Chapter Text
Then: New York City
To Hanbin's bitter disappointment, the bar that Seira’s friend-of-a-friend's cousin suggested they try was shaping up to be a dud, barely anyone crowding into the tiny building on the Lower East Side as the clock inched closer and closer to midnight. At least the place wasn't too far from Hanbin's apartment—more than once she'd been tempted to stop by, recalling her classmates' tales of a particularly rambunctious new year's celebration a few weeks ago—but the energy of that night was nowhere to be found on a random Tuesday in January. Just a few regulars hung out near the bar and some other people around their age crowded in a booth in the far corner. A few Christmas decorations still hung around the bar—dancing snowflake stickers crowded in the front window and a small Christmas tree perched crookedly in one corner, its lights twinkling more with age than holiday charm.
It was nearing the end of the month now, and Hanbin's holiday break was drawing to a close after this weekend. Tonight was meant to be one final celebration before she, Seira, and Taeri rocket-launched into their fourth semester of medical school. Of course, Hanbin's other two sorry friends were nowhere to be found as she peered around the room, likely taking advantage of a dark corner somewhere for some needed face-to-face (though lip-to-lip was likely more accurate) time before the only action they got came from their cardiovascular and pulmonary health textbooks.
Though Hanbin was barely twenty-three, she didn’t feel as young as she used to be. If it took more than three expensive cocktails to enjoy the night, it wasn’t going to be worth the hangover in the morning. Besides, she could feel the bartender's judgemental stare every time she ordered a mixed drink instead of one of the artisanal beers on tap that most of the other clients were perfectly satisfied with. The bartender held a cool glass across the sticky wooden counter. Condensation bled into the red napkin Hanbin set it on top of, not unlike the sweat forming on the back of Hanbin's neck from the warmth of the heated bar combined with the alcohol already coursing through her veins.
"Do you want to start a tab?" the bartender asked, the words curling slickly across her darkly painted lips. Another day, Hanbin might have twirled her hair and flirted a little bit, willing herself to be charmed instead of being too exhausted to manage more than a nod. That was one thing Hanbin had always loved about being abroad, the anonymity of it all. Nothing had to last more than a night if she didn't want it to, and she would always rely on the excuse of her hypothetically returning back home—even if that wouldn't be for another year at least. Here, there were no worries about what the neighbors would think about the people Hanbin chose to see and no one to whisper about her preferences. As much as her parents insisted they didn't care, Hanbin knew it was hard to have a daughter who was the subject of as many rumors as compliments. She was the one to make it out of their small town, who went abroad to become a doctor. She was also the one who had been caught kissing her childhood best friend behind the soccer field of her all-girls high school.
Smiling enough to seem thankful but not imply anything more, Hanbin backed away from the bar into one of the empty corners of the room.
Sipping the reddish liquid slowly, the more Hanbin thought about it, the more she was starting to regret coming here in the first place. Seira and Taeri were kind enough to pretend they hadn't noticed how lonely Hanbin had been during the break—how there was always a tab open on her computer to check the price for the next flight to Seoul and how she always lingered on her Eomma's contact, as if she would will her mother to text her daughter and ask her to come back home for the New Year. As far as her parents were concerned, Hanbin was happy as a clam in New York City. It was better to spend as long away as possible and adjust than to go home on every holiday. Medical school was hard, her advisor had said, as if Hanbin didn't know what she was signing up for when she packed her bags and flew fourteen hours across the ocean away from all the friends and family she'd ever had.
The overhead lights of the bar were turned low, the room primarily lit by dim yellow table lamps, giving the air in the room a hazy effect even though no one was smoking inside. There was music playing softly from a speaker above the bar just loud enough that Hanbin couldn't make out the conversation of the couple sitting next to her. If there was one thing she loved about the City, it was the people watching, and she imagined herself as just as much of a character to others as they were to her. She wondered about their stories, what brought them out here tonight, and if they were enjoying the ambiance any more than Hanbin was.
There were a few girls chatting at a nearby table who seemed to at least attend Hanbin’s university, if their university logo branded hoodies were to be believed. Law students, Hanbin figured, since they had eye bags about as deep as Hanbin's, only they carried leather bags full of textbooks instead of scrubs. From her experience, law students tended to keep to themselves and would be uninterested in a stranger even if they were technically part of the university. Hanbin tried to guess why they had come out here tonight. A celebration of some kind, or maybe like Hanbin, they needed a break before classes started up again and they were plunged into the fresh hell that was spring session. At least they weren't alone like her. A few other couples monopolized the other corners of the room that Hanbin hasn't chosen to occupy. She figured she could count the total number of people here faster than it would take to text Seira to complain that the bar was boring and that she wanted to go home.
The paintings on the wall were nice, at least. Hanbin had to admit that the bar manager, whoever they were, seemed to have good taste. It was the Lower East Side, so she wasn't expecting the place to be some kind of dive, and she could afford better than some of the seedier places she'd frequented as an undergraduate with nothing but her scholarship to keep her there. But tonight, the geometric shapes and colors of the contemporary art swirled together with the tequila thrumming though her veins, and she told herself she could pretend to be interested in it for the next few minutes until her boredom reached a new peak, and then she would just slip right out the door. Seira and Taeri could call a cab home—just as long as Hanbin didn't have to spend another moment pretending that she understood a single thing about these surely ridiculously costly paintings that were nothing more than a mess of triangles and squares to her.
“Do you like them?”
If pressed, Hanbin would refuse to admit that she jumped in surprise. She was going to be a doctor, she wasn't allowed to show surprise, but it was a near thing. Instead, she took a deep breath to calm her heart and turned around to see who had the nerve to ask her if she liked the paintings of all the things at a bar.
The woman's eyes seemed to sparkle like she was pleased at being caught, like she was the one who had caught Hanbin with her charms. She was dressed crisply in black slacks and a white button up shirt—though at least the top two buttons are wide open. Hanbin refused to look down any farther out of respect and for her sanity. Red hair spills across her shoulders, obviously colored and well-maintained at that, but Hanbin thinks if she told her it was natural, Hanbin would believe it. She had stepped close enough that Hanbin could feel the ends of it brushing against her when she turned around.
The two of them could have been something like a painting, looking back. Something about contrasts—one woman with colored hair, the other natural, one relaxed in a room full of strangers, the other with her coat on ready to go—that almost felt like looking in the mirror at the same time.
The woman had one of those faces that looked familiar, like they’d met before, maybe in the street or in passing, and despite being a stranger she had left a permanent impression on Hanbin's mind. Though she didn't look much older than Hanbin, she held herself with a kind of maturity that Hanbin had tried more than once to emulate when her professors cold-called her and she'd been too tired to properly do the readings before class. A whispering voice in the back of Hanbin’s head told her to stop making excuses. The woman was attractive enough that Hanbin’s poor brain was trying to come up with any possible alternative topic of conversation other than the paintings in front of them. Nothing came to mind.
“They’re great,” Hanbin replied, trying to sound as genuine as possible. Something made her keep talking, wanting to keep the stranger's eyes on her instead of allowing them to look back at the painting. “Very… subtle the way that they…” she trailed off. Really, it was a wonder she made it that far before running out of words to say.
