Yixing stares at the patient journal in front of him. He has read it and read it again and he still can't make the information his colleague has entered sink in. Nurses walk around him, moving to and from patients that require their help, but for Yixing, the world has just ground to a sudden and painful stop.

He exhales shakily and shadows his eyes with his hand. He wants Songmi. He wants her soft arms wrapped around him, wants her head laid against his chest, wants her mere presence soothing the fresh wound that’s just been torn in his heart. But his wife isn’t working today, so he can’t take a break to go find her in the emergency department and tell her that he knows it’s stupid, but he just doesn’t think he can do this anymore.

He looks back at the journal and lets his eyes run again over the last note written by his colleague.

Chemotherapy stopped after dose 6 when control CT came back with massive progression. Patient has had multiple neutropenic fevers over the course of the last few months and shows signs of multiple organ failure. The palliative care phase has been initiated and the patient has been admitted to hospice. Parent and patient are informed and have agreed to proceed.

Yixing finds the last CT scans in the computer system and looks at them. Sooyoung’s entire skeleton is riddled with cancer. Her abdomen shows widespread metastatic disease, and he sees where the secondary bone cancer has eaten away at her hips. They could break at a mere knock at this stage, but there’s no point in prophylactically pinning them now. This is as bad as cancer gets, and the fact that he knew it was coming does not make it any easier to see.

Yixing closes his eyes against the horrific CT scans and remembers a smiling, athletic 15-year-old walking into his office. She had told him that her hip has been sore, but maybe she’s been training too hard for the upcoming inter-high school track meet, and does he think she’ll be able to run in the 400 meters if she does everything he tells her? She had been so full of life, so ready to tackle her disease, unwilling to consider the fact that she might lose. She’d taken every restriction he’d inflicted on her once-active life like a trooper, never letting it get her down for more than a few moments, always finding a bright side or a way around it. Now, he doesn’t want to think about what she looks like. Not even Sooyoung can find her way out of this.

He knew this was coming, but he hadn’t expected it quite so soon. Sooyoung’s disease has progressed fast over the last couple of months. She’s had infection after infection, never able to fully recover, and he was forced to delay her chemotherapy sessions because she simply was not strong enough to tolerate the treatment. Now her body has lost the fight. All they can do now is make sure her last few weeks will be as painless as possible.

An unwanted vision of her emaciated body lying in a hospice bed, sleeping her last days away as every part of her body gives up on her, slips into his mind. He turns away from the journal, breathing deeply to try and hold back the tears forcing their way into his eyes. He can cry when he gets home. Not here, not now.

It’s on days like this that he wonders what he’s doing. There are many forms of cancer that he can and does treat successfully, but things like this make him wish he’d gone into research instead of practice. He just hadn’t known he would find it so difficult to not get attached. His quietly confident younger self hadn’t realized how terrible a blow it would be to lose someone he'd devoted years to saving.

Sooyoung will die, and Yixing will grieve. He will promise himself never to let himself care about a patient again. And in time, he’ll meet another patient who tugs on his heartstrings, who makes him care too much despite all he can do to distance himself. He’ll promise himself he’ll do everything, anything he can to save them, and that this time it will really work - and all his promises will turn to dust and ashes in his hands. The cycle goes around and around, and it’s so hard, and he’s so tired.

He sighs and steps out from behind the ward station only to have the second-year resident Ryeo Minhee almost run straight into his chest. She stops just in time and hugs her clipboard convulsively, her ponytail bobbing.

“Dr. Zhang! I was looking for you everywhere,” she says, a relieved smile on her face as she looks up at him. Yixing takes a step back to open a little distance between them and tries to smile back. He’s not sure he succeeds.

“How can I help?”

Minhee hands him her clipboard. Yixing looks down and reads the name Lee Jungsu on the chart.

