Sehun’s fingers keep going tight on the steering wheel. Slow pulses of nervousness shiver through him, tensing his muscles beyond his control. He has to keep consciously relaxing his hands as his knuckles go white, tipping his head from side to side to try and loosen his neck. He hates feeling nervous; hates that it’s a sensation beyond his control.

It’s not that he’s a nervous driver, though he doesn’t drive often, especially not out of the city. He’s on the raised Gyeongbu Expressway that swoops its way south over ancestral lands, passing tiny shantytowns, stepped paddy fields and the grassy mounds of family grave sites up on the hills as well as the broad ploughed fields and plastic greenhouses of more modern farming endeavours and the occasional cluster of grey apartment blocks in the distance. Relics of the baby boom, most of them, empty fingers clawing skeletally at the hazy blue sky.

No, driving doesn’t bother him, especially not with Jongin sitting in the passenger seat beside him to keep him awake and alert on the 4-hour drive from Seoul to Busan. It’s the reason he’s going that’s giving him butterflies in his stomach. They don’t want to stay there either, where they belong, escaping to shiver their way down his legs and arms and set his fingers twitching. Sehun has full-body butterflies. He takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. He doesn’t want to feel like this for the next four and a half hours. It’s not a pleasant feeling at all.

“Are you nervous?” Jongin looks across at him at the sound of his sigh.

“I am,” he admits. “I feel like dying. Can you tell?”

“You’re never this quiet,” Jongin says, grinning at him. “Don’t be nervous. You’ll be fine.”

“It’s not like I can just turn it off,” Sehun grumbles. “Nerves don’t listen to logic.”

Jongin gives a little sigh. “I know. It’d be nice if we could control our feelings, huh?”

Sehun shoots a brief glance at Jongin, careful not to lose track of the road. He will never forget the burning wave of fury that had rolled over him on seeing the video of the doctor Sehun will only refer to in his head as that driving his best friend to his knees. He’d nearly put a fist through the wall, scaring the dermatology intern almost out of her mind. Why Jongin, Sehun had cried internally. Of all people, why did it have to be Jongin?

Sehun feels doomed to failure when it comes to Jongin. There’s something about his best friend that makes Sehun need to protect, but he always seems to find himself a step behind. The tearful phone calls to America when they were residents would have Sehun clenching his fists so tightly his fingernails dug purple grooves into his palms, listening helplessly as Jongin’s breath choked and his voice shook on the other end of the line, ten thousand kilometres away. And now he was helpless again, fists clenched and furious, watching that drive his best friend into what Sehun recognized as the start of one of Jongin’s crippling panic attacks. Even at the memory the fury creeps back up inside him, burning away his nervousness for a moment, and his fingers go white on the steering wheel for a different reason.

Jongin seems better, though. Better than Sehun has ever really known him. Even before Sehun went off to America and failed his best friend in his time of need, even when they’d first been paired as roommates in college, he’d sensed this fragility about him, felt this instinct to protect. Even as Jongin grew in confidence and maturity over the years, that air of fragility had never really left. Sehun had been terrified that the latest incident would drive Jongin back into the trauma, losing all the progress his friend had made over the years.

He’d never been so glad to be proven wrong. Jongin was upset, shaken and a little tearful when Sehun finally found him and grabbed his upper arms so tight he’d probably bruised him, scowled into his face and, voice cracking, yelled “what the ? what the , Jongin?” because anger was the only way Sehun knew how to process the level of fear and worry surging through him.

But Jongin was not broken. He’d hugged Sehun, promised he was okay, that he was fine, seemed like he really meant it. He’d talked Sehun down, rather than the other way round.

Sehun had never been so proud of Jongin in his whole life.

Jongin sends him one of his golden smiles, wide and amused. “Dude, don’t look so stressed,” he says. “It’s just an interview.”

“Shut up, ,” Sehun growls. Just an interview, indeed.

Jongin laughs at him. “Do you wanna practice, or talk about something else to take your mind off it?”

“Practice,” Sehun says. He knows he won’t be able to focus on anything else.

Jongin pretends to be the interviewer and asks Sehun a bunch of typical questions he’s found on his phone. It’s easy to answer with Jongin asking them, feels familiar, reminding him of how they’d studied together back in university. Sehun finds a little reassurance as he’s able to explain his answers without blanking out, or, God forbid, the return of the slight lisp he’d spent so long training out of his system.

They’re about halfway there by the time Jongin has asked everything he can think of. Sehun pulls into a rest stop, a couple of restaurants and souvenir shops, along with a hiking shop because they’re close to the mountains here. They get a late breakfast and eat it outside in the warm freshness of the countryside air. The rest of the drive is passed by discussing the latest releases of some of their favourite games, and Sehun almost forgets his nerves, right up until the sat-nav directs him to exit the freeway and enter the city of Busan.

