i. 

 

Mia thinks she lost enough blood to worry when the curtains are drawn and the resident walks in to introduce himself. The cut on her palm wasn't deep but the nurse at triage agreed with her sister that she'd need stitches and tetanus shots. It had been a busy night at the restaurant and with the sudden influx of guests she might have forgotten caution in favor of efficiency and one thing led to another and next she knew, the knife was against her palm instead of the fish on the cutting board. Her staff had fussed, and then her sister was insisting that she drive to the hospital while she takes over and between trying to drive, ignoring the throbbing on her palm and on the towel to keep from bleeding, she didn't have time to think on things again until she finds herself sitting on one of the ER beds, awaiting the doctor who would stitch her up.

The towel had been discarded earlier following the nurse's quite thorough cleaning of the cut. She had bled while being cleaned, and even her dressing now was getting a bit soaked already. Her hand was starting between a throb and numb and she was in the middle of wondering how long the wound would heal before she could get back to the kitchens when the curtain was drawn.

Choi Siwon, M.D. || Emergency Medicine, his coat read.

Her next thoughts flashed in quite impressive succession she was sure it was the reason for her lightheadedness. Dr. Choi is a tall, lithe gorgeous specimen of a man who smells really nice and has a dimpled smile worthy of sinning. His voice reminds her of coffee and cinnamon - a combination that's smooth and almost intoxicating. There's no ring on the left or right hand, which somehow makes her want to smile a bit more than appropriate. He has big hands though. He clicks the retractable pen to scribble something on the chart and Mia has fleeting thought of big hands on bare skin, firm and gentle, rough and bruising and - .

Maybe she does need a transfusion.

"You okay, Miss.." His eyes flit to the chart for her name, "Kim?"

"Yeah," she nods, finding suddenly dry.

"Tell me if it's uncomfortable, we could follow-up a dose of pain reliever for you." He looks at her hand, the chart laid by her thigh along with his stethoscope and bundle of keys, small flashlight and name stamp. "May I have a look?"

She offered her hand and let him explore her cut. He had come closer and with the added degree of his scent, proximity and the actual feel of his big soft hands on her skin, she did not trust her voice to make a respectable sound at the moment. She heard his assurance that the procedure would take no more than 15 minutes, she'd need antibiotics, keep the sutures dry and that she'd have to come back after a week to remove stitches.

She manages an Okay and sits there with her hand on his gloved ones, watching as he cleans the cut again with liquid soap and iodine. When she flinches, his masked face looks at her (wow, that's close) and she blames his suddenly crinkled eyes and the soothing brush of his thumb on her palm for her difficulty of breathing.

He apologizes and she nods again, lips pursed in a conscious attempt because you know, it’s hard to talk when Dr. Gorgeous is so close and there's lack of air and his scent is all over them and all. Mia wishes she can manage not to embarrass herself before this ordeal ends.

Dr. Choi's bedside manners is comforting to an extent, considering he was methodically pushing and pulling a needle through her skin. Thank goodness she does not get queasy with things like this. Conversation is surprisingly easy and by the time he's almost done, they know they're both from Incheon, he's covering for a colleague whose wife went to labor, her family owns Bridgepost, she works there as a chef, he attended medical school in Asan, she took culinary classes in London, he's been there on vacation and wants to come back and they both prefer tea over coffee.

She laughs when he confesses that Iron Chef and explosive tempers are the first on his mind when chefs are the topic. But then he tells her in that voice that his thoughts might have changed due to certain events and there's nothing she could do to keep the flush of her cheeks from coming.

He flashes her that sin-worthy smile when he finishes dressing her wound, and she hopes it's not just a post-suturing effect that she thinks his hand lingers on hers before setting it down on her lap. Sometime later he gives her a prescription for pain medication and antibiotics, and instructs her on wound care before giving her a schedule of a surgeon to follow-up with. Dr. Choi tells her to be careful of knives next time and her invitation to stop by the restaurant some time for a meal where knives are put to good and proper use is happily accepted.

She smiles back when he waves and goes to her car. There's a different kind of sensation on her hand now, and as she stops by a red light a block from home, Mia realizes it's not pain. It's actually a warm little tingle.

 

ii.

 

The next she sees him is in the same cubicle, three days later. He lifts an amused eyebrow at her and she sheepishly raises her other hand to him this time. Linear marks were bleeding on both sides and a nasty bite wound courtesy of their house cat, Snow, was on the outer side of her thumb.

"I pulled the cat from under the couch."

"That lonely, huh?" She actually jerked her hand back and he laughed at her playful glare.

"Okay, I'm sorry. Come on, let me see that again."

"The cat was stuck and my nephew was crying so I had to do something." She petulantly explained, obediently turning her hand over for inspection. "I didn’t think he'd go all hellion on me."

He grinned at her muttering, and she found some of her irritation dissipate. It's been steadily declining when he stepped into the cubicle earlier but she wasn't going to admit that.

"How did you pull it out anyway? These are nasty," he remarks, prodding at the wound gently.

"He was facing away so I had to hold the tail. Before I could grab his neck he turned and attacked my hand."

Dr. Choi shook his head, looking truly upset at the state of her hand. The cute little frown on his face told her as much. She didn’t understand the sudden need to placate him but she heard herself say,

"It's not that bad. I mean, it would heal eventually. Right?"

He nods, "You're still going to need shots. Are you taking the antibiotics on schedule?"

She watched him lift his head and look at her, and from the proximity she tries and fails to ignore the slight dent on his cheeks formed at the pursing of those well-curved lips. She bites the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. He's so good to look at it makes her giddy. Like a high schooler with a first time crush. Mia hums an Mmhm.

As before, he works methodically but keeps a steady stream of interesting talk that before long has her telling him about the dogs she owned before (turns out they both prefer canines over felines, which is good) and the one she wanted ever since (a Great Dane). He tells her about Bugsy, his four-year-old French bulldog, even shows a wallpaper of him on his phone. Mia gushes that he's adorable, the phone on her other previously cut hand, and misses the way his eyes had taken a soft look watching her. She wouldn't know that the smile following her compliment was because of her, and not much of their shared interest in dogs.

He walks her to the door because it's time to get the obligatory cup of coffee for his night shift. She waves with two dressed hands and slips into his car. If she passes