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When he was younger, it was probably weird that Eric was never phased by the sight of blood. Yes, he cried like any other kid whenever he fell down, playing rough but innocent games with other children, but he always found there was something soothing about watching faded red spots bloom behind brown bandages. Never failed to be fixated by the rough scabs that formed above the cuts, nor stopped wondering how and why they happened. And then marvel at the shiny, smooth skin that grew with time.
Which is why he decided that he wanted to become a doctor.
Over twenty years later, Eric wishes he could’ve slapped some fucking sense into that kid as reality did to him with the extensive years of studying and even more ridiculous costs required for that dream. Life’s not as poetic as he wishes it could be; blood is just what comes out of your body when you hurt yourself enough.
He stands in the alley between the artisanal bakery and the 24-hour convenience store to drink his beers and smoke his blunt. It’s how he winds down after every surgical rotation. Is the latter definitely illegal enough to prevent him from graduating all while staining his permanent record? Definitely, but since Kevin introduced him to some when he went to visit him in Canada the year a couple of years back, he couldn’t get enough of how effectively it calmed him down and seemed to alleviate the stress of his daily life.
Getting crossed just makes it a little bit better.
Stars are shrouded by the city’s light pollution, leaving the only thing to shine in the sky, the small sliver of the moon. And there’s the faint glow of the streetlight above him, but he’s pretty sure it doesn’t count.
The same thoughts run through his mind if he should just drop everything because it’s not like he deserved to be there. Practically, he knows he’s spewing bullshit and that finishing off med school could potentially pay off his debts and accrue even more money than he had before. Then his parents would get off his ass about the shit he’s done and let him live his life in peace.
“That’s the real dream,” he murmurs to himself. Eric pushes the can against the rolled blunt in mock cheers before taking another hit and another gulp.
He wishes his mind could always be this serene, head in the clouds, thoughtless, gliding peacefully in forced ignorance.
When the crash of cans and bags of garbage occurs in front of him, he jumps, cursing not being gone enough to just ignore it. His heart leaps out of his chest, flight instinct engaged. However, the more blissed out part of him reassures that it’s probably a Friday bar hopper or even a stray cat and there’s no reason for him to leave what he considers to be his second home. (There’s been many a time that he’s fallen asleep in the alley, and Sangyeon, the owner of the bakery, leaves him a small bag of bread from the day before, and Haknyeon who takes the night shift at the convenience story drops in some milk with a slightly expired sell-by date. They aren’t really his friends but he appreciates their kindness, or more likely to be, pity).
Then there’s a quiet groan and a muffled thud. Eric, unfortunately, cannot miss the way the guy in front of him had rolled out of the trash bags, hands pressed against his abdomen, probably on an injury, but he can’t really tell through the black clothes he’s wearing. Something that looks akin to a ski-mask is bundled around his head. The light above reveal admittedly handsome features, but as much as Eric thinks he could spend hours on end staring at him, his face doesn’t excuse the disruption he’s caused; the student is ready to quip at him, claiming the space as his territory, but the stranger beats him to it the moment their eyes meet.
“You should get away from me,” he exclaims, concern clear in his eyes.
Eric squints at him, entirely unconvinced. Who the hell is this guy to tell him to leave his smoking spot? Sure yes, the guy seems to be incapacitated to the point where he can’t move, but that’s no reason for him to leave. He pulls his phone out, and that seems to alarm the stranger even more.
“No ambulance,” he exclaims.
Although definitely skeptical of the situation, the student tucks his phone back into his pocket but doesn’t move.
“You could get hurt!” his gaze darts around the dimly lit area, “Or even worse,” his voice falls to a whisper, “killed.”
Any worry in the college student’s system immediately disappears, as he takes a seat, back bracing against the brick wall. The very hot man is now shocked.
“You could die!” he reiterates.
Eric looks up and shrugs. “Want a hit?”
The man simply blinks at him, but no other response. While one hand presses firmly against his side, to staunch the bleeding, his other reaches up to the side of the dumpster to pull himself up, but his grip doesn’t seem to be enough. He slips, leaving a wet patch on the handle and immediately signaling the inner doctor in Eric.
