"Thank you so much for coming back on such short notice, Miss Evans. We've been running low on staff recently, and it's not every day that we are fortunate enough to accept talented over-seas interns like you. Your help is greatly appreciate," says Dr. Sung, smiling kindly at me. I return the gesture as she hands me the patient's file.

"This patient is a very important person, so please take care of him. You will be his guardian for the time that he is here."

"I will," I reply, bowing. "Thank you."

Dr. Sung nods. "Good luck."

I let out a tired sigh as she walks away, rubbing my eyes. Really, I shouldn't have stayed up so late last night watching that awful Korean drama. It was rather entertaining though.. in all the wrong ways.

"Torn ligament in left knee," I read aloud. Ouch, that sounds gorgeous. Flipping through the file, I find the room number, S43, and a map of the hospital. I toss my paper cup of tea into a nearby trash can and proceed to walk down the hall purposefully. 

I can't say I'm not excited about being assigned an official position. I've been in Seoul National University Hospital for almost a month now, and the most I've done is run errands and help research for the senior doctors. After I finish my internship, I'll be able to go back to America and finish my senior year at Stanford University. I should make this internship trip worth while.

Ah, here it is, room S43. I pat the hospital map fondly. Truth be told, I am terrible at directions; I get lost easily.

Official Assignment One, start!

My hand reaches for the doorknob, and I barely even touch it before it flings open, slamming into my forehead. Holy licorice wands, OW. I drop the file and clutch my throbbing forehead, wincing and blinking the explosions of light and color out of my eyes. Through my blurred vision, I see a flustered girl in front of me, her expression slightly deranged. Without even bothering to ask for my well-being, she sends my a pained look and tears down the hall. 

Lovely. 

I poke my head inside Room S43 and the patient, a man in his mid-twenties, is propped up on his elbows with his left leg elevated and his hair looking like the procreation of a hurricane, sticking up at all ends. His eyes are wide and delirious. 

I frown, refraining from raising an eyebrow. "Is everything OK?" I ask with a polite dash of concern. 

And he burst: "Did you see that girl who just ran out? Did you see what she looked like? She just came here and kissed me and then I woke up and she just ran! You have to go find her."

My eye twitches. "Like Sleeping Beauty?" 

He blinks. Did I say that out loud? Oops.

He groans, falling back onto the pillows. "Please, just go find her," he grits, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

"Okay, okay, just lie down and relax - well, you're already lying down but - all right, I'm going. Going!" I launch myself out of the room, away from the lethal glare the man was sending in my direction. Jeesh, people these days. 

So the girl had envieble locks of wavy brown hair and a surgical mask covering her face. Does he want me to bring back all the girls in the country? Well, she did have on a baggy gray shirt with the word 'Claudia' printed on it. I suppose that's enough to go by. 

I sprint through the hallways as inconspicuosly as possible, which is quite a feat, mind you. Dear lord, when I got this job I did not see myself playing the mighty steed for Sleeping Beauty, chasing a rampaging unicorn around the facility. I expect some sort of rose-scented bubble bath when I get back to my apartment. 

I hit a fork: ER or bathroom? If I was a girl who kissed a guy while he was knocked out on drugs, and then made a run for it, I must be desperate or stupid (I'm of the female discipline: I notice when things are good-looking) so I'd want to get out of here a-to the-sap. But I'd also want to fling myself off a great height on account of my humiliation. And stupidity. 

The logical part of my brain asserts the bathroom. 

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror when I push open the door. My dark hair has fallen out of its chignon and my cheeks are hideously flushed. There is an alarmingly red patch blaring angrily at me on my forehead. Fantastic. 

I hear a hollow sob to my right and see a head of glistening caramel hair leaning against the wall next to a stall. Rampaging unicorn: LOCATED. 

"Hello," I say, addressing the girl in formal speech. 

And even with her mascara smeared all over her face and her eyes swollen and red, when she turns, I swear she's the most stunning girl I've ever seen. She looks strangely familiar too. 

I snatch some tissues from a nearby stall and hand them to her. 

"Thanks," she mumbles, her voice thick from the crying. I wait for her to finish cleaning herself up before saying:

"Miss, the man in room S22 told me to run after you."

After that comes out of my mouth, she freezes and stares up at me with brown, doe-eyes. "Really?" She whispers.

She looks so hopeful it breaks my heart. "Yeah, he, um, didn't know who you were…" I'm not the best at handling awkward situations.

