Chapter Text
People say time heals everything, but in reality, time doesn’t suture. It only covers the wound with a thin layer of skin, so fragile that even the lightest gust of wind can make it bleed again.
Phuwin understood that the moment the piercing siren of an ambulance dragged him out of his thoughts. He stood frozen on the sidewalk, fingers clenched around the strap of his backpack, watching as the vehicle sped past him toward the emergency ramp. The sound faded into the distance, but it left behind a sharp, lingering tone in his ears, anchoring him painfully to reality.
After five long years, he was back in his home country, standing in front of a hospital again. It had taken him that long to gather the courage to return, but now, facing the imposing white building with its endless rows of windows, every memory he had tried to bury came rushing back. It seemed that running from his past hadn’t helped him overcome it, only delayed the inevitable. And now, it was crashing into him all at once.
He wanted to turn around and go home, to run once more, but he couldn’t. It was time to face what had been haunting him all these years. He couldn’t keep letting those ghosts decide the course of his life. He had to confront them and move forward.
He looked down at his hands. For the first time, he was wearing the navy-blue uniform of his new job, this was supposed to be the beginning of a new life. He forced himself to breathe in the thick city air, trying to clear his mind, to convince himself that this was just another hospital, no different from the ones he had worked in over the past years, that there was nothing to fear. But Bangkok’s noise felt too familiar, too intimate, and he couldn’t bring himself to feel at ease.
Without waiting any longer, Phuwin took his first step inside the building, ignoring the invisible weight that settled heavily in the pit of his stomach.
The transition from the sweltering Bangkok morning to the hospital’s air-conditioned interior was sharp enough to make him shiver. The smell hit him instantly, a sterile cocktail of antiseptic, floor wax, and burned coffee. A smell he knew by heart, yet one that suddenly felt suffocating.
He hadn't even made it past the main reception desk when a tall man in a matching navy-blue scrub top and a white doctor’s coat intercepted him. He had a clipboard under his arm and an easy and welcoming smile.
" Dr. Tang?" the man asked, checking a note on his clipboard before extending a hand. "I’m Dr. Chen, traumatologist. Dr. Thasorn assigned me to show you around today since ER and Trauma are basically joined at the hip here. Welcome aboard."
The knot in his stomach eased, if only slightly. The simple fact that someone was expecting him, that he wasn’t completely alone on his first day, eased some of the tension he’d been carrying since he stepped inside. "Thank you, Dr. Chen. It's a pleasure."
"Trust me, the pleasure is ours. We’ve been short-staffed in Emergency for months, and Dr. Thasorn hasn't stopped bragging about hiring a specialist with international training," Joong said with a light chuckle, gesturing for Phuwin to follow him down the wide, brightly lit corridor. "Let's get you familiar with the layout before the morning rush officially starts."
As they walked, Joong pointed left and right, his voice clear and practiced as he explained the inner workings of the department.
"Alright, here’s the basic breakdown," Joong explained, waving a hand toward a set of double doors. "Triage is right by the entrance, managed by Bonnie. She’s the gatekeeper, so keep her happy. Critical cases go straight to Boxes 1 and 2. If a patient needs immediate surgery or has severe trauma, you page my department. We're on call 24/7."
Phuwin nodded, absorbing the information like a sponge, his analytical mind grateful for the distraction from the thoughts that had been running through his head before entering. "And the flow of communication between departments? Is it direct, or does it go through a central desk?"
"Direct. In this place, seconds save lives," Joong replied, stopping in front of the central nursing station. He leaned against the counter, looking at Phuwin with genuine curiosity.
"You'll get used to the rhythm quickly. Most of the team is great. There’s one attending around who basically lives here, brilliant, a little reckless under pressure, but the best we’ve got. You'll probably end up working with him today if things get messy. You can ask him any questions you may have."
"I see. Good to know," Phuwin replied carefully.
"Anyway, your station is right over there," Joong continued. He handed Phuwin a black digital pager and a set of keys. "Dr. Thasorn wants you on the floor right away. Your first shift starts... now. Good luck, Dr. Tang."
