𝗪𝗢𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗔𝗡𝗗 ♡ Victon Imagines

BYUNGCHAN • Fluorescent Lights

Fluorescent Lights

fluff, 1.3k words

∞

The vending machine blinked like it was about to cry.

Dr. Y/N Lee stared at it with narrowed eyes, arms crossed, debating whether to kick it or bribe it with a polite please. She had already pressed the button for coffee twice. The machine groaned, whirred, then did absolutely nothing.

“You again,” she muttered, letting out a frustrated sigh. “Don’t make me call facilities.”

From behind, a familiar voice chimed in alongside an arms snaking around her waist. Perfect fit. “Talking to the vending machine again? Should I be jealous?”

She turned and found Byungchan, her boyfriend of two years and fellow ER resident, grinning at her. His hair was a mess under his cap, eyes tired but warm. Somehow, even in the worst lighting possible, he looked like a rom-com lead.

“Only if you start dispensing coffee,” she deadpanned.

He chuckled and stepped beside her, pulling out a coin from his pocket. “Watch and learn, love.”

He pressed the same button. The machine blinked... and miraculously, a paper cup dropped. The coffee she has been craving and waiting for began to pour.

Y/N gaped at him. “How did you do that? You have a secret deal with it, don’t you?”

“I whisper sweet things to it during rounds,” he winked, taking the cup and handing it to her. “It likes compliments.”

“Heh.” She took the cup, nudging his arm affectionately. “Glad you’re the best thing in this hospital.”

“Even better than functioning coffee machines?”

“By a long shot.”

They wandered back to the nurse's station, where the overhead lights buzzed softly and monitors beeped in the background. It was 2:43 a.m. The ER had slowed into that rare lull. No trauma pages, no shouting. Only the hum of machines and the occasional squeak of shoes against the floor.

They leaned against the counter, sipping coffee from one cup, passing it back and forth like it was a ritual. It kind of was.

“You know,” she said after a while, “I think if we survive residency, we can survive anything.”

“We already survived a year of alternating night shifts,” he said. “That’s basically long-distance in the same building.”

She chuckled. “We should get medals.”

“Or matching hoodies that say, ‘We survived the ER and all I got was this caffeine addiction.’”

“Stylish and accurate.”

Their laughter was soft, as it settled gently between them. With their work, they didn’t need grand moments. Half a cup of lukewarm coffee, each other’s company, and a brief pocket of calm were enough for them.

Simple may it sounds but those moments were enough to stitch tired hearts back together and show what is love in its purest form. 

The head nurse, Tita Marcy, a Filipina, 4’9”, and legendary in the ER, walked by with a sleepy smile. With 35 years of experience tucked into her scrubs and the kind of stern warmth only an older sister or a tita could pull off, she paused beside them, arms crossed and eyes twinkling behind her glasses. Everyone adored her not just for her sharp instincts and faster-than-the-interns reflexes, but for the containers of lumpia, adobo, and pancit she’d bring to every shift.