Her faces falls like sack of lead – yet she still looks gorgeous doing it. Why is the world so unfair? I feel like a dirty mole next to her.

"Oh…" Her eyes drop.

"Well, he did say that you flew out of there at warp speed – my words, not his," cue relieved look, "but the fact that he wants to know who you were is something to smile about, right?"

She sniffs. "I guess…" Then she lets out a mighty moan and buries her face in her hands again. "God, I'm so stupid!"

I frown, kneeling down beside her. "Why…?"

"I can't believe I just went in there and kissed him! I mean, what was I thinking? That he'd open his eyes, realise who it was, and then what?" I remain silent, not knowing what to say. 

"I can't believe I just ran away... He probably hates me now..."

"But he doesn't know who you are." I try to be helpful. Honest. 

She spares me a glance, and pops into a small 'o', her tears temporarily forgotten. I could almost guess what's about to happen next. 

"You have bluest eyes I've ever seen," she says, in awe. I smile hesitantly.

"Thanks?"  

Strangely, that seems to cheer her up. She smiles in gratitude and looks down at her shoes. Four-inch heels. Yikes, I can barely stand on two. "Can you do me a favor?"

I nod, albeit warily.

"Can you not tell him it was me?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Why not?"

She opens but then closes it, shooting me a wry grin. "I don't think I'll give up my secrets to a complete stranger that easily."

"Okay, my name's Tian-Yu Evans. It's nice to meet you."

"You're part Caucasion aren't you? That would explain your eyes."

"Yup."

The girl laughs. "I'm Goo Hara. It's nice to meet you, too. But still, no," she smiles, shaking her head.

My eyes widen, realization dawning. "Hold on, you wouldn't by chance be Goo Hara from KARA?" She just smiles in response, wiping her eyes and putting her surgical mask back on. 

"Thanks, Tian-Yu." She calls behind her and walks out the bathroom door.

---

I gather up the loose sheets of the file and open the door to room S43. The guy is in the exact same position I left him in, wide-eyed and all.

"Hello-" I glance down at the file, "- Kim Youngwoong Jaejoong."

I freeze.

Voldemort's ! What is this nastiness?! Another celebrity?!

I move to the side of his bed, feigning ignorance and ignoring his expectant look. "How's your knee today?"

"So?" He says, impatiently.

"Yes?" I busy myself with the usual prep work around his bed. 

 "Did you find the girl?"

"Is it really important?" I ask, expression neutral and tone respectful. 

Jaejoong looks at me as if I'm stupid. OK, enough with the nice act. The media is all lies: Kim Jaejoong is not the man he appears to be. Behind that devastatingly beautiful face of his is all pure, unadulterated evil. "If a guy came up and kissed you, wouldn't you want to know who it was?"

No, I'd just be happy that a guy kissed me, considering how that's never happened before. I sigh to make sure he knows that I'm using up my energy to do him a favor. "Yes, Sleeping Beauty, I did find her."

He disregards my excellent nickname choice. Hmph."Who was she? Do you know her name?"

"Um… no… yes, yes I do!" What? When an adorable young man (THE Kim Jaejoong, to be exact) looks at you, crestfallen, raise your hand now if you would've resisted. Yeah, that's what I thought.

Jaejoong straightens his elbows and looks at me intently. "Yeah?"

Uh oh. "She… told me… not to tell you."

"What?"

Oh, God. I hate being the messenger. We receive no respect what so ever. "I'm sorry, I told her that I won't tell."

His mouth drops. I have a feeling he's never been refused before in his life, especially not by a schmuck like me. Before long, he composes himself and studies me through slitted eyes. "Tell me who it was. Now."

I clutch the file to my chest, vehemently. "No."

"Tell me."

"Nein!"

"If you want me to threaten you—"

I can't help but laugh.

A spark flits across his eyes and he looks like he is about to growl at me.

"I'm sorry," I silently cackle, lifting my hand up to hide my amusement. "It's just… seeing you threaten me while you're reclined to a bed with your leg elevated past your head… It's amusing, is what it is."

Jaejoong glares at me.

I sober and say the words that will eventually ruin me: "There's nothing you can do to make me tell you, Sleeping Beauty."

And then comes the smirk. The evil, evil smirk. The Devil's smirk. The smirk born from Satan himself – er, herself? Okay, you get the picture.

"Is that a challenge?"

No! No, it's not! You're going to get yourself killed – but wait. He's practically strapped to the bed so he can't possibly kill me from there. I just have to make sure I stand at a minimum of two metres around the bed.

That shouldn't be too bad.