“Mr. Lee just got diagnosed with oropharyngeal cancer, but he refuses to accept his diagnosis and doesn’t want surgery. It’s operable and could save his life, but he’s worried it will mutilate his appearance. I don’t know what to do anymore. He won’t listen to anything I say - he just calls me “silly little girl” and tells me to go back to kindergarten. Will you talk to him?”

Yixing nods and pats her shoulder reassuringly. Minhee is 27 years old and a competent doctor, but her round, childlike face works against her when it comes to convincing older patients that she knows what she’s talking about.

“I’ll talk to him,” he says. “But if the patient refuses treatment and we’ve done everything we can to inform them of their choices, we can’t do much else. Remember that.”

Minhee nods and thanks him, then leaves when a nurse calls for her. Yixing stands there in the hallway with the clipboard in his hands, gathering the scattered threads of his day and attempting to pull them together. He taps the clipboard a few times against his hand, then walks off to find Mr. Lee.

When he turns the corner he hears raised voices, which only get louder and angrier as he approaches room 314. A nurse hovering outside the room grimaces in his direction as he comes close. Yixing steps into the doorway and takes in the scene in front of him.

“So leave me, woman! I’m not going to quit smoking and you’re just in my way. It’s not like you care anyway,” Mr. Lee shouts at a woman of around the same age as him. Yixing assumes she's his wife.

“Just because you’re an doesn’t mean I don’t love you! Why do you have to do this to me?” Mrs. Lee screams back. It’s deafening. Yixing wants to back straight out again, dump the chart on the other attending oncologist's desk for her to deal with when she comes on shift this evening, and pretend he was never here. He hates conflict. He finds angry voices painful, even when they’re not directed at him, and he’s more sensitive than usual today. But he can’t. The nurses need him, his juniors trust him. He’s in charge, and he has to deal with this, like it or not.

He tries clearing his throat but the shouting match continues and neither of them notices him. He tries again, louder this time, but it still has no result. When Mrs. Lee lifts her hand as if to hit her husband in the bed, Yixing surges forward and catches her wrist.

“Enough!” he shouts. Both of them stop yelling and look at him in surprise. Yixing lets go of Mrs. Lee’s wrist. He feels shaken by having had to raise his voice. He takes a deep breath, summons up a vague, polite smile, and fixes it on his face.

“Good morning,” he says. "I'm Dr. Zhang, the attending doctor on your case.”

Mr. Lee glares at his wife. “Did you send another ing doctor to talk to me?” Mrs. Lee huffs loudly and opens to retort. Yixing holds up a hand.

“Please,” he says, unable to help the note of distress in his voice. He can’t handle another screaming match, not today. He looks at Mrs. Lee. “Would you kindly step out of the room for a few minutes, Mrs. Lee?” He can tell she’s forming protests, so he continues quickly. “Nurse Choi," he calls towards the door, and the nurse who was hovering outside steps in. "Will you please show Mrs. Lee to the waiting area? I’m sure she would appreciate a nice cup of tea or coffee while I talk to Mr. Lee. Thank you.”

He doesn’t leave any space for argument. Nurse Choi gently takes Mrs. Lee’s arm and guides her out. The door closes behind them and the room is suddenly, blessedly quiet. Yixing takes a steadying breath and turns back to Mr. Lee.

“I believe my colleague, Dr. Ryeo, who was here earlier, explained your diagnosis of oropharyngeal cancer,” he starts, but Mr. Lee interrupts him.

“I don’t believe a word of it. What does some kid like her know? I don’t have cancer and I’m not getting surgery.” Mr. Lee crosses his arms and glares at Yixing.

Yixing lowers his gaze to the clipboard. “The biopsy results here show me that you have a tumour in your throat,” he says mildly. He tends to go distant and vague when challenged, rather than rising to a conforontation. It’s just his nature, but it usually works in his favour. It’s hard to have a fight when only one person is arguing. "The good news is that it hasn’t metastasized - that means spread to other places in your body - so the most effective treatment for you is surgery to remove the tumour.”