He quickly puts out the blunt, slightly relieved he hadn’t finished more than half of it. “Hey buddy,” he says. The handsome man’s head whips up, but his eyes immediately screw shut; it’s probably the blood loss. “Yeah, I wouldn’t do that.” He crouches down to his level and attempts to see what’s going on. Both hands have returned to their place over his stomach. At least he knows that much.
“How about you let me take a look at that injury of yours,” Eric proposes while digging for his stuff. As a med student, it wasn’t like he was obligated to hold all of these things, but he likes to think of it as a return for the excessive tuition he’s paid to this school. And for once it seems like his rebellion has paid off.
His hands come back out, gloved, with a needle and a length of thread. The man’s eyes grow wide, not in fear, but surprise.
“You don’t even know how bad it is,” the man reasons.
“But I can help you.”
The elder man is about to object, but his eyes roll up a little bit. Eric moves forward to catch him, but he’s somehow sat upright. “Can’t risk you.” He still has no idea what that means.
“It seems like it might already be too late for me.” The student smiles to himself, already slowly removing the man’s hands. “If you die, while I’m here, everyone will think I’ve murdered you or something.”
The tension lightens a little as the injured person huffs a little in laughter, not moving to stop him. “That isn’t what I meant.” However, blood seems to rush out more at his movements.
Everything around him goes blank, making the silent atmosphere somehow even quieter. The facts rush through his mind by himself. An artery hasn’t been cut, but based on where it is, it’s definitely possible someone had intended to cut him there. It is deep enough to need stitches, well into the third layer of the dermis. At least there are no signs of an infection.
“What were you cut with?”
“A hand knife.”
“Was it clean?” Then he shakes his head. “That’s probably the last thing on your mind.”
There’s a slight nod from him.
He eyes the handsome individual confusedly but doesn’t ask anything more, instead, starting on the sutures.
As he’s checking his work (he’s pretty impressed with how clean the stitches are even while he’s under the influence), Eric asks him what his name is.
The man blinks at him. His hesitation is all too long, and when he says “Joel,” Eric knows he’s completely justified in doubting the other man.
“Okay, Joel,” he says as they’re splitting a piece of slightly stale bread, “Do you have anywhere to stay tonight? And in this pile of garbage bags isn’t a valid answer.”
“I’ll be okay,” he insists, “I’m really grateful for you fixing me up, but someone should be picking me up.” He looks down at his watch, causing his expression to falter. “Soon,” he vaguely finishes.
“You can wait at my place.”
“I really can’t. It-”
Eric sighs. “Buddy. Death is really the least of my worries. You act like I’m going to be targeted and killed on sight.” The medical student extends an open hand out to him. “Just come with me.”
Joel stares at him but doesn’t budge.
He shakes his hand more emphatically. The weird thing is, he can’t pinpoint a reason why he wants to take this stranger under his wing. Could he psychoanalyze himself and talk about the nuances of his personal worth and how he might be trying to redeem his character through this stab victim? Maybe, but that’s way too complex for his substance-addled brain.
Then his stomach growls. “Goddammit, let me at least feed you.”
They stare at each other for who knows how much longer. However, Joel eventually does grab his hand, letting the student pull him up.
“I thought you’d be taking me to a convenience store.”
That would’ve been easier, and he wouldn’t have had to support the man the whole time, but it isn’t an observation he observes. Instead, Eric shrugs as he twists the key in his apartment’s door. “I mean, you wore the ski mask either way, so I don’t think it really matters.”
When Eric returns from his restroom, he notices the ramen from minutes ago is already left empty on the coffee table. He puts a small bundle of tissue next to him. The other man seems to immediately recognize the oxycodone in it.
“Do you sell?”
Eric smiles somewhat amusedly. “Are you looking for a dealer?” His eyes widen in clear surprise. “I’m kidding. Kind of. It’s more of a last resort kind of thing. When I need money.” There’s no judgment in Joel’s expression, but he nods understandingly, quickly popping the pills in silent obedience. He immediately lays down on the floor.
The student sits a healthy distance away, on the couch, staring inquisitively at the other man. Although their interaction is entirely by chance, Eric likes the energy they have. He quickly learns that Joel is a quiet person, not actively engaging in conversation, but he responds when Eric asks some questions and listens attentively to what he says.
