AFF Poster / Logo Credit to the best and #1 Yongshin writer:  EmotionalStar

“Gee, mister!” I squeal sarcastically, clapping my hands together, “I guess I can quit my job and spend the rest of my life trailing you around from seedy hotel to seedy hotel with s at the ready!”

“That would be nice,” he says with a smile.

I open my mouth to tell him that he’s the most despicable, vile, pathetic excuse for a man that I’ve ever laid eyes on, but just at that moment, Dr. Choi pokes his head through the door. Of course.

“You’re up!” the doctor smiles, “That’s great. Mr. Jung, I just want you to know that we are going to give you the best care that we possibly can. I’ve assigned Shin Hye here to be your personal nurse for the duration of your stay. She won’t leave your side once—so if you need anything at any time, don’t hesitate to ask her. I’m sure she’ll be more than happy to accommodate your every need.”

“I certainly hope so,” Yong Hwa says, leering at me.

I stifle a shudder.

“Fantastic!” Dr. Choi says, clapping me on the back, “You two carry on! And make sure our man here wants for nothing.”

He practically skips away, pleased as punch to be housing a rock star for the time being. That makes exactly one of us. I close the door after him and turn back toward Yong Hwa, doing my very best to remain professional. But between the overwhelming force of his physical charm and the despicable nonsense that keeps pouring out of his mouth, it’s a rather herculean effort.

“Is there anything you need that I can actually get you?” I ask.

“Not anything that you’d be willing to give up. Yet,” Yong Hwa says, tucking his hands behind his head. I try not to stare as his biceps bulge beneath his skin, his tattoos flexing and stretching under the duress.

“How did you get hurt?” I ask, trying to focus on something besides what my patient might look like .

“I’m not entirely sure,” he says.

“How can that be possible?” I ask. “You showed up here bleeding internally, with a head wound. Events that lead to that kind of injury generally warrant notice.”

“I don’t exactly live a safe life,” Yong Hwa said, “I don’t keep score of head wounds.”

“Still,” I pressed, “You must remember what you were doing right before you woke up here.”

“Sure,” he says with a sigh, “My band was a playing a midsized venue in town. A one-off sort of deal, before we hit the road for the real tour. It was a pretty rambunctious crowd, more so than usual. Someone started a pretty epic most pit toward the end of our set, and I decided to join in the fray. One thing led to another...”

“Can you be a little more specific?” I ask.

“Sure,” he says, “I noticed that there was a scrawny little kid trying to hold his own in the pit. He must have been, like, fourteen or something. Toothpick arms, the whole thing. He accidentally hit some big guy—grazed his arm or whatever. The big dude gets his buddies and turns on the kid. Just brutal stuff, totally uncalled for. So, what am I supposed to do? Let this poor little dude get the kicked out of him at my band’s show? No way. So I went in after him.”

“Against three guys?” I ask, amazed.

“Yeah,” he says, “They landed a few good punches, obviously.”

“That seems uncharacteristically chivalrous of you,” I say suspiciously.

“Hey,” Yong Hwa says, sitting up straight, “You don’t know the first thing about me, kiddo. We’ve known each other for all of five minutes.”

“First impressions are pretty powerful,” I tell him, “And yours was pretty subpar.”

“Yeah?” he says, “How did I come across?”

“Like a misogynistic man-child,” I say.

“Huh,” he says, “Well, you came off as an uppity elitist ice queen whose box hasn’t been opened in so long that there’s probably dust collecting in it.”

“That’s right,” I say, refusing to let him get the last word, “Go ahead with the Madonna/ thing. A binary is probably the most complicated idea you can wrap your head around. Black and white. Man and woman. or prude.”

“I just call them like I see them,” he says. “No need to get all hysterical on me.”

“Hysterical!” I exclaim, “Going old school ist, are we? I like the vintage flair.”

“Thanks,” he smiles, “I like your eyes. And a couple other parts of you that I won’t mention by name.”

“I’m not a collection of parts for you to admire,” I tell him, taking a menacing step toward the bed, “For the time being, I’m the person in charge of your sorry . So if you have any hopes of being discharged by the time your precious tour leaves, I would suggest that you be a little nicer to me. You really have a lot of—”

His sudden outcry cuts me off, and I let my sentence go unfinished as his face twists into a mask of pain. I switch into nurse mode at once, and draw back the bed sheets to check out his surgery wound. As I tear away the blankets, I notice that he's not wearing any underwear, leaving his groin uncovered. I try very hard not to gape, but can’t quite tear my eyes away from the impressive specimen resting between his legs.

Convinced that I’ve officially left professional tact by the wayside, I peer at his stitches. Everything looks OK, but he’s practically writhing on the bed. I reach for the morphine drip, hit the button, and let another dose course into his body. In a matter of moments, his tensed muscles begin to relax. Beads of sweat stand out on his smooth forehead, and as he looks over at me, a new expression settles onto his face for just a minute—it looks very much like fear.

For a second, I forget his arrogant swagger, and his offensive remarks. I remember that he is my patient. And just like with any other patient, I’m going to do my best to help him.

