TACHYCARDIA | BAEK KANGHYUK

THE tension between them didn't fade. If anything, it tightened like a suture pulled too tight, threatening to tear at the slightest strain.

Heejun didn't bring up their conversation in the break room. She buried herself in work, drowning in the routine of back-to-back surgeries, late-night rounds, and emergency cases.

But Baek Kanghyuk?

He wasn't letting her forget.

He was always there. Hovering too close in the OR, his hands brushing against hers when he passed her a scalpel. His eyes following her across the trauma bay, lingering in ways that made her pulse spike.

And it wasn't just her imagination.

"You and Doctor Baek." Nurse Jisoo smirked one night as they scrubbed in. "Something going on?"

Heejun froze mid-scrub. "What?"

Jisoo laughed. "Come on. He watches you like you're the only one in the room. And don't even get me started on the way he practically threw that intern across the ER when he almost bumped into you."

Heejun scowled. "That was nothing."

Jisoo gave her a knowing look. "Sure."

Heejun gritted her teeth, finishing her scrubbing with a little too much force. "It's nothing," she repeated, but the words tasted like a lie.

Because every time Kanghyuk looked at her like that—like she was something fragile, something his—she felt the ground shift beneath her feet.

And Heejun didn't like losing her footing.

—

The storm finally broke during an emergency thoracotomy.

The patient had crashed mid-transport, their blood pressure dropping dangerously low. The moment they hit the trauma bay, Heejun and Kanghyuk had moved in tandem, cutting through ribs, controlling the hemorrhage, fighting to keep the heart beating.

But when Heejun reached for a clamp, her fingers faltered.

Pain flared through her side, sharp and searing—her damn wound.

She sucked in a breath, trying to mask it, but Kanghyuk saw.

Of course he did.

His entire body tensed, his gloved hands stilling mid-motion. "Heejun."

"I'm fine," she gritted out.

But Kanghyuk wasn't listening.

His eyes flicked to the attending across the table. "Take over."

He was already stripping off his gloves, stepping around the table before she could protest.

"What the hell are you doing?" she hissed, her voice low so the others wouldn't hear.

"You're not operating like this," Kanghyuk shot back. His hand was already on her arm, steering her away from the table.

Her entire body burned with humiliation. "I said I'm fine."

"And I don't believe you." His grip was firm but careful, his touch searing even through the sterile gown.

The trauma bay was too crowded, too many eyes on them.

So she did the only thing she could.

She ripped her arm away.

The movement sent another sharp jolt of pain through her side, but she ignored it.

"Stop treating me like I'm some fragile thing that needs saving," she snapped.

Kanghyuk's jaw clenched. "You're injured."

"And I can still do my job."

His eyes burned. "At the cost of what? Yourself?"

Heejun's pulse pounded in her ears. "I don't need you to protect me, Kanghyuk."

The words hit harder than she meant them to. She saw it in the way his face hardened, the way his shoulders locked.

For a second, neither of them moved.

Then Kanghyuk exhaled sharply, stepping back.

His voice, when he finally spoke, was quieter. Colder.

"Fine."

And then—

He walked away.

And this time, she was the one who watched him leave.