The student, sitting on the couch of his living room, and looking down at the handsome man lying on his floor, appreciates the companion.
“These are really nice stitches,” Joel observes, “You must be doing some pretty great stuff.”
He cackles at the praise. “You sound like my parents.”
“I mean, that’s good, right? They support you and stuff.”
His hands move up, emphasizing his repetition of “Support.”
Joel’s eyebrows cock up in curiosity. “What do you mean?”
Eric sighs. He hadn’t expected to go into his backstory, but it isn’t something he’s entirely against. “Me? Rich chaebol kid, expected to go to university and chase his dreams. Like that ambition was there in the beginning, but burnout was real. I felt like I couldn’t meet the expectations that my parents set for me anymore, the image that my family wanted to display to their peers. ‘Yes, our daughter will be taking over the company; our other son is in med school working to be a doctor.’ I get it, it's this giant showcase of power and prestige, but I don’t know about it anymore.”
“Do you enjoy it?”
“I mean I did, but I just had moments where I couldn’t do it, and it was really frustrating to go through.”
“Depression?” the man proposes. It’s posed as kind of a question with the gusto of an assertion.
His eyes narrow. “I don’t know.” The mediocre psychoanalysis is random and slightly disorienting.
The man on the floor stares at him in disbelief. “That’s what it sounds like. Isn’t that something you learned in university?”
Eric laughs caustically. He stares up at the ceiling, hoping that the popcorn texture will help him collect his thoughts. “That was around my last semester of undergrad,” he pauses to count, “So, four or five years ago. And things were already really bad that semester.” By that point, his parents were offering to pull a fast one on the admissions schools unless Eric could do something about his classes. Feeling like he was stuck in gridlock, and unable to find something he truly enjoyed, he attempted to bring the two together.
“I slept with my TA,” he admits, “Because it was the only class I was really failing, and I needed a direct connection to the professor for a good recommendation into my current program.” When he turns to look at Joel, he isn’t taken aback or surprised, but rather impressed.
“Sex and a good academic record,” he mulls, “Makes sense.”
Eric sinks back into the couch. “I mean it’s kind of ruined sex for me now too because I can’t stop thinking about how manipulatively I used it. Like a reward, I don’t deserve any more.”
Joel nods somewhat understandingly. “Do your parents know?”
“I mean if I slept with them? I doubt they’d care. But if they found out they were a guy,” he whistles, “I would be dead,” he states, “And written out of the will, which I sincerely do not want.”
Joel stares at him intensely. “So you do fear death?”
Philosophy is too much for him at this hour, in this mental state. All his brain and mouth can coordinate is a relation of problems he’s perpetually had. A venting session. But from the little thoughts he can collect, it’s not being scared of dying, but “The future. That shit’s terrifying. The act is okay. In a sense, without having consciousness, we wouldn’t have to deal with our wants and the possibility of never achieving them.”
The handsome man smiles, albeit a bit pitifully. “I’m slightly concerned about you now,” he says half-jokingly. His arms stretch out in an open invitation, but he grimaces at the movement.
“Slow down, buddy,” he says somewhat concernedly. “I don’t think the meds have kicked in yet.” But in reality, he does want to close the space in between them, maybe learn more about the other man. He blames the sleep deprivation and the weed.
“Weren’t you being stupid particular about me even being close to you?” Eric’s movements betray him as he quietly slides down the couch. “Worrying for my life and all that?”
He smiles teasingly. “At this rate, I might die too.”
The medical student lies down next to him, explicitly ordering the injured Joel to not move up from his position. Even from the safe space, he keeps between them, he can tell he’s warm. “You said my stitches were impeccable.”
And Joel laughs again. It’s a breathy sound but has a richness that resonates in Eric’s heart. “Different reasons,” he reassures. Then he pats the space in between the two of them. “This won’t give either of us comfort.”
“You’re weird,” Eric mumbles, but admittedly interested in the man’s corporal warmth. He gingerly rests an arm on the other side of his body, careful to not touch the injury, and scoots himself closer.
“Head up,” Joel murmurs. When the student complies, he wiggles his arm under Eric’s head to serve as a makeshift pillow and pulls him closer, so he’s rolled him onto his side and forced his head to rest on his chest. “How are you feeling?”