“It’s OK,” I say, placing my hand on top of his. A warm pulse runs up my arm as my skin brushes against his. I just hope that I’m not blushing too obviously this time.

“Thanks,” Yong Hwa smiles, the morphine dulling his edges for the moment, “That feels good.”

I don’t know whether he’s talking about the drugs or my hand on his. I smile kindly at him, having regained my professional composure. Dr. Choi doesn’t seem ready to let me leave Yong Hwa’s side, so I might as well make the best of the situation. I pull over a chair with my free hand and sit down beside the rock star.

“You’re going to be fine, you know,” I tell him.

“That’s good,” he says, “I’m not quite done living yet.”

“Glad to hear it,” I say, “Though your kind has a pretty high mortality rate, truth be told.”

“My kind?” he asks.

“Rock stars,” I say.

“Oh,” he says, “Right.”

“What, did you forget?” I laugh, “That morphine must be pretty good stuff.”

“I haven’t exactly been famous for very long,” he tells me, loopy on the drugs, “We just sort of...happened. My band, I mean.”

“Sorry I’ve never heard of you before,” I say.

“It’s cool...” he drawls, “Now you have.”

“What’s your music like?” I ask.

“It’s pretty heavy,” he says, “Just short of hardcore, I’d say.”

“So, a lot of screaming?” I ask, wrinkling my nose.

“Some screaming,” he admits, “But not too much. I don’t write lyrics just so they can get lost entirely.”

“You write the lyrics, huh?” I ask.

“Yep,” he says, closing his eyes happily, “And the music.”

“Well, look at you,” I say, enjoying the warmth of his hand perhaps a bit more than I should.

“I’m a man of many talents,” he says, turning toward me. He blinks one eye sluggishly, and I let out a bark of laughter. I take it that he’s trying to wink at me, but the morphine makes his attempt clumsy.

“Easy, tiger,” I tell him, taking my hand away. “It’s no fun to berate you while you’re under the influence. Save your bull for when I can yell at you properly.”

“You...” he says, on the brink of another nap, “Are what I like to call...a buzz kill.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” I remark.

Yong Hwa lets out a soft little laugh and lets his head rest against the pillow. In an instant, he’s asleep again. I lean back in my chair and let out a long breath. It’s too bad he can’t be so angelic while he’s awake. I’m at once tempted to run my fingers through his curls as well as slap him across the face for all the manly bull he’s heaped on me in the last ten minutes.

I manage to resist both urges, though it takes sitting on my hands to dissuade me entirely. I can only hope that he heals quickly and gets out of my life as soon as possible.

The hours of my shift tick slowly by with me on rock star watch. Sitting still, tending to Jung Yong Hwa, is driving me absolutely insane. I watch the other doctors and nurses pass by the room, rushing here and there, seeing to other patients, and I itch to join them. I didn’t become a nurse to babysit full grown men. If I wanted to do that, I would have kept a boyfriend instead. I try to remind myself that Yong Hwa is a person too, and deserves to be taken care of...by why do I have to be the one doing it?

There’s a knock at the door, and I look up to see Se Young hovering there. Her face is flushed from running from patient to patient, and I’m a little jealous. She looks across the room toward Yong Hwa and lets out a little sigh. “He’s still asleep?”

I get up and walk over to the door, careful not to wake him. “Like a baby,” I say, “A big, arrogant, squalling baby.”

Se Young raises an eyebrow at me. “Someone’s feeling uncharitable.”

“I’m not uncharitable!” I say, “I’m just a little bummed about having to be this guy’s serving wench until he’s all better.”

“Why are you not absolutely thrilled about this assignment?” she asks, giving Yong Hwa a not-so-subtle once over. “Most women would kill to be in the same room with this guy.”

“He’s not my type,” I say, folding my arms across my chest.

“What is your type, Shin Hye?” Se Young asks.

“Battery operated,” I mutter. “Look, I just don’t like his attitude. He’s got this swagger going on that I just find deplorable.”

“Well of course he does,” Se Young says, exasperated, “He’s a rock star! Don’t you think that kind of thing is expected of him? Encouraged in him?”

“I really don’t see how that changes anything,” I tell her, “I’m supposed to feel sorry for him because he’s under pressure?”

“Maybe a little,” Se Young says, “Would it kill you to try and look past the bravado?”

“It might,” I say.

“Well, at least you’re already at the hospital. You can attempt it and know that help is nearby.”

“Ha,” I say, rolling my eyes. “You know, you’re very adamant about liking this guy. Why are you so eager to give him a break?”

“I think he’s got a touching story,” she says, leaning against the door frame.

“What story?” I ask, checking to see that he’s still asleep. His chest rises and falls rhythmically, and there’s a little half smile still lingering on his lips. I feel a rush of sensation pass through me, like what happens the minute you start down a roller coaster. I’d better get all this out of my system before he wakes up again.

“You really don’t know anything about him?” Se Young asks, “About the band, or the music, or anything?”

“Honestly, no,” I say, “He looked really familiar when they wheeled him