Chapter Text
You took a deep breath. Before you stood a large hall, decorated with marble columns, chandeliers reflecting through Champaign-coloured glass, and the speckling lights that shone on the ground in front of your feet. You wore your nicest outfit - uncomfortable as it was little too small - it was what you had to do. You were a reporter for The Daily Qwilleon. A fairly small newspaper and editorial company run by a portly old man, you were the youngest employee and so far the only active reporter. It was a very stressful night, as not only was it your first big solo journaling experience, the Qwilleon was relying on this story to do well and get some recognition.
You take another step up the white marble stairs, your breath lumping in your throat. Having to swallow it down, you readjusted your outfit again to make it a little more comfortable. It was given to you by your uncle, your only remaining family. You’re not used to fancy events or even really being out at all. You stop just in front of the large doors, the decorative glass formed an arc with etched flowers and vines. You were too busy noticing the small details of the leaves and petals along the edge of the glass that when the door swung open it just barely hit you in the nose.
“G’d’evning..” droned a voice. It belonged to a young, tired looking man. Short, shaggy hair curled upward along his busboy cap and he looked at you with eyes laced with apathetic contempt, “are you on th’ list?” the disdain in his eyes grew with every second you stammered to answer.
“Oh- uh.. Yes, yes I am. I’m a reporter for The Daily Qwilleon-”
“Qwilleon? Th’hell kinda tabloid is that?”
“Well, no, it’s a genuine newspaper compa-”
“Newspapers ??” he laughed, “you think people still read those?” his voice bellowed.
“How the hell could anyone so rude be allowed to work somewhere so nice??” you thought, before he was pushed aside by another busboy. This one with longer, curly hair and a cute crinkle in her nose.
“So sorry about that!! He’s usually in the boiler room - isn’t quite good at talking with people~!” she sang. You picked up how ingenuine her joy was, but at least she wasn’t being rude. You shrugged at her comment.
“Ah, well, it’s ok. I’d be cranky too if I was stuck next to a hot boiler all day.” she gave a quick chuckle and toothy smile at your joke. Before asking for proof that you were on the list - as per her job. You gave her the name of your publishing company, proof of your employment, and for extra measure flash your notepad and pencil.
"Alright, looks good~! I'll have Murry lead you over to where the main event is located~!" She sang in an obviously above her register octave, pointing to her coworker. He groaned with a scowl, haphazardly spinning on his heel and gesturing you along with a shrug of his shoulder.
You follow, your pace slowing slightly as your guide seemed intent to make this sluggish and take longer than it needed. Though you couldn't complain too much, it gave you time to look around your environment - a large gala with high ceilings and decorated laminate trims - everything looked at least 5× above your own paygrade. A recreation of the Sistine chapel's paintings adorned the ceiling, only being broken by a golden border to make way for the numerous chandlers, connected together by rows of crystal and pearls. It was like gazing up at heaven itself - perhaps if you were more unlucky it would've taken you there - as you tripped over your own shoes bumbling into the bus boy in front of you.
"Hey! Watch where you're going - y'know for a journalist, you're not very perceptive.." you heard him mutter under his breath about how much of an idiot you were and something about a headache. As you walked, the sound of music, singing, and voices chattering began to intertwine with your footsteps against the tile. Entering the larger room, it was even more lavishly decorated than the halls.
In all honesty, it was garish and hurt your eyes. The expensive materials and handcrafted décor told you the architect was informed to show off as much money as the commissioner had to offer. Suddenly feeling underdressed, you wondered if this gathering was a ploy by the owner to regain money invested in the building itself.
" Have to use it for something, I guess.." you thought, further pondering the environment. There were more marble pillars along the walls, glass windows that reached the ceiling, and where there wasn't glass there was a recreation of a famous painting. You could immediately spot Leonardo's The Mona Lisa, Van Gough's Starry Night, and Sandro Botticelli's Birth of Venus. The music was interesting, a range of women's voices in a high soprano, chanting as bells and piano harmonized with them - before a man's voice, deep and rich, rang out. It was oddly Christmassy sounding, an interesting choice for July, but you supposed it was fitting with the entire "ethereal heavenly ball" aesthetic.
