplings. “You said we were grabbing one thing.”
“Yeah, well, my one thing turned into ten.”
He grinned, tossing a bag of gyoza into the already overflowing cart. It was practically wheezing under the weight of snacks, meats, rice bags, juice boxes for Jaehee, and some suspiciously expensive steaks. Airi wasn’t even sure what half of this was for, but knowing their friend group, someone (Jay) would show up starving and eat half the tray before dinner even started.
Ni-ki turned to her, cocking his head. “You’re limping more than usual. You okay?”
Airi blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. The smirk was still there, but it softened a little. Less teasing, more big brother mode. He was always like this one second calling her a goblin, the next handing her his hoodie in cold weather without saying a word.
“I’m fine,” she muttered, dragging the crutches tighter under her arms. “Just sore. Only a few more days.”
“You didn’t overdo it again?”
“No.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“…Only a little.”
“Airi-yah.”
She groaned dramatically. “Can you yell at me after I get out of this godforsaken store? I already feel like a sideshow attraction.”
Ni-ki huffed a breath through his nose, the way he always did when trying not to scold her in public. His protectiveness was so deeply wired it came off as annoyed half the time. But she knew better.
“Next time you’re staying in the car,” he muttered, maneuvering the cart toward checkout. “I’ll bring snacks and a dog bowl. You can be my emotional support gremlin.”
She huffed as she rolled her eyes, “Oh my god, I hope someone pushes you into traffic.”
“You’d crutch your way into the road to save me.”
“Only so I could hit you with the crutch.”
He snorted. And she smiled.
Because this was how they worked, chaotic, loud, occasionally violent, but full of love in the only way two siblings raised on sarcasm and shared ramen cups could manage.
At checkout, she leaned against the counter while he unloaded the cart, muttering under his breath about how “Jay better cry when he eats this damn meal.” The cashier smiled at them, clearly entertained by the mess of it all. Airi just shot her an apologetic grin while trying not to pass out from exhaustion.
Ni-ki glanced at her again when she rubbed at her shoulder, clearly aching from the crutches.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah,” she replied, a little softer this time. “Just tired.”
He nodded. “We’ll go straight home. You can crash.”
She didn’t say thank you. He didn’t need her to. He just bagged the groceries like a machine, then told her to wait on the bench near the exit while he pulled the car around.
As she sat, head leaning back against the cool glass, she looked at the crutches balanced beside her.
Her ankle still throbbed. Her career still felt fragile. But at least for tonight there’d be food, warmth, people who made her laugh too hard, and a brother who never let her fall, not really.
Airi’s ankle was going to mutiny.
She could already feel the pulsing throb climbing up her calf, threatening to take her down like a sniper in the night. But she didn’t care. She refused to let a busted ankle be the reason her friends ended up in the ER for food poisoning.
Because, let’s be honest. Ni-ki should be banned from kitchens worldwide.
And yet, here she was, in her brother’s open concept apartment that looked like it belonged in a furniture catalog, sleeves rolled to her elbows, hair tied messily atop her head, crutches discarded like a pair of abandoned swords beside the fridge. She’d been standing for almost an hour, weight shifted mostly to her good leg, moving like muscle memory through the stove top chaos.
Steak medium rare, seared to perfection.
Rice fluffy, never sticky, in a triple batch.
Banchan, soy glazed potatoes, spinach namul, sesame bean sprouts, stir fried fish cakes, and cucumber kimchi chilling in the fridge.
She worked with quiet efficiency, only wincing when she stepped too hard with her bad foot, then cursing under her breath in three languages.
Meanwhile, Ni-ki was making tea and lemonade like it was brain surgery.
“Do you have to make that face?” she called over her shoulder as she heard him sigh for the sixth time while twisting a cap off the honey bottle.
“I’m concentrating,” he said dramatically. “This is art. You wouldn't understand.”
“You're making lemonade, not building a rocket ship.”
“Lemonade that doesn’t kill our friends. Big difference.”
Airi rolled her eyes and tossed him a dishrag. “Wipe your hands before you touch anything else. I don’t want sticky prints all over my banchan.”
“Yes, chef,” he muttered, but obeyed.
The smell of garlic, soy, and sesame coated the air, warm and homey in a way that felt like safety. Despite everything her injury, her stress, the fact that Sunghoon had been avoiding her since her last appointment four days ago, this dinner meant something. These people were her family.
They weren’t perfect. But they always showed up.
“Are you even invited to Jay’s party?” Ni-ki asked, now setting the last chopstick beside the stack of neatly folded napkins.
“Rude,” she deadpanned. “Of course I am.”
He snorted. “You don’t even know what it’s for.”
“I don’t need to. It’s Jay. He could be hosting an interpretive dance recital on the moon and I’d still show up.”
“That’s because you’re nosy.”
“It’s called loyalty, you traitor.”
They bickered like this often, snapping and teasing between tasks like a comedy duo doomed to share one apartment’s worth of kitchen counter space. But the table was nearly set now, long, rustic wood that Ni-ki had imported because “vibes matter,” covered in plates, candles, flowers, and the stack of Jaehee’s favorite bunny napkins.
God, the kid was going to scream when she saw them.
Airi stirred the last pot and lowered the heat, finally letting herself lean against the counter and exhale. Her ankle throbbed, but her pride didn’t let her regret it. The food was perfect. The apartment glowed. Their people would be here any minute.
And speak of the devil. A scream split through the house, bright and childlike.
“UNCLE KIIIII!”
Airi barely had time to react before the sound of racing footsteps turned the corner, and a tiny body launched itself through the open dining space like a missile made of pink fluff and bunny slippers.
Ni-ki barely had time to drop the napkins before five year old Jaehee was wrapped around his legs like a koala, squealing as he laughed and stumbled backward.
“Whoa! You got stronger, kid!”
“I missed you soooo much!” she yelled, hanging on tight.
Then she saw Airi.
And that was all it took.
“AUNTY RIRIIIIII—!”
“Oh god,” Airi whispered, laughing right before the little girl let go of her uncle and made a beeline across the room.
Pain? Forgotten.
Exhaustion? Who?
All Airi saw was Jaehee, bunny ears bouncing, arms outstretched like she was flying toward her. The sight cracked her heart open in the best way and as her niece threw herself into her arms with a full body hug, Airi couldn’t stop smiling.
Home wasn’t a place.
It was a moment like this.
Sunghoon
The moment Sunghoon stepped through the door, the heat hit him.
Not literal heat though the kitchen was practically radiating warmth from the stove and oven but the kind that came from people. The kind that soaked into your skin and settled in your chest, uninvited and permanent.
Laughter bubbled from the dining area, where Ni-ki stood talking animatedly to Jungwon and Yeji. Sunghoon offered a small wave and a nod as he slipped off his shoes, a quiet greeting that matched his presence. Calm. Clean cut. Unbothered.
He almost made it to the table without incident.
Almost.
But then he caught sight of her.
Airi stood in front of the kitchen counter, her crutches tossed to the side again like they were decorations instead of medical equipment. Her dark hair was twisted up with a clip, cheeks flushed from the heat, brows furrowed in concentration as she angled herself just enough to avoid putting full weight on her healing ankle.
And in her arms, nestled like a little queen, sat Jaehee, one arm around Airi’s neck, the other waving around as she talked animatedly.