"Thank you, Dr. Chen," Phuwin said, forcing a polite nod as Joong gave him a final reassuring pat on the shoulder and walked away.
Phuwin didn't go straight to the floor. Instead, he followed the signs down a quieter hallway until he reached the staff locker room.
The room was cool, with a laundry detergent smell and an impressive silence. He located the locker with his name newly printed on a plastic label. Opening it, he neatly hung his jacket, placed his backpack on the bottom shelf, and checked his navy-blue scrub top. He smoothed down the fabric, adjusting his stethoscope around his neck with calculated symmetry. He closed the locker door and headed toward his assigned station.
The morning started surprisingly slow. The emergency department was experiencing a rare lull. The rows of monitors hummed at a peaceful rhythm, and only a few beds were occupied by patients with minor ailments. Phuwin used the time to familiarize himself with the digital system, logging in with his credentials and reviewing the hospital’s specific medication protocols. He was a man who thrived on structure, knowing the exact layout of his workspace gave him a grounding sense of control.
Around 11:10 a.m., the peace was gently broken. The admission chime pinged, and one of the triage nurses wheeled a patient toward Phuwin’s assigned cubicle.
"Dr. Phuwin, we have a closed fracture for you," the nurse announced, handing him a digital tablet. "Ratana, sixty-two years old. Fall injury. Possible fracture."
Phuwin accepted the tablet with a brief nod.
"Thank you," he replied, already scanning the information as he stepped toward the cubicle.
The patient was seated on the examination bed, her face slightly pale and drawn tight in discomfort. Her right leg had been carefully supported by a makeshift splint from the paramedics, though the swelling around the ankle was already visible through the loose bandaging.
"Good morning," Phuwin said as he entered, his tone steady and controlled. "I’m Dr. Tang. Can you tell me what happened?"
The woman looked up at him, blinking slowly as if trying to process the pain through the haze of discomfort.
"I slipped," she said finally, her voice strained. "On the stairs. I think I twisted it badly."
Phuwin pulled a stool closer and sat down at a measured distance, close enough to examine her properly, but careful not to invade her space too abruptly.
"Alright," he said gently. "I’m going to ask you a few questions first, then I’ll examine your leg. Try to focus on my voice and not the pain."
He began to ask her systematically. When it had happened. Whether she had fallen directly or rolled. If she had felt or heard a snap. Whether she had tried to stand afterward. Any previous injuries to the same leg. Any medical history that could complicate the situation. He listened carefully, letting her speak at her own pace, occasionally nodding as he absorbed each detail.
"Did you hit your head when you fell?" he asked at one point, his tone unchanged, almost clinical.
The woman hesitated. "I don’t think so… no."
He nodded once, noting it mentally before continuing. When he was satisfied, he stood and moved closer to the injured leg. He lowered himself slightly, observing before touching anything, his eyes tracing the swelling, the slight discoloration beginning to form, the position of the ankle that was subtly misaligned. Then, carefully, he began the physical examination.
His hands moved with practiced precision, testing gently at first, palpating around the ankle, checking for tenderness, stability, and range of motion. He paused immediately when she winced, adjusting his pressure without hesitation.
"Sorry," he said quietly, easing his touch. "Let me know if anything becomes too uncomfortable."
The woman exhaled sharply, gripping the edge of the bed.
"It hurts quite a bit, doctor."
"I know," Phuwin replied, without looking away from the injury. "We’re almost done."
He continued the assessment, checking circulation in her foot, gently pressing the toes, observing capillary refill and sensation, noting everything silently in his mind as he had been trained to do.
When he finally stepped back, he straightened slightly and returned his attention fully to her.
"I’m going to request an X-ray to confirm the extent of the injury," he said calmly. "The findings are suggestive of a fracture, but we need imaging to confirm it." He turned slightly toward the door.
"Let’s give her some pain medication while we wait for radiology."
The nurse nodded and moved to prepare it. Phuwin then returned his attention to the leg. "We’ll also immobilize it for now," he added.
Carefully, he adjusted the existing splint, reinforcing the support and ensuring the leg was properly stabilized and elevated.
