Sighing dramatically, 27-year-old Kim Hanbin ruffled his hair in frustration, sinking into his chair like a man defeated by his own creativity. His notebook lay before him, a battlefield of scribbles and crosses, each mark a testament to his ongoing war with writer's block. With another theatrical sigh, he leaned back, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, taking in the unique aroma of manly odor, dust, and Red Bull that permeated his tiny music studio.

Here, amidst the clutter and chaos, Hanbin spent his days weaving tales of love and adventure, all while pining for a reality he had yet to live. His muse, a fickle mistress named Inspiration, seemed determined to elude him at every turn, leaving him grasping at wisps of what could have been. Reflecting on his teenage years, Hanbin couldn't help but cringe at the memory of his brash, impulsive self. He was a brat, he recalled. Oh, the opportunities he had squandered, the chances he had let slip through his fingers. But now, older and perhaps a tad wiser, he found himself haunted by the ghosts of his past, yearning for a second chance to make things right.

"Hanbin," Jiwon called, his voice a blend of exhaustion and exasperation as he peered at his friend through tired, squinty eyes that seemed to vanish entirely as he yawned. Hanbin swiveled in his chair to face the doorway, where Jiwon stood, a mirror image of himself in disheveled appearance, both resembling worn-out artists straight out of a black-and-white film. With a half-hearted chuckle, Hanbin couldn't help but notice the irony of the situation. Here they were, two creative souls drowning in the chaos of their own making, yet somehow finding solace in each other's company, even if it meant looking like refugees from a street art exhibition. Ignoring Jiwon's gruff command to head home, Hanbin flashed a mischievous grin.

"But home is where the heart is, Jiwon," he quipped, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he gestured to the cluttered studio around them. "And my heart says it's right here, in the midst of our artistic turmoil."

Jiwon stared at Hanbin, his expression shifting from exhaustion to utter bewilderment at his friend's sudden theatrical outburst. Hanbin, undeterred by his friend's bemusement, maintained his pose, arms still spread wide to showcase his cluttered studio, which resembled more of a chaotic battleground than a place of creative inspiration. Jiwon's gaze shifted around the cluttered studio. His eyes settled on the sight of the tens of empty Red Bull cans scattered across the floor, the bag of half-stale potato chips precariously perched on a pile of papers, and the forlorn pink elephant stuffed toy from the cartoon film Inside Out, lying haphazardly on the couch that bore mysterious stains of unknown origin.

For a moment, silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the faint crackle of static emanating from the speakers. Jiwon, ever the sage amidst chaos, understood the delicate balance between nurturing creativity and reining in its wild manifestations. He couldn't bring himself to scold the younger man; after all, he alone bore witness to Hanbin's journey from the depths of despair to the heights of artistic brilliance. Then, with a resigned shake of his head, Jiwon muttered under his breath, "This is what happens when you let a creative genius loose with too much caffeine and not enough supervision."

Hanbin grinned sheepishly, still seated in his chair amidst the chaos.

"Ah, but Jiwon, you know this chaos fuels my creativity! It's like a beautiful mess, a symphony of disorder!" he exclaimed, gesturing dramatically to the clutter around him.

Jiwon rolled his eyes. "Hanbin, it's late. Let's get out of here before the mice declare independence and start demanding better working conditions."

In his jest lay a deeper truth—a recognition of Hanbin's unparalleled talent, tempered by the knowledge that genius often walked hand in hand with chaos. With a laugh, Hanbin finally relented.

"Alright, alright, let's go. But mark my words, Jiwon, one day they'll erect a statue of me right here in this studio, surrounded by empty Red Bull cans and potato chip crumbs. It'll be a monument to creative brilliance!" he declared, jumping up from his chair and narrowly avoiding tripping over a tangled mess of cables on the floor. As they made their way out of the studio, Hanbin couldn't help but throw one last glance over his shoulder at the chaos he called his creative space. "Until tomorrow, my dear battleground of inspiration," he whispered dramatically, earning an eye roll from Jiwon as they disappeared into the hallway.