Sunghoon’s heart skipped.
That was too much pressure.
Panic laced his mind, his hand outstretched to brace against the counter, he caught himself mid step before he tripped. His eyes zeroed in on Airis injured ankle which was trembling under the pressure and immediately felt his pulse rise.
Nope.
Absolutely not.
In two long strides, he crossed the kitchen and, without a single word, plucked Jaehee from Airi’s hip like he’d done it a thousand times before. The little girl gasped then immediately lit up.
“Doctor Hoon!”
Sunghoon barely glanced at Airi as he adjusted Jaehee in his arms, her tiny legs dangling as she wrapped around him with ease.
“You’re gonna give me a heart attack,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone.
But she heard him.
He could feel it, the heat of her glare.
Airi didn’t say a word either, not yet. She just blinked at him once, her mouth forming a silent, tight line before she rolled her eyes and turned back to the cutting board. Her mouth quirked, almost a pout. She reached for the cutting knife, grumbling softly as she started slicing the rested steak into strips with practiced efficiency.
He didn’t comment on the way she was now balancing herself with her hip pressed to the counter for support.
He didn’t mention the fact that she’d clearly been ignoring his discharge instructions again.
And he definitely didn’t say a word about how stubborn she was.
Because he didn’t need to.
They’d been doing this dance for years.
And in her silence, she said just as much as he did.
Still, he didn’t move. He stayed beside her, one arm wrapped around the child in his arms, the other gently brushing Jaehee’s hair out of her face as she twisted around to look at them both like she was holding court.
“So,” she began, all wide eyes and dramatic pauses, “-this boy at school? He held my hand for five seconds and then ran away! He totally likes me, right?!”
Airi snorted, unable to help herself. “Five seconds is a long time when you’re five. That’s basically a proposal.”
Jaehee gasped.
Sunghoon didn’t even blink.
“He probably panicked,” he said simply, brushing her bangs aside. “Boys are stupid at that age.”
“You’re a boy!” Jaehee gasped; and he swears he hears Airi mumble that he's stupid too...he will ignore that.
“I’m a man,” he replied, deadpan.
Airi choked on a laugh and turned her face away to hide it.
“Oh my god,” she said under her breath, knife tapping against the cutting board. “Someone write that on a shirt.”
“I’d wear it,” Jaehee agreed proudly.
Sunghoon just sighed.
Still, he didn’t move.
The three of them stood like that for a while. Sunghoon holding a five year old wrapped around his neck like a vine, Airi slicing steak with surgical precision beside him, the tension between them quiet but steady.
They didn’t talk about her ankle.
They didn’t talk about how his hand had hovered a second too long when she tilted backwards.
They didn’t talk about how, when her smile cracked just a little around the edges, it always felt like his ribs cracked too.
No, instead they just stood together in this kitchen, pretending like nothing was changing.
Even though it already had.
The table was full by the time dinner was served. Loud. Warm.
Too warm.
Sunghoon sat at the far end with a plate that hadn’t been touched in five minutes and a drink he was now refilling just to give his hands something to do. Around him, conversation buzzed like electricity. Sunoo talking animatedly about a case he’d seen on his clinic rotation, Ni-ki half listening as he shoved rice into his mouth and muttered something about needing more kimchi.
Everyone was here.
Everyone was happy.
And Sunghoon wanted to commit a felony.
Across the table, Airi sat sandwiched between Heeseung and Jake, looking like she belonged there, all laughter and loose shoulders, her black tank top strap slipping down her arm just slightly every time she reached for another side dish.
He shouldn’t have looked.
He definitely shouldn’t have kept looking.
Heeseung leaned in again, grinning wide as he said, “I swear to God, you get more gorgeous every time I see you. Is that a dancer thing? Do you all just age backwards?”
“Must be all that sweating and crying,” Airi replied dryly, popping a cucumber in her mouth like she wasn’t slowly driving Sunghoon insane.
Jake, who’d already finished his meal and was lounging with his chair tipped halfway back, chuckled and nudged her. “You mean all the sweating and crying from them trying to keep up with you.”
“Oh my god,” Heeseung groaned. “That was good. Bro, that was so good. Say it again.”
“No thanks,” Airi giggled, basking in the glowing attention of two morons.
Sunghoon’s molars clicked together.
Sunoo was still talking next to him, now telling some story about an elderly client who’d mistaken him for an idol and begged for a picture. Ni-ki laughed along from the other side, blissfully unaware or perhaps entirely aware that his sister was currently soaking up flirtation like a goddamn sponge across from them all.
And Sunghoon?
Sunghoon kept chewing his plain rice and pretending it didn’t taste like jealousy.
He didn’t want to listen to them.
He didn’t mean to listen to them.
But his ears traitorous, infuriating things filtered every word like it was piped straight into his bloodstream. Every time she laughed, something in his ribs twitched. Every time Heeseung leaned closer, his hand twitching just a little too far behind her seat, Sunghoon felt heat crawl under his skin.
She looked so comfortable. Like this was just a normal night. Like she wasn’t sitting there acting like she didn’t know exactly what she was doing.
And maybe she didn’t.
Maybe she really didn’t know.
Because the Airi he’d grown up with didn’t flirt. The Airi he remembered was a hurricane of snack crumbs and loud opinions, constantly trying to follow her brother around, poking at Sunghoon just to watch him snap.
But this Airi? This twenty four year old dancer who laughed like she wasn’t injured and smiled like she didn’t see the way Sunghoon’s gaze lingered across the room?
She was dangerous.
And Heeseung and Jake were idiots.
Ni-ki didn’t even flinch. Still laughing, still talking, still shoveling food into his mouth like his sister wasn’t currently being complimented by two of their mutual best friends with enough charm to level a city block.
Sunghoon forced his gaze down to his plate and stabbed a piece of steak like it had personally insulted him.
“She’s not yours,” the angel on his right shoulder said, smug and right.
“You’ve known her longer than both of them combined. Say something,” the devil on his left hissed.
Sunghoon said nothing.
Instead, he sipped his tea, let Sunoo drag him back into a conversation he wasn’t following, and told himself for the hundredth time.
It’s not my business.
Even if it felt like it was.
Airi
She felt it before she saw it. The weight of someone's stare burning through the side of her cheek like a low grade fever had her blinking mid conversation, lips still parted as laughter melted off her face.
She turned, slow and annoyed, and locked eyes with Sunghoon.
Of course it was him.
His arms were folded over his chest, his jaw sharp, lips pressed into a line, and his stare flatlined into a glare the moment their eyes met.
God, he was annoying.
Her thick brows lifted like a challenge, like what?, but he only glanced away, cool and disinterested, as if she hadn't just caught him looking at her like she ran over his cat with her crutches.
Airi rolled her eyes and went back to her food, muttering under her breath.
“Someone pissed in his Cheerios.”
Jake caught the mutter and stifled a laugh, nudging her arm playfully. She gave him a little smirk back but turned her attention away from the man who clearly wanted to kill her with his eyes for existing.
Because she didn’t have time for that.
She didn’t have time for him.
Across the table, little Jaehee was giggling hard enough to tip her cup over as Jay held up a photo of a car he had once crashed and told the story like it was the funniest thing on earth. Yeji looked like she was trying not to react, Jungwon was pretending not to hear, and Jaehee? Jaehee was entranced.