“I made them,” the woman revealed, but there’s a gleam in her eyes like there was a joke in the words that Hanbin wasn't aware of. "I'm a painter. My gallery is just a few blocks from here. The Delphinium, maybe you've heard of it?"
Hanbin had heard of it. It was just across the street from the hospital. She passed it every day, always seeing rich clients come and go in their long coats and red bottomed heels. Her eyes widened and her ears flushed in embarrassment. Hanbin struggled to correct herself, “Wow. No, seriously. They’re fabulous. I don’t know what I’m talking about. I've never had an eye for this kind of thing, so really you should be glad that I–”
After watching Hanbin scramble for a few seconds, the woman took pity on her and interrupted. "I'm just kidding," she revealed, voice playful like she took pleasure in sending Hanbin on an unnecessary roller coaster of emotions. She took a step out of Hanbin's space, putting a few inches between them when there had previously been none. The position wasn't intimate, but it felt like it was somehow. It made it easier and more difficult to breathe at the same time, like Hanbin was in the center of a whirlpool about to drag her down down down, and she knew it.
They still didn't even know each other's names.
"I think my boss did them. Or his son, maybe. He's four, and his name is George. That little menace is usually around in the afternoons getting into trouble. The paint is the only way to get him to sit still."
The hints began to recontextualize in Hanbin’s mind. She decided not to comment on whether a toddler should be hanging around a bar. She was far more interested in latching on to any hint the woman was willing to give about herself. "So, you work here then?" Hanbin asked, ready to mentally note it down if she should ever have an excuse to come back. Suddenly, the once boring bar seemed like it should be added to her list of regular haunts in the city.
"Well, I'm actually off as of…" The woman paused to check her wrist for the watch she wasn't wearing. Hanbin found it endearing anyway, if a little corny. "Five minutes ago."
"I didn't see you behind the bar." Hanbin tried not to sound too zealous about it, like she'd been looking. She wasn't looking. If she had been, and she had seen this woman, maybe she wouldn't have retreated so quickly into the corner away from it.
"I'm not certified for it," the woman shrugged, like this made perfect sense, like people who weren't allowed to sell alcohol worked in bars all the time. "I do the numbers in the back."
"So you're an accountant?" Hanbin felt confused, like she was saying words that sounded logical in her mind, but seemed impossible the longer she stared at the woman in front of her. She couldn't imagine this woman behind a desk all day, hidden from sight. Beauty like that deserved to be seen.
(Because yes, obviously Hanbin was allowed to acknowledge a beautiful woman when she was staring her down in a downtown bar like Hanbin was a tall glass of water in the middle of the desert.)
"For now," the woman said, leaving the sentence at that. Her words seemed to beg Hanbin to ask for more. So she did.
"What about for later?"
"One day, I'll be an actress," the woman swore, with enough conviction in her voice that this time Hanbin knew it was the truth. "The type of actress where everyone knows their name. The kind that can make anyone fall in love with her in just one night."
At these words, she turned her head slightly so she was staring at Hanbin dead on, like she was making a promise.
Hanbin drummed her fingers against the cool glass of her drink for something to do with her hands. She felt adrift, unsure how to respond, if she should read as far between the lines as her desperate heart wanted her to. The ice had mostly melted now, and condensation was running down the pads of her fingers with every tap. She hardly noticed. "I don't believe you," Hanbin said, finally. A challenge of some kind. One she didn’t think she could put into any more words than that.
The woman's brows furrowed together, creasing her forehead and making wrinkles form at the corners of her eyes. It was cute how frustrated she appeared, petulant instead of suave like she had clearly intended with a line like that, but Hanbin found it charming all the same.
"I'll prove it," she announced fiercely. Reaching for Hanbin's hand, she entwined their fingers together tightly before Hanbin had the chance to let go. Before she could react appropriately to that, she was being tugged back towards the bar, Hanbin’s melted drink long abandoned behind them.
Stopping in the dead center of the room, Hanbin only had a few seconds to mourn the loss of their quiet corner before her jaw fell wide open.
The stranger had dropped down on one knee, presenting a silver ring that Hanbin recognized from her own hand. When had Hao managed to slip it away from her?
"I know it's not much, but I just don't think I can wait any longer," she started to say, and Hanbin could feel her entire face, from the tips of her ears to her cheeks, burn a scarlet red. "You've been saying you wanted this for ages, and well, let's do the damn thing! Let's get hitched!"
Before her brain could fully catch up to her body, Hanbin was pulling the other woman to her feet, if only to get her off of the dirty ground. The redhead seemed to accept this as assent, because a moment later she was wrapping her arms around Hanbin's neck and leaning in to whisper, "I'm going to kiss you now."
Hanbin didn't think twice before she kissed her first.
The bar erupted into cheers, the quiet atmosphere revitalized by the excitement of the impromptu proposal.
Hanbin tried to reign her brain in before it spun too fast out of her control. She might have been more liberal in her relationships since moving to the city, but she was never the type of person to pull something like this. These kinds of things didn't happen to her. She wasn't the main character of a film, she was always in the background, an extra watching as the rest of the story went by. This felt like something else entirely, and Hanbin could feel the eyes of everyone in the bar glued to her back.
Somehow, being the main character was easier than she thought. It wasn't difficult to focus on anything but the softness of lips pressed gently against her own. Hanbin could taste the woman's coconut flavored chapstick, and would have wanted to taste a whole lot more if not for the other woman pulling back to gulp a deep breath of air. Her lips were red like summer cherries and already starting to swell. Faintly, Hanbin worried that she might've gone too far.
Then, those rosy lips upturned widely, and she dragged Hanbin all the way up to the bar.
"Hiya Lei." She grinned wolfishly at the female bartender that had served Hanbin earlier, leaning her elbows onto the bar like she owned the place. Lei used the same unimpressed tone with her that she had with Hanbin, but there was a sparkle in her eye that told Hanbin that even the stoic bartender had been moved by the emotional impromptu proposal.
"Hi Hao," Lei returned the greeting, pretending like she didn't know what it was that Hao so clearly wanted.
Hao, Hanbin turned the name over in her mouth a few times and tasted the shape of coconut and summer cherries that went along with it.
"Come on, Lei," Hao needled. "I know you've been saving the good stuff. It's not every day someone gets engaged in here, is it?"
Hanbin didn't expect Hao's pleading to work, mentally considering how expensive a bottle of champagne she could afford before she was eating instant noodles for the rest of the week, when Lei's shoulders fell and she acquiesced. Rolling her eyes, Lei reached up for a top shelf bottle, passing it over the bar to Hao.
Giddy, Hao pulled Hanbin away before Lei could change her mind.
"Are you going to pay for that?" Lei intoned, but Hanbin could hear it was half-hearted.
"Do I ever?" Hao returned, jostling the bottle a bit as she tried to pop the cork. It took the two of them to hold it steady before Hao managed to dislodge it, sending champagne soaring in a golden stream into the air. Hao takes a drink of the bubbly liquid straight from the bottle.
Their antics had attracted quite the audience. Exciting things like this never happened to Hanbin, not back home and certainly not here. She wasn't the girl who was publicly invited to the school festival by the cutest student in class, nor was she the one who would receive secret love notes in her locker. Though it wasn't like Hanbin had been starving for attention either, she had no interest in pulling stares her way if it wasn't for a reason. Out of her element, Hanbin might not be as theatrical as Hao, but she could try her best to keep the show going.
