nine of twelve 

He’d seen her.

It’s like Yifan walked into a dream – an image so clear it was probably a midday hallucination. He’d thought it was merely a product of the soul deep exhaustion he’d felt but it wasn’t like that. She hadn’t been a figment of his imagination and how he wished it wasn’t so.

In reality, only a few yards’ worth of manicured lawn separated him from Kim Junmyeon. The same woman who practically tore him to pieces and poisoned his heart. After all these years of trying to move on, Yifan never expected this kind of reaction.

He hates himself for it, for the anger, resentment and longing all mixed up into the oddest concoction of what he called a feeling. Junmyeon easily tore down his walls. He feels weak all of a sudden.

She changed so much, the clothes she wears screams of money from top to bottom. The long red hair that Yifan loved is gone, replaced by a short bob, black as night and symmetrical. It’s sophisticated and so, so, unfamiliar it almost ached. 

Yifan could barely recognize the woman he orbited around. He double thinks and concludes that maybe he never really knew Junmyeon at all. She came into his life like a hurricane wrapped in the prettiest package, with a ribbon made of elaborate lies.

She really was something else. And Yifan loved her, oh god how he loved her. And she left, she left without a word goodbye.

It must have been pitiful to think that she loved him more than a passing body, more than a replacement for someone that hadn’t been there.

It still hurt, but Yifan’s not angry anymore. After all, he could never really be angry when it comes to Kim Junmyeon.

It was her, it is her, and maybe it’ll still be her. The heart loves who it loves, always.

“Chief Wu?”

Yifan tears his gaze away. In front of him stands the ever pretty Doctor Song Qian, one of his talented juniors in neurosurgery and Yifan’s on and off fling for the last three years. Song Qian’s a rebound from the catastrophe that was Kim Junmyeon – Yifan hates himself for that.

“Song.” He tries to smile at her, eyes passively wandering to where Junmyeon once stood. She’s gone; Yifan feels bereft all of a sudden. “You got something new?”

The female doctor hands him a chart which contains more medical information all summarized in bullet points. Yifan nods concisely, “Good. Maybe you can take Hana back to her room. I’ll run this with the team. You follow right after.”

Qian nods, smiling ever so beautifully. It used to make Yifan’s heart skip a beat because she reminded him of Junmyeon, it doesn’t anymore. It hasn’t made his heart skip a beat in nearly two years. Yifan should really stop leading her on, but he’s selfish.

His head hurts and he thinks that he’s far too young to be having constant migraine attacks that start from the back of his skull and crawl over his temples. Yifan’s recently turned twenty-eight but he feels like he’s eighty-five and ready to face death.

He hates the torture that came with the job.

Yifan finished school nearly three years ago. He’d gotten over Junmyeon leaving by listening to Minseok’s suggestion and focusing on his education – writing medical papers here and there and having graduated with the highest academic honors and an award for the research he’d conducted and wrote for his dissertation. A year into residency and he’s become the youngest chief of neurosurgery after his predecessor had practically sold him to the hospital board with overwhelming words about his inherent surgical talent. “It’s great to start early!” was the older surgeon’s comment. He passed the reins onto Yifan and hightailed out of there.

Yifan thinks he was doing fine as a resident neurosurgeon – he’d travelled a lot for conferences and medical symposiums, he’s inherently brilliant with the scalpel and his patients like him and believe in his capacity to fix whatever ailment they have.

Unfortunately, his peers in the neurosurgery ward…distrust him to put it lightly. He understands the sentiment. These are wizened surgeons, old men and women who’ve acquired medical knowledge throughout the years but have never been so lucky to be handed the titular Chief of Neurosurgery like how Yifan got it. And yes, he may be talented, wise beyond his years, and somewhat built for the career path he’d chosen but he lacks experience. And in this field, more than seniority, experience is a fundamental factor for immediate promotion. Even if it’s a hospital, the hierarchy is still very political and very much based on money. One receives higher amounts of cash the higher he is on the food chain.

Yifan understands that the older surgeons may dislike the hospital board for appointing him chief, but he also completely understands the ire – or that he’s mostly the talk on the grapevine in the local medical community. He’d declined the post of course, but the board had been adamant. He’s a known face for the dissertation he wrote, and the international neurosurgery community respects him for it – the board thinks it is enough reason to put him in as Chief. So far, he’s stressed beyond belief, both from endless cases he supervises and the loathing he receives from fellow surgeons.

