two of twelve

 Kim Junmyeon is the perfect example of a prodigal daughter, useless, reckless. Her whole life is, crudely put, a hot mess and it’s like she’s holding everything together with the thinnest thread.  

She has a rebellious streak, one that is dangerous enough to send warning signals blaring miles on end, she’s a juvenile who’s old enough not to act like one but fails to do so. So, here she is, with an average IQ of a hundred and ninety – which technically puts her at Albert Einstein’s level of intelligence – and feeling so incredibly useless. Junmyeon is fluent in Korean, Cantonese, Mandarin, English, Spanish, French, Italian, Dutch, Russian, German, Japanese, hell name it, she probably speaks it.

Mathematics, what used to be her favorite, is child’s play and she could probably solve a Millennium Problem by now if it weren’t for her crippling laziness.

 She’s diagnosed with clinical anxiety and deep inside, she knows she is more than sad. Junmyeon didn’t need a therapist to rub it in her face just how ed up her whole life is. Generally, she has long accepted that she’s never going to be anything more despite her inherent brilliance. Her parents had clipped her wings long before she even learned to fly.

Maybe that’s why she continues to indulge in the Math department’s little game of answer the problem, since it gave her purpose. Honestly the problems were all laughably easy to her and she wishes she isn’t so ing intelligent because she swears to the deities, more than half of the time she feels like going out of her mind.

See, Junmyeon had mastered differential equations at twelve, and by the time she was fifteen years old, she could have probably coached students better than seasoned professors.

But the thing is, Junmyeon never loved math from the get go. She was eight when a cousin left a college level calculus textbook in her home and Junmyeon remembered being so fascinated about the damn figures on the books, not the numbers, but the figures. She wanted to know what those meant and it never bothered her that she was reading and thoroughly understanding a subject that even twenty-something-year olds cannot.

The figures, those damned figures.

Her parents discovered of course. They had a genius in the family and consequently that equaled into cutting off Junmyeon’s childhood because apparently, fun is an obsolete concept for geniuses, regardless of the fact that said genius is merely nine years old.

By the time she was ten, Junmyeon was shipped to the UK to attend a school for ‘gifted children’, or for kids whose entitled families pay enough to have a so-called ‘genius’ for the sake of societal arrogance. It’s a good thing to brag about abnormal intelligence when it’s natural. It’s a sham.

Those years had been completely and utterly miserable.

 Junmyeon had been forcibly fed, doctorate level physics, chemistry and mathematics. Throw in some prized mysteries in there and it was good to go. Junmyeon breezed through everything. It was all so easy.

But her mind slowly started to devour her being from the inside. She had no identity, she was just Kim Junmyeon, heiress to the powerful Kim Mixed Industries with an IQ that could be pitted against history’s most brilliant people.

She was Kim Junmyeon, and she had no ing idea what she would do with her brain, she had no idea what she wants to be, she didn’t even know herself.

At sixteen, after completing advanced cram school for abnormally intelligent people, she was sent to MIT. Junmyeon studied more mathematics and a crapload about energy and engineering, worked with a bunch of people to light up a portion of Zimbabwe and consequently went half-insane.

Ironically, she knew too much about everything and anyone else and knew nothing about herself. She had and she still has no passion, no drive, no ambition, no goals, no everything. It’s difficult to be born with a metaphorical gold spoon metaphorically shoved in one’s mouth. With too much money and a full-blown business empire under the palm of her hand, Junmyeon will live a lavish life for the next two hundred lifetimes.

And that’s just grand…and terrible.

Pardon her, people are starving and she exists to complain about her out-of-this-world intelligence and her money but then again, everyone has their own set of demons and Junmyeon, regardless of her wealth, is also fighting her own.

By nineteen, she flies back to her native South Korea, much to her parents chagrined horror, and easily breezed into Seoul National University.

She studies finance (out of boredom, and after bargaining with her parents) but attends more lectures in the liberal arts department. She’s probably woefully disrespected and shamed half of the academic staff in less than a year. They all end up running with their tail between their legs at the slightest provocation and it used to be amusing, now it’s quite irritating.

Then here comes the math department’s monthly challenges.