As Hanbin sauntered along the deserted streets in the dead of night, his mind danced with memories of tragic missteps and cringe-worthy encounters. The buzzling city streets were unusually quiet at this late hour. The cool night air was refreshing after the stuffiness of his cluttered studio, but he shuddered, shoulders reaching his ears as the wind kissed his bare neck tenderly. With every stride, Hanbin's gaze wandered, tracing the flickering lights of street vendors and the warm glow of apartment windows. In the dance of illumination, he found a peculiar solace, as if each beam of light carried with it a fragment of the day's burdens, lifting the weight from his weary shoulders with every passing moment. Suddenly, a desperate cry shattered the silence, pulling Hanbin from his reverie. Pausing mid-stride, he glanced around and spotted a tree nearby. Without hesitation, he veered off his path and approached the tree, his curiosity piqued. Sure enough, nestled among the branches, he spotted a small silhouette.

"Ah, there you are," Hanbin murmured softly, recognizing the source of the meows echoing through the night like a siren's call. 

"Hey there, little guy," Hanbin said soothingly, extending a hand towards the cat. Despite his allergies, Hanbin's heart overflowed with unconditional love for all creatures, especially those he couldn't be near without sneezing. With a determined gaze fixed on the stranded feline, he silently willed his affection to bridge the gap between them, hoping to convey his desire to rescue the kitten from harm without triggering his own allergies. Undeterred by the cat's lack of appreciation for his artistic endeavors, Hanbin attempted to strike up a conversation, "Need a hand up there? Or are you just auditioning for the lead role in 'Cats: The Musical'?"

The cat responded with a disdainful flick of its tail, as if to say, "I'd rather listen to nails on a chalkboard than endure another minute of your off-key serenades."

With a grin, Hanbin began to climb, his fingers finding purchase on the rough bark as he ascended. The higher he climbed, the clearer the silhouette became until finally, he reached a branch where the fluffy white cat sat perched, its eyes wide with surprise at Hanbin's sudden appearance. 

With the determination of a misguided knight charging into battle, Hanbin inched closer to the stranded ball of fluff, his outstretched arms resembling those of a wobbly tightrope walker attempting a daring feat. Inch by inch, he crept higher, his fingers brushing against the rough bark in a desperate bid for stability. And then, just as victory seemed imminent, the cat made its move. With a nonchalant flick of its tail, it leaped from its lofty perch, landing gracefully on the ground below with all the poise of a seasoned acrobat. Hanbin's jaw dropped in disbelief as he watched his feline quarry make a swift and agile escape, leaving him stranded in the branches like a bumbling tree ornament.

But fate wasn't finished with Kim Hanbin yet. As he reached out to regain his balance, the branch beneath him gave an ominous groan, as if mocking his misfortune. With a startled yelp, Hanbin found himself hurtling earthward in a whirlwind of flailing limbs and startled curses. The ground rushed up to meet him with alarming speed, and before he knew it, Hanbin crashed to the ground with a resounding thud, limbs splayed in a tangle of limbs and leaves. For a moment, all was silent save for the distant echo of his own mortified groans.

****

"No, I'd rather die." I glanced over at Mrs. Jung, the seasoned veteran nurse of the hospital floor, who was now rubbing her hands together in a desperate plea. We were no strangers to being severely short-staffed; it seemed like the world had a knack for turning a deaf ear to nurses' cries for help. But agreeing to work a double shift? That was crossing a line, even if it meant saving the world from a shortage of competent healthcare professionals. Mrs. Jung gave me her best puppy-dog eyes, as if hoping her sparkly gaze could guilt-trip me into submission.

"Come on, Sooyoung. I'll throw in an extra day off, and I'll even bring you some dinner," she promised, her voice laced with desperation. I surveyed the emergency room—it was surprisingly calm for a Friday night at 11 PM. Sure, it was packed, but there were still some empty beds, and the absence of any traumatic calls or Code Blues made it feel almost... peaceful. Well, as peaceful as an understaffed ED could be.

Agreeing to the double shift was like signing up to be the sacrificial lamb in a hospital-themed comedy sketch. Picture it: me, the seasoned veteran of five whole years, suddenly into the spotlight as the senior nurse. It was a bit like putting a toddler in charge of a daycare center—utter chaos was bound to ensue. And let's talk about my illustrious career trajectory. Did I fulfill my mother's dreams of having two doctors in the family? Not even close. Senior year of high school hit me like a ton of textbooks, and suddenly I found myself spiraling down a rabbit hole of missed classes, lost motivation, and grades that could only be described as "bless your heart."

But fear not, dear reader, for I found solace in the arms of the hospital where my sister worked. It was like being stranded on a deserted island with only one familiar face to keep me from going completely bonkers. And when the constant nagging from my dear old mom became too much to bear, I packed my bags and set sail for the shores of independence, guided by the wise counsel of my therapist. Because nothing says "I'm an adult" quite like fleeing the nest to escape the clutches of maternal tyranny.