Before long you were mixing with the crowd like oil and water: silently keeping to yourself, only speaking to apologize for bumping someone, and immediately you hastened your way to the frayed edges of the gathering with the other wallflowers. Taking another deep breath, you scanned the room. You were searching for someone particular to interview - a doctor of renowned status. You only had a basic description of him - tall, bald, glasses, thin - and didn't even know his name. Your boss neglected to tell you that part, just saying "oh you know the one - he's the one !"
"No, I do not know the one, Quinn." You cursed your boss under your breath. A flicker of light caught your eye like reflecting glass, you turned to it and spied just above some other guests a head - a bald head. You hummed, wondering if it was your target. Deciding to take your chances, you braced yourself to enter the sea of finely dressed people. What were surely pleasant conversations rang on your ears like chattering nonsense - the clicking of teeth like automatons grew louder with your anxiety - you wanted to shut down, you had to remind yourself that your feet were on the ground, you became too focused on the noise around you as it boiled together into a mocking laugh. You had to remind yourself your feet were on the ground, breathe, just breathe, it's ok it's fine your feet are on the ground, one step two step one step two step, feet ground, step, good, move, feet-
You tripped over yourself you wouldn't have even noticed if it weren't for the arm supporting you, the other hand firmly holding your shoulder. You heard a voice that sounded like jelly in your disoriented state.
"Are you alright?? Hello, can you hear me??" You looked up, trying to catch your breath as the figure began pulling you to your feet like you weighed nothing. You saw a man, with a sharp jaw, round glasses obscuring soft eyes, and -
Bald head.
"Oh- uh.. yes, I'm-" you tried to speak words that were stuck in your throat. The man shook his head, a concerned yet knowing look on his face.
"It's no problem! You're having an anxiety attack - is it the people? Lights? Come with me-" he started pulling you away. When your legs began to give it, he wrapped an arm under one of your own. His stride seemed slow like to him; this was a sauntering dance, yet you reached his determined destination quickly.
You found yourself outside, the air was warm and the night sky was clear - not a star to be seen, a shame, but expected. The man hands you a glass of water, you shakily pick it up.
"Take small sips, focus on the water, ok? It'll help distract you." He explained, his voice was calm and gentle. You did as he said, though normally you'd never drink anything from a stranger, you weren't thinking about that right now. You focused on the water as you drank it, taking breaths between every sip, being away from that mess and somewhere that was quiet was really like heaven.
"Feeling better? Do you need anything else? A rag, or- or I could ask the staff for somewhere quiet for you if you'd rather." He offered as you finished off the glass. Wiping away a bit from your lip, you shook your head.
"No, no, I'm ok.. thank you though, Mr..? Uh-" you finally looked over to the man who helped you. He towered over you, even with the significant slouch in his posture. He pushed his glasses up, the round lenses perfectly obscuring his eyes.
"Dr. Li Jie. Or, you can just call me Baldhead if it's easier- most people do." He gave a quick chuckle, "Are you certain there's nothing else you need? I really don't mind assisting, I'd rather you be ok above all else!" He spoke seriously, but he kept his voice low and calm.
"No, really, I'm fine, thank you. You've helped more than you needed to."
"Oh, no, it was the least I could do! Honest, I couldn't just stand around if someone collapsed due to an anxiety attack - and I don't know your medical history! For all I knew it could've turned into a panic attack, seizure, heart attack - many things! Now what kind of doctor would I be if I just let that happen, hm?"
"Um.. a bad one, I suppose?"
Your words gave Li Jie pause before he gave a laugh - it was a cute laugh, though you're not certain what made it seem so.
"Yes, yes I suppose that would make a bad doctor, huh?" He commented, his smile was soft and genuine, "A good thing then - I haven't been labeled as a poor doctor, so I'd rather help someone in distress than leave them." You nodded at his words, uncertain how to continue.
“Um.. say, you.. You wouldn’t be the same doctor from the crusades, right?”
“Indeed, I am. Drafted as a soldier and then I became a field medic. They thought my skill set was more useful in that position, and I agree. I don’t.. Really like the idea of hurting others..” he admitted, before shaking his head, “anyway, what about you? I’m guessing you’re a reporter, come to interview me?”
“Oh! Um.. yes, yes I am. For the Daily Qwilleon.”
“Qwilleon? I haven’t heard of that.”