"Let me have a taste," Hanbin said, reaching for the bottle, but Hao held it above her head, just out of Hanbin's grasp. Hanbin opened her mouth to complain, but the words died in her throat at the mischievous expression that took over Hao's face.
"Come and taste it," she declared, the provocation evident in her voice and burning behind her eyes.
Hanbin had always been an ambitious person, but this wasn't a challenge at all. In one motion, she leaned up to match Hao's height in her kitten heels and pulled her straight into an open-mouthed kiss, much to the excitement of everyone else at the drama of their performance. Hanbin barely noticed the noise, too busy mapping the inside of Hao's mouth like it was a contest, and she would suffocate before she allowed someone else to be declared the winner. Hao, for her part, didn't seem surprised that Hanbin had risen to the occasion, setting the champagne down somewhere behind her before she wound her arms around Hanbin's waist like an octopus. Hanbin probably wouldn't have even noticed she had set the bottle down if not for the clinking noise of the glass against the table. She couldn't even bring herself to care if it fell and shattered across the ground. It was as though Hanbin had forgotten that Hao was the one who was supposed to make Hanbin fall for her. As she felt herself begin to smile into the kiss when Hao reversed their positions and dipped Hanbin down, a careful hand placed at the small of her back, she figured maybe it was going both ways.
"How does it taste?" Hao asked. Her pupils were blown wide, so dark that Hanbin wanted to lean even closer to see her own reflection staring back at her. She knew it would show her in the exact same state.
"Sweet." The word passed through Hanbin's lips before she was fully conscious of the question.
Hao's eyes narrowed, and Hanbin felt like she was the prey being stalked by the lioness. The bar was Hao's jungle, and Hanbin was the explorer who hadn't known whose territory she had entered, or if she would ever be able to escape.
She wasn't sure if she wanted to. "Yeah?" Hao whispered, and Hanbin managed a small nod, pinned under Hao's gaze. "Why don't you let me taste it too?"
*
The midnight air was cool on Hanbin's back, sending the hairs on the back of her neck straight up as she pushed open the door to the outside street. It felt like a sin to break the bubble that had been created inside. Hanbin shivered, she didn't know how Hao wasn't freezing without a jacket on a winter night.
When she turned around to see what was taking Hao so long to leave the bar, she didn't know why she was surprised to see the other woman pulling the dark purple sweatshirt embossed with Hanbin's university logo over her head that had been tucked into her bag. She wasn't even mad that Hao hadn't asked first. Hanbin was starting to realize that was something she was just going to have to get used to if she wanted to be in Hao's life. And she did. She wasn't sure how she was going to pull it off, but as she looked up at the faint light of the stars and satellites above them, she hoped she somehow would.
"Thanks," Hao acknowledged, pulling the sweatshirt down. "It's chilly tonight." Changing the subject, "You didn't tell me you were a doctor."
"I'm not one," Hanbin clarified, but at Hao's confused expression she added, "yet."
They walked side by side down the street. Hao's hands were encased deep into the pockets of Hanbin's hoodie, bundled up in the frigid winter air. Hanbin didn't really know where they were going, but the bar had closed at three am, leaving the pair to fend for themselves as the rest of the drunk patrons congratulated them and stumbled home.
"There's still some exams I have to pass. If I don't, I'll fail out and they'll send me home." Hanbin didn't mean to sound so negative about it, but the fear had been lingering at the back of her mind for months now. She avoided voicing it in front of her friends, not wanting to seem like she was needier when they were all going through the same struggles together.
"You'll pass," Hao told her confidently. There was something so easy about the way she said it, smooth in a way that Hanbin had never been. Hao didn't really know a thing about her, hadn't even known she was a medical student until a few minutes ago. How would she ever know that Hanbin was a good enough student to pass some of the most difficult exams she'd ever have to write?
Hanbin didn't know what to say, wasn't comfortable voicing her insecurities to a stranger (even if she knew the way Hao tasted, and her mind refused to let her forget it.)
Internally, Hanbin knew she was right. With enough hours in the library, studying until the security guards had to tap her on the shoulder to wake her up for the few hours the library closed before dawn, Hanbin would pass just as she had all her other exams. Things didn't come easy for her, but over the years Hanbin had learned to appreciate working hard for the things she had.
After a few moments of silence, Hao blurted out, "Well, did it work?"
"Huh?" Hanbin couldn't follow the sudden change in topic, wasn't good enough at reading Hao's mind when her face was mostly obscured by Hanbin's hoodie.
"Are you convinced?"
"I think everyone else was," Hanbin told her, thinking back to how many awkward pats on the back she had gotten from strangers and how many free drinks had flowed their way after they finally peeled themselves off of each other for long enough to accept them. Even Lei had poured a flute of champagne for everyone in the bar to toast with—all fifteen of them.
"But what about you?" Hao nudged Hanbin with her shoulder, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. There weren't that many cars out at this time of night, no one there to bear witness to their ruse except for the two of them. Now, there was no reason to pretend outside of the bar's four walls. Yet in this big, impossibly wide world, Hanbin found herself even more desperate to keep Hao by her side.
Hanbin let silence fall between them and could sense the anticipation buzzing from Hao's half of the sidewalk.
Finally, she replied, "I don't know."
Hao's nostrils flared, another cute expression that Hanbin wished she could photograph or save forever. "What do you mean you don't know? You didn't fall in love?"
Well, that was another question entirely. Hanbin wasn't ready to admit that she'd fallen a little in love with Hao the moment she first made Hanbin trip all over herself thinking she had insulted a famous artist.
"The performance could've used some work," Hanbin said instead, shaking her shoulders out as if she was lifting the cloak of their fraud off of herself.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
Unable to stop the corners of her lips from turning up into a small smile when Hao stomped her foot in frustration, Hanbin remarked, "I mean, what kind of wife doesn't know the name of her future spouse?"
"I know—" Hao paused. "Your name is—" She had to stop again, stuck. Her face contorted into something between confused and incensed, like she couldn't believe it herself. "Fuck. I forgot to ask. What's your name?"
"Hanbin."
"Hanbin," she said once, then repeated it, as if getting used to the taste of it in her mouth. "Sorry," she told Hanbin sheepishly, like she'd made some unforgivable mistake. Clearly, Hanbin hadn't really cared, since she'd spent half the night with her tongue down Hao's throat without ever bothering to introduce herself.
"That's okay." Hanbin shrugged as if to emphasize how little she cared about the mistake. "Now you'll have to try again."
"Try what again?"
"To make me fall in love."
*
Now: Seoul
"How was it last night?" Hanbin holds her clipboard close to her chest, already dreading how long it will take to decipher Yoobin's handwriting from the night before. No matter how many times Hanbin asked the girl to take a few extra seconds to distinguish her 'n's from her 'h's and her 'p's from her 'b's, every morning Hanbin still found herself squinting to read her coworker's miniscule print.
"It was quiet," Taerae tells her from her place at the welcome desk. Her fingers lay across her keyboard, but she hasn't typed anything since Hanbin greeted her a few minutes ago, which means she's either exhausted from working the night shift or has something she wants to say.
"Don't say that." Hanbin taps her clipboard against the counter nervously. "You'll jinx us."