Then the nerves flood back with a vengeance, and he’s silent and tense, insides quivering, whole body coiled tight as a spring as he follows the sat-nav’s spoken directions through the suburbs.

Sehun wants this so badly, that’s the problem. Working with Dr. Jeong Yongjun is the opportunity of a lifetime. And Busan. Mikyung. Everything Sehun wants is within the grasp of his fingers. Which, incidentally, are starting to shake.

They’ve arrived. Sehun can see the clinic, a converted residential house in one of the new suburbs cropping up along the southern coast. The streets here are wider than the ones in the city proper, where the old buildings cling to the hills overlooking the port like colourful barnacles. The pale blue signboard on the front wall gleams. Every house in this neighborhood is beautiful. There’s a small car park in front of the clinic, but Sehun doesn’t drive into it. Instead he pulls over to the side of the road a house before it. He stops the engine and rests his forehead on the steering wheel. He feels physically sick.

“,” he moans.

Jongin puts his hand on Sehun’s back and rubs gently.

“You got this,” he says quietly. “Deep breaths.”

“I can do this,” Sehun whispers.

“You can.” He can hear the smile in Jongin’s voice. “You fit this in every possible way, and you’re a great dermatologist. If this Dr. Jeong doesn’t hire you, he’s crazy. Now go in there and imagine like you already got the job. This is just a formality, yeah?”

Sehun nods and lifts his forehead off the wheel.

“Smile,” Jongin murmurs. He reaches up to tidy Sehun’s hair, swept up and back off his forehead today in an attempt to make him look a little older and more mature, then adjusts the collar of his shirt around his tie. “You look much less scary when you smile.”

“I hate you,” Sehun says, without conviction.

“You love me and you know it.” Jongin pats his shoulder.

Sehun punches his upper arm weakly.

“I don’t know how long it’ll take,” he says. “You can drive around if you want.”

“I’ll go for a walk, I think,” Jongin says, glancing out at the pretty street. “It’s a nice area. You’ll be so classy when you’re working here.”

“Don’t,” Sehun groans as his stomach decides to act like he’s on a rollercoaster and swoops sickeningly. “Don’t do predictions. I can’t think about it anymore. I just have to get through it now.”

They get out of the car and stand together on the pavement. Jongin peels Sehun’s fingers open so he can take the car keys from his clenched fist and puts them in his pocket, then puts both hands on his shoulders.

“Breathe,” he says. Sehun obeys, breathing as deep as he can and letting it out again. He stares at his best friend helplessly, trying not to tremble.

Jongin grins at him, lets go of his shoulders and whacks him on the arm. “Go on, you big idiot,” he says fondly. “Text me when you get out if I’m not here.”

Sehun nods. He’s too wrought-up to thank Jongin, but he knows he doesn’t need to say it aloud. Jongin understands him. He turns around without another word and walks towards the dermatology clinic.

After Sehun had spent a couple of weeks researching buying a practice and starting up on his own, stressing himself sleepless over start-up loans and legalities, he had come to the conclusion that he wasn’t ready. He just didn’t know what he was doing. He’d only ever worked in a hospital, never in private practice, and after trying to figure out the running-a-business side of things, he’d concluded that he was getting in way over his head. He needed to find another way to make it to Busan.

He’d found an opening at one of the Busan hospitals for a micrographic surgery-trained dermatologist, which Sehun is, but he doesn’t want to stay in the world of hospital-based practice. He’s tired of the irregular shift hours, tired of being called into the hospital at any time of the day or night. His profession is not his priority in life, not like it is for some of his friends. He’s moving here for Mikyung, and he wants to actually be able to be with her, start their life together the way he means to go on. He’d called the chief of dermatology at SNU, where he’d studied, and the chief had known of two former students currently practicing in Busan and looking for staff. One of these was the head of a large clinic in Haeundae looking for a staff dermatologist, and the other was Dr. Jeong Yongjun. Sehun had nearly dropped his phone when he’d heard the name. Jeong Yongjun is one of the country’s leading dermatologists. Sehun knew his groundbreaking work on radiofrequency. He hadn’t even known he practiced out of Busan.

Dr. Jeong’s practice is preferable to the Haeundae practice in every way, except for one. The starting salary is terrible. If Sehun gets this job, he’ll be lower-paid than he was in his first year of residency. But what makes the practice desirable is the opportunity Dr. Jeong is offering. For the first year, Sehun would basically be an indentured servant. But after that, he’d be an equal partner. It’s worth being low-paid for a year for that. Sehun wants this opportunity. If he gets it, he’ll be set for life.