While Eric is melting in the light embrace, it coats his practical thoughts, like that he shouldn’t be more than surface-level attracted to the stranger in his living room. However, all he can mutter is, “Good.”
For a while, they just lay there and talk. However, there isn’t much to be learned about Joel. He doesn’t talk about the majors he studies, or where he works as you know, a normal person would, unless he’s some chaebol kid, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. Joel continues not to reveal much about himself, but Eric thinks the man’s obligated to measure his discretion. He observes that the other seems to have ended up a pretty good person, eliciting a small hum in response.
If anything, the other man mostly reminisces, mulling about fond memories of his childhood.
“Math was always fun,” he smiles to himself, “I had this one friend, Chanhee, who’s the same as a human calculator, and while I was busy pushing numbers into my calculator,” he mimics the motion on Eric’s back, “he’d already be done. I don’t know. I’ve always wanted some kind of natural talent like that.”
Eric hates how comfortable he is, both in the unbalanced conversation and position, because why does he suddenly have to like a man he’s saved from being stabbed, and not something more mundane like Sunwoo, the barista at his local coffee shop, Younghoon, his rotational supervisor, or Changmin, his lab partner.
“I mean, does your face count?” he observes. As soon as he says the words, Eric’s not sure if he should feel embarrassed, but that’s the feeling that envelops him.
Joel laughs again, this time the sound ringing clearly through the quaint atmosphere, and partially fueling the red in his cheeks.
For some time they don’t pull away from each other, and Eric isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do. All he can think about is how warm his cheek feels in the crook of this man’s neck and the way his heart steadily beats against his face. Damn, he really has been touch starved. Joel does this lightly brush of fingers against his scalp that only soothes him further to sleep.
Eric yawns. “I should get some rest,” he mumbles.
“Dancing,” Joel says after a while.
The medical student digs his head deeper into the man’s chest. “What about it.” His eyelids are already drooping.
“I think that’s something I was pretty good at.”
“Was?”
“Just haven’t done it in a while.”
“Buddy,” Eric pats the man’s arm. “It’s all muscle memory,” he reassures, “That’s what happened to me when I started doing dance classes as exercise. All the noona instructors were praising me for my skills, which was a real good time.” Less surely, he adds, “You could join me if you wanted.”
The hand on his back trails up, becoming a light pat to the head. “I’d like that, Eric.”
After yawning, the man smiles again. “Wow, we’re on a first-name basis now?”
“Haven’t we been this whole time?”
Eric shakes his head into the man’s chest. “Not when you haven’t given me your real name.”
There’s no real tension to cut, but silence coaxes Eric closer to slumber. Joel’s heartbeat and his warmth are the perfect ingredients to ease the little, if any, tension left in the man’s body. The gentle ministrations on his back are a definite plus. While his eyelids were fluttering before, it’s a battle to just keep them open.
“You don’t have to move,” Joel says, “I don’t mind staying in this position. It’s fine by me.”
“No I could hurt you,” he murmurs, but there’s no real intention in his words.
“That sounds familiar,” he jokes.
Eric quietly scoffs. “And look at us now.”
Even though he can’t see the other, he can sense the (dashing) grin on his face. “And look at us now.”
When he wakes up in the morning, Eric is in his bed. He’s not cold per se, but lacking the warm body he’d wrapped himself around the night before. It forces him into awareness as he gets up and traverses to the living room, where everything seems as untouched as it had when he left for school yesterday.
And maybe it had all been some weird dream, a sign that he really needs to get back into the dating pool.
But the details are in what’s missing; his space is too perfect. He knows he had a sink half full of dishes, but they’ve evaporated into thin air. The empty soda can and a disposable cup of ramen have been disposed of. And that stack of laundry on the armchair has suddenly disappeared.
And more importantly, there’s no Joel.
Oppositely, there’s a small piece of paper in the center of his coffee table.
thank you. LJY
Eric smiles to himself, a bittersweet expression.
(He only wishes he at least knew his real name.)
In the months after, Eric works towards graduating, but thoughts of Joel cross him. They’re nothing major, but sometimes, when he’s high, he stares at that same dumpster and wonders where this man could have gone. He tries to go out on some dates, but feels bad when he’s not emotionally available enough, or simply can’t construct any interests for them.