She answered one in a whim, it was abstract algebra, one of the many hodgepodges she first learned at her previous boarding school in the UK. Basic, easy as breathing. 

The next morning, she’s officially SNU’s Will Hunting. And she laughed because it was all so amusing. Engineering majors talked about her like she’s the next best thing after sliced bread. Hilarious.

She liked the anonymity though, and for the next three years she will answer more and more complex problems without anyone knowing, that until she meets handsome-as- hero for the third time.

Junmyeon stares at the whiteboard, it’s a partial differential equation this time.

“You have got to be kidding me.” Junmyeon says, as she stands on an unused stool. The answer to the problem comes easy, figures, numbers and symbols are written in black against white. She doesn’t even have to think too much.

“Basic.” Junmyeon mutters as she recaps the marker. Someone chuckles from behind her. The sound surprises her half out her wits and when she turns around, she loses footing and the stool collapses. Junmyeon shouts and the man she falls over groans in pain.

Wu Yifan. The name comes to her at the sight of the him. Wu Yifan looked rather handsome in his turquoise scrub suit.

“That hurts.” Yifan tells her. Junmyeon scrambles to help him up.

 She regrets wearing her pajamas out, but it has cute panda patterns all over and Junmyeon cannot resist pandas.

“I’m sorry.” She chuckles while Yifan rids his scrub suit of nonexistent dust. “So now, I’m completely busted huh?”

The man shrugs. He’s staring at the whiteboard, expression as awed as everyone else. Junmyeon wonders if people really find mathematics deplorable that even someone like Yifan is fascinated by it.

“So, you’re the one who’s been answering these problems?”

“Yeah, it’s a small game I play with the math department.”

Yifan chuckles at her. “You’re the genius, huh?”

“Far from it.” Junmyeon is not, in anyway, humble bragging. She’s not a genius, if she is, then she would have made the universe a better place. But the world is still ed up and no ounce of Junmyeon’s so-called genius would help alleviate even the littlest of its problems.

She’s not a genius.

“Surprising.” Yifan later says.

Junmyeon rolls her eyes. “I happen to like the anonymity. Also, I know you’re the mystery pianist at the old music hall. I bet you like your alone time, wouldn’t be fun if people starts pouring in, right?”

Yifan merely smiles. “I guess we have a deal then.”

~*~

Behavioral finance kills Junmyeon on a weekly basis.

It has got to be the most mind numbing subject Junmyeon has been forced to listen to – the complete torture of a nine am lecture is an unnecessary cruelty – she also cannot quite remember just how many times she’s cut it for the current semester alone. Junmyeon thinks she’s either going to die out of boredom or she’ll end up falling on a blunt pencil and stab herself to death.

Sometimes she wonders why she even returned to school in the first place. She’s back in her homeland, fermenting like a goddamned kimchi and her beloved younger brother is having the time of his life in Harvard studying with his definitely-not-just-best-friend, Jung Soojung.

MIT was bad. She convinces herself. Engineering had been boring and she’s loads better at numbers and consequently, money, anyway.

Really Junmyeon, really?

Frankly, she would have loved to attend something less mind numbing than behavioral finance soon. Hell, she’ll retake Socratic Philosophy if given the chance.

“Miss Kim.”

Junmyeon sighs.

Here we go again.

Junmyeon stares at the old man pacing the front of the lecture hall and sighs. “Yes, professor Cho?”

The old man is red in the face, as usual. Junmyeon’s disinterest always seemed to spike his blood pressure into unthinkable heights.

“If you’re not going to listen, then you might as well get out of my classroom.”

Junmyeon shrugs, “I can do that, but then you’ll deliberately flunk me and if I flunk, we’re going to see each other again next semester. Do you really want that to happen, professor? Are you that fond of me?”

“Get out!” The man bellows as he allows a whiteboard marker to sail towards Junmyeon’s general direction. “Get out of my classroom.”

 Junmyeon gathers her things, smiling when she strides out the lecture hall. She idly hopes Cho won’t go into cardiac arrest or something or she’s never going to hear the end of it.

What the actual am I doing with my life?