If only he can convince Dr. Jeong that taking Sehun on for future partnership, a young no-name who’s worked in hospital dermatology for his entire career and hasn’t even published a single paper, is a good idea.

His polished shoes crunch on the fine gravel of the car park in front of the clinic. The house is fairly new, like the rest of the suburb, and aesthetically pleasing, with a central archway set on pale brick columns and large windows to either side. On the archway over the door, DERMATOLOGY is spelled out in shiny plate letters. Beneath it in smaller letters are the words JEONG YONGJUN, MD. Sehun finds himself picturing how it would look in equal partnership. JEONG YONGJUN, MD & OH SEHUN, MD. The idea of his name up alongside the famous dermatologist’s sends a frisson right through his body.

He shakes his head. He’s as bad as Jongin, predicting the future like this when he hasn’t even stepped foot through the door. He makes himself walk forwards, under the shade of the archway and through the doors. He’s met with cool air and the familiar, clean smell of a medical clinic, and immediately the smell makes him feel a little more at home. He gets a brief impression of a wide, airy waiting room as he walks towards the reception desk. His footsteps are loud on the wooden floor, polished the colour of honey.

The receptionist behind the desk looks up with a welcoming smile. On giving his name, he’s asked to wait for a few minutes. Sehun finds the nearest chair, sits down, and tries to give the impression that he’s cool, he’s calm, and he’s definitely not about to throw up with nerves. He can’t even distract himself by looking at his phone. He wouldn’t be able to focus. He’s never been so grateful that he doesn’t have the kind of face that easily betrays emotion. He knows he’s gone paler than usual, but Dr. Jeong won’t know that’s not his usual colour.

It’s kind of funny, sitting in a practice waiting room, waiting to be seen by a dermatologist. He feels like a patient. His mind jitters off on a tangent, wondering what kind of conditions Dr. Jeong usually sees, what equipment he has available. It’ll be different to hospital practice, where Sehun mainly sees skin carcinomas and other extreme cases.

“Dr. Oh?”

Sehun’s head jerks up so fast he nearly puts his neck out. He stands up, recognizing Dr. Jeong immediately as the man walks out of the hallway leading towards the clinical practice rooms.

Sehun has done his research. Dr. Jeong’s headshot is on the clinic’s website, along with highlights of his medical career, and his registered practitioner details were available to Sehun via the national dermatology society listings. He is 43 years old, was born here in Busan, and has been a leading figure in dermatology since publishing the world’s first research into the use of radiofrequency. The man in front of him stands about 10 centimeters shorter than Sehun, and is well-built, muscular and lean. His face is handsome, mid-toned skin in excellent condition, as a dermatologist’s should be. Short black hair is swept back from his forehead, not a hint of grey among it. Sehun wonders if he dyes it.

Dr. Jeong smiles at him, revealing a row of straight, gleaming teeth, and holds out a hand to shake. Sehun takes it and attempts a smile back.

“I’m Dr. Jeong Yongjun,” Dr. Jeong says, as if Sehun needs the introduction to know this. His voice is as firm and confident as his handshake.

“Oh Sehun,” he replies, incredibly relieved when his voice comes out steady and doesn’t crack. “Good to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Dr. Jeong leads him through the clinic to his office. Sehun gets brief glimpses of the rooms through a couple of open doors, of equipment he recognizes, much newer-looking than the hospital equipment and gleamingly clean. “Thank you for travelling all this way,” Dr. Jeong says as he takes a seat, gesturing to Sehun to sit opposite. “It’s a long drive. Or did you take the train?”

“No, I drove,” Sehun says. “It’s no trouble. I come to Busan often anyway, because my partner lives here. She’s a reporter for the Busan branch of the Ilbo.” He shuts his mouth with a snap, cursing himself for babbling like a nervous idiot. As if Dr. Jeong cares!

But Dr. Jeong looks interested, leaning forward on his desk. “Oh, she’s with the Ilbo? My younger brother’s in the editorial department now, but he started out as a beat reporter. What does your partner specialize in?”

Sehun explains Mikyung’s role and the story she’s currently working on, Dr. Jeong tells him about some of the stories his brother covered, and the discussion segues naturally into Sehun’s responsibilities in his current role at Hangang, the latest interesting condition he’s treating, and a similar case Dr. Jeong had seen a couple of years ago. It’s only about ten minutes later that Sehun realises, with a sudden panicked jolt, that the so-called “interview” has actually started. His nerves make a bid for comeback and he gets a bit more stilted after that, but they’ve already established a rapport. Dr. Jeong is easy to talk to, open and friendly, and he’s speaking to Sehun as if he were an equal despite the glaringly obvious gap in their ages and experience.