"I'm serious, no big accidents last night or anything. Only Halmeoni Kim had to be checked in for an overnight stay."
Sighing, Hanbin flips through the notes until she finds Halmeoni's chart. She isn't Hanbin's actual grandmother, but she frequents the hospital enough that she won't respond to any other name. All of her family live in another city, so she doesn't have anyone to care for her besides the physicians of Seoul CJ Medical Center. Hanbin doesn't mind stepping in to keep her company, putting Halmeoni at the top of her list for rounds, but she wishes one of the many grandchildren she was always talking about would make some time to see her for a change. Half the time there wouldn't be anything wrong with her healthwise, Hanbin had noticed, she would just make something up so she could spend the night in the hospital instead of being alone. With the number of night shifts Hanbin had picked up over the last five years, she can’t say she didn’t understand.
"That's good." Hanbin finishes sorting her papers. "I'll go say 'hi' before rounds officially start, you know she'll talk for an hour if I let her. Has Gunwook come in yet?"
Gunwook wasn't Hanbin's intern officially, but Hanbin had been the first resident Gunwook was assigned to on rotation in the hospital, and they had developed a bit of an attachment ever since. These days, now that Gunwook was more certain she wanted to pursue neurosurgery (what a smart baby), she spent less time on Hanbin's thoracic surgery team.
"Chief has her on a special task today. All the interns were fighting over it, apparently," Taerae tells her.
"Oh?" Hanbin knows she doesn't have to say much more to keep Taerae's attention, the other girl will give her the gossip whether she asks for it or not. But Taerae trails off there, not adding anything else.
"Come on, don't be coy." Hanbin leans against the counter, setting her clipboard down. "What's the task?"
"I don't know," Taerae pouts. "No one will tell me."
"Probably because they know that half the hospital is going to find out in an hour if they let you in on it," Hanbin teases, but it's good natured, and Taerae cracks a smile.
"Hey, well you're the first person I tell everything to, so you're as much to blame as me," Taerae complains, pointing a finger at Hanbin.
"Don't try to kid yourself, the first person you tell everything to is me." Matthew sets his own clipboard down next to Hanbin's. Unlike Hanbin's meticulous notes, Matthew's papers have doodles scribbled into the corners. He must have just come from the pediatrics wing.
"Okay but seriously." Taerae's gaze sweeps between the two of them, eyes narrowed. "Neither of you know what's up with Gunwook's secret task?"
"Oh, I know." Matthew grins.
"Tell us, tell us, tell us," Hanbin chants, drumming her hands against the counter of the nurses station, with Taerae joining in on the second repetition. It's not professional whatsoever, but it's still early and Hanbin is in a good enough mood to let herself relax a little bit among her friends.
"She made me swear on my life not to tell you," Matthew says.
"Like that's ever stopped you before," Taerae scoffs. "Tell me and I'll swap your night shift for my morning shift next Friday."
Matthew's smile grows like a cat that caught a canary without even asking for it. "Well, if you're offering." Taerae rolls her eyes, but leans in when Matthew starts to whisper.
"I heard that Gunwook is giving some celebrities a tour of the hospital."
"That's it?" Hanbin leans back, disappointed. "We have celebrities here all the time." Celebrities in a loose sense of the word, the medical center was well funded by all sorts of chaebols, and it wasn't uncommon to have them around for the unveiling of a new hall or particularly expensive new piece of tech.
"No, like actual celebrities. Actors and actresses," Matthew explains. "Apparently, they're going to use the hospital as the set for a new show." Hanbin is only half-listening to Matthew now, grabbing her clipboard and stealing a pen from Taerae's cup to tuck behind her ear.
"No way," Taerae's eyes widened with excitement. "Do you think Gunwook can get an autograph for me?"
"You both can't seriously be entertaining this." Hanbin turns to look at them both, quieting their gossip. "It's going to be so annoying to have them around all the time. They're just going to get in the way. This is a hospital, remember? If they wanted a set, they should've gone to Hollywood."
"Well damn, just because you've got a weird complex about actors doesn't mean you have to ruin it for the rest of us," Matthew rolls his eyes.
"I don't have a—" Hanbin stutters, taken aback at Matthew's audacity, "a complex about actors."
Taerae shakes her head, "Sober Hanbin might not remember, but Drunk Hanbin tells all."
"Shut up," Hanbin feels her ears begin to burn in embarrassment. She doesn't want to know the things she's confessed under the influence of tequila and poor decision making. "I'm going on my rounds now."
"With her tail between her legs!" Matthew calls after her as Hanbin tries to keep her head held high.
*
Halmeoni Kim is in the final curtained-off bed in the ER, her little legs propped up on some pillows brought by the nurses to improve circulation. A familiar sight with silver permed hair and defined crow's feet at the corners of her eyes, she doesn't look any worse for wear. But as a doctor, Hanbin knows there are plenty of ailments that could be hiding under the surface.
"Halmeoni, what are you doing in here?" Hanbin chides, checking the doses of medication that the night shift doctor had already prescribed. Only pain relievers, she notes, so the tests must have come back pretty clean. "You should've let them put you in a proper bed."
"Oh, I wasn't planning on staying very long," Halmeoni Kim tells her, her voice a familiar rasp that reminds Hanbin of summer days spent with her own grandmother as a child. Hanbin knows she isn't the only physician sweet on the old lady, who told stories about her golden days and sometimes brought them baked goods if she came for a scheduled appointment instead of an emergency visit. "You know how it is, I feel a bit weak and the doctor makes me stay all night."
"Hmm," Hanbin hums in acknowledgement, eyes scanning the rest of the chart. Most of it is normal, but there are a few elevated readings she should order tests for. "It says here you told the Doctor you fell?"
"Oh, it was nothing. That Dr. Choi who works nights, he's a nice man. A little anxious, but his heart is in the right place," Halmeoni continues to ramble, dodging the question. "Is he single?"
Hanbin giggles to herself, "Aren't you a little old to be hunting for a boyfriend Halmeoni?"
"Pfft, no no, not for me," Halmeoni waves her hand as if to completely dismiss the idea as ludicrous, like Hanbin was the one being ridiculous when she was the one who brought him up. "For you."
"For me?" Hanbin pretends to ponder it. This isn't the first time that Halmeoni has tried to match-make Hanbin with one of her coworkers. During her first stint in the hospital, she spent longer trying to convince Matthew to ask Hao to be his valentine than actually recovering from the winter cold that had brought her to the ER in the first place. The Dr. Choi in question was an attending in the plastics department who often took extra shifts in the ER when his schedule was light. He was at least a decade older than Hanbin, but had perfect skin and a charming smile that won over all the women he consulted for—Hanbin wasn't surprised Halmeoni had fallen for him too. Fortunately, Hanbin possessed a special immunity from his charms, though she wasn't going to admit that.
"You know I'm not looking for anything right now, Halmeoni," she says instead, recycling the same excuse she always gives.
"But Dr. Sung," Halmeoni Kim grasps Hanbin's free hand in both of her frail ones, moving so suddenly that Hanbin can't even try to stop her from nearly dislodging her cannula.
"How many times have I told you to call me Hanbin, Halmeoni? Or would you rather I call you Kim Jiyong all the time?"