“I wanna ride in a car like that!” she gasped, eyes shining.
“You’d need like...a car seat the size of the moon,” Airi teased, leaning in. “That thing goes fast.”
Jay looked at her then, mouth quirking, eyes glinting with memory.
“Oh, that’s right,” he said, too casually. “Airi rode in one of them with me once. Remember?”
And there it was.
The smirk.
The smirk that said I’m not gonna say it but I could.
She narrowed her eyes across the table. “Barely,” she said, sipping her drink. “You almost crashed it.”
“You were screaming.”
“I was not-”
“You were screaming,” he repeated, full grin now, and it made Jaehee light up like a Christmas tree.
“You screamed, aunty Riri?!” she gasped, scandalized and delighted. “That’s so cool!”
Airi laughed, cheeks a little warm, “Well, he was driving like he had a death wish.”
Jay leaned closer, dropping his voice just enough to make it teasing. “Still kissed me after, though.”
She side eyed him so hard she nearly burned a hole through his forehead but there was no venom in it. Just old embarrassment and reluctant fondness.
They had kissed.
Once.
It was a short lived crush in their early twenties, two best friends trying something new only to realize halfway through the date that the romantic spark fizzled out before dessert. They’d ended the night with a soft kiss, an even softer laugh, and a mutual decision to never ruin what they had.
Jay never mentioned it…unless he was trying to be a menace.
Which was often.
And now, Jaehee looked like someone told her she won the lottery. “You kissed Uncle Jay?!”
“I mean-” Airi panicked. “That was, like, forever ago.”
Yeji was hiding behind her glass. Jungwon coughed. Jay wiggled his brows. Airi shot him a death glare.
“We’re just friends,” she said firmly. “Always have been. Right, Jay?”
Jay shrugged innocently. “Sure.”
That little shit.
“I wanna go to the car show,” Jaehee interrupted, tugging at Airi’s sleeve. “Can we go?”
Airi smiled down at her. “If your parents say it’s okay, I’ll take you.”
Instantly, Jaehee whipped her head around. “Mommy? Daddy? Can I go with aunty Riri and see the race cars?”
Both parents blinked in surprise at once, clearly trying to catch up with the whirlwind that was their daughter. Yeji hesitated. Jungwon opened his mouth. Jay was already giving thumbs up like this was a done deal.
Airi barely noticed. Because across the table, in her peripheral vision, she could feel his stare again.
Sunghoon.
She didn’t turn to see it this time. Didn’t give him the satisfaction of another eye roll or one of her classic sarcastic quips.
She just stared at her plate. Let her smile dim. Because this push and pull, this fire and freeze was exhausting.
They’d known each other forever. Fourteen years of being in each other's lives. Of him teasing her one day and shutting her out the next. Of being protected like something fragile, then ignored like something inconvenient.
And he always looked at her the same way.
Like she was complicated.
Like she was a problem.
Like he didn’t know what to do with her and didn’t want to figure it out.
She liked him. God, she liked him.
But she was starting to think he didn’t like her as much as she thought.
So what was she supposed to do?
Sit around and let her heart tie itself in knots every time he gives her a crumb of attention? Let herself ache quietly while he watched her laugh with someone else like it personally offended him?
She wasn’t going to chase someone who only knew how to push her away.
So, fine.
Let him glare.
Let him simmer in silence.
She’d keep flirting with Jake and Heeseung. They gave her attention even if it was playful. Even if it wasn’t real. At least they didn’t look at her like she was some nuisance.
She picked up her chopsticks again and smiled brightly at something Jake said, even if she didn’t quite hear it.
And across the table, she didn’t see the flicker of emotion that passed across Sunghoon’s face.
But he did.
And it made his jaw clench harder.
The party was over.
The house was quieter now, laughter fading into walls and leftover crumbs clinging to napkins. The table was cleared, the lights dimmed, and everyone had gone, hugged, thanked, and packed into their cars with the soft drag of goodbye in their footsteps.
Airi was the last to leave.
Well..her and him.
She’d made her rounds. Hugged Yeji and thanked her for letting her borrow Jaehee like the little human heater she was. Ruffled Ni-ki’s hair hard enough to make him cuss and threatened to unplug his fridge if he ever threw another dinner party without warning again. Even gave Sunoo a tight side hug and told Jay she was still never getting in a race car again.
Now, outside, the air was cold, and her damn crutches weren’t cooperating.
She hobbled and limped across the driveway like a drunk flamingo, fighting the straps of her bag while her keys jangled somewhere in her bra and one crutch kept slipping against the gravel. She stopped at her car, letting out a frustrated groan as she dropped the crutches against the side.
She reached out to open the driver’s side. And the door opened before her fingers touched it.
Her eyes didn’t even flinch.
Her face smoothed into that tired blankness she’d perfected over the years, right as her gaze flicked up to the hand holding her car door open.
Pale. Veiny. Long fingers. A watch that is too expensive. A face too familiar.
Sunghoon.
Of course.
Because it’s always him.
He didn’t say anything. Just held the door open like he hadn’t spent the entire dinner glaring at her from across the table.
She sighed and tossed her crutches carelessly into the passenger seat, the metal clattering against the leather like a threat. Then she slid into the driver’s seat, turning the keys in the ignition.
The engine purred. The dashboard lit up.
Only then did she glance to her left.
He was still there. Leaning against the frame now, one hand on the top of the door, the other shoved in his coat pocket, face unreadable under the porch light.
His eyes flicked over her. Her hands. Her ankle. Her mouth. Then away again.
“...I didn’t know you dated Jay.”
His voice was quiet. Offhand. But there was a curl of something under it.
Something that didn’t sit right in her chest.
Airi tilted her head, blinking once, then slowly scoffed, “We didn’t.”
He didn’t respond.
“We went on one date,” she added. “Three years ago. Realized we’d kill each other. Then went back to being friends.”
Still, he didn’t speak.
God, he was annoying.
“You always do this, you know,” she said, reaching to buckle her seatbelt. “Say something random and weird and confusing, and then act like you didn’t.”
His jaw twitched. “It wasn’t-”
“What, a question? A judgment? A half thought you didn’t think I’d catch?” she snapped, and then pulled back, groaning. “Never mind. I’m too tired to get into it.”
He didn’t argue.
He never did.
Just stood there like a statue carved out of irritation and restraint. She wondered if he ever got tired of being so emotionally constipated. Of standing in doorways like he was going to say something important and then never doing it.
He exhaled, low and even. Then finally muttered, “Drive safe.”
She narrowed her eyes. “That’s it?”
His mouth pulled into a faint line. “Be careful. It’s late.”
He stepped back and shut the door with a soft thud.
And then he turned and walked off into the shadows of Ni-ki’s house like he hadn’t just left her hanging in the middle of another one of his mood swings.
Airi didn’t wait.
She yanked the gear into reverse and whipped the car out of the driveway so fast the tires barked in protest.
God.
He gave her whiplash.
That man needed a warning label. ‘Contents may be cold, distant, and randomly possessive. Handle with care or better yet, don’t handle at all.’
She blew out a breath as the streetlights passed her window.
No one could make her feel like she was both too much and not enough at the same time the way he could.
And the worst part?
She still wanted to see him again tomorrow.