Recently, the board also wants him to mediate a negotiation between a bigshot conglomerate who wants to invest on healthcare and neurosurgical research. Yifan’s quite sure that he’s not just going to mediate, he’s also going to be the hospital’s spokesperson – a well-dressed, well-educated and highly paid e for another business who hides behind the guise of bettering people’s lives by them dry.

And Yifan’s tired but he’s already dedicated his life to medicine. This is his field, his calling and even if it’s vile behind the scenes, he’s still quite happy he gets to extend people’s lives. At least his existence has a purpose and even if it’s hard, he’ll have to grit his teeth and survive.

And Song Qian’s there. The younger surgeon believes in him, makes him happy in odd days. Yifan’s contented with the small things.

~*~

“Maybe we should suggest to the family about the surgery after all. You think there’s a good chance of survival if we get the tumor removed?”

Yifan quietly munches on his food – a slice of wheat bread and bland tuna – and shakes his head. “You’re telling me it’s on the brainstem. It’s too risky, we’re looking at possible post-op complications – complications we’re not even sure of the severity. But it’s a choice, that or radio and chemo, everything’s aggressive in their own ways. Wong’ll probably disagree with me, he’s going to want to push through with that surgery even if the chances of survival are low. It should be a crime to cut on a patient in that stage. We’re just going to hasten her life.”

Qian stirs her coffee, tapping away at the tablet she placed on the table. “Well, you’re the chief, you’re the boss man in this place. You should tell them, for once. I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, Chief Wu. But you need to quit letting the old timers trample all over you.”

Yifan scoffs. “Easy for you to say. You’re the freshest blood in our ward and no old timer looks at you like they want to put you on the OR table and give you unneeded craniostomy. I mean, Wong looks at me like he wants to crack my skull and resection my ing medulla or something.”

The statement makes Qian laugh. For a few minutes, they’re silent until she looks at him and smiles. “I miss you, Fan. Come over, later?”  

Yifan should have said no. At the rate they’re going, someone’s going to be attached, fall in love and be hurt – and it won’t be Yifan. Yifan’s been hurt long ago and he’s not willing to risk it anymore. He’s not a big fan of getting left behind.

But Yifan’s selfish and he gets drawn by Qian’s almost familiar smile. He agrees knowing that they’ll probably lounge in the sitting room of her apartment and languidly until the crack of dawn. Qian gets needy, but she tries to hide it. Yifan knows she’s not okay with the whole friends with benefits kind of setting, but she hasn’t said anything and Yifan’s not willing to indulge.

~*~

“I never really said anything but this whole arrangement .”

In their ward, Friday is a good day. Intense thirty-six-hour shifts finish and if there’re no extended surgeries, Yifan has the privilege to enjoy the weekend. That’s quite the only thing he appreciates about being chief, they’ve taken him down from the on-call list, so he can sleep his weekend away without getting disturbed at the middle of the night because he needs to depressurize someone’s skull.

As predicted, he’s already – they both are – on Qian’s bed. The younger doctor has her white sheets over her chest, one hand over the night stand where an overflowing ashtray sits. Yifan’s told her a million times to quit smoking but she never really listened.

“Oh.” Yifan says, thumbing the edge of his shot glass. Their session had been intense, and Qian had been so lost in pleasure she’d accidentally let slip the truth that both already know. “I’m sorry.”

Qian rakes her hair up, chuckling in a kind of self-deprecating manner. “Not your fault. God, was I damn insane? From the beginning I knew something’s bound to happen, I was gonna fall in love with you because you’re so damn perfect. Every time I see you across that OR table, it’s like my whole body’s melting. I tried to avoid it, but damn it Yifan, I can’t resist it. I can’t resist you.”

“, Qian.” Yifan sighs, “I don’t know what to say.”

Qian avoids Yifan’s gaze. “You don’t need to say anything. I know you’re never gonna look at me the way I look at you. I know that, but it’s been really hard to deal with this lately. I’m suffocating.”

Yifan firmly presses his lips together. The silence is stifling and Yifan really hates how this relationship is turning out. It’s not just Qian’s fault. It’s his too. Actually, he’s the bigger sinner for leading her on. He never really planned to take responsibility for whatever feelings he could instigate. He took and took without ever planning to give something in return.

He reaches over and grabs Qian’s forearm. “Qian, come here.”