Only then did he step back. Phuwin finished writing the last notes on the tablet only after making sure every detail of the examination had been properly recorded. The request for the X-ray was already sent, the patient was stable, and the plan was clear.
“You’re going to be taken for radiology now,” he said gently, returning the tablet to its holder. “After that, we’ll confirm everything and decide the best treatment plan. Most likely, it will be a cast and a few weeks of limited movement.”
The woman nodded slowly, still visibly in pain but noticeably calmer than when he had first entered the room.
“Thank you, doctor,” she said.
Phuwin offered a small, polite smile.
“You’re welcome. Try not to put weight on it. We’ll take care of the rest.”
After making sure the patient was transferred to radiology, Phuwin checked the wall clock at the nurse's station. It was almost eleven-forty in the morning. The day had gone by without any major issues; he didn't feel particularly tired, but he had a brief twenty-minute break, and he wasn't going to miss the chance to inject some caffeine into his veins and clear his mind. He walked over to one of the nurses who was reviewing medical charts at the central desk.
"Excuse me," Phuwin said, modulating his voice. "Could you tell me where the staff cafeteria is?"
The nurse looked up, gave him a quick smile, and pointed toward the east hallway.
"At the very end on the right, Dr. Tang. Go through the double doors and you'll see the sign."
"Thank you," he replied, nodding before setting off.
The staff cafeteria was a spacious room, lit by fluorescent lights that were a bit warmer than those in the ER hallways. At that hour, it was practically empty, except for a couple of doctors talking at a corner table. At the back, built into the wall, was a typical coffee machine, a stainless steel apparatus that looked like it had lived a long life.
Phuwin approached, placed a paper cup in the designated slot, and pressed the button for a strong coffee. The machine let out a hoarse hum, blinked a couple of times with a red error light, and then went completely silent. He pressed the button again, this time a bit more firmly, but the device merely emitted a muffled beep without releasing a single drop. He frowned, feeling his patience begin to waiver before a piece of metal.
"You have to hit it a little on the lower left side."
A young, lively voice interrupted his frustration. Phuwin turned slightly to find a guy with messy black hair, soft features, but a sharp, alert gaze. He wore a resident's scrub suit, a slightly different shade of blue than his own, and carried that vibrant energy that only young doctors who haven't been completely destroyed by twenty-four-hour shifts manage to maintain. Before Phuwin could answer, the resident stepped forward and, with expert familiarity, delivered a sharp slap with the palm of his hand to the lower left side of the machine. The apparatus seemed to complain with a rattle, but immediately, the aroma of freshly ground coffee began to fill the air as the dark liquid poured into the cup.
"Sometimes a little brute force can help to fix it," The resident added with a bright smile, picking up the finished cup of coffee to politely hand it to Phuwin. "Here you go."
"Thank you very much, Doctor..." Phuwin glanced at his badge, "...Pongsapak."
"Just Santa is fine, pediatric resident," he introduced himself, extending his hand after handing over the drink. "I haven't seen you around here before. Are you new?"
"Phuwin. Yes, today is my first day," he replied, shaking his hand courteously. "I'm in the emergency department."
"Ah, ER!" Santa exclaimed as he placed his own cup into the machine and repeated the slapping trick. "I heard they were short-staffed; you must be the new guy everyone was talking about. Welcome to-"
His words hung in the air as the cafeteria doors swung wide open. Another resident shuffled in, his scrubs visibly wrinkled and his shoulders slumped with exhaustion. Without even noticing Phuwin’s presence, he walked in a straight line toward Santa and, with a sigh that seemed to drain the last breath from his lungs, let his head drop heavily onto Santa's shoulder.
"I'm dead..." Perth groaned, his voice muffled against the fabric of Santa’s scrubs. "Four hours in the OR holding a retractor for a complicated cholecystectomy. I can't feel my arms anymore."
Santa smiled instantly, his eyes softening as an expression of absolute warmth flooded his face. He had a reflex impulse to wrap his arm around him for comfort, but remembering that Phuwin was standing right there, he gently held back, merely tensing his shoulder to provide better support.