Sunghoon two months later
March.
The first hints of spring had begun to unfurl in subtle, shy things like soft rain on concrete and the way the air no longer bit at the edges of his coat. The hospital hadn’t slowed. If anything, the chaos had doubled, spring break injuries pouring in like a flood of bad timing. Footballers with sprains. Gymnasts with fractures. A man who tried to ‘fix’ his shoulder with a tennis ball and YouTube.
Sunghoon’s patience was thinning by the hour.
Tonight, though, he was home.
His sanctuary.
The penthouse was perched on the 12th floor, a quiet kingdom of cool stone, soft shadows, and clean lines. The living room stretched in muted tones of slate gray and deep charcoal, grounded by a black marble fireplace that rarely saw use and framed by tall windows that glared down at the glittering city below.
Leather furniture, real worn and matte rested beneath modern low lighting. No clutter. No dust. A few scattered books on the side table. A single plant in the corner that was somehow still alive despite his neglect.
He wasn’t a man of chaos. Never had been. The television was on across the room, some detective show flickering soundlessly, just enough background noise to make the quiet feel less hollow. He wasn’t watching it.
He sat on the couch, elbow propped on his thigh, nursing a half empty bottle of Yamazaki whisky straight from the neck. Ice cubes had been too much effort tonight.
His eyes were on the city.
Or rather, past it.
Somewhere far from the glass.
Somewhere between memory and ache.
She had come back last week.
Back from tour.
Back with a dislocated shoulder and a look in her eyes that said don’t lecture me, I already know.
He hadn’t even raised his voice.
He’d just fixed her up, silent and careful, trying not to press too hard against her skin even when she hissed. She made a joke about it, something dramatic and sarcastic, classic Airi, but she hadn’t really looked at him.
Not the way she used to.
Not the way that got under his skin.
And that…bothered him more than it should.
The truth was. He’d gotten used to her voice.
To her feet swinging off his exam tables. Her crutches clattering to the floor. Her dramatic gasps when he told her she needed physical therapy or rest. Her ridiculous rants about toe shoes and bloodied tights, and how she’d rather die than have one more doctor tell her to “take it easy.”
She used to tease him all the time. ‘Oh come on, Doctor Icy, I know you smile when I’m not looking. You act like you hate me, but you missed me, admit it.’
Now?
Now she was different.
Still chaotic, yes. Still stubborn.
But the teasing had dimmed. No nicknames. No leaning in too close just to make him flinch. No secret smiles when he scolded her for being reckless.
She’d gotten quieter around him.
Politer.
Like…he was just a doctor again.
And he hated that.
He hated how it clawed at something inside him, something he didn’t want to name.
He took another long pull from the bottle, the sharp burn curling down his throat.
Why do I care?
She wasn’t his.
She was Ni-ki’s little sister. Always had been.
Too loud. Too bright. Too unpredictable.
Too young.
But the problem was.
She wasn’t a kid anymore.
She hadn’t been for years. She was a woman. One who danced through pain like it was air. One who showed up at his clinic with blood on her tights and sweat in her hair and fire in her eyes.
He’d seen her grown.
And now…she didn’t look at him the same way.
He rubbed a hand across his jaw, eyes still locked on the skyline.
Maybe it was better this way. Cleaner. Safer.
Maybe the distance was good.
But why did it feel like a loss?
A soft knock from the hallway broke his thoughts. Probably his housekeeper, he’d asked for someone to pick up tomorrow. Or maybe Ni-ki dropping off something idiotic.
He stood, rolling his shoulders, the city still glimmering behind him.
Whatever it was, he’d handle it.
Just like everything else.
Because feelings?
Those were for people who didn’t have to pick shattered bones off the floor every day.
And he was tired of feeling like she was the one breaking him open.
The sharp ping of his phone cut through the room like a scalpel.
He didn’t move at first. Didn’t even blink.
Just let the sound echo against the silence until it faded into the hum of the city lights outside his window.
Then, with the slow disinterest of a man expecting a work email or useless spam, Sunghoon reached for the device one hand still holding the neck of the whisky bottle, thumb wet with condensation.
The screen lit up.
Instagram. Airi Nishimura posted to her story.
He stared.
His chest tightened without warning, like something in him had already guessed he wouldn’t like it. Don’t open it. But his thumb was already moving.
Click.
Slide.
Play.
And the world. Just. Stopped.
There she was.
Airi. In a dress so tight it looked painted on. Black. Silk. Bare shoulders gleaming under soft lights. One leg bent just slightly to show off the heel wrapped around her ankle. Her long hair curled over her collarbone.
And beside her.
A man.
Tall. Smiling. Familiar…wasn’t he one of her choreographers? He didn’t know. Didn’t care.
Because Airi, his Airi was pressed against his side, one arm wrapped around his neck, lips gently kissing his cheek as she giggled.
The caption? ‘thank you for always taking care of me 🖤 couldn’t have survived tour without you.’
There were sparkles. There were hearts. There were a thousand reasons for Sunghoon to look away.
But he didn’t.
His sharp canines clamped down on his bottom lip before he could stop himself hard. Too hard. He tasted blood, warm and metallic, pooling against his tongue as he sucked in a breath through his nose.
He blinked.
Once.
Twice.
The screen faded black.
His jaw was clenched so tightly it ached. He didn’t realize his other hand had curled into a fist against his thigh, knuckles flushed white.
His throat felt dry.
No.
Worse.
Hollow.
Like something had been scooped out and scraped clean.
He tossed the phone across the couch like it burned him. The bottle of whisky thudded against the wood floor, half full, forgotten. He collapsed backward into the couch cushions, one hand dragging across his face as his head hit the backrest with a dull thud.
God. Why?
Why was he still like this?
After all these years. After all the walls he’d built. After all the lines he never let himself cross.
He was a grown man. A doctor. A person who fixed broken bodies and kept his own emotions on lock like surgical steel.
And still. The second she touched someone else, it was like his lungs forgot how to breathe.
It wasn’t new.
That twist in his stomach had been there for years.
Since she was fifteen and crashing their basketball games with bubble tea and crooked ponytails. Since he was eighteen and pretending she didn’t make him nervous with those too big smiles and stubborn little fists.
She was always around.
And he was always watching.
Not in a creepy way. Not in a way he could explain.
Just aware. Protective.
Possessive, maybe.
Jealous, definitely.
He’d told himself it wasn’t like that.
That it was brotherly. That he cared because of Ni-ki.
But he hadn’t wanted to punch someone because of Ni-ki.
He hadn’t stayed up at night wondering if her smile meant the same thing when she gave it to someone else.
He hadn’t dreamed about her laugh echoing through his home like it belonged here.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
You don’t get to be jealous, he told himself, bitterness crawling under his skin.
You told her to stay away. You pushed her. You made her think you didn’t care.
You don’t get to be jealous.
And yet he was burning with it.
Burning in it.
Because that photo wasn’t just a man and a woman posing for a story. It was her saying: Look. I’m fine without you.
And that?
That hurt more than any injury he’d ever treated.
Airi
In the dance studio on the 13th floor of LUX Entertainment, time didn’t pass. It snapped.
Snapped to the beat of bass heavy tracks. Snapped to the staccato of sneakers pivoting on polished floors. Snapped to the voice of Airi Nishimura, slicing through the air with razor edge clarity.
