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There wasn’t much of rational thoughts left in him when he finally reached the old rooftop of HNUK’s hospital. In fact, most of the walk was spent with senseless thoughts, memories of the past and an immense feeling of shame and sorrow. Yang Jae-won avoided anyone he knew on the way to the rooftop, hiding his face away with his lab coat—hiding most of his tears away as he tried to walk as quickly as possible to get to a secluded spot.
At first he thought of going back to his room—getting to his bunkbed and hiding under the covers. But considering he shared the room with Dr. Baek, he had discarded the idea almost immediately. He didn’t want to see anyone. Not right now.
So, remembering that one night when Cheon Jang-mi invited him to scream his lungs out into the vent-shaft, he made his decision and ran up the stairs of the old building. A stupid decision, of course—he still had work to do, especially after returning from a small break for dinner; he was still a surgeon and was required in the Trauma Centre. He couldn’t simply leave the team for a couple of minutes whenever he felt slightly bad.
Nevertheless, at the moment, he couldn’t face anyone. He had no courage to even show up back into the Trauma Centre—he had no courage to face the nurses and doctors that already knew him so well. Not when his face was sporting several bruises, red and purple patches and swollen lips and skin. Not right now.
So, he sits on the dirty floor, taking his lab coat and trying his best to clean up the blood off his face. It was definitely not sanitary—the place he was at has dust and debris all over; his lab coat wasn’t as decent as a gauze and he most definitely shouldn’t use it to clean wounds. He should know better, of course. A doctor such as himself doing something like ‘cleaning wounds’ so poorly was unheard of. Yet, there he was, biting his bruised lip, making it worse, holding back the hiccupping sobs, pressing the fabric of his lab coat onto his face.
It was hard to stay quiet—but that shouldn’t be a problem. The only one around that place was him and, well, perhaps the vent-shaft that blows air every five minutes. Jae-won was essentially alone. Finally.
It doesn’t take long, however, for him to be bothered. His phone rang loudly, making him flinch slightly. Despite his off-state, he still took the phone off his coat’s pocket, looking at the screen to check who was calling him. Not the emergency number from the Trauma Centre, fortunately. No. It was Cheon Jang-mi. He opts to not respond, of course.
The phone lays down on the floor, vibrating every second, Cheon Jang-mi’s name flashing on the screen. But Jae-won couldn’t speak—he didn’t want to speak; he didn’t want to have people ask him about his bruises. So, with a heavy heart, he ignores the nurse’s call.
Instead, he focus on the wounds he has. The fabric on his face feels rough and it hurts every time he dabs at the cuts, but he ignores it. The pain he felt right now couldn’t compare to his feelings—it couldn’t compare to the turmoil burbling inside his stomach, akin to bile rising up to someone’s throat. And, to be fair, Jae-won felt as if he could puke at any moment.
The phone eventually stops vibrating. After about ten minutes of constant calls and messages, Cheon Jang-mi seems to give up. It makes him feel awful—but he has good reasons for ignoring her. At least, that’s what he tells himself.
His lab coat is now all dirty, tainted by his own blood, looking absolutely disgraceful. Not that it never got dirty with blood—but usually it happened whenever he was treating a trauma patient. Having it get dirty by his own blood felt strange.
Jae-won stared at it, his sobbing quieting down to soft sniffles every few seconds. The tears never stopped, of course. But he felt at least less intense about everything. Instead, he felt numb. The wounds on his face didn’t ache anymore—which he knew was because of the adrenaline pumping into his veins. He also knew the effects of it would eventually quiet down and he would start feeling pain—and he knew that it would be bad because he hasn’t cleaned and treated it properly. But he didn’t care. Not at the moment.
Right now, he sat in the dark rooftop, looking at the barely starry sky, listening in to the natural sounds of Seoul. The windy weather didn’t bother him, it soothed him—despite the fact that it was even more reckless to be up in the rooftop in the winter. But he didn’t mind.
The phone comes back to life again. The vibrating pattern just as strong, the screen flashing someone’s contact on it. Jae-won sighs, lips trembling as he reads the name on the screen—
Dr. Baek.
—the tears continue to run down his cheeks. He involuntarily bites his lip, flinching as he does so—sudden pain blossoming at the area.
Ah, yes. He’d forgot he had a cut on his lip.
This time he sobs a little louder—the sniffles slowly turning into the heavy hiccupping he was sporting minutes ago. Seeing Dr. Baek’s name flash on his screen made him even more miserable. His mentor was looking for him and he had no gall to even pick up his phone. He wonders slightly if Cheon Jang-mi had commented about his disappearance to Dr. Baek. The thought alone made him shiver, afraid that he was being a nuisance to all of his team.
Yang Jae-won truly felt pathetic.
“There you are, No.1.”