Noticing Santa’s subtle rigidity, Perth opened his eyes and quickly stood up straight, finally realizing they weren't alone. A faint blush tinted his cheeks, but he recovered his composure immediately, offering Phuwin a somewhat embarrassed but polite smile.
"Oh, sorry. Hello," Perth greeted, straightening up.
"This is Doctor Phuwin. He's new in the ER," Santa introduced them. Then, with a fluid movement that was almost mechanical from habit, he reached into his lab coat pocket, pulled out a chocolate bar, and handed it to Perth. "Here, you need sugar."
Perth accepted the bar with a grateful look and, at the same time, took the cup of coffee Santa had just prepared, taking a long sip without asking for permission. Phuwin observed the interaction in silence, suddenly feeling like an intruder in a bubble that wasn't his. He noticed the extreme closeness between them; the intimacy that seeped into the most insignificant details, like the way their shoulders still subtly brushed against each other as they spoke, or the silent complicity of their glances. It wasn't hard to deduce that they were a couple, or at least close friends.
And suddenly, a sharp, cold pang gripped his heart.
All the memories, those very same ghosts he had tried to dodge for years, hit him head-on. Looking at them, he saw himself many years ago. He saw the exact reflection of the time when he and Pond were doing their residency at the same medical center in another province. He remembered how, despite the endless shifts, extreme exhaustion, and overlapping schedules, they always managed to find five minutes in any deserted hallway, sharing a cold coffee or subtle caresses just to recharge their strength in each other.
Phuwin took a long sip of his coffee, forcing down the bitter knot that had settled in his throat, trying to dispel the warmth of a past that no longer belonged to him.
Not wanting to further interrupt a moment that reminded him so much of his own lost happiness, Phuwin took a step back, forcing a polite smile.
"Well... I must get back to the ER, my break is about to end. It was a pleasure meeting you both."
"The pleasure is ours, Doctor Phuwin," Santa replied kindly.
"Hope to see you around more often. Welcome to the hospital," Perth added, waving goodbye before refocusing on his chocolate bar.
Phuwin gave a slight nod and turned around, walking out of the cafeteria with a firm step. He walked back through the labyrinth of white hallways, drinking his coffee quickly, almost unconsciously, searching in the warmth of the beverage for something to erase the persistent cold emptiness in his chest. By the time the signs indicated he was just a few meters from the double doors of the emergency room, he had already finished his coffee. He tossed the cup into the first trash can he found and braced himself to cross the doors back into the hospital's ER.
The brief respite the coffee had granted Phuwin vanished the exact instant he stepped through the double doors of the ER. The peaceful atmosphere that had started the morning was gone, replaced by an electric tension hanging thick in the air. Suddenly, a blaring alarm began to echo throughout the department, a sharp, intermittent beep that triggered the emergency lights.
"Attention all staff!" Namtan, the head nurse, cut through the noise over the internal PA system in a firm, authoritative voice. "Multiple-casualty collision reported on the highway. Three ambulances en route, Code Red. Estimated time of arrival: two minutes. Clear Bays 1, 2, and 3 right now!"
Organized chaos erupted in a matter of seconds. Doctors, residents, and nurses began to move with choreographed precision. Phuwin reacted instantly. Casting aside any trace of melancholy, he snapped on a pair of latex gloves, settled his stethoscope exactly around the back of his neck, and stationed himself by the gurney in Bay 2, his gaze locked onto the entrance.
The automatic doors of the ER burst open with a violent crash. The echo of outside sirens flooded the hallway as paramedics rushed in, pushing three gurneys at top speed amid shouted clinical data, the smell of burnt asphalt, and the deafening beep of portable monitors.
"Bay 1 for the thoracic trauma! Bay 2 for the open fracture!" Namtan ordered with flawless efficiency, guiding the second gurney straight toward Phuwin’s position. At that exact moment, the doors to the staff locker room swung open.
Pond appeared in the hallway, adjusting his scrub top. His hair was slightly messy, and he carried a magnetic energy that cut through the air. He didn’t stop to look at the admissions board or wait for instructions; a single glance at the array of gurneys was enough for him to lunge straight toward Bay 2, intercepting the moving cart with a hand on the railing.