"Are you bullying my sister, Mrs. Jung?" A gentle voice interrupted before I could politely decline the senior nurse's offer for the umpteenth time. My sister, Soojin, stepped in with her signature grin, radiating beauty amidst the chaos of the ED. She draped her arm around my shoulder, and for a moment, I forgot about the smell of disinfectant and bodily fluids lingering in the air.

"I'll cook something for you too, Doc," Mrs. Jung chimed in, her eyes twinkling mischievously. Then came the kicker: "But the wagyu beef is only for Sooyoung because she's my favorite."

I chuckled, appreciating Mrs. Jung's playful banter. She was like the mother I never had—warm, caring, and accepting of everyone.

"I just wanted to spare my sweet little sister from working so many hours," Soojin quipped, feigning hurt with a dramatic gasp. She turned to me, her eyes shining with naive and innocence, and added, "Besides, mom wants to see you soon."

My blood turned to ice at the mention of mom, and I almost thought I would go into vasovagal shock. I quickly wriggled out of Soojin's grasp, seizing Mrs. Jung's hands in mine.

"I'll do it. Give me that double shift. Now!" I blurted out, already mentally preparing myself for the impending doom of a family gathering.

It didn't take long for the clock to strike 3 am, the witching hour in the ER where chaos reigned supreme. Time seemed to pass surprisingly quickly, almost as if it were trying to escape the madness. The trauma call involving the intoxicated man on bed 9 had been a whirlwind of profanity and flailing limbs, leaving me with a few new bruises to add to my collection. As I massaged my wrist, nursing the blue handprints left by the man's iron grip, a sudden interruption broke the monotony of the night.

A cup of iced tea materialized before me, as if by magic, accompanied by Mrs. Jung's apologetic expression. It was a gesture of peace in the midst of the battlefield, a fleeting moment of calm before the storm.

"Here, sweetheart," Mrs. Jung said, her voice tinged with sympathy as she placed the cup in front of me. "You look like you could use a break."

I raised an eyebrow, eyeing the iced tea warily.

"Is this your way of apologizing for throwing me to the wolves on bed 9?" I quipped, only half-joking.

Mrs. Jung chuckled, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. "Consider it a peace offering. And besides, it's decaf."

I smiled at her, thanking her for the drink. As I savored the cool respite of the iced tea, I couldn't help but marvel at Mrs. Jung's uncanny ability to appear just when I needed her most. Despite the chaos of the night, her presence brought a sense of calm, like a beacon of warmth in the midst of a storm.

"Thanks, Mrs. Jung," I said gratefully, taking a long sip of the refreshing beverage. The icy liquid washed away the fatigue that had settled in my bones, offering a brief reprieve from the demands of the night shift. Mrs. Jung smiled sympathetically, her eyes reflecting the weariness we all felt but refused to succumb to.

"You're welcome, sweetheart. You've been working tirelessly tonight," she said softly, her words a gentle reminder of the dedication that bound us together as healthcare professionals. I nodded, feeling a surge of gratitude for the older woman. In moments like these, amidst the chaos and the exhaustion, it was the small gestures of kindness that kept me going, reminding me that we were never alone in the battle to heal and comfort those in need. A sudden sound of a phone going off almost makes me jump, and Mrs. Jung was quick to answer, "Oh? Alright, no problem. Thanks, Doc."

Her hand migrated to her nose bridge, pinching it in frustration, as if bracing herself for the chaos that inevitably followed these calls. With a resigned look, she turned her attention back to me. "Sooyoung, how about you take on bed 7? It's just a minor trauma call. Twenty-seven-year-old male, X-rays are clear. He's only in need of some TLC for his wounds."

I can't help but smirk at the timing. "Sure thing, Mrs. Jung. A 27-year-old male with clear X-Rays? Sounds like someone's been attempting some late-night acrobatics without a safety net," I quip, earning a chuckle from Mrs. Jung.

"You never know what kind of trouble these young bucks get themselves into," she replies with a knowing grin, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "But it looks like you've got this one covered, Sooyoung. Go work your magic."

Walking across the emergency room, I arrived in front of bed 7 while scanning the patient's charts in my hands. Male, born on the 22nd of October 1996, no significant medical history. Labs checked out, and as reported, there were no broken bones, just a few scrapes and bruises. As I was about to draw back the curtains, I catch sight of the patient's name: Kim Hanbin. My eyebrows shoot up, and a pang of familiarity hits me like a spicy jalapeño.