"Hanbin-ah," Halmeoni corrects herself, forcing Hanbin to stare into her sincere eyes, "take pity on an old grandma, how can I die knowing that there's someone as lovely as you all alone in the world?"
Hanbin's throat feels prickly. She clears her throat, trying to regain her professional air. Bantering is okay, but getting overly attached to a patient is not (though in her heart she already knows it is far too late for that).
"Well the good news is, you won't be dying any time soon Halmeoni," Hanbin tells her. "So you won't have to worry about me being alone when I have you."
Although she knows she shouldn't, she tells herself it's in Halmeoni's best interest to ask. As she checks the oxygen levels of the ventilator, she questions, "What about those grand kids you're always talking about? Do you have any my age? Maybe if they finally came to visit you…"
This seems to cheer the older woman up. "I've been trying to get my Jinwoo up here for months, but he just won't listen. He's busy with his job, he says. Lazy is what he is. You deserve better than that, Hanbin-ah. Oh but my niece, Mila. She's been studying abroad, so worldly. She should be coming back soon from Australia."
"I don't know I could date someone from abroad," Hanbin starts to say before she realizes she's started talking out loud. She waits to see Halmeoni's reaction, if her patient will be offended that the first one of her many family members that Hanbin has shown interest in is a woman. But Halmeoni just tilts her head, listening patiently, giving Hanbin enough confidence to continue. "They've just seen so much, you know? I think I would always be worried about them leaving me behind."
Hanbin doesn't think about the degree from NYU hanging in her apartment back home. If anything, she was proof of her own theory—taking years to settle down and still feeling like one bad storm could wash all the carefully placed soil away, exposing her fragile roots below. It wasn't that she was torn between worlds, she knew if she went back to New York, everything she used to know would have been long planted over by now, her apartment inhabited by someone new, her friends in different places, and her former lovers, well…
Halmeoni nods in understanding, "You young people always worry so much. Stop thinking so hard about forever and just try to be happy for now, eh?"
Giggling, Hanbin nods. She's never once gotten the last word in with Halmeoni Kim, and she wouldn't have it any other way. "Alright Halmeoni. How are you feeling now? Any pain?"
"Maybe just a little bit in my chest if I breathe too deeply," Halmeoni admits. "It was feeling better before but…"
Feeling her brows furrow, Hanbin pulls the pen from behind her ear to make a note in Halmeoni's chart. "I'll increase your dosage a little more, but if it still hurts in a few hours, call a nurse and we'll do some tests alright?"
"If the doctor says so," Halmeoni agrees, smiling toothily despite the twinge Hanbin catches when she breathes in too deeply.
*
Ninety-five percent of the time, Hanbin has her rounds down to a science. Check the charts, confirm with the patient, order tests if necessary, and reassure them that their care team will do everything possible to keep them healthy and comfortable.
The process is easy for her now. She knows this hospital like the back of her hand— maybe even better considering that she wears gloves for most of the day. After rounds, on days when she doesn't have any surgeries scheduled to assist on, she often finds herself helping in the emergency clinic. Taerae and Matthew are usually around, and she finds the ER cases keep her on her toes and her mind fresh. Some of the residents considered the clinic to be a punishment—why should they be interested in stitching up a cut or setting a cast when they could be watching robotic brain surgery in one of the galleries? But Hanbin had never minded it, liked the mundane cases as much as the rush of adrenaline that came with a big surgery.
She keeps her eyes focused on the family in front of her, wanting them to know they have her complete attention as she listens to their concerns.
"If we do have to operate, it will be a routine procedure. Dr. Soo is one of the best surgeons in the city, and he'll take care of you," Hanbin explains to a pair of siblings worried about their aging father's potential bypass surgery.
"What about you, will you be there Dr. Sung?" One of them asks.
"Yes, I'll likely be the surgeon assisting," Hanbin continues the well-practiced spiel she gives to all families before checking their loved one into the hospital.
Of all the residents at Seoul CJ Medical Center, Hanbin is notorious for never slipping, for always being on top of her game.
"But we have an excellent team of surgeons in the department, so even if it's not me, your father will be in great…" she trails off, something passing the corner of her eye behind the family. Her heart gives a feeble tug in her chest, the way it always does when she sees someone that reminds her of a certain ghost from her past, even when her brain knows there’s no way it can be her at all.
Hanbin loses her train of thought entirely. It has to be a coincidence, and Hanbin could only see the woman's back anyway. Why would she be here? Dressed in blue hospital scrubs no less?
"Dr. Sung?" The family in front of her looks confused at Hanbin's distraction and the way she'd frozen in place without finishing her sentence.
Shaking herself out of it, Hanbin apologizes. "Sorry. Your father will be in great hands." Before she can stop herself, she rises from her seat, eyes following the back of the ghost before she can escape from Hanbin's view entirely. "Sorry, one moment please."
Her chair scrapes loudly against the linoleum floor, echoing audibly even through the chatter of the waiting room, but Hanbin doesn't care, drawn to the unknown woman like just the sight of her has put Hanbin under some kind of spell.
She has to be a hallucination. It wouldn't be the first time it has happened. In the first few months after Hanbin moved back to Seoul, she saw her around every corner of the city. As far as she knew, the other woman had never been to Seoul in her life. That didn't stop Hanbin's mind from seeing her in the travelers on the subway or in a woman sitting in the back of a cafe on a rainy day.
Then, as soon as Hanbin's brain finally stopped conjuring her likeness in every shadow of the city, Hanbin started seeing her for real. On flashy billboards and the advertisements that would play before the YouTube videos she watched on her subway commute to work or on a smiling cardboard cutout outside a convenience store holding a packet of vitamins. The first time Hanbin read her name on Naver's top trending words, she felt like throwing up. That had been great for her mental health.
But it was the first time in a long time that Hanbin’s mind had created its own vision of her, because Hanbin had been doing better. She was doing completely fine, in fact, and the last thing she needed right now was to fall into a relapse of seeing her ex in places there was no possible way she could be in.
Billboards were one thing, but there was no reason for her to be in Hanbin's hospital. This was her safe place, where everything was sterile and under her control. And most importantly, nobody knew, and Hanbin would do anything to keep it that way.
Hanbin follows her hallucination around the corner of the hallway, careful to stay at least ten steps behind. Moving like a woman on a mission, she can't shake the feeling that she's being followed.
That's new for one of these episodes. Usually Hanbin is the only one creeping on a stranger who never turns out to be her ex anyway. She ducks behind a cart of medical supplies, catching her breath. If this goes on any longer she'll have to ask Gyuvin to test her for an arrhythmia. Or maybe refer her to a psychiatrist.
The broad shadow of a man passes Hanbin's hiding place. Stopping right in front of Hanbin, he fills out his white coat like he's a model and not a doctor. Unlike Hanbin's, it isn't monogrammed with the hospital's logo, so she figures he must be a guest physician from another hospital. Maybe in plastics, she contends, though she doesn't know why they would need a consultation in plastics when they have the best program in the country. Hanbin just wishes he wouldn't block her view. As she contemplates asking him to move out of the way, the man finally speaks.
"Zhang Hao!"
All the blood in Hanbin's body seems to rush to her brain at once. She feels woozy, holding one hand tightly to the railing of the cart just to keep herself up.