Mr. Lee tries to interrupt, but Yixing holds up his hand again and continues. He’s falling back into the formal speech patterns he was taught when he learned Korean, the respectful language a protective barrier. “We can try radiation therapy, but would be significantly more uncomfortable for you as well as less effective. I would strongly recommend the surgical route. However, you are free to choose, and neither I nor any other doctor here will force you to accept treatment. In the end, it’s up to you.”

Mr. Lee leans back against his pillow and fixes Yixing with a severe look.

“What about chemotherapy?” His tone is challenging, but at least he isn’t shouting now.

Yixing shakes his head. “Chemotherapy works poorly on your type of tumour, so that’s not a good option.”

They look at each other for a few seconds. Mr. Lee seems like he's trying to stare him down, but Yixing just looks back with his vaguest expression, and eventually Mr. Lee glances away. His voice is quiet when he asks, “Does this mean I have to stop smoking?”

He’s finally broken through. Yixing slowly lets himself return from his protective emotional distance. A small smile touches his lips, the dimple in his cheek showing itself. Behind the anger is a scared man, as there always is.

“That is also your choice, but I would strongly recommend it. Smoking delays healing, and ceasing to smoke will minimize your risk of relapse.”

Mr. Lee is quiet for a while, then asks Yixing to send in his wife so they can discuss it. Yixing holds back a sigh. He doesn’t think anything good will come out of this, but it's not his place to stop them. He calls Nurse Choi, who brings Mrs. Lee back in, and steps out to let them have their “discussion”. Not even a minute later, the volume in the room rises again, their angry voices echoing down the corridor. So much for peace in the oncology ward.

He's thankful when he gets a chance to leave the ward for lunch. He sits in the public cafeteria on the ground floor, ordering food almost at random and eating without really tasting it. He’s alone with his thoughts until a small-statured figure appears beside his table, and he looks up and blinks as he recognizes Minseok.

“Mind if I join you?”

Yixing nods immediately. It’s not often that he eats with anyone apart from Songmi, but he's been friends with Minseok since they were both first-year residents, when Yixing was here on his exchange programme. It’s certainly much better than being alone, where every time he tries to stop thinking about Sooyoung, all he can come up with is worrying what to do with the arguing Lees.

“How are you doing?” Minseok asks, taking a large bite of his sandwich.

Yixing sighs. “I've just lost a young patient to palliative care and I have a newly-admitted patient arguing with his wife so loudly it can be heard throughout the entire ward. Let’s just say things could be better.”

Minseok hums sympathetically. “Patients can be real s, can’t they?” he says through his mouthful of bread.

Yixing is startled into a laugh. “You can’t just go around saying that."

Minseok shrugs. “You work in the ED, you meet enough drunks, idiots and crazy people to know it. It’s not like keeping quiet about it makes it any less true.”

Yixing considers this for a while, and comes to the conclusion that Minseok is probably right.

“What would you suggest I do with the fighting couple then?”

Minseok puts his sandwich down long enough to look at Yixing with a knowing gaze. Despite being the same age as his friend and just as experienced, Yixing suddenly feels like a little kid asking his big brother for advice. Being the chief of a whole department, especially one as challenging as the emergency department, seems to give his friend an air of presence and wisdom Yixing just doesn’t have.

“Nothing you say or do will affect their personal dynamics," Minseok tells him. "Close the door to the room so they don't bother your patients and staff as much and let them get on with it.”

Yixing blinks at him. With that all-knowing look Minseok had given him, he’d been expecting some pearl of world-shattering wisdom, not being essentially told to shut his eyes, cover his ears and pretend it’s not happening. Minseok sends him a lopsided grin and starts wolfing down his sandwich again. He always eats so fast that it makes Yixing wonder how he doesn't get indigestion, but that comes with being an emergency physician.

Yixing is only halfway through his meal when Minseok finishes. He leans back in his chair with a satisfied sigh and clasps his fingers behind his head, eyes half-closing.