The voice is immediately recognized. Jae-won can’t help but to flinch and freeze—his hands hovering at his stained lab coat, wanting to throw it off the roof; wanting to hide the evidence of his bruises away. But that would be impossible. It would be hard to hide his entire face. So, instead, he stays still, not looking back at his mentor.
The phone on the floor stops vibrating, screen going black as Dr. Baek, most likely, hangs up. Jae-won presses his lips into a thin line—he wonders what will happen now. He’d been through similar situations before; back at high-school, back in college; even there, in HNUK’s hospital.
It would go like so:
Get asked what happened, then have the person see how bad the damage was. Then the situation escalates to getting this problem to administration. They’d always think he was being bullied—which did happen, but he’d never gotten beaten up by other teenagers or adults alike. At least, he’d never been beaten up by strangers. Not like that.
But he couldn’t quite explain that he would get spanked by his father. He couldn’t—shouldn’t. So, he never did and never would.
“Hey,” Dr. Baek’s voice was persistent. “Why aren’t you picking up your phone, huh? Gangster is nagging me about it.”
“I’m… busy.”
“Busy?” The man sounds incredulous. “You haven’t stepped foot in the Trauma Centre for at least an hour now. What are you talking about?”
“It’s personal,” Jae-won’s head hangs low.
“No.1,” Dr. Baek keeps going. Jae-won just wants him to shut up and leave. “Aren’t you going back to work? Have I made the wrong choice in picking you?”
“I’ll get back in a second.”
“I need you down there now.”
“There isn’t an emergency happening, right now,” he retorts.
“There are still patients in need of a check-up,” comes the unwavering reply.
“Please, just give me two minutes.”
“I gave you forty-eight.”
“Well, then add two more minutes and let me have fifty minutes of peace!” Jae-won snaps, hands gripping at his hair in panic. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone—he wants a moment alone where he can rest and recover without anyone asking him questions. And he most certainly does not want Dr. Baek to ask him about… that.
“No.1,” Dr. Baek drags the nickname as if warning him to watch out. “You’re being quite sassy, no?”
“How did you even know I was here?” Jae-won sighs, hands sinking deeper into his hair.
“Gangster told me about it,” Dr. Baek seems to step around, reaching towards something. But he doesn’t seem to get any closer. Instead, he hears a soft sigh and a quiet thump. Sounds like the other man had sat down, somewhere. “Is this where you run off to cry?”
“Sometimes.”
Jae-won is so tired. He didn’t want to deal with any of that at the moment. His face was starting to hurt—especially with each time he tugged at his hair harshly, making his brain ache painfully. Now he wishes he had chosen his room—at the very least, he would be laying down in bed, with his wounds taken care of because, of course, they had first-aid kits everywhere. But no, he had been stubborn—fearful that Dr. Baek would bother him at his vulnerable moment—and decided to go up the rooftop.
Well, it seems like Dr. Baek would bother him regardless.
“Why are you crying right now?” The question catches him off-guard. Jae-won’s hands go lax for a second, releasing the tension on his hair’s strands.
“Who says I’m crying?”
“You, dumbass,” Dr. Baek scoffs. “You sound like you’re crying. And I can hear you sniffling.”
Jae-won curses himself for not being careful. He unconsciously wipes his nose and face with his forearm. Only to hiss in pain as he rubs dry skin over his bruises. A pained moan escapes his lips and he doubles over on himself.
Overwhelmed by everything, Jae-won just cries harder. Even if Dr. Baek was there to listen, he couldn’t control himself. The pain, the humiliation, the hurt feelings—he was having a lot to deal with in a span of an hour. So, Jae-won hugs his legs, burying his face against it as he sobs, hiccups and pants—messy and panicky; he cries for feeling so much and nothing at the same time. The pain on his face worsens and he can only blame himself.
He should’ve gone to his room, instead. No. Scratch that. He should’ve declined the offer to dine with his father—he should’ve cut contact with the man from the moment he landed a job at HNUK. Or maybe he should’ve just reported him back when he was young. Anything but this.
“No.1,” the voice sounded too close. Jae-won figured that Dr. Baek was now in front of him. “Let me see.”
“…no,” he wails.
“Yang Jae-won,” Dr. Baek calls. “I can see you’re hurting. Let me see. Please.”
Jae-won, stricken by emotions, snaps his head up, locking eyes with Dr. Baek. He’s angry and upset—hurt and in pain. It’s not Dr. Baek’s fault. Not at all. But he can’t help but to glare at him, tired of everything—tired of the questions, tired of getting beaten up, tired of making up excuses.
“What?!” He grits his teeth. His mouth tastes like blood, but he doesn’t care.
The silence stretches between them as they both look at each other. Jae-won is sure that his face is anything but pleasant at the moment—he is sure that his swollen face is nothing to laugh at. He is all bruised up and he can tell that this is somewhat shocking to the other man.