“Again. Five, six, seven..no.”
The music halted, and five heads turned in sync toward her.
Only one was brave enough to talk back. “Come on, noona, that was almost clean!”
Airi didn’t even blink.
She lifted one brow, the exact shade of her striking red hair, and gave a short, knowing hum that said: ‘Almost’ is failure with extra steps.
"Jaeon,” she said, evenly, “you stepped on Sori’s foot. Minjae came in too early. Jiwoo forgot his shoulder isolation. And Taeyun-” she turned her head slowly, eyes narrowing, “-you’re lip-syncing like you’re apologizing for the lyrics. You’re not. It’s a battle stage. If you’re not sweating, you’re not selling it.”
Taeyun opened his mouth, then shut it with a sheepish smile.
Jaeon muttered something about her being scarier than their vocal coach. Airi heard it. She let it go.
Barely.
She clapped her hands once, sharp as thunder. “Again from the top. This time, make me believe you deserve the stage.”
The five members of RIOT7, LUX's newest rookie boy group reset their formation with the speed of trained soldiers.
And Airi?
She turned to face the mirror, rolling her shoulders, the fire red waterfall of her ponytail swinging behind her like a whip.
Her reflection stared back at her.
Scarlet strands. Clean jawline. Matte skin glistening slightly from hours under studio lights. Her hair was freshly dyed, Shen Xiaoting red, bold and electric, and her eyebrows matched in a way that made her eyes look even sharper. A director's request for a concept video she was shooting soon.
The color suited her. It matched her heat.
Matched the way she moved with clean lines, sharp edges, every motion a statement. “Music!”
And they danced.
The room turned molten with sweat and stomped rhythm.
Airi wasn’t performing, not technically, but her body moved alongside them with natural command, more presence than half the idols she trained. She didn’t need the spotlight. She was the standard.
“Hit harder! Sori, use your knees, Jaeon, tighten your turn! No, no, Jiwoo don’t anticipate the drop feel it.”
This was her world.
Her battlefield.
Her language.
It didn’t matter that she’d had barely five hours of sleep, that her shoulder was still taped beneath the oversized cropped hoodie she wore, or that she had two meetings lined up after this followed by her own rehearsal for an MV shoot tomorrow.
She showed up.
And when she showed up, she commanded.
Her phone sat forgotten on the side table dead from last night, still not charged.
She hadn’t seen the chaos her Instagram story stirred. Not yet.
All she knew was work. And her people.
As the music faded after the final run through, she let them breathe.
Jiwoo dropped to the floor like he’d been shot.
Taeyun coughed into his sleeve.
Sori gave her a thumbs up from where he was doubled over.
Airi walked toward the wall of mirrors, grabbing a towel and slinging it around her neck. Her hoodie was sticking to her back and her bangs clung to her temples, red and sweat soaked.
“Not bad,” she said finally, her tone cooler. Less thunder, more rain. “We’ll fine tune the transitions tomorrow. You guys are getting there.”
Minjae groaned softly. “Why does ‘not bad’ still sound like ‘try harder’ coming from you?”
“Because you still have more in you,” she shot back, but it was gentler now. Her lips tugged upward, not quite a smile, but not far from it.
She watched them all.
Five boys who, just a few months ago, were shaky and wide eyed. Now they moved with a rhythm that made her proud.
She was hard on them.
But never unfair.
She never asked for perfection only dedication.
The same kind she gave.
“Go shower, stretch, and eat something green,” she added as they started filing out. “Yes, that includes you, Jiwoo.”
“Broccoli is a hate crime,” he muttered.
“Then press charges,” Airi said sweetly, sipping from her water bottle. “You’re still eating it.”
As they disappeared down the hall, laughter echoing behind them, Airi finally let out a long breath.
The studio was quiet again.
Empty.
And she could feel the dull ache settling into her joints.
She leaned against the mirror, letting her head fall back, eyes drifting shut.
She wasn’t tired, not exactly. This was what she lived for. The ache. The pace. The fire.
But even fire dims when it’s alone.
She didn’t dwell on it. Not when there were two rehearsals, a late night check in at the label, and tomorrow’s sunrise to race toward.
Hair gleaming under the overhead lights, she pulled her hoodie tighter and reached for her phone. Time to find a charger.
The glass of the lobby doors gleamed like polished obsidian, catching slivers of the city’s cold afternoon light. The air outside was brisk, sharp with a coming rain, and inside LUX Entertainment, the mood was its usual late evening hum as interns rushing around, stylists chatting near the elevators, and a few trainees waiting near the front desk to be picked up.
Airi didn’t notice any of it.
Her hoodie was soaked through from rehearsal. Her red hair was twisted up in a loose bun, wisps sticking to her temples. She was already pulling up her mask with one hand and scrolling through a half charged phone with the other as she stepped toward the revolving door.
She was thinking about dinner.
Egg fried rice, probably. Or seaweed soup.
She had just enough energy to shower and eat before crashing into bed.
Her legs ached. Her shoulder still taped from last month’s tour injury was holding up, but barely. She hadn’t told Sunghoon she’d stopped icing it. He’d kill her.
One more step. Through the revolving door. Out into the city. Then home.
She pushed lightly at the glass panel in front of her, stepping into the revolving chamber, the door rotating just as it always did.
And then it didn’t.
Something slammed into her from behind. A blur of black hoodie and clumsy apologies.
Too fast.
Too heavy.
Too hard.
Airi gasped, stumbling forward but her right arm, the injured one, didn’t follow.
The sudden momentum yanked it backward.
And SNAP.
The sound wasn’t just loud. It was sickening.
Final.
It cracked through the quiet lobby like a gunshot.
Her vision went white.
The door groaned against her trapped limb. Her fingers went numb immediately, as if someone had pulled the nerves out of her skin with tweezers.
She didn’t even scream.
She collapsed.
Her knees hit the tile floor, and the spinning glass jerked to a halt as a chorus of shouts echoed behind her.
“Shit! someone call an ambulance!”
“Airi-ssi?!”
“Don’t move her arm!”
“Get the security team!”
Her hoodie sleeve was caught between the metal hinge and the glass panel, her arm twisted at an unnatural angle, shoulder trembling as she curled into herself, trying not to pass out.
She was crying.
She didn’t realize it at first not until warm tears dropped to the floor, faster than her breath could catch up.
“Don’t..don’t touch me..f-fuck..don’t-”
A staff member knelt beside her, panic painted across her face. Another person had already called for emergency services, talking frantically into a headset as someone hit the emergency stop on the revolving door.
The man who had bumped into her, a trainee, maybe, was pale and stammering, tears in his own eyes as he tried to apologize, but the staff had already pushed him back.
Airi couldn’t hear any of them. Her mind was somewhere else. Somewhere deep and red and foggy.
Her hand wouldn’t move. Her shoulder was screaming.
It felt like fire crawling under her skin, like someone had shattered the bone with a hammer and then tried to stitch it back together while she was still breathing.
She hated crying. Hated how weak it felt. But her whole body was trembling, and her voice came out hoarse and broken when she gasped again, curling tighter around the pain.
Then someone, an older manager took her uninjured hand and gently said, “Airi, don’t pass out, okay? Stay with me. Breathe.”
Breathe?