My mind raced back to memories of a certain Kim Hanbin, a name that seemed to echo through the halls of my past like a catchy tune you can't quite shake. The memory sends a shiver down my spine, but not in a good way. My heart started to race, and suddenly the air felt thick with tension, like a scene from a suspense thriller. I take a deep breath and brace myself before pulling the curtains aside, steeling myself to face whatever mess awaited me on the other side.

And there he was, Kim Hanbin, looking just a tad larger and older than the memory I had tucked away in the back of my mind. His eyes flicked up from his lap, and I found myself staring at a face that had seen better days. Lip split, eyebrow sporting a cut, cheeks with a touch of bruising, and both hands wrapped in bandages – he was a walking advertisement for the hazards of late-night escapades. Honestly, he looked like he'd gone ten rounds with a bulldozer and lost, his face sporting more bruises than a peach dropped on a marble floor. It was a sight to behold, really. I couldn't help but marvel at the sight, a twisted sort of satisfaction bubbling up inside me. It was like watching the universe hand out justice on a silver platter, with Hanbin as the unwitting recipient. I briefly entertained the thought of taking a snapshot and sending it to all those high school tormentors with a cheeky caption: "Karma finally caught up, didn't it?"

But before I could indulge in my own private victory dance, Hanbin's gaze met mine, and any sense of triumph was quickly replaced by an unsettling twist in my gut. There was something different in his eyes, a vulnerability that I hadn't anticipated. It was like seeing a tiger with a thorn in its paw – still dangerous, but somehow softer around the edges. I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders, preparing to face whatever sparring match he had in store for me. But as I opened my mouth to speak, all that came out was a strangled noise that sounded suspiciously like a dying cat. Smooth, Sooyoung, real smooth. 

At the sound of my pathetic attempt at speech, his eyes widened, as if a light bulb had suddenly flickered to life in his mind. I cleared my throat, trying to regain some semblance of composure before pressing on.

"Mr. B.I," I start, remembering the name he used to call himself, and I could almost see him wince, grimacing at the sound of it, as if the memory of his old moniker stung like rubbing salt in a wound.

"Hanbin." he interrupts, his voice a little softer than I remembered, almost as if he's trying to distance himself from his former persona. He looks away awkwardly, as if embarrassed by the reminder of his past, "Call me Hanbin."

I clear my throat once more, somehow impressed by his newfound humilty, "Alright, Mr. Kim Hanbin, your X-rays are fine meaning you have no broken bones, and your vitals are stable. But I'll still need to clean up your wounds before I can send you home."

He nods, eyeing the medical supplies with a mix of apprehension and resignation. I can't help but feel a pang of sympathy for the guy. After all, who hasn't had a rough night out that ended in an unexpected trip to the ER? Closing my eyes briefly, I sighed inwardly to myself. This was no time to act dramatically over something that had happened in the past, Sooyoung. I shake my head, reminding myself of all the other cases I had faced in my years as a nurse that had been way more psychologically and physically challenging than this. Just treat him like any other patient, I think to myself like a mantra. 

"So, Mr. Kim," I began, attempting to establish rapport as I settled into the chair beside his bed. As I reached for his hand to begin removing the gauze, I felt a slight jerk, almost as if he hadn't expected the contact. His hands were surprisingly large compared to mine, and they radiated warmth, causing me to pause for a moment to admire their size.With gentle precision, I carefully unwound the gauze, revealing the extent of the injuries beneath. His knuckles were bruised and swollen, evidence of a recent scuffle. Suppressing a sigh, I couldn't help but wonder what kind of trouble he had managed to find himself in this time.

"What kind of fight have you been engaging in tonight?" I inquired, my tone a mixture of professional concern and genuine curiosity. As I inspected the wounds for any abnormalities, I couldn't shake the feeling of deja vu that washed over me. It was as if history was repeating itself, and I found myself reluctantly drawn back into a world I had tried so hard to leave behind. The sound of a low murmur made me glance up at him, observing as he averted his gaze, his jaw visibly clenched. I furrowed my eyebrows, trying to catch his words over the bustling noise of the ER. "Pardon? I didn't quite catch that."