"I've got this one!" Pond shouted, moving around the gurney to begin the assessment.
But as he looked up to coordinate with the support doctor, their eyes met.
And the world, quite simply, stopped.
On the other side of the patient, hands suspended mid-air, stood Phuwin.
Five years. It had been exactly five years since they last saw each other. The last time their eyes had met, it was in the middle of a silent room, eyes filled with tears and the weight of a breakup that had torn their souls apart. Five years of distance, of continents between them, of trying to bury a past that, in that single millisecond, proved to be more alive than ever. Phuwin felt as if the air had frozen in his lungs. The color drained from his face as his eyes locked onto Pond’s features, now more mature, but painfully familiar. On the other side, Pond stood completely still, his fingers gripping the metal of the gurney. His wide eyes reflected absolute shock. For an eternal moment, the blare of alarms, the cries of the wounded, and the orders of the nurses faded into a dull hum. Their hearts seemed to stop dead in their tracks. Their reunion was like placing a hand over a scar you thought had healed, only to find that it still hurts. It was a heart missing a beat, imperceptible from the outside, but absolutely deafening from within.
"Doctor! He's losing consciousness, his pressure is dropping!" The desperate shout of a nurse broke the spell like a splash of cold water. Reality hit them head-on. Lives were at stake.
Pond was the first to react, shaking his head slightly to shake off the shock. Phuwin, blinking hard, clenched his fists and regained his rigid posture. Professionalism triumphed over surprise; they were doctors, and the patient couldn't wait.
"Oxygen mask at fifteen liters. Establish two large-bore peripheral IV lines and start a saline infusion, please," Phuwin ordered. His voice sounded strikingly clear, measuring every word with an almost surreal calm as he took the medical shears to cut away the patient’s clothing with clean, symmetrical strokes.
Pond, however, didn't even wait for the nurse to bring the monitor. He leaned over the patient, using his bare hands to press firmly on the man's abdomen, his eyes fixing on the paleness of his lips.
"There's no time to wait for fluids, Tang," Pond said. Hearing his own name on those lips after so many years sent a shiver down Phuwin’s spine, but Pond continued without hesitation, driven by what his hands were sensing. "Look at the abdominal distension and capillary refill. This isn't just pain-induced shock from the fracture. He’s bleeding out inside. Forget the saline, let’s activate the massive transfusion protocol and call the OR now."
Phuwin frowned, halting the shears a millimeter from the fabric.
"We need to confirm the source of the bleeding first and evaluate the hemodynamic response to volume, Doctor Naravit," Phuwin retorted, deliberately using the title to erect a wall between them. "If we overload the circulatory system without a baseline pressure reading, we could worsen the condition. We have to measure before we act."
"If we wait to measure, he’s going to empty on the gurney," Pond countered, his eyes flashing as he reached out to grab the ultrasound transducer from the adjacent shelf without asking. "Trust me. I know what I'm feeling."
Phuwin stared at him for a brief second, taking in the speed with which Pond was already applying the gel to the patient's skin, skipping any preamble. Despite the tension and the abyss of memories separating them, both read the same gravity on the monitor that was beginning to beep. Without another word, Phuwin nodded slightly, accepting the pulse of the situation, and leaned in with a needle to find a vein in the patient's arm while Pond began sliding the ultrasound probe across the man's belly. The vital signs monitor began to emit a rapid, high-pitched beep, a warning that the patient's heart rate was skyrocketing while his blood pressure continued in a free fall.
"I have free fluid in Morrison's pouch!" Pond exclaimed, sliding the ultrasound probe with swift movements, urgently tapping the screen. "I told you, the spleen is ruptured. He's losing too much blood."
"Secure the airway first," Phuwin replied, his voice strangely icy as he aligned the patient’s head with millimeter precision. "If his level of consciousness keeps dropping, he’s going to aspirate. Give me a size eight endotracheal tube and the laryngoscope."
"There's no time to intubate blind if the patient is collapsing, Phuwin." Pond dropped the transducer aside, ignoring the gel smearing the sheets, and pressed his fingers against the man's neck. "Oxygen saturation is holding at ninety-two with the mask. If you sedate him now to intubate, his pressure will drop to zero. We need to open that transfusion line now."