The stranger in question turns around, her blonde hair swirling over one shoulder like they're on the set of a shampoo ad instead of in the reception hall for Seoul's busiest hospital.
"Jiwoong Oppa!"
Hanbin feels her shoulders shrink at the sound of that voice. It doesn't matter how long it's been, Hanbin would know that sound anywhere—it's haunted her long enough to be branded as a permanent scar over her heart.
Still, even at her worst, Hanbin's delusions have never talked to each other. She mentally wills the man a few steps ahead of her to not be the "Jiwoong Oppa" in question, but it's just her luck that Hanbin can see the recognition light up in the man's body language even seeing only his back.
Don't come over here. Don't come over here. Don't come over here.
She hopes that man turns around and walks away. On a dime like a marionette, if Hanbin wishes it hard enough, he’ll just disappear from existence like he was never there at all. He'll walk away, Hanbin will walk away, and then she'll pinch the inside of her arm black and blue until she wakes up from whatever awful dream this must be. Time seems to be frozen, a second taking an hour as the anticipation washes over her in constantly cresting waves of anxiety. It's like watching a train wreck, Hanbin can't tear her eyes away from the ensuing crash.
They meet one another in the middle of the hallway in a cinematic grand reunion, the ghost of Hao leaning up to press a kiss to the man's cheek. It doesn't make a physical sound, but Hanbin can hear it all the same. She thinks she'll hear it echoing in her nightmares over and over again every night for the rest of the week. Finally, the man turns around so Hanbin can see his face.
Of course it's fucking Kim Jiwoong kissing her, because who else would be with Zhang Hao besides her sparkly new famous boyfriend, and where else would they possibly go to flaunt their relationship besides Hanbin's goddamn hospital. As Jiwoong was arguably more famous than even Hao, Hanbin had been given an unfortunate front seat to the development of their relationship. As had the rest of the general public, forced to watch it unfold through unsubtle "Lovestagrams," paparazzi photos, and Naver articles for the last year. He's charming without being slimy. Handsome without being unapproachable. Perfectly inoffensive Kim Jiwoong, boy-next-door turned child actor, was loved by all and hated by none. He doesn't know that Hanbin has cursed his entire lineage until the end of time. It's a bad habit she's never been able to break, not even after all these years—the unstoppable jealousy of seeing Hao with someone else meeting the immovable object of Hao being destined to be loved by everyone she meets.
But Hanbin is totally over the break up, don't get her wrong.
Stewing internally as she reorganizes the medical supplies on the cart—thermal blankets on the bottom, gloves and surgical masks on the top—she tells herself if she looks away for long enough, the two of them will disappear entirely. She's still not entirely sure that the two of them are real.
"There you two are!" Another familiar voice cuts through the muddled swirl of Hanbin's thoughts. "Feel free to explore, but try not to wander too far away from me. It's a safety thing. Can't have strangers disrupting our patients."
Gunwook has always had great timing. Because if the surgical intern was seeing the pair of them too, then there was no way Hanbin was hallucinating them. Hanbin might be sleep-deprived, anxious, and overworked, but even her desperate brain couldn't come up with an alternative explanation than that.
Huffing a quiet breath of relief, or maybe disbelief, she knows what she has to do.
Run away like she was never here. Disappear like a ghost down the hallway and leave no trace behind. Simple.
Resolved, she turns away from the supply cart, holding a mask in her hands so she has an excuse to have been loitering for so long, ready to book it as fast as possible back to the ER like she had never been in the general wing in the first place.
"Hanbin Unnie—er, Sunbaenim," Gunwook corrects herself, at least pretending to maintain a professional relationship in front of said strangers. Hanbin had developed a soft spot for her their first week together and had never bothered correcting her since.
Freezing in place at the sound of her name, Hanbin wonders if there is any chance this can play out as an 'if I don't see you, you don't see me' situation, like she can melt into the wall behind her if she pretends not to hear. It's too late, Hanbin's senses have been too fine-tuned working here not to react when someone calls her name.
"Come over here for a minute?" Gunwook requests, and Hanbin refuses to make eye contact with anyone. Not Gunwook, not Hao, and certainly not Kim Jiwoong. She twists the strap of the mask in her hand until it breaks, snapping against her wrist and leaving a red mark behind.
"I really—" Hanbin starts to say, scrambling for an excuse. She should tell Gunwook that she has rounds, or a surgery, or to catch a flight out of the country as soon as possible. But why should she be the one to have to start a new life? It's the uninvited wolves that have donned the shepherd's clothing and are trying to run Hanbin out of her own meadow.
"Hanbin, is that really you?"
In any other circumstance, Hanbin might have found the words sweet. Hao almost sounded earnest, like their meeting was a pleasant surprise instead of a twisted nightmare. Have you been looking for me? Hanbin wants to ask facetiously. Because even when I'm not looking for you, you somehow seem to haunt me just when I come close to believing I've moved on. It almost feels like a betrayal that Hao sounds delighted, like she wasn't the reason Hanbin had to flee the country just to make the physical distance between them equal in size to the chasm that Hao had dug between their two hearts. The whole time I was packing my bags, why didn't you say anything? Why did you let me walk out of my own apartment?
Because even when they were breaking up, things always had to be easy for Hao and next to impossible for Hanbin. That's how things had always been and seemed like they always would be. And so as things between them withered, and Hao ignored the open-wound elephant in the room, Hanbin fled, still bleeding out. All Hanbin ever did was run away—that's what Hao had accused her of. Just once she wanted to ask, demand, beg even, but why didn't you ever run after me?
As many times as she had played out how a reunion might go, Hanbin had never imagined a scenario where Hao would be happy to see her.
Sometimes she imagined Hao screaming at her, asking her why had fled, just so Hanbin could turn it back on her to question what kind of partner Hao had been, not to notice that Hanbin had one foot out the door for months in the first place. Other times, Hanbin imagined Hao crying for her forgiveness. Sometimes Hanbin imagined she would be the one begging. She tried to squash those versions down as soon as they came up, because even after all this time, she didn't really know what she would be apologizing for.
In none of the versions that Hanbin's mind had managed to create does it go quite like this.
It all seems to happen in slow motion.
Kim Jiwoong turns towards Hanbin with something almost like recognition in his eyes. That thought is how Hanbin knows she must be delusional (or not under the influence of enough caffeine to survive the rest of this shift). Before the man can open his mouth to say something, anything, that will undoubtedly make the situation worse, Hanbin cuts him off.
"Sorry, you must have the wrong person," Hanbin lies through her teeth. "If you'll excuse me, I have patients to attend to. This is a hospital."
She nods to Gunwook, whose earnest eyes are far too sincere for Hanbin to deal with right now. No doubt she'll be interrogated about this later in the break room when she should really be trying to catch a few hours of sleep. No doubt that she wouldn't be able to sleep anyway, not with the way her brain would be replaying this one-line interaction over and over again. "Dr. Park, once you finish with… this," Hanbin makes a gesture with her hands like Gunwook will be able to understand her with body language alone, "Please meet me in consult room four."
Without any further acknowledgement towards the two ghosts standing beside her intern, and in a feeble attempt not to let Hao's gaze dredge up any unwanted memories from the past, Hanbin smiles politely. Then, she turns and speed walks down the hallway in the opposite direction like she should have done five minutes ago.
