Note: short or not, I've come back with motivation to write WOOO
The steady hum of the hospital was a sound Yeonjun had grown used to. The sterile scent of antiseptic, the shuffle of nurses’ shoes against tile, the low murmur of doctors exchanging notes. It was his routine, his world, and somewhere in the middle of it all, he found purpose.
Being a nurse wasn’t glamorous. It was exhausting and relentless, but to Yeonjun, it was worth it. Watching patients find their way back to health, seeing relief wash over worried families—that was why he showed up every day.
But there were some patients who didn’t get better.
He learned that the hard way.
The day Beomgyu was assigned to his ward was just like any other. Another name on a chart, another life to take care of. But Yeonjun quickly realized that Beomgyu wasn’t like most patients.
For one, Beomgyu didn’t want to talk. Their first meeting was met with silence, Beomgyu’s gaze fixed firmly on the window beside his bed. Outside, the sky was grey, clouds swirling like restless ghosts.
"Hey," Yeonjun greeted, his voice light, practiced. “I’m Choi Yeonjun. I’ll be your nurse for a while. Let me know if you need anything.”
Beomgyu said nothing, his fingers busy folding a small square of paper.
Yeonjun tried again. “What’s that you’re making?”
“Cranes.” Beomgyu’s voice was low, almost drowned out by the quiet whirr of the air conditioning. His hands moved with precision, creasing the paper with methodical care.
“Cranes?” Yeonjun echoed, curious. “Like the ones from that legend?”
Beomgyu’s eyes flicked up, briefly meeting Yeonjun’s before lowering again. “Yeah. A thousand paper cranes grants you a wish.”
Yeonjun smiled. “That’s pretty cool. How many have you made so far?”
Beomgyu hesitated. “...I lost count.”
It was a lie. Yeonjun could tell from the way Beomgyu’s hands trembled slightly, his gaze deliberately distant.
Instead of pressing, Yeonjun nodded. “Well, let me know if you need more paper. I can sneak you some from the supply room.”
Beomgyu didn’t smile, but his lips twitched, like he almost wanted to. That was enough for Yeonjun.
---
Days turned into weeks. Yeonjun made a point to visit Beomgyu’s room even when he wasn’t assigned to him. He’d bring sheets of paper folded into neat squares or freshly brewed tea from the break room. Sometimes, he’d just sit in the chair by the window, reading aloud from whatever book he’d brought with him that day.
Beomgyu rarely responded. But Yeonjun noticed the small changes. The way Beomgyu’s shoulders seemed less tense when he was around. The way his hands moved more confidently when folding cranes, as if he found comfort in the familiar repetition.
“What’s your wish?” Yeonjun asked one afternoon, his voice gentle, careful.
Beomgyu’s hands stilled. For a moment, he looked like he wouldn’t answer. Then, he murmured, “It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it matters.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Beomgyu’s voice cracked, his gaze fixed on the half-folded crane in his hands. “Wishes don’t come true just because you fold a bunch of stupid paper birds.”
Yeonjun’s chest tightened. He wanted to reach out, to offer comfort, but something told him Beomgyu wouldn’t accept it.
“Maybe not,” Yeonjun said softly. “But sometimes...doing something with all your heart can make things a little better. Even if it’s just for a while.”
Beomgyu didn’t reply, but his hands resumed their work. Crease by crease, fold by fold.
---
The first time Yeonjun made Beomgyu laugh, it was over something dumb.
Yeonjun had brought a stack of brightly colored origami paper he’d bought from a store on his way to work. He’d spent half his break attempting to fold a paper crane, only to produce a misshapen mess that barely resembled a bird.
Beomgyu had stared at it, brows knitted in confusion. “What...is that supposed to be?”
Yeonjun huffed, holding the deformed creation with both hands. “It’s a crane. Obviously.”
“That’s not a crane. That’s...that’s an abomination.”
“Wow. Rude.”
Beomgyu’s lips quirked, the tiniest hint of a smile breaking through his usual stoic expression. And then, before Yeonjun could fully process it, Beomgyu laughed. It was a soft, breathy sound, but it was real.
“Okay, fine,” Yeonjun admitted, grinning. “I suck at this. Maybe you can teach me?”
Beomgyu looked down at his hands, fingers tightening around the paper. “Maybe.”
It was the first time Yeonjun felt like he’d made real progress.