Thirty minutes after the whole debacle, Junmyeon is leaning against her Ducati and idly twisting an irregular Rubik’s cube with her fingers. At least the puzzles are a lesser snooze fest than finance lectures.

She’s chewing a bunch of pineapple flavored fruit rolls – pineapples are her favorite – when she sees a familiar medical student saunter out of SNU’s main allied health building. Yifan is wearing a white coat under plainclothes. The white coat sits nicely on his broad shoulders; makes him look like the dignified public servant that he will be soon.

As Junmyeon watches him remove his coat, she kind of regrets the fact that she had been so wasted the first time she’d met him. Because damn, Yifan looked like he would have been an amazing one night stand.

The man finally exits the campus’ premises and Junmyeon decides to – since she doesn’t have anything better to do anyway – follow him. She puts on her helmet, mounts her Ducati and surreptitiously trails Yifan’s silver, Kia sedan. She passively thinks that her behavior is borderline stalker but she honestly doesn’t give a .

Junmyeon follows the man into the business district and she starts feeling wary as the looming building of her family’s headquarters starts to be seen in all its fifty-five floors monstrosity. Sometimes, Junmyeon thinks the Kim Industries’ main Korean branch is too much of an extravagance. But then again, the conglomerate employs around thirteen thousand people in this country alone, maybe all that space is justified.

 Yifan is going on a date, Junmyeon deduces when he sees the man exit his vehicle only to return minutes later with a large bouquet of yellow tulips. But Yifan doesn’t park in front of any place that’s suitable for a date but instead he disembarks in front of a clearly ancient but well-maintained building.

By the looks of it, the place is a hospice and it’s an absolute oddity in the midst of sprawling chrome monoliths and extravagant restaurants in the business district. Junmyeon stands by her motorbike and muses for all three seconds if she’s going to follow Yifan inside or not. In the end, she shrugs and chooses the latter.

A few pairs of eyes are immediately on her the moment she steps into the brightly painted establishment. She sticks out like a sore thumb in her all black clothing, and platinum hair.

Junmyeon approaches the receptionist who gives her a discreet once over before giving her a small, subdued smile. “How may I help you today, ma’am?”

There’s a poster behind the receptionist that asks for volunteers so Junmyeon inwardly shrugs, tries to smile and says. “I’m here for the volunteering thing you have going on?”

The receptionist looks like she’s trying very hard not to cringe. Junmyeon’s dressed so very inappropriately, not exactly trying to match the mood of the entire hospice and she’s definitely not looking forward on meeting anyone who’s near death either.

But she’s very curious as to what Yifan could be doing in such a place.

The receptionist chuckles nervously. “Oh okay, follow me please.”

Junmyeon is led in a sort of wide playroom divided in the middle with a frosted glass wall. A bunch of storybooks are dumped on her by the receptionist with quick instructions to read something to the kids. Junmyeon nods dumbly.

She’s about to go stalk Yifan when sick looking children begin pouring inside the room. They’re all wheel-chair bound, some look fine and some do not. Junmyeon begins to feel sick.

A nurse wearing soft purple scrub suit pads into the playroom with a bright smile on his face.

“Hi, so you’re the volunteer today?”

Junmyeon nods, “Uh yeah, but I’m actually not sure if I can do this.”

The nurse smiles. “Don’t worry about it. I’m here to help. My name’s Yixing, you are?”

“Junmyeon.”

Yixing turns to the expectant children and says quite cheerfully. “Okay everyone, this is Junmyeon and she will be reading us a story today.”

Junmyeon is still very much horrified with what she’s seeing but she forces another smile to alleviate some of the dread that’s twisting her gut. She picks a random book and tries to be very engaging when she reads.

She reads the children a lighthearted story, something about the sun and flowers being friends. They seem happy, smiling at her despite their apparent suffering. Junmyeon wonders if these kids are aware that they’re dying soon.

She feels incredibly vulnerable, helpless and useless.

When the children are escorted back into their rooms, Junmyeon wipes the smile off her face. She manages to steady herself before she falls towards the floor. Her head aches so much.

“Hey,” Yixing takes the book from her grasp and steadies her. Junmyeon’s chokes on her tears.