*
It takes nearly an hour before Hanbin is able to slip into the consult room where she told Gunwook to meet her. An escaped child in the ER and an overly chatty patient nervous about going under anesthesia with her recently dyed red hair (Hanbin had to explain that hair coloring couldn't change genetics, and in any case, their anesthesiologists were some of the best in the country) had kept her more than a little distracted from thoughts of the ghost of her past wandering the same halls as her.
There are no cameras in the consult rooms. It's a privacy thing. Even though the hospital lawyers had debated for hours over liabilities, the doctors on the administrative team won for once. Patients deserved not to have their most vulnerable moments caught on camera in the name of avoiding a lawsuit.
In an unplanned benefit, it also made the consult rooms the perfect place for a quick mental breakdown in between rounds for doctors confronted with their past on a random Tuesday morning.
With a sigh of relief, she pulls the door open, turning the lock behind her. As it clicks into place, she feels her shoulders droop with the weight of the stress she had been carrying for the past few hours. In front of patients she has to be on at all times, can't bear to show a single crack in the facade that is the perfect Dr. Sung. But in front of Gunwok, in front of the girl she has cried with when they lose a patient or laughed with over the silly impressions they do of their coworkers on a bad day, Hanbin has never had to be anyone but herself.
"You won't believe the day I've had today," Hanbin announces to the back of the rolling chair, which faces a desk and computer screen. She expects to hear a "tell me more," from Gunwook, who has always been the first one to lend a listening ear whenever Hanbin wants to run her mouth and vent about anything from a twenty-part story time on TikTok to drama between their coworkers.
“Try me,” a voice says, that decidedly doesn’t belong to Gunwook. Always one with a flair for the dramatics, Hao turns around in the chair with all the character of a Hollywood actress, which Hanbin supposes, she now is. A self-assured smile begins to play on her lips, one that never fails to pull Hanbin deeper and deeper in when it was directed towards her. She feels pinned to the door behind her, like Hao is the only thing still holding her upright. If Hao looks away, her knees just might give out and she’ll end up splayed across the floor. They’ll have to bury her right here. They can even put up a little marker: Here lies Dr. Sung Hanbin, beloved daughter and wonderful friend, cause of death: her past catching up to her.
Almost on instinct, her hand fumbles for the doorknob in a feeble escape attempt, though she finds that she can’t look away from Hao either. When it comes to fight or flight instinct, she knows they both have always been the type to run. She still isn’t convinced this whole thing isn’t some elaborate hallucination. But it would have to be a group hallucination at this point, because Gunwook absolutely saw Hao earlier too. Maybe it was something in the water supply? Did someone accidentally lace the office coffee pot? Her mind spins at the possibility, willing to focus on anything but handling the situation in front of her.
Hao’s eyes lock onto Hanbin’s trembling fingers. She has a grip on the handle, but it doesn’t budge, just rattles fruitlessly. Hanbin had forgotten that she locked it in an attempt to give her and Gunwook more privacy. Now, privacy is the last thing she wants. Even after all this time she still doesn’t trust herself to be alone in a room with Hao.
“Wait, Ba-Hanbin, please. Don’t go.” Hanbin tries not to wince at Hao’s slip up. Old habits die hard, Hanbin of all people can understand, but way to rub salt in an open wound. Then, all at once, Hanbin feels herself come to attention, like the storm cloud of emotions that seems to shroud her judgement whenever the subject of Hao comes up is temporarily lifted at Hao’s words.
“That’s right. I shouldn’t go,” Hanbin replies, proud of herself for the fact that her voice doesn’t waver on the words. As the anxiety begins to melt out of Hanbin’s expression, the strain in Hao’s shoulders begins to loosen, like she thinks that Hanbin is actually going to give her a chance to talk.
“You need to leave,” Hanbin announces. “Right now,” she adds, when Hao makes no attempt to move. This is her workplace. This is her consultation room. Hao is the one who has no right to be here, intruding on Hanbin’s space.
“Can’t you just… hear me out? I’m sorry for barging in on this but,” Hao doesn’t even seem to know what she wants to ask for. It’s clear she thought that this conversation was going to go a lot differently. What did she expect? That she could take a shovel and offer one apology, like there wasn’t a mountain of history between them? At one time, Hanbin might have been desperate enough to let her, let Hao grovel and apologize for just long enough that her knees hit the floor (so about 20 seconds maximum), before she gave in. But Hanbin was better now, or at least she was trying to be, and she couldn’t let herself fall apart at the first sign of weakness.
Resolving herself and tucking herself further into the corner where the door meets the wall, Hanbin just purses her lips tightly and tells Hao, “It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?”
At Hanbin’s response, Hao seems to deflate more with every second that passes. It’s strange to see the self-assured woman that Hanbin once knew seem so defeated. Hanbin expects her to ask again, to rephrase it into something sweeter. Hao had always been good at that, coming up with enough different ways to ask for something that Hanbin would eventually give in. Instead, Hao replies, “You’ve changed.”
Something in Hanbin’s chest puffs up at the recognition. She has changed. She’s not the girl that used to let Hao walk all over her anymore, who used to bend over backward until she was the perfect image of everything she thought Hao wanted. She’s not the girl who used to let Hao lie to her over and over again—that she would be home by dinner, that her audition went well, that she was fine, that they were fine—no matter how reality proved otherwise.
But Hao doesn’t sound disappointed when she says it. She sounds like she’s making an observation, like she’s studying Hanbin, and wants to know everything about this new version of her like she had studied the old one until she knew every part of Hanbin to her bones. It’s terrifying. It’s exhilarating. No. It’s not. It’s nothing. Hanbin shakes herself out of those thoughts, forcing herself free of the honey web or words that she knows Hao is spinning.
The thing about Hao is that she is and always will be an actress. A part of Hanbin will always fear that the woman in front of her isn’t Hao at all, but some kind of character she has created, with soft enough edges that lure Hanbin in just close enough that she doesn’t realize how the touch of her skin burns. A version of herself so perfectly crafted to fill the space between Hanbin’s weaknesses until Hanbin realized that she can’t stand alone anymore if Hao isn’t holding her up. If Hao was a supernova, then Hanbin would have been her binary companion, so dazzled by her brightness that she never noticed that Hao had siphoned away all her energy until there was nothing left for Hanbin to burn. But Hanbin has been out of Hao’s gravity for long enough, she doesn't want to go back. She’s afraid that if she lets it happen, there won’t be anything left of her own star to recover when Hao inevitably leaves her in pieces again.
“So have you,” Hanbin counters, thinking of the long-haired, puppy-eyed boyfriend that Hao has likely left wandering around this hospital alone to chase down her ex. Does he know, Hanbin wonders, or had Hao done her best to erase every trace of Hanbin from her life the way that Hanbin had tried to do for her. “He seems nice.” He seems like you have a type, is what Hanbin wants to tell her. Brown-eyed people who look at you like you’re their whole world. Hanbin doesn’t bother mentioning his name, she’s sure that Hao will know who she’s talking about.