Her vision spotted black.
Her whole body was shaking.
She could feel her muscles locking in a silent scream her throat couldn’t even push out.
Someone pulled off her mask for her. Someone else wrapped a jacket around her shivering form.
In the distance, over the buzz of blood in her ears, she could hear the whir of sirens.
And then her phone buzzed.
She couldn’t reach it. Didn’t even know who it was.
But God, she hoped it was him.
Sunghoon
He’d just scrubbed out.
The fluorescent lights above him were humming, his surgical cap still clinging to the sides of his face. A successful operation behind him, and for once, a moment of peace.
Then his pager buzzed three short jolts against his hip.
Emergency.
His brows furrowed.
He pulled the mask down and turned the corner. One of the only people in this entire hospital he could tolerate, Dr. Hana, ER lead and forever too nosy stood at the nurses' station with her arms crossed and her face tight.
“Room nine,” she said, eyes flicking to his chest where the blood from his last procedure was still drying into his scrubs. “It’s your girlfriend.”
Sunghoon blinked.
He didn’t correct her.
He never did.
Instead, he muttered a low “Thanks,” already pulling his gloves on as he headed down the hallway.
He was preparing to scold her of course it was her. Probably another rolled ankle or sprained wrist she’d ignored for days because of some choreography she couldn’t put off. He could already picture her pout, her dramatic wincing, the sarcastic jokes that hid how much it actually hurt.
But when he stepped into the room, he stopped cold.
And everything inside him, every protocol, every plan, every word vanished.
Airi was sitting on the exam bed, body wrapped in an oversized hoodie, but it was doing nothing to cover the damage.
Her arm.
God.
Her right arm was splinted already, but he could see the angles, the unnatural jut of the bone. The swelling in her wrist was severe, pushing against the gauze that had barely soaked up the blood. Deep abrasions lined her elbow and forearm, purple already blooming under her skin like watercolor spilled in all the wrong places. Her shoulder was elevated unnaturally, dislocated and bruising in thick shadows beneath the surface. Her other hand sat in her lap, trembling so softly it could’ve been mistaken for breathing.
And she was silent.
So still, it scared him.
Her eyes were open, but she wasn’t looking at him. Just down somewhere far away, behind her own lashes, floating in whatever world she was using to block this one out.
Sunghoon’s pulse kicked hard.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t know how. He just moved.
Gloves on. Coat still unbuttoned. His voice low, just a breath under the sterile quiet as he leaned over her. “Let’s check the damage.”
She didn’t reply. Not even a quip.
His chest tightened.
Gently, he sat beside her. His hands normally ice cold and clinical hovered near her wrist before touching down with featherlight pressure. Even through the gloves, he could feel the swelling, the heat.
“Radial fracture,” he murmured to himself. “Possible multiple fractures. Clean break near the ulna.”
Still nothing from her. She didn’t even flinch.
He tilted her arm carefully to examine the bruising. When his thumb brushed over the edge of a deep cut, he paused. “You need stitches here. I’ll numb it.”
A slow blink was her only answer.
His throat felt dry.
She was never like this. Not ever. Even under anesthesia once, she had cursed him out for taping her mouth weirdly.
But now?
Now, she is small. Quiet.
Her red hair was tucked behind her ears, dyed deep like firewood embers. He didn’t even notice it until that moment, too focused on the fact that she hadn’t moved at all. Not even when he brushed an antiseptic wipe across her skin.
A shattered wrist. A fractured arm. A dislocated shoulder. Dozens of cuts.
Her body had taken a hit and no one had called him until now?
He wanted to scream.
Instead, he cleaned the cuts with hands that didn’t shake, holding her like porcelain. He adjusted the temporary sling that someone had sloppily placed her in. Resetting her shoulder would take sedation. Casting the arm would have to wait until the swelling went down. She’d need surgery on the wrist. He would be the one to do it.
Of course he would.
His fingers paused on the edge of her bandage.
Still no words. Still no breath strong enough to be real.
So he leaned closer. “Airi…” It slipped out before he could stop it. And that just that made her lashes flutter.
Her eyes flicked to his. It lasted maybe two seconds. But something passed between them.
Grief.
Pain.
Relief.
Then she looked away again.
But that was enough.
He set the bandages down.
His gloved hand lifted not to poke, not to prod but to press his palm gently to the back of her head. His thumb brushed behind her ear, just once.
And still, he said nothing.
Because she didn’t need him to talk.
She just needed him to stay.
So he did.
The hallway was quiet this time of night.
Most of the hospital had wound down visiting hours were over, the cafeteria lights dimmed, and the nurses at the station outside her room were speaking in hushed voices over their paperwork. But Sunghoon wasn’t ready to go home. Not yet.
He glanced down at the surgical report in his hands, skimming over it again even though he already knew every detail. The plates in her wrist had been placed cleanly, the cast was secure from her palm to just below her shoulder, and her shoulder had finally gone back into place without additional damage. The cuts had been cleaned, the stitches done. Meds administered. IV running.
Everything was handled.
Medically, at least.
He exhaled through his nose as he pushed the door open and stepped back into her room.
The lights had been dimmed for comfort. Airi lay tucked under thin white blankets, her dark lashes fanned over the bruises on her cheek. Even now, with swelling across her arm and faint marks on her collarbone from where the safety straps had held her down in the ER, she looked…strong. Pale lips slightly parted, her newly dyed hair sprawled across the pillow like scarlet ink.
The black cast stood out like ink on a blank page, firm and sharp, curved around her small frame.
She had threatened to kill him if it was pink.
Those were the first words she said to him after the surgery, still groggy, half out of it, her voice hoarse but very clear: “If you put me in pink, Park Sunghoon, I’ll break my other arm just to haunt you from the grave.”
He’d said nothing in response. Just nodded.
But it made something in his chest breathe again.
Now, hours later, he sat in the rolling chair beside her bed. His scrubs were clean, his hair a little messy, and a paper cup of coffee sat untouched in his hand, long gone cold. He didn't even realize how long he’d been sitting there, legs spread out, fingers curled into the paper rim of the cup like it might ground him.
He wasn’t even looking at the time.
Just at her.
When her eyelashes fluttered once…twice…and then finally lifted, he straightened in his seat.
Her eyes blinked a few times, glassy and dazed. Then they landed on him.
And something in them cracked.
A sheen of tears formed along her waterline not from pain, not from confusion but from the heaviness. The weight of it all.
His voice was low, almost gentle. “You’re okay.”
She didn’t say anything for a second. Her lips parted like she might argue, or cry, or both. Then finally, “The company called.”
Her voice was soft. Too soft.
Sunghoon leaned in.
“They told me no work until I’m healed,” she said, blinking through it. “No choreography. No filming. No dance training. Nothing.”
He didn’t respond right away.
Her gaze slid over to him again. “How long?”
He sighed, setting the coffee down.
“Six to eight weeks.”
Airi didn’t cry. She didn’t yell. But he saw the way her shoulders dropped, her fingers twitching just slightly against the blanket. She looked away like she was trying to bury something deep.
Dance was her life. She built her body to endure, to perform. Her calendar was color coded with rehearsals, her hours were split between groups and studios. To take that from her even for a few weeks was like asking her to stop breathing.
But her real life mattered more.
So he said it.