“It’s fairly small. We haven’t really gotten many big stories.. Actually that’s why I'm here tonight - we were hoping an interview with you about your times in the crusades would help. So you can get patients!” you tried to explain, making it sound like a benefit to him more than you, but he simply shook his head and chuckled.
“Oh, no, no. don’t worry, I understand - I haven't taken very many interviews, and to be honest, I prefer it that way. I didn’t become a doctor to get famous, it was simply to help people, so I have no real reason to be interviewed.” he looked up to the night sky, a peaceful yet sad look adorned his face. His soft smile accentuating both emotions into one of mellow melancholy.
You, however, were looking at the cut stone of the courtyard below you. Arms crossed and tapping your foot, your brows stitched a crease in the middle of your forehead as you contemplate your next move.
" Do I push him for more information? Just accept he won't talk and leave it there? How will I tell Quinn...? What if this bankrupts the company? Oh god! How much did it cost to even get me here?? Would an interview even make up for it?? " Your thoughts spiraled further, Baldhead looking at you in the corner of his eye before turning his attention back to the sky. He hummed and placed a hand under his chin in passive thought. As he turned to face you, he was interrupted before he could get a sound out as the large glass door behind you two was thrown open.
"Ah! There y'are Dr. Jee! C'mon you're needed. Some.. fancy toast or something, whatever.." the dull voice of Murry pulled you from your ruminating thoughts of future employment and how you're gonna help feed your uncle's cats.
"Oh, it's 'Jie' and my last name is.. Li.." Baldhead tried explaining before Murry sauntered off, completely ignoring you two. The tall man sighed, shaking his head as he adjusted his glasses.
"Is that.. Why you go by 'Baldhead'?" You asked, he nodded again with an exasperated laugh - you had difficulty telling if it was genuine or forced though. He was a little difficult to read.
"Um.. that Murry, am I right? You'd think a place as fancy as this would be able to hire more well-mannered employees, huh?" You try to joke, lightly nudging Baldhead's arm. Jokingly taking shots at other people was what the men at work would usually do - old friends of the boss - you've even been a target yourself a couple times. Though they go a little lighter on you due to some circumstances.
"Ah? Is that his name? Um.." he pondered for a split second, and in that time you felt like the air became dense with data, giving you a slight headache, "well no, I think it's just a bad night. He's clearly sleep deprived, I've caught him dozing off on occasion.. and his limp - it seems to be originating from his hip or lower back, so he may be overworking himself. He's talked about a headache nearly all night, but I'm curious if it may be stress or anxiety over his injury that he's getting those headaches, maybe even high blood pressure.. I'm not sure.." he looked to the side, tilting his head, "I wonder.. if he's seen a doctor about it.. would it be possible for me to catch his attention later tonight and ask..?" His voice trailed off as he began muttering to himself, eventually evolving to a language you didn't understand.
"Um.. Dr. Baldhead..?" You tried to get his attention, a little worried about pulling him out of his thoughts.
"Oh! Yes, sorry, my bad! I've just been thinking about this all night. I don't like the look of someone clearly in pain.." he sighed defeatedly, almost cartoonishly slumping to emphasize his state of exhaustion, "Oh and I still have to go to that toast he mentioned earlier.. aiya, I really wish I could stop being invited to these things.. so tiring..!" He looked at you with a look in his eye - asking "don't you agree?" - you nodded.
"Yea- yeah, I don't really like big events like this either." A chuckle escapes your lips - a genuine one - you think to add more to your statement, but didn't know how.
"Excuse me for commenting, I mean no offense, but.. you don't talk much, do you?" He asked, a tilt in his head. You hadn't noticed but he's been slowly crouching more to be at least at a decent height. It's a wonder how his spine wasn't shattered with such posture. But he was right, you did tend to be more on the quiet side. Normally that's not something you worry about, but inexplicably this time you were acutely anxious about how you appeared to Baldhead. It dawned on you how it was taking you a moment to respond, his face tilting into a more concerned direction. You remedy your social mistake by nodding, mumbling that his observations were true. Baldhead smiled kindly.