Qian doesn’t hesitate when she crawls over and straddles him. His arms go around her waist, pulling her closer. If heartbreak could be physically felt, this was it. She’s falling apart because of him. She hides her face on the juncture between his neck and shoulder and quietly sobs.

“I’m so sorry.” Yifan whispers. Fingers gently tracing patterns on her lower back. “I’m so sorry, Qian.”

This is what it felt like when Junmyeon left. Yifan wished so badly that he could have held her even as she broke his heart. So Yifan holds Qian, maybe for the last time. She needs the touch.

“Stay.” Qian tells him, “please, Yifan.”

“Okay.”

Qian confesses for the last time as Yifan kisses her shoulder. He doesn’t say anything.

“You’re breaking me apart.” Qian whispers, her nails painfully digging into his shoulder blades. Yifan ignores the pain, holds her tighter, for consolation. “I know, Qian. I know. I’m sorry.”

He leaves early in the morning.

~*~

Another day, another migraine attack.

Yifan’s staring at the clear blue skies from Director Lee’s office and he’s two seconds from jumping right out.

He is so exhausted, physically, mentally and emotionally.

Qian had effectively put a barrier between them. They’re still very much compatible as professionals, still working as seamlessly as before. There’s no rift in the hospital, no problems in the OR but Yifan feels it, this great wall of avoidance that Qian had placed in between them.

Yifan misses her company, but he’s not going to begrudge her if she wants to avoid him. After everything that’s been said and done, this is clearly the next step towards moving on.

His migraine is on another level.

“Just be yourself. You’re brilliant everybody would love to work with you. But in the instance your charm fails, just sweet talk them into signing the deal. This would be good for the hospital – we’re talking billions here Chief Wu. Billions!”

Why does everything have to be about money?

“Doc Wu?”

The hospital director stares at him, expression carefully blank. “Were you listening to me?”

“I’m sorry Sir.” Yifan tries, the headache progressively getting worse. It now feels like his very nerves are twisting from end to end.

“You look pale, Doc Wu.”

“I’m okay, Sir. It’s just a headache.”

“Very well then. There is going to be a meeting with the representatives from Kim Mixed Industries, I want you to come with the hospital board.”

“Why me?”

“The new Chairman specifically wants to invest on neuroscientific research. And that is your field, yes. So, I want you to be there, sweep KMI off their feet with your brilliance.”

Yifan can’t think straight with the headache that’s pounding through his skull, so he just nods. The director seems happy with his coordination. They finalize a few more things then Yifan’s already leading himself out of the older man’s office. When he reaches the blessedly empty surgeon’s lounge in the Neurosurgery ward, he merely blinks before crashing upon one of the couches and blacks out.

When he comes about, the pain in his temple had faded into a dull throb. He still thanks the person who handed him his glasses though he can’t recognize anything or anyone now.

“Headache?”

Yifan vision clears when he slides his spectacles on. He sees Qian who’s poorly masking the worry in her tone.

He nods, “Yes.”

“You out this time, Chief Wu. Maybe you should get that checked.”

“I have.” Yifan brings fingers to his temples, massaging gently. Initially I thought it’s a tumor pressing onto my brain, but thankfully it’s just exhaustion. Nothing painkillers can’t fix. Don’t worry about me, Song. I’ll be fine.” 

“I’ll always worry about you.”

“Don’t do this to yourself, Qian.”

“I know, I can’t help it.” The younger surgeon hands him a pill – standard painkiller – and her own water bottle. “Please take care of yourself.”

“I try.”

She sighs, “I bumped into Director Lee earlier, told me to tell you that the meeting with KMI’s been moved to this afternoon. Maybe you should go get dressed.”

“KMI, as in Kim Mixed Industries?” Yifan must have been really out of it. He didn’t even hear the director mention about KMI.

Qian nods, “The same conglomerate that has Asia’s economy dancing on its palms, that KMI.”

“Figures. Lee mentioned the billions that came with this deal. Do you think the hospital will have my license revoked if I don’t manage to get them their money?”

“Probably not.” Qian laughs, “Maybe you’ll even get them the deal.”

“We can only hope for good things.”

Yifan changes into a cream-colored shirt under a black coat with matching pants. The reflection that greets him when he stares at himself in the mirror is quite unspeakable.

“I’m tired.”

The statement echoes within Yifan’s soul. He’s tired. He’s so, so tired.

~*~

The Kim Mixed Industries’ headquarters is the tallest building in Seoul’s business district. It’s a chrome monolith shadowing everything in the nearest vicinity with all its fifty-five floors.