“You need rest. This isn’t something to power through. If you push it, you could end up with permanent damage.”
“I won’t,” she muttered.
“You will,” he said firmly. “If you try to teach or practice or lift more than a cup of coffee with that arm, you’ll undo everything we just fixed.”
She made a sound like a scoff and laid her head further into the pillow.
Sunghoon pressed a palm to his jaw, sighing as he leaned back in the chair.
A few moments passed. The IV machine beeped quietly in the corner.
Then he spoke again. “You’ll need someone to help you. You can’t shower properly with a cast that size. You’ll need your meds tracked. Your stitches can’t get wet. And someone’s gotta make sure you’re eating and not skipping meals just because you can’t open a rice carton.”
Airi rolled her eyes, but he caught the way they turned toward him. Like she was waiting for something.
He cleared his throat. “Your…boyfriend-”
Her head snapped toward him.
“My what?”
His lips twitched. “I mean, I assume he’d help-”
“Boyfriend? Really?” she stared. “Do I look like I have time to be kissing men in alleys and doing couple cosplay in cafés?”
Sunghoon blinked. “You posted that picture-”
“Leo?” She made a face so dramatic it could’ve won an award. “He’s my hair stylist’s boyfriend’s cousin. We were celebrating their anniversary and he dared me to post it. He’s gay, Sunghoon. Gay as glitter.”
Oh.
His chest felt lighter. He absolutely should not feel relieved.
But he did.
He nodded slowly, suppressing the dumb warmth threatening to pull at his lips. “Okay.”
“God, men really are dumb,” she muttered.
He almost chuckled, almost.
But then he asked, “What about Ni-ki?”
“He’s in America,” she sighed. “Some filming schedules for two, maybe three months. He texted me earlier, he said if I die, to wait for him so he can push my wheelchair into the river himself.”
Sunghoon snorted quietly. “Charming.”
“He’s family,” she shrugged. “He’d be here if he could. But yeah, I’m screwed.”
Her voice was tight. And then she added, softer, “But I’ll manage. I’ve handled worse.”
That didn’t sit well with him. Not one bit.
He didn’t respond. Just looked at her.
She was still trying so hard not to ask for help. Still trying to keep up the act, even with a shattered wrist and bruised shoulder.
Sunghoon leaned back, his eyes not leaving her face. “You shouldn’t have to.”
She blinked at him.
He didn’t explain himself further. Didn’t offer up the words he wasn’t ready to say out loud yet. But in the back of his mind, he already knew what was coming. He’d already mentally adjusted his schedule. Already pictured her on his couch, in his kitchen, falling asleep on the side of his bed because she refused the guest room.
He already knew.
He would be the one to take care of her.
Whether she asked or not.
Airi
The silence in the car was killing her.
Not in a dramatic, theatrical way, not the ‘I’m going to throw myself out the window kind of way.’ Although, give it another five minutes and she might consider it. But in the suffocating, there are too many thoughts in her head and no music to drown them out kind of way.
Sunghoon’s car, of course, was beautiful. Black leather seats, digital dash, sleek and silent and stupidly expensive. It even smelled like him cedar and soap and faint traces of caffeine. But Airi didn’t care about any of that right now.
What she cared about…was the fact that they had passed her apartment turn ten minutes ago.
She stared out the window, blinking once. Twice. Her heart sank slowly to her stomach.
Wait.
She glanced back at the street signs, then forward at the glowing GPS that, she now realized, wasn’t even pulled up. His phone was docked, dark screen, untouched.
“Um.” Her voice cut through the quiet like a butter knife scraping a plate. “Where the hell are we going?”
Sunghoon didn’t flinch.
He just made a right turn.
“You’re staying with me.”
Airi’s jaw unhinged. “I’m…what?”
“You heard me.”
Her face twisted into a mix of offense and panic. “You said you were driving me home.”
“I am,” he said, calm as ever, eyes on the road. “My home.”
She blinked. Once. Twice. Her body tensed under the thick hoodie she wore, one of his, thrown over her like a blanket at discharge. “You’ve officially lost your mind.”
“No,” he replied, flicking on his turn signal. “I’ve officially lost my patience with you pretending you’re fine when you’re not.”
She sputtered. “I’m perfectly capable of being alone. I’ve been doing it for years.”
“You have one working arm, can’t cook, and can’t shower without getting your stitches wet.”
“I can lean,” she argued, heart now somewhere in her throat. “And I can order takeout. I’ll eat cereal. I'll-hell, I’ll sponge bathe in the sink like a pioneer woman if I have to…”
He didn’t look at her. “You’re staying. End of story.”
“No..no, Sunghoon, you don’t get to just decide that.”
“I just did.”
She turned in her seat, full glare activated, the painkillers barely dulling her fury. “You don’t own me.”
He hit the brakes at the red light a little harder than necessary.
And then the car went quiet again.
The world around them buzzed a honk two lanes over, the soft tick of the turn signal, the hum of the city alive even this late. But inside the car, it was just them.
Airi’s hands curled into fists over her lap. She felt like she was choking on something she couldn’t name.
Then he turned to her. Slowly.
And there was something in his eyes. Something that made her pulse falter. Not anger. Not frustration.
Something else. Something low and steady and bone deep.
His voice was softer than she expected, but it cut through her like glass. “Who takes care of you, Airi?”
She blinked.
He didn’t wait. “When you roll your ankle and don’t say anything for a week, who notices first?”
Her breath caught.
“When you show up with cuts on your hands and lie about ‘tripping over a prop’, who treats you anyway?”
The light was still red, the silence growing louder.
“When you have the flu, who drops off medicine outside your door even when you don’t ask?”
She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. He tilted his head, not breaking eye contact. “I always take care of you. Right?”
Her chest felt tight.
And suddenly, the air between them wasn’t silent. It was a heartbeat.
Hers.
Fast. Loud. Desperate.
She looked down. Her voice came out cracked. “…It doesn’t mean you have to.”
“I know,” He looked forward again, the light turning green. “But I want to.”
And just like that, the car kept moving.
Airi didn’t speak again.
Not because she had nothing to say. But because the words in her mouth didn’t make sense anymore.
Because Sunghoon was still Sunghoon. Still frustrating, overbearing, stubborn. But in that moment, with his eyes on the road and her heart in her throat he felt like home.
Airi had been inside Sunghoon’s home before.
Once when she came with Ni-ki and the rest of their friends for a game night. Another time for a casual birthday dinner he didn’t even want. She’d sat on his velvet couch, spilled her lemonade on the cream rug, teased him for having candles that smelled like bergamot and rich wood. She remembered thinking it was exactly like him sleek, clean, quiet. Expensive but not flashy. Cold but not unkind.
But this wasn’t like those times.
This wasn’t him standing across the room ignoring her as she recounted a ridiculous story. Or him pretending to hate her jokes when Ni-ki egged her on.
This was him standing close. Too close.
And handing her one of his shirts.
He walked in, tossed it gently onto the foot of his bed like it was any other night, and held out a pair of soft cotton shorts she instantly recognized as hers.
“You left these here,” he said plainly. “From when you and Ni-ki crashed last year.”
She stared at the clothes, then at him.
He didn’t look away.
And when she took them, his hand brushed hers barely, just a ghost of touch but it still made her heartbeat scatter like marbles dropped on a kitchen floor.
