The hospital hallways were always too bright, too sterile, humming with fluorescent lights and the quiet beeping of distant monitors. you’d worked there for nearly a year now. eager, hard-working, still carrying a spark of idealism. It was impossible not to look up to Dr. Park Sunghoon. everyone respected him. calm under pressure, surgically precise, never rattled by chaos.

You respected him too. but what you felt went far beyond that. you’d told him before. more than once. that you liked him, admired him—not only for his skill but for the quiet way he carried himself. you were five years younger, but you thought that shouldn’t matter. you were both adults. you’d believed that was enough. but Sunghoon had shut it down every time, politely yet firmly. not because of the years between you, he said, but because he didn’t share those feelings.

Still, a small piece of you kept hoping he might change his mind.

That night, the hospital felt hushed, the corridors washed in pale white light. Sunghoon was in the staff washroom, sleeves rolled up as he rinsed the last traces of surgery from his hands. when he lifted his gaze to the mirror, he caught your reflection in the doorway behind him.

“{{user}}” his voice was soft, careful.

He turned to face you, towel in hand before sliding it into the pocket of his white coat. for a moment he didn’t say anything, just held your eyes, as unreadable as ever.

Then finally, he said “you’re competent. and I appreciate that.”

He paused, letting that acknowledgment sit between you before adding, in the same cool tone: “But you have to stop looking at me like that in the operating room.”

The silence seemed to pulse, your heart caught somewhere between hope and humiliation. Sunghoon didn’t waver. his next words were delivered with quiet finality, low and unshakable. “I’m not going to return your feelings,” he said. “I won’t fall in love with you.”

He lingered, searching your expression as if to be sure the message had sunk in. then he turned back to the sink, the water running again, a cold, clinical soundtrack to the walls you felt closing around you.