"I am not acting blindly. If we don't protect the airway now, hypoxia will worsen the shock." Phuwin didn't even look at him; he firmly extended his hand toward the nurse, waiting for the instrument.
"Trauma protocol is clear: A before B. Airway first."
"To hell with the manual, he's dying!" Pond snapped, crossing the space over the gurney to hang the first bag of blood directly onto the pole, slamming the valve wide open with a flick of his fingers.
"The priority is volume. Min, squeeze that bag!"
Phuwin clenched his jaw. For a millisecond, the frustration and old familiarity of their past arguments threatened to boil over, but he channeled all that energy into his hands. With a clean, fluid movement of impeccable surgical precision, he inserted the laryngoscope, visualized the vocal cords in a second, and slid the endotracheal tube into place on the first try.
"Tube placed. Inflate the cuff and check for breath sounds," Phuwin ordered, withdrawing the laryngoscope without altering the rhythm of his breathing. "Now, Doctor, the patient is being ventilated. Let's proceed with the drainage."
Pond, who already held a scalpel in hand ready for an emergency procedure, glinted a sideways glance at him with a mix of annoyance and an involuntary flash of admiration that he tried to hide immediately.
For the next few minutes, Bay 2 became a silent battlefield where two opposing forces were forced to fit together once more. Phuwin moved like a metronome, measuring exact medication doses, ensuring every fixation was perfect, and mentally logging every change on the monitor. Pond, by contrast, was a whirlwind of pure instinct, making decisions on the fly, anticipating complications, and resolving them with a chaotic agility that made the nurses nervous but kept the patient's heart beating. Despite the chasm between them, there was an invisible synchronicity connecting them. They didn't need to ask each other for things. When Phuwin extended his hand to stabilize a line, Pond was already applying pressure to the exact spot. When Pond needed room to maneuver, Phuwin stepped back with the precision of someone who knew the other’s range of motion by heart.
"Blood pressure is stabilizing," a nurse announced, letting out a collective sigh of relief. "Ninety over sixty. Heart rate is coming down to one hundred."
The monitor began to beep at a regular, slow pace—almost peaceful compared to the chaos of a few minutes prior. The patient was stable.
"Page trauma surgery," Phuwin said, taking a step back. His hands, still covered in stained latex gloves, trembled subtly for the first time. "Get him up to the OR immediately. The bleeding is managed for now, but they need to operate."
The nurses began preparing the gurney for transport, moving around them and breaking the closed circle that had held them together during the crisis.
Phuwin stood by the monitor, his shoulders rigid, trying to regulate his own breathing. His lungs felt hot, his chest rising and falling to the rhythm of the adrenaline that was beginning to leave his body, leaving him strangely exposed. On the other side of the gurney, Pond mirrored his posture. He snapped his gloves off with a sharp yank, tossing them into the biohazard bin. His hair was even messier, and his breathing was heavy, audible.
For a few seconds that seemed to freeze in the air-conditioned bay, neither of them moved. They stared at each other across the space the patient had just left behind upon being wheeled out into the hallway. The medical tension was gone, laying bare the raw, throbbing personal tension they had spent five years ignoring. The pain, the silent reproach, and the undeniable electric current that had always existed between them filled the cubicle.
Pond locked his dark eyes onto Phuwin's, swallowing hard, as if he had an arsenal of questions stuck in his throat. However, he clenched his fists inside his pockets and averted his gaze to the floor for a moment. When he looked back up, the chaotic warmth from before had been replaced by a mask of cold, professional courtesy.
"Welcome back, Doctor Tang," Pond said. His voice sounded deep, rough, and devoid of any trace of the past.
Without waiting for an answer, and without giving Phuwin time to decipher the unreadable glint in his eyes, Pond turned abruptly. His footsteps echoed firmly against the linoleum floor as he pushed past the bay curtains, stepping out into the main hallway and losing himself in the bustle of the ER.
Phuwin was left alone in the empty cubicle, listening only to the hum of the turned-off monitor and the echo of his own breathing, which he still couldn't manage to calm.