“Jae-won,” Dr. Baek looks surprised. The look on his face isn’t quite readable, but he notices the man’s hand shaking ever so slightly. “What—what’s wrong with your face?” Jae-won feels Dr. Baek’s hand reaching over at his shoulder, grasping at it to pull him a bit closer. The man’s eyes roaming over his face, ever the analytical and worried doctor—Dr. Baek doesn’t let him go. Jae-won struggles to pull back.
“Let go—"
“What’s that? Who—” Jae-won bites his lip involuntarily.
“Dr. Baek, let me go—"
“Who did this, hm? Was it someone from another department? Who? Who did this, Jae-won?” And he doesn’t let go. Almost possessively, Dr. Baek doesn’t let go of him.
Jae-won yanks his shoulder and arm away, making the other man finally let go of him. “Let me go!” He screams at him, tears dripping down his face as he stumbles back, farther away from Dr. Baek. “Just leave me alone! Leave me alone, for fuck’s sake!”
Dr. Baek simply stares back, hand still hovering in the air. Jae-won breathes harshly, feeling the panic start to settle further—his breathing turns erratic and he can’t help but to fall into despair. His chest burns with every inhale and exhale—it feels too raw; like his lungs are filling up with small needles every time. Jae-won’s lips tremble as he clutches at his chest. He looks around, trying to focus on something else; trying to keep much of his sanity intact. Nothing works.
And he cries. He wails and sobs because he can’t help himself. It’s loud and messy—his face feels wet and dirty; he can taste the copper on his tongue and he almost chokes on it. He coughs and heaves, breathing in between like his lungs aren’t functioning anymore. And he can’t do anything but to just accept it—he can’t settle; he can’t stop and no one is ever going to care about it.
Except there is someone there.
Baek Kang-hyuk is by his side, picking him up as he slowly starts to fall onto the floor. The man is saying something—his voice somewhat soothing and comforting, but he can’t understand what his words mean. Jae-won stares up to meet with Kang-hyuk’s eyes. He is surprised to even see him there. He is surprised that this man had persisted so far to the point of witnessing his breaking point—he is surprised that Baek Kang-hyuk even cares.
But there he is, despite it all—Kang-hyuk is holding his hand, pressing it against his own chest. And he feels it moving—feels the soft pacing breath that Kang-hyuk takes. It’s peaceful—it’s natural, common and normal. And Jae-won stops for a second. His own breathing taking a slower pace as he focus on the feeling of Kang-hyuk’s hand over his, pressing it against his chest.
There’s wind blowing on his face, too, he realizes. It’s not wind, actually. Now that he thinks about it—
Oh, Dr. Baek is blowing air on his face.
Jae-won stares back, attention focused towards Kang-hyuk and nothing else. There’s the hand on his, the slow breathing off of Kang-hyuk’s chest and the somewhat chilly blow of air on his face.
“That’s right,” he can understand it better now. “Good job,” Dr. Baek tells him. “Just like that. Keep breathing—see?” And he breathes, too, taking a deep breath and slowly exhaling it over Jae-won’s face. And Jae-won mimics it—his breathing still shaky, but definitely slower than it was before. “That’s it, Jae-won-ah. Nice and slow.”
“Dr. Baek…” he weakly says. There are feelings swelling up inside, making him tear up again. “Dr. Baek…” he wails, feeling too vulnerable.
“I’m here,” the man replies softly. Jae-won isn’t sure if his mind is imagining it, but he is almost certain that he’s been hauled closer to Dr. Baek’s chest. “It’s okay, Jae-won-ah.”
“It hurts…”
“Of course it does, idiot,” Dr. Baek chuckles slightly. “You cleaned your face with your coat. What are you, an uneducated animal?”
Jae-won huffs out a soft laugh. “I’m—I’m sorry…” and he closes his eyes for a second.
“It’s fine,” comes the response. “I’ll take care of you. It’s what I always do, isn’t it?”
“…that’s not true,” Jae-won refutes, but he is pressing his face onto Kang-hyuk’s chest, feeling all the more tired. “Sometimes it’s the opposite.”
“Sometimes,” he repeats in a mocking tone. And Jae-won laughs. “Hey, No.1. I’ll give you ten more minutes, okay? Just rest for a bit.”
“Wow…” Jae-won hums. “Thank you so much, hyung,” he mocks faintly.
“You’re welcome, Jae-won-ah,” and by that point Jae-won is somewhat drowsy and out of his mind. But he certainly feels something soft pressing over against his forehead—soft, warm and careful. It avoids his bruising and doesn’t press aggressively against his skin.
And Jae-won smiles, a bit tired, but he is definitely feeling better. Feeling safe.