“Do you have any experience in dermatoscope photography?” Dr. Jeong asks. Sehun feels like he’s lighting up as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. He has an entire folder full of dermatoscope photographs he’s sent to Mikyung. He gloats silently to himself as Dr. Jeong makes impressed noises, swiping sideways through Sehun’s large collection of interesting lesions. His irrepressible urge to tease his girlfriend is good for something after all.

Dr. Jeong draws the interview to a close. He smiles at Sehun and shakes his hand again, thanking him for taking time out of his schedule to come down to Busan, and telling him he’ll be in touch very soon. Sehun leaves the clinic and walks towards his car. He feels drained, like he’s just come off back-to-back shifts rather than a half-hour interview.

Jongin has perched himself cross-legged on the hood of Sehun’s car, hunched forward with his elbows resting on his knees. He’s tilting his phone from side to side, triumph and frustration flickering across his expressive face in quick succession as he plays a racing game. He glances up as Sehun approaches and lowers his phone immediately, eyes going wide and eager.

“How did it go?”

Sehun flops against the car hood next to Jongin and breathes out what feels like an entire morning’s worth of tension. “I think it went well.”

Jongin lets out a crow of triumph and whacks him so hard on the back that Sehun folds forward with an oof. “You see? I knew you could do it!”

“He’s really nice,” Sehun says when he’s finished pummeling Jongin in retribution. “Dr. Jeong, I mean. His brother works at the Ilbo like Mikyung. He spoke to me like an equal. He said he’d contact me soon. I think that’s a good sign.”

“It is!” Jongin unfolds his legs and jumps off the car hood, looking way more excited than Sehun. “He wouldn’t have said that if he wasn’t interested!”

“I guess I have to wait and see,” Sehun says, but his smile is slipping out no matter how hard he tries to stop it. Jongin grabs him in a quick, hard hug before letting him go and ruffling his hair. Sehun tries to duck away and they play-wrestle for a few moments. It gets the residual anxiety out of Sehun’s system, and soon they’re both laughing freely.

They spend the next few hours wandering around Busan. They have to go back to Seoul tonight as they both have work tomorrow, but Sehun isn’t going to miss out on the opportunity to see Mikyung while he’s here, and he knows Jongin doesn’t mind. Jongin picks up several souvenirs for Sohee along the beachfront while Sehun eyes the swell with a surfer’s expert eye. It’s looking good, about five to six foot at a glance, glassy and well-spaced. He hopes it stays good for the next couple of hours until Mikyung gets out of work.

They pick up Mikyung from the Ilbo office and drive to her house. Sehun left one of his three surfboards in her garage the last time he was down here, his beloved JS Monsta roundtail, an all-rounder that performs well on most breaks. Mikyung is excited and babbling as she rushes through the house, shedding her office clothes with so little care for modesty that Jongin turns to stare pointedly out of the window, blushing scarlet. Sehun follows Mikyung around, picking up clothes like a trail of breadcrumbs and ending up in her bedroom, where she’s already in a bikini top, dragging her wetsuit up her legs to her waist and leaving the arms dangling. He dumps her clothes on the bed and laughs at her.

“Calm down, baby. The waves aren’t going anywhere.”

“No, but you are,” Mikyung points out, standing on tiptoes to kiss the tip of his nose before spinning away to snatch up a bag filled with towels. “You have to get back to Seoul tonight. We only have a few hours.”

Sehun rubs his nose with his palm. It tickles when she kisses him there. “Soon we’ll be able to be together all the time,” he says. Mikyung pauses in her spinning to beam at him, tanned and freckled and hair wild from dragging her shirt off over her head, the most beautiful creature Sehun has ever seen.

“I’m so happy,” she says. “I’m just so happy, Oh Sehun!”

Sehun left a wetsuit in Mikyung’s garage along with his board, and he’s brought a spare one with him for Jongin to wear. Jongin has never surfed before. He eyes the small collection of narrow, pointy-nosed shortboards leaning against the wall dubiously. Sehun is eyeing them dubiously too, but it’s more because he’s wondering how he’s going to fit three surfboards in his Hyundai Sonata. He usually only has his own, slotted between the seats.

“They look kind of…tippy,” Jongin is saying to Mikyung. “I’m gonna spend more time swimming than surfing.”

“It’s a pity I don’t have a longboard,” Mikyung says. “They’re bigger so they’re way easier to balance on, better for beginners - oh!” She lunges for her bag, dropped in the centre of the garage. “I’ll call Yoochun! He’s