Now she stood in his bathroom, steam fogging up the mirror, her bruised shoulder bare other than the cast, and her arm gingerly cradled against her side. A towel clung to her, tight and secure, and Sunghoon, Park Sunghoon was crouched down, carefully wrapping her whole side in layers of medical grade plastic to keep her stitches dry.
“Hold still,” he murmured, voice low but not unkind.
“Sorry,” she said, breath shaky, “you’re touching me with ice cold fingers, you sadist.”
A twitch in his lip. Barely. But she saw it.
“I’m trying not to hurt you,” he said, adjusting the wrap gently. His knuckles brushed the slope of her hip, and her whole body jolted in quiet awareness.
Her eyes were fixed ahead, on the foggy mirror, watching the silhouette of him kneeling before her. It was the kind of thing her imagination had spun up before, late at night when loneliness tasted like cinnamon whisky on her tongue. But reality was worse it was real, and it was quiet, and it was tender in a way she hadn’t expected from him.
“There,” he said at last, straightening up, eyes flicking up to meet hers. “All set.”
She stared at his soft expression with so many questions on her mind. But she settled for the obvious, “You gonna turn around so I can get in?”
He flushed read, but she didnt mention it, and then turned. But didn’t leave. Instead, he sat down right on the closed lid of the toilet, elbows on his knees, back toward her like it was the most normal thing in the world.
“Sunghoon,” She started to warn but he shook his head still looking away.
“I’ll stay.”
Her heart jumped. “You don’t have to-”
“I know,” he said again, calm and final. “But I will.”
She swallowed thickly, cheeks burning as she stepped behind the blackout shower curtain and slowly slid off the towel, cradling her casted arm as she stepped into the warm stream.
The water was a gift, a distraction from the way her legs felt like jelly.
But still, her brain was screaming. Because he was still there. Because this wasn’t the boy who ignored her. This wasn’t the friend who rolled his eyes every time she cracked a joke.
This was a man sitting in a bathroom his bathroom just to make sure she didn’t slip. Just to make sure she didn’t fall. Just to make sure she didn’t disappear.
And he didn’t say a word. Didn’t ask her to thank him. Didn’t look. But God, Airi felt seen anyway. She bit her lip hard enough to feel it and closed her eyes, letting the water cascade down her back like rain.
The steam was thick. But not nearly as suffocating as the warmth blooming in her chest. Not nearly as loud as the thrum of her own pulse whispering, You’re in trouble.
Later the lights were low in Sunghoon’s penthouse, the warm amber of a standing lamp the only thing cutting through the velvet dark. The TV glowed across from them, playing something neither had been paying much attention to, some slow, indie film that matched the mood but barely held their gaze.
They sat like bookends on his wide, gray sofa.
Airi was curled up on the right side, arm supported in a sling, blanket draped over her lap, legs pulled up so only her socks peeked out. Her hair was a loose wave over her shoulders now, soft from the shower, slightly tangled.
Sunghoon was on the opposite end, dressed down in black joggers and a fitted long sleeve shirt. One arm thrown over the back of the couch, his fingers near her but not close enough to touch. Not unless she leaned just a little.
The silence between them was comfortable but heavy, the kind that buzzed under your skin.
And then, softly, he asked, “How are you feeling?”
His voice didn’t match the screen. It wasn’t scripted. It was real. Honest.
Airi didn’t answer right away.
She shifted a bit, her eyes still fixed forward, and the quiet lasted long enough that Sunghoon thought she might ignore it, brush it off like always.
But then she inhaled, slow and shallow.
“…Sore,” she said with a light laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Stupid. Tired.” Another pause. Then, softer, “I don’t know.”
He turned toward her now. Really looked. His head resting on the top of the couch cushion, eyes soft.
Her lips parted slightly, like the words were caught between her teeth. She tilted her face a little away from him as if it would be easier not to see him watching her. But he waited. Like always.
“…I know I can’t keep dancing forever.”
There it was.
And just like that the air changed.
“It’s not that I’m naïve. I know that. I’ve known since nineteen when my knees started cracking every time I bent too fast,” she murmured with a bittersweet smile. “But I love it. More than anything. And I don’t know who I am without it.”
Sunghoon didn’t interrupt.
She didn’t cry. Airi wasn’t really the crying type. But her voice had that break in it, the soft crack of porcelain that still managed to hold water.
“I just…” she shook her head. “I keep telling myself I can rest later. I can crash later. I can fall apart later. But ‘later’ keeps coming, and I’m still pretending I’m fine.”
He didn’t look away. Couldn’t.
Her laugh was hoarse now, tired. “I think one day my body is just gonna give out in the middle of a show, and maybe that’ll be the only thing that makes me stop.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then his voice, low and honest, cut through it.
“I worry about that too.”
Airi’s head turned. She looked at him now.
Sunghoon wasn’t smiling.
“I watch you break and push and glue yourself back together like it’s a normal part of life,” he said quietly. “And I get it. I get needing something that badly.”
He sat forward slightly now, resting his arms on his thighs, hands clasped.
“But I see you in the ER more than I see half my patients,” he said with a dry edge, something like frustration veiled in concern. “And every time I tell myself not to care this much. That you’re not my responsibility. That you’ve got your life and I’ve got mine.”
Airi swallowed.
“But…” he trailed off, eyes flicking to hers.
And she saw it then. The quiet ache in his gaze. The lines near his mouth he never let show. The weariness tucked behind his sharp jaw and steady hands. The tired weight in his chest that only came out in moments like this when the room was still and the rest of the world was muted.
“I don’t go home to anything, Airi.”
His voice was soft. Flat. Unapologetic.
“Just a dark apartment and silence. Every day I walk around that hospital and I’m surrounded by people, by pain, fear, joy, death, and it never stops. But the moment I clock out…”
He leaned back again, exhaling.
“It’s quiet. Too quiet.”
And she felt it all of it.
The unspoken truth: they had both built lives out of motion. Her in choreo, him in saving others lives. And somewhere in the spinning, they had become each other’s gravity. Familiar. Constant. Close, but never close enough.
“I didn’t know you felt that way,” she whispered.
“You never asked,” he replied gently. His brown eyes had softened into that sleepy relaxed dewy look he always got. She knew he wouldn't be opening up this much normally.
She looked down, her thumb brushing along the edge of the blanket. Her heart thumped loud enough to echo in her ears.
“Sunghoon,” she said, voice nearly gone.
He turned toward her again.
And for a moment just a breath of time neither of them spoke. Just looked.
The air between them thinned, stretched, pulled taut like a string begging to snap.
Because in their group of friends, in all the years of knowing each other, even when they’d bickered and argued and glared. Airi had always found herself closest to him. His silence made her feel seen. His bluntness, weirdly, felt safe. He never coddled her. But he never let her fall.
She always knew he’d be there. And she never wanted him to go. But she wasn’t ready to say that yet.
So instead, she nudged her sock covered foot toward him under the blanket. Just barely. Just enough to touch his leg.
And he didn’t move away.
Didn’t flinch.
Didn’t even blink.
Instead, his hand came up slow, hesitant and reached beneath the shared warmth and gently rested atop her ankle.
And the movie kept playing. And the city lights shimmered outside the window.
But in that quiet, soft space between them. Something changed.
