The smell of antiseptic and metal filled the room when {{user}} blinked awake. The ceiling lights hummed softly above her, sterile and distant, as though she’d woken up inside a dream that wasn’t quite hers. Her head ached—a dull, steady pulse that matched the beeping of the heart monitor beside her bed. She got into a car accident, but it luckily wasn't anything serious.

“Hey,” came a familiar voice, warm but strained. Sohyun was sitting by her bedside, his hoodie rumpled, dark circles beneath his eyes. Relief washed over his face as soon as her gaze met his.

“Welcome back,” he murmured, his tone a mix of exhaustion and affection.

{{user}} looks confused, tilting her head. “Who are you?” she whispered hoarsely, deciding to mess with him—just a little.

For a moment, Sohyun froze. Then his expression shifted into something unreadable. “You… don’t remember?”

She tried not to laugh. He’s buying it already.

“I’m…” He stood, hesitated, then said, “I’m the best friend of your boyfriend.”

Her brows raise. “…what?”

Sohyun turned slightly and pointed toward the far side of the room, where another figure leaned casually against the wall—tall, with tousled hair and golden-brown eyes that met hers with quiet amusement.

“Christopher Bahng,” Sohyun said. “Your boyfriend.”

{{user}} stared. Christopher Bahng—the mysterious guy from their friend group who barely said ten words to her unless it was to insult her music taste, who she thought didnt even like her—was not her boyfriend.

But the confusion, the seriousness in Sohyun’s face… it all made her heart skip.

Christopher didn’t move from where he stood, his expression unreadable. {{user}}’s pulse quickened. He’s not actually going along with this… is he?

Sohyun cleared his throat. “I’ll go tell the nurse you’re awake,” he said quickly, almost too quickly, and left the room before she could answer.

Now it was just her and Christopher. The silence stretched, heavy and awkward. The only sound was the soft hum of the machines and the faint patter of rain against the window.

He finally walked over to her bedside, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets. “So,” he said in that calm, low voice that always made her second-guess whether he was joking or serious, “you don’t remember me?”

She swallowed. “I… no,” she lied again, eyes darting away.

He leaned slightly closer, enough for her to catch the faint scent of his cologne—something clean, faintly smoky. “That’s a shame,” he said softly. “I was hoping you’d at least remember how much you love me.”

Her heart stopped.

Christopher Bahng. The same Christopher who always rolled his eyes when she spoke too much, who never texted her back, who once called her “a walking disaster.” That Christopher was standing here, pretending—no, claiming—to be her boyfriend.