Hao doesn’t rise to the bait, Hanbin might have an agenda, but Hao has one of her own too, and both of them are too stubborn to back down. Never able to be one-upped, she barely waits a beat before replying, “Hanbin, I,” her voice comes out a bit breathy, like she hadn’t really meant to say it out loud, “I missed you.” It’s the tone that every rom-com protagonist pulls out when they know they are going to end up with their love interest at the end of the movie no matter how badly they’ve screwed up their life.
Involuntarily, Hanbin lets out a laugh. Once, twice, then she stops when Hao doesn’t follow suit. “Was that supposed to be serious? God, I knew you were an actress, but this is something else, Hao.” She makes sure to put emphasis on the other woman’s name, something nearly biting about the way she chews it out when she never used to be able to speak without reverence bleeding into every syllable.
Real people aren’t costars, and this isn’t a 10 season soap-opera where the ex-lover gets to swoop back in and win over the protagonist with a single line.
Something seems to set in Hao’s eyes, and Hanbin hopes it’s an understanding that she won’t let herself be won over so easily. She doesn’t seem hurt by Hanbin’s blatant rejection, not that Hanbin can tell, but who really can read the emotions of a woman who has made her career out of pretending to be someone that she’s not.
“I don’t know why you came here or what you’re trying to do,” Hanbin ignores Hao when she opens her mouth to argue, and doesn't give her the chance to speak, “but whatever it is, leave me out of it.”
“That’s going to be a little difficult to do,” Hao starts to explain. Hanbin has to curl her fingers in and out of a fist so she doesn’t say something stupid like, Why not, it was so easy for you the first time?
“Because I’ll be here for the next few months,” Hao finishes.
“Here in Seoul?” Hanbin asks, because Seoul is a big city, and she doubts the two of them run in the same circles anyway. Hao is a major celebrity, and Hanbin doesn’t have any friends outside of this hospital. Any chance of overlap seemed negligible if not impossible.
“Here in this hospital,” Hao looks away for a moment, though she doesn’t sound apologetic about it, as much as Hanbin wishes she would. “We’re shadowing the doctors to prepare for our roles.”
As far as Hanbin knew, Hao had never been in a K-drama before. As far as Hanbin knew, Hao was Hollywood’s latest darling. There wasn’t really a reason for her to leave the states unless… Curiosity flares in Hanbin’s chest, burning hot enough that Hanbin has to pay attention to it, can’t just ignore it and move on. “Did you know I worked here?” Hanbin doesn’t know what she wants the answer to be. If Hao says no, she’ll have to pretend that she never cared in the first place (she didn’t… she doesn’t…). If Hao says yes, then, well, then that’s a whole other basket of snakes entirely.
“No,” Hao shakes her head. “I was just as surprised to see you this morning as you were to see me.”
Hanbin scans Hao’s face for any chance that she is lying. Hao hasn’t taken her eyes off Hanbin since she asked the question. It had always been one of her easiest tells—trying to keep Hanbin’s eyes on her face so she wouldn’t notice the twitch of her fingers or the shift in her stance. Hao is lying.
Even when they had been together, Hanbin was never brave enough to call her out on her lies. She feels even less brave enough to do it now. Why she was lying, Hanbin wasn’t sure, but it made sense that Hao felt obligated to track her down in person since Hanbin had blocked her on pretty much everything back then. Though, if she had bothered checking, Hao would find that Hanbin had unblocked her phone number years ago in desperate hope that she would be strong enough to send Hao a congratulations when her show won its first ensemble cast award. She never sent the message, but she didn’t have the heart to reblock her number.
“This was a mistake,” Hanbin says, when she realizes the silence is stretching too long. “Let’s just pretend this conversation never happened, like we’ve never met. That’s what you came here to say, isn’t it?” The question is rhetorical, Hanbin has already put the words in Hao’s mouth and needs them to be true for her own sanity to remain intact.
“Hanbin–” Hao starts to say, but Hanbin can’t do this anymore. She doesn’t know what she thought would happen, why she bothered letting this conversation go on as long as it had.
“I won’t say anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Because why else would Hao be looking at her so pitifully and track her down to an empty consultation room if not to remind her that they weren’t supposed to have anything to do with each other (anymore). “Then it should be easy for me to stay out of your way and you to stay out of mine.”
As she was speaking, she finally manages to unlock the door. It gives way under her weight, swinging open. “Hanbin, I don’t wa–”
Hao really needed to stop saying her name like that, it was too full of memories she had been too terrified of to recall for the longest time.
"I got it,” Hanbin cuts her off again. “I got it, okay? Go on, I’m sure your boyfriend is missing you."
It’s a low blow, one that Hao visibly reacts to before schooling her face back into that neutral expression that never failed to piss Hanbin off. Always hiding what she was truly feeling, never letting anyone else in. But Hanbin had lost the right to ask about it long ago.
Though it seems like Hao wants to say something else, she seems to think better of it, finally taking a step toward the open door. She pauses just before she is about to cross the threshold. Without looking back at Hanbin, she says, “You look a lot better these days.”
Not expecting Hao’s compliment, Hanbin’s brain runs through a dozen responses before she settles on, probably too honestly, “You too.”
Because it’s true, they aren’t the two girls they were when they first met anymore, struggling to find their place in the world and to fulfill the dreams that always seemed to be bigger than them. Hanbin became the doctor she said she would be and moved back home like she always promised. And as for Hao, well, Hanbin had yet to see another person on screen who could make a person fall in love as quickly as Hao could.
Mustering a bit of courage, Hanbin can see it in her face, Hao begins to ask, “Would you ever want to…?” but loses strength as she goes, as if waiting for Hanbin to finish the question.
“Don’t,” Hanbin replies, softer than she should be, colder than she wants to be. Still, Hanbin feels proud of herself for being able to stand her ground.
Hao closes her mouth, nodding. “Okay, I understand. Just, well, I’m proud of you, Hanbin.”
As she shuts the door behind her, Hanbin takes a stuttering breath. How is it that one conversation can loosen the knots of five years worth of progress?
The door slams open again. Hanbin has to steady herself against the cabinet, afraid that it will be Hao barreling back inside again with more ambiguous lines for Hanbin to overthink for the next week and probably the rest of her life for good measure. She’s not sure her heart can handle another encounter so soon. Fortunately, it’s Gunwook, looking about as frazzled as Hanbin feels when she collapses into the chair Hao had just been sitting in.
“Was that Zhang Hao?” Gunwook puffs, out of breath. “Did you get her autograph?”
“Not quite,” Hanbin manages. She lets herself fall dramatically onto the examination table, covering her eyes so tightly with her hands that stars dance in front of her eyes.
“Do you know her…?” Gunwook sounds confused at Hanbin’s dramatic reaction.
“Knew her is more accurate,” Hanbin corrects, dropping her hands from her eyes. She probably looks more miserable than she sounds.
“A friend from school?” Gunwook asks, curiosity bleeding into her voice faster than an arterial hemorrhage. Hanbin knows the intern won’t let it go until she tells the truth. Besides, it might be nice to finally admit it out loud for once.
Something about her wince and her expression must give her away. Technically, she has never told Gunwook her preferences, but the other girl seemed to know even if they had never spoken about it out loud. A pause to gather courage, just long enough that the silence isn’t awkward, but tense with anticipation.
“...An ex-girlfriend?” Gunwook asks, doing her best to sound nonchalant.
Hanbin sighs, “My ex-wife.”