Yifan really hates it.

He’s the only doctor amidst sharply dressed businessmen. Director Lee had given him a short onceover before he entered the car and if the director had something to say about his attire then Yifan apologizes. He’s too tired to do anything about it.

They’re being chaperoned into a wide conference room in the thirty-fifth floor. One side of the wall is completely made of glass, thus allowing a panoramic view of Seoul.

Yifan’s so out of it he merely stares at the scene until another group of sharply dressed people enter the room.

And there she is, standing amidst businessmen in a black and white ensemble, ebony hair gathered in a loose bun, and heels clicking against the floor. Kim Junmyeon is standing right in front of him, surprise evident on her beautiful face.

Yifan isn’t dreaming because he’s rather feeling gutted. He’s not sure what expression he has on – is it shock? Anger? Hatred? Happiness? He’s not sure and he does not want to know.

Junmyeon blinks and the expression on her fine visage shutters then neutralizes completely. It’s like she’s never seen him before this, like she hasn’t smiled and laughed and cried in his presence. Like they haven’t kissed and ed and loved each other so desperately.

I love you.

The final words she told him still haunts Yifan to this day.

 I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

It rings in his head at the dead of the night, like a broken record he couldn’t smash even if it drove him mad.

Anger, hatred – love, love, love.

Yifan wants to shout in her face, he wants her to know that after all these years it still hurt and then he wants to kiss her, kiss her so ing desperately and beg the whys.

Why did you leave?

Why did you lie?

Why did you have to tear me apart?

Why did you tell me you loved me when you never did?

“Good afternoon gentlemen.”

And just like that Yifan snaps out of his thoughts. His insides are boiling, and his headache worsens tenfold.

“Let’s get down to business, shall we?”

Yifan stares  at Kim Junmyeon throughout the initial meeting. His head is throbbing even after managing to swallow another painkiller.

After three, almost four years, she’s become unfamiliar. Hazel eyes cold and calculating, fingers tapping measuredly against the oak table. She exudes such an intimidating aura and it’s quite absurd that she never struck Yifan as someone who could intimidate. She’d been so vivid in his dreams with her maroon lips, fiery red hair, and perpetually dark clothes.

But even then, she was warm, she smiled, laughed and cried. She was a cynic with the warmest heart. She was a beautiful soul more than a pretty face.

This Junmyeon still looks the same. The last years had sharpened her, made her even more…gorgeous. But Junmyeon must have lost all the warmth she could spare. Yifan wants to know if those lips – now in a modest shade of red, professional, non-distracting – could still smile as sincerely like it had been when she covered it dark purple.

This is the Junmyeon Yifan never saw. Kim Junmyeon – billionaire and polyglot with an IQ of 190. Intimidating, ruthless, Kim Junmyeon.  

The meeting seemed endless, Yifan becomes increasingly antsy – from being in Junmyeon’s presence, headache and his soul deep exhaustion – continuously rubbing his dry palms on the cheap material of the pants he threw on.

After three hours or an eternity, Yifan’s not sure, the meeting finally ends. More kissing happens, and Yifan shakes hands with people he doesn’t really trust and tries to smile through the pounding in his skull.

He pauses, watches everyone trickle out of the room one by one. Junmyeon’s voice stops him before he could push the frosted glass door open, it effectively roots him to the spot.

“Yifan.”

He waited years to hear that voice; four years, almost half a decade, an entire lifetime.

It’s nice to hear it once again.

“I –“

And honestly, Yifan’s does not want to hear it again. It’s taken him years to move on. He’s not letting Junmyeon brings his walls down again. It’s going to cost him his life, he’s not willing to give it up.

Yifan turns around, gaze unwavering, expression carefully void of anything. “Do you need anything else?”

“I’m so sorry.”

Yifan thought he’d waited in vain to hear those words. It hadn’t been in vain, but he’s done waiting. He’d stopped for a long time now.

Junmyeon’s expression from earlier has changed. Yifan wants to believe her, wants to believe this shattered look on her face. She blinks and when she inhales, she’s merely stopping herself from crying.

Yifan wants to believe her, but this isn’t Yifan’s first rodeo. After all, once upon a time, they had been in this exact position. Yifan’s not willing to take a risk anymore.

“Can we talk?”

“I heard you wanted to fund my research,” he says, massaging his thumbs to get the blood flowing, “that’s great, I’d appreciate that a lot. I’m head of neurosurgery, that’s why they sent me here. I’m supposed to woo you in, get them the billions they want – I really shouldn’t have said anything, but you wanted to talk.”