"Ah, that's no problem then. I just wanted to make sure you weren't being quiet due to anxiety - I mean, there's nothing wrong with that, I s'pose being in a place you don't like is quite anxiety inducing - but I mean that if it were anxiety I would've liked to try to help alleviate it somehow- if- if you wanted me to, of course!" If you weren't mistaken, it looked to you that Baldhead's face got a little warmer - a faint pink tint overcoming him - and a nervous twitch in his lip. He adjusted his glasses again, needlessly so, as he began to stammer and mutter again. A little chortle escapes you, not out of nervousness but of endearment-.
"You, though, do seem to talk a lot. It's ok, I understand.." you paused to consider your words, trying to think of a way to continue without it sounding odd, “I.. Suppose.. Doctors should talk a lot..? To.. be able to communicate with patients…? And.. other doctors…?” you didn’t actually know that much about what doctors do, you’ve never really been to one apart from vaccines as a child. You internally reeled at how stupid you must sound, wishing the ground would swallow you whole, but he chuckled.
“Well.. I suppose that could be true. But doctors don’t really need terribly great communication skills. I’ve actually met many doctors who barely spoke - or when they did, they were quite short and rude!” he laughed a little more. The twitch in his lip calmed and his face settled into a wide smile. All things considered, he was quite.. cute. He pushed up his glasses, once again obscuring his eyes. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was hiding something with how much it seemed he was intentionally keeping them from you. A joke appeared in your head, maybe a bit tasteless of a joke, but it couldn’t hurt right-
“Oi! Dr. Jee! What’r’you still doin’ out here, you’ve been called over!” Murry snapped like a dog trying to contain a bark. You jumped back slightly; if you weren’t mistaken you thought Baldheads arm reached out to catch you again. Halting and retracting immediately seeing you were perfectly ok and just a little startled. The tall man turned to Murry, his smile dissipating into a soft frown.
“I understand, my apologies. Give me time to say farewell and I’ll join the others shortly.” he remarked flatly and almost automated. Like a machine that's done this many times before. Standing up a little taller, he gave a short and subtle bow of his head to the bus boy, and turned back to look to you.
“Well.. I suppose it’s time for me to take my leave. I’m sorry I never got to answer any questions you may have had.. Um.. what do I call you?” he asked warmly, his soft smile returning.
“(y/n)..”
“Ah, I see. I like that name. I’ll make sure to look for your article in that paper you write for. The Daily Qwilleon, was it? That’s such an interesting name..”
“It’s actually a cute story.. The owner of the company is named Quinn, and before she passed, Quinn was also the name of his wife. His last name is Williams, hers was Leon. So it’s both their names together. ‘Q’ for their first, and ‘Will + eon’.. Qwilleon.” you looked down at your hands, absentmindedly fiddling with your fingers and rings. Sighing silently, you tried getting the sad smile off your face but Baldhead seemed to have noticed it.
“Hmm.. that is quite the cute story, albeit sad. You seem to know a lot about the company.” his head bobbed in a gentle nod of agreement and respect. Before you could process that the air was tinged with awkwardness, you spoke up at his comment.
“I know because they’re my aunt and uncle.” you looked up to him as he wordlessly breathed an “oh!” before you continued, “I’ve been living with my uncle Quinn for a couple years now. He got me this job too.. So I was really trying to make a good first story by interviewing you, but..” you trailed off, but got distracted by the sound of Baldhead’s thoughtful humming.
“Well.. maybe not tonight. But a lot of people have tried getting interviews out of me at this party - if I indulged you all, your story wouldn’t be anymore unique than theirs. But surely, some tabloid will write about the time I spent outside with..” he paused, weighing his words, but shook some thoughts out of his head, put a hand to his chin, and his head lulled to the side in thought.
“Yes.. yes, actually that’s good for you. I did give you more information than I did the others - so yes, just search our talk and write about me. And then maybe later, if you so desire, we could catch up another time? And I could give you a more formal interview then. And I promise I'll keep even more quiet to other journalists!” he chuckled, holding a finger to his lips with his usual wide smile. Before you could really respond, he stood up straight and he gave a quick bow.
“My info’s public - just contact me if you want that interview!” he called joyfully as he waved and spun on his heel through the arched doorway. You watched as his figure - towering over the crowds like a lighthouse - slowly shrunk like something slipping under the water’s surface. Yet all you could think of as he ran off was his glasses that slipped from the bridge of his nose. Finally letting you spy his rarely seen mauve eyes.