“What the actual .” Junmyeon hisses, forcefully wiping the trail of salty liquid leaking from her eyes. “I didn’t sign up for that. What the hell?!”

“Junmyeon-ssi, are you alright?”

Junmyeon glares at the poor nurse and she feels bad for venting about the consequences of her curiosity to someone who really does not need more emotional exhaustion.

“No .” Junmyeon says, exhaling. “I feel terrible. I just wanted to know what Wu Yifan is doing in this kind of place and now I feel so terrible.”

Yixing gently smiles at her, something about the nurse’s smile is calming, almost healing. It placates her.

“It’s okay Junmyeon-ssi. It happens to some of our volunteers. Do you want coffee, tea, anything?”

Junmyeon shakes her head. “I’m sorry. Jesus, I’m so emotionally ed. I’m really sorry about that Yixing.”

Yixing nods, “You mentioned Doc Wu? He’s still a student as far as I’m concerned, but he’s been one of our volunteer palliative doctors for three years now. He’s a good man, you wanted to see him?”

“No, I just…” Junmyeon massages her temples, this is beginning to become such a bad decision. “Yes, I’d like to see him. But can you not tell him that someone’s here looking for him. I kinda stalked him you see, please don’t be weirded out. I know him from school.”

Yixing is thoroughly confused but like the actual angel that he is, he doesn’t ask more questions.

“Doc Wu usually does his rounds on Thursdays. He doesn’t really do much, but he has a knack with patients. Some of them really like seeing him around. They tell me Doc Wu makes them feel better.”

“Interesting.” Junmyeon says.

“Here we are.” Yixing announces when they reach another portioned space. “Our patients here are a bit older than the other wing. Doc Wu is stationed here today, you’re probably going to see him soon.”

“Thanks, Yixing-ssi.”

Yixing shoots her one more smile before leaving the hall. Junmyeon wants to peek inside the portioned area but the frosted glass reaches the ceiling.

Just as she’s approaching the nearest bench to take a seat, Yifan rounds the corner, brisk walking towards the portioned area. He’s wearing his turquoise scrub suit this time. The bags under his eyes do not make him any less handsome than the first time Junmyeon had seen him.

Wu Yifan is such a gorgeous doctor, as far as Junmyeon is concerned.

When Yifan is near her, Junmyeon gets a magazine from the coffee table and hides her face behind it. She feels silly and mentally berates herself for it.

Yifan finally enters the portioned-off wing. Junmyeon quits being a fool and puts the magazine down. She quietly laughs for her stupidity and for what she just did. Hiding your face behind a magazine? Really Junmyeon, really?

She notices that the sliding door to the area is slightly opened. Junmyeon’s level of creepiness, rises, when she allows herself to peek. There isn’t anything surprising behind the frosted glass wall except more people who’ve acknowledged their relative end, and Yifan who’s approaching everyone from one bed to the next. Junmyeon hears him ask routine health related questions and there’s nothing really surprising with that.

Yifan’s whole face changes when he allows a grin to grace his otherwise steely expression. He looks more approachable somehow. It’s enthralling to watch him listen to his patients and ask about their lives, like their families or how their business is doing. He deals with people like they aren’t dancing towards the end of their lives.

That’s noble of him. For one, Junmyeon is sure that Yifan is completely aware that any minute now, one of his patients could abruptly pass away. It’s heroic to be there for them, to be close to these people despite an awareness that they could easily slip away from his life like they hadn’t been there at all.

Junmyeon doesn’t like being subjected to such emotionally exhausting situations. It takes a special kind of courage to face people who’ve accepted their deaths and act like everything is completely fine, for their sake. Junmyeon respects Wu Yifan for that.

She’s convinced that he’s a rather amazing person.

When Junmyeon leaves the hospice, she asks Yixing about things she could bring for everyone the next time she visits. Junmyeon also tells herself to wear something that didn’t involve rips on her skinny jeans and a leather jacket.

Wu Yifan fascinates him, that’s for sure and Junmyeon tends to gravitate towards everything that fascinates her.

just a note. the titles are all either surgical terminologies or math related something. 

sorry for the boring chap lolz