So his life continues in its pattern. Getting up, going to class, doing rotations, finishing homework, deflecting messages from his parents, and sleeping. He eats here and there, a drink at some point, paired with some smoking. It’s comfortable and stable, save for the occasional thoughts of a singular man that flash in his mind in the form of a laugh, or a grin, or the memory of warmth.
Before he knows it, Eric is graduating. When he walks up to receive his diploma, he spots his parents in the crowd, looking at him stone-faced and politely golf clapping. The whole situation is a bit awkward when other students had had much louder reactions, and that there was a loud whoop and some applause from a singular person somewhere else in the crowd.
At first, he thinks it’s Sangyeon and Haknyeon because the two decided to come, even without his invitation. As much as he does not want to admit it, still barely able to classify them as his friends, he’s grateful for the care they’ve taken of him, serving a role he felt was never really there in his family. But the two know him well enough to know that that isn’t something he’d want.
He sees the figure sitting down quickly, earning him a range of judging expressions. With some more scrutiny, he’s able to put the features together. The golden circle lenses are a new addition, but it somehow makes Joel that much more attractive.
But mistakes are inevitable at big events like this, and the show goes on, calling up another student out of the thousands graduating. Eric returns to his seat, barely able to contain his emotions about the man’s return. His legs shake to the disdain of his neighboring graduates, and his palms become damp, forcing him to rub them against his gown. He has to stop himself from turning around and checking if he’d been crazy.
Hours later, after he’d received more congratulations from Haknyeon and Sangyeon in the form of fresh bread and bottles of flavored milk, his parents had questioned who they were, indirectly discrediting the two men for not being of his academic standard, Kevin and his partner Jacob called from Canada to tell him his well wishes, does he finally have a moment to himself.
With his gown open, he finds himself in his favorite place, between the bakery and the convenience stores, hours after all the pleasantries have passed, with his blunt in hand. And like clockwork, a figure stands in front of him. He’s about to lash out, exhausted from today, but then he comes back into his mind.
Joel smiles down at him amusedly.
“Old habits die hard for you?” he teases.
“You could say that,” Eric replies as steadily as he can, “And where did you go.”
He shrugs. “I got picked up. Cleaned up. Left you a note.”
“At least you don’t look like you’re too stabbed.”
Joel has the decency, or better said, lack thereof, to pull the side of his shirt up to show his injury. Eric immediately notices that there’s not too much of a bump and that the skin is much smoother than he’d expected to heal. There’s also the very large distraction of the man’s toned torso, but he tries not to say anything about that.
“That’s pretty good,” he summarizes, “Especially since I wasn’t completely sober.” Joel laughs in acknowledgment, but that’s kind of where the conversation sputters a little bit. They stand in comfortable silence until Eric becomes somewhat frustrated with the stagnation.
“And why now?”
Joel has a sheepish expression on his face. “So. I kind of need a medic/doctor kind of guy. A long term job.”
Eric nods. “There’s a lot of those,” he expresses.
“But for a more, illegal reason?” His voice goes up at the end as if he’s not sure himself.
“You know,” he murmurs, flicking the but of his joint away, “I have a great position lined up at SNU’s hospital.”
The other man grins knowingly. “And did your parents buy you that job?”
He hadn’t even applied to any, nor really made himself seen at work fairs. “I wouldn’t doubt it for a second,” he replies.
Joel stares at him expectantly.
Eric’s eyebrow raises, still very much skeptical. “Did you need specifically me, or was this an excuse just to see me again?”
“In part,” Joel admits, letting satisfaction resonate in Eric’s chest. “But I told my higher-ups about you, and they liked what they heard. And I wasn’t dead, which was a plus for me.”
Eric considers the situation a little bit. “Good money?”
“I mean I would think probably a little bit less than whatever you’ll be earning, but not too far off,” he pauses, hope glittering in his eyes. This raises many more questions for Eric, but he doesn’t really get a chance to ask, “So, would you be interested?”
Common sense screams no. “If you tell me your name,” he resolves, overriding his instincts.
“Lee Juyeon,” Joel, no Juyeon, says with a grin. He takes his free hand, and instead of shaking it, like a normal person, brings it to his lips in a gentle kiss. “Glad to be in business with you.”