“Success in life,” he says, “is when you get to finish a meal without the flipping beeper going off.”

“Too true,” Yixing agrees. “What about you, anyway? How are you doing?”

Minseok doesn't move from his pose of blissful relaxation, though it can't be all that comfortable on the hard cafeteria chair. “Do you know anyone you'd recommend in clinical psychology?”

The question takes Yixing by surprise. “Psychology?”

Minseok nods, eyes almost completely closed now.

“Uh, no, I don't think I know any clinical psychologists personally. Why?”

Minseok sighs. Yixing can see there’s something on his mind, but before his friend can continue, his pager starts up the loud, slow beeping that seems deliberately pitched to drill its way straight through Yixing’s skull. Minseok opens his eyes and gives his “beeper” a completely unfazed look.

“There she goes again,” he says. He unlinks his fingers from behind his head and stands up. “Oh well. It was good talking to you, Yixing. Don’t work too hard.”

Yixing stares at Minseok’s disappearing back. Coming out of Minseok , don’t work too hard is almost a joke, only Yixing is not laughing. He is not the one who works all day, every day, the whole year round. He frowns down at his half-eaten meal. There was definitely a reason for that question about the psychologist. Minseok had been going to tell him something - something real, not just the surface-level stuff he usually hides under.

Fifteen minutes later he reluctantly makes his way back to the oncology ward, where he finds that, unbelievably, Mr. and Mrs. Lee are still fighting. The nurses have shut the blinds and closed the door, but their muffled voices can still be heard all the way down the corridor. Yixing wants to cry. He stops at the nursing station and looks pleadingly at Nurse Choi.

“Aren't they ever going to stop?”

She gives him a philosophical shrug. "Who knows? At least Mr. Lee has agreed to surgery now.”

She hands him a new clipboard, and Yixing moves off to deal with his next patient.

When Yixing gets home that evening, the apartment is warm and filled with delicious smells of home cooking. He slips out of his shoes and into his slippers and steps through into the open-plan living space, where he sees Songmi. She’s sitting in the corner of the couch, her feet tucked up under her like a cat, a glass of red wine balanced between the fingers of one hand and a book in the other. Because she’s reading, she’s put on her glasses, and he can’t help smiling at the sight of the round black frames dominating her face.

“I'm home,” he calls, knowing she won’t have heard him come in while she’s reading.

Songmi looks up and beams at him. She puts her book down, takes her glasses off, and jumps up to meet him in the kitchen area, where a small feast is already laid out on the table. Yixing sees that she’s made some of the Chinese dishes his mom taught her, and he falls in love with her for the millionth time over. How is it that she always knows when he needs familiarity and comfort?

“Hi, baby,” she says, standing on tip-toes to kiss him hello. Yixing opens his arms and Songmi puts her wine glass down on the table and snuggles close to him. He rests his cheek on the top of her head, closes his eyes, and breathes in the warm, spiced scent of her shampoo. Songmi doesn't pull away even though the hug lasts several long minutes, just humming under her breath and rocking him gently where they stand. She can tell he needs her without him even saying anything.

It's Yixing who finally lets go. “You look lovely,” he says, indicating the elegant red dress she’s wearing. She doesn't usually dress up like this just for dinner in the apartment together. “What’s the occasion?”

“Tell you later.” She smiles at him gently, then takes his wrist and leads him to the dinner table, sitting down beside him as usual. “Bad day, huh?”

Yixing nods. “Sooyoung has been admitted to hospice.”

“Oh no,” Songmi says. “Oh darling, I'm sorry. I know you care a lot about her.”

Yixing chews his lip. “Do you think I should go visit her?” He doesn’t normally go to see his patients in hospice, but Sooyoung is different. It's unlikely she'll be aware enough to recognize him, but maybe it would help her mother to see him again. He could answer any questions she might have. He’s not sure if it would overstep a boundary, though. Officially