"I wasn't in a fight," Hanbin repeated, this time with more emphasis, ensuring I heard him loud and clear. His eyes met mine, conveying a silent plea for understanding amidst the chaos of the emergency room. I mentally kicked myself for jumping to conclusions, a mistake unbecoming of a seasoned nurse. As I prepared to offer my apology for the assumption, Hanbin interjected with an unexpected twist. "I fell from a tree."

"Sorry?" I couldn't help but blurt out incredulously, barely able to contain a snort at the mental image of a 27-year-old man scaling a tree in the dead of night in the heart of Seoul. I pursed my lips, cautiously proceeding, "Have you been drinking tonight? Or... taken any drugs?"

At that, Hanbin's eyes widened, staring at me with a mixture of surprise and disbelief as he vigorously shook his head, causing him to wince in pain. "There was a cat in the tree, so I climbed to help it but..."

His voice trailed off, a hint of embarrassment coloring his cheeks as he realized the absurdity of his predicament. As I continued to gaze at him with a mixture of amusement and disbelief, he slumped back against the bed with a defeated sigh, "Nevermind."

I simply nodded, deciding not to pry further into the details. With practiced efficiency, I completed the task of cleaning and dressing his wounds, ensuring they were snugly packed in fresh, clean bandages. Taking my gloves off, I exhaled, as if trying to exhaust the inhaled tension between us, briefly catching his eyes harden at the sight of my bruised wrist, "There you go. As for the facial injuries, I'll get the doctor to prescribe you some ointment."

"If you feel dizzy or sick in the next hours, call the ambulance immedi-" I adviced, only for him to suddenly sit up, grabbing my hands in his own and held it up to look at them closely. But his hands weren't rough, like how I remembered that one time in the past, but rather soft as if careful

not to hurt me. 

"Did you get hurt?" Hanbin interrupts lowly, voice, tinged with an inexplicable darkness, pierced through the quiet, leaving me momentarily speechless and unsure of how to respond. I attempted to pull my hand away, startled by the unexpected turn of events, but found it firmly held in place by Hanbin's grip, strangely gentle yet unyielding. His gaze, intense and searching, bore into mine, his dark locks framing his face like a veil of mystery. His other hand reached up to my wrist, fingers carefully caressing the marks. Caught off guard by his unsettling demeanor, I struggled to find the right words, my mouth opening and closing soundlessly as I wrestled with conflicting emotions. Hanbin's touch on my wrist sent a shiver down my spine, his fingers tracing the faint marks left behind by the encounter with the intoxicated patient. Despite my efforts to maintain composure, a sense of unease crept over me, mingling with the palpable tension in the room.

"Mr. Kim," I managed to utter calmly, my voice a fragile anchor amidst the swirling uncertainty. As Hanbin's eyes widened with realization, a wave of embarrassment washed over him, his features contorted with regret. With a sudden movement, he released my hand, turning away to conceal his discomfort. The weight of our awkward exchange hung heavily between us, casting a shadow over the otherwise sterile surroundings.

In the aftermath of Hanbin's abrupt behavior, I sought refuge in the familiar routine of tidying up the medical supplies, my movements purposeful yet tinged with unease. Hanbin, meanwhile, remained lost in his thoughts, his attempts to avert his gaze betraying the turmoil brewing beneath the surface. The silence stretched on, punctuated only by the soft sounds of medical equipment.

"I'm sorry," Hanbin's voice breaks the tense silence, his tone low, but sincere and earnest. I look up from the equipment I was throwing away, his eyes, once filled with darkness, now softened with remorse as he meets my gaze, a silent plea for forgiveness lingering in their depths. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. It was... inappropriate."

As Hanbin's apology hung in the air, I felt a wave of tension ebb away, replaced by a glimmer of understanding. His sincerity, though unexpected, spoke volumes, and I found myself nodding in acknowledgment, a small smile tugging at the corners of my lips. He jumps from the bed, putting his jacket on, before he giving me a small bow.

"I'll take my leave now," he announced, his voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability that hadn't been there before.

"Stay safe, Mr. Kim," I replied, watching as he winced slightly, a flicker of something crossing his features—disappointment, perhaps? As he turned to leave, his gaze met mine once more, and I caught a glimpse of something in his eyes—something hopeful, almost pleading. 

"Thank you," Hanbin said softly, his words lingering in the air like a whisper of possibility. As his next words sent a subtle yet palpable ripple through the atmosphere, I felt a curious sensation flutter in the depths of my chest. It was a peculiar feeling, unfamiliar yet strangely gentle. For this was the first time I had heard him speak my name. 

"I'll see you around, Sooyoung."