“Yifan it’s not about – “

“If we’re not going to talk about business then what’s there to talk about?”

The air conditioning is on full blast but the chill in the room isn’t from some electric contraption blowing cool air around them. Junmyeon is quiet.

“You don’t need to explain anything. I’ve heard enough.” Yifan stares at her, “and I’ve seen enough. Let’s not waste our time by going through things that’s better left in the past.”

Yifan turns to leave but Junmyeon pitches forward to grab his arm, the touch is electric. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry, and I’ll say sorry for as long as it takes, until you forgive me.”

There’s a dull ache in his chest. “I’ve forgiven you a long, long time ago. I’m too tired Junmyeon. I don’t want to be in pain. I’m done hurting.”

Junmyeon does not stop him when he finally leaves.

~*~

Friday evenings without Qian to keep him company are for overthinking.

Yifan cures his headache with half a bottle of brandy. He’s drunk, but not too much. The alcohol gave him a nice heaviness around his head, blurred his thoughts so when he lies on his bed and stares at the ceiling, it doesn’t hurt too much.

He thinks about Junmyeon, that shattered expression on her face and her voice. God, he missed her so much. If he never learned, he would’ve succumbed to her right away. He would’ve done anything to have her back in his life.

But Yifan’s older and he likes to think that maybe, he’s also a little bit wiser.

It would have been great to pick up where they left but they’re different now, different people who lead different lives. They aren’t simply two college kids, confused like everyone else and stumbling into this elaborate scheme called love.

Jumping right into another relationship after so long, and after years of piled up emotion, they’d merely hurt each other again. If it’s for them, then it’s for them.  The universe will have to align, or some like that, and produce its miracle.

They’ll just have to wait and see.

~*~

The next time comes too soon.

“KMI’s funding a lot of orphanages and hospices in the country – it’s like the new CEO’s personal mission, somewhat – anyway, the board has agreed to volunteer with KMI. We’ve funneled a lot of money into this, hoping she’d show her enthusiasm and eventually invest with us.”

Yifan bites down the urge to strangle someone, “And what’s my role in this?” he asks instead.  His head’s still throbbing but he’s managed to deal with the pain.

“Be there. Try to show her we’re really meticulous about patient care and health in general, be as hands-on as you can.”

“Pardon me director, but what do you mean by hands on?”

“Act like you care, act like you’re doing what you’re doing because you love it and not because of your fat pay cheque.”

Yifan prefers director Lee Sanghyuk and hates the rest of the hospital board, especially the likes of director Kwon Sangwoo. He hates dealing with highly educated men who run their mouths like illiterate bastards.

But then again, hierarchy. He can’t simply topple who’s on top of the food chain.

“I understand director.”

“Great. Kim Junmyeon likes to be in Green Meadows. Word says she dropped a billion for its renovation and plans to do more for it in the future. She seems to like it.”

He smiles, “I understand. I’ll try my best director.”

“Good.”

~*~

Yifan continued to volunteer in Green Meadows until a year ago when his responsibilities started stockpiling. Patients there still call him the tall handsome doctor.

The place held so many of Yifan’s greatest and worst memories.

Nothing had changed about the place except for its people, new faces replacing those who passed away. Nurse Zhang Yixing – who’d finally married his lover of five years – is still manning the children’s ward.

“Chief Wu!”

Yifan chuckles, “Please, Xing, you’ve always called me ‘ge’ why the change?” He signs in the volunteer’s form, Junmyeon’s name is written right on top of his.

“It’d be disrespectful.” Says Yixing. Yifan shakes his head, “It’s okay, Xing. Don’t be a stranger. I’ve had enough of people calling me Chief, I feel old. One more person and I’m gonna be a fossil.”

“Maybe you are.” the nurse teases, “Kim Junmyeon walked in a few minutes ago. I haven’t seen her in years.”

“I haven’t seen her in years either.”

Like the first time she’d been here, Yifan sees Junmyeon reading to children in the cancer ward. She looks different, yes, but her enthusiasm is familiar. One child about four, enamored with the woman, climbs into her space and situates himself on her lap. Junmyeon giggles, wraps an arm around the boy and continues to read.

Yifan was wrong. Junmyeon still has enough warmth to spare. He sits on the floor, cradles his perpetually aching temples and listens to Junmyeon’s voice.