⚠This chapter might trigger some readers. If you are sensitive to subjects related to death and violence, you probably won't be comfortable reading this. ⚠
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✨YUN✨
The room was filled with the sounds of keys being pressed as I wrote the medical report in record time.
This was far from being the best part of my job, but for once I thanked the need for paperwork to get away from the mess the ER had been the last three days.
Some days we expected more accidents to happen; holidays filled the emergency room faster than anyone could say 'kimchi'. People came in with a variety of wounds – from simple cuts, to head trauma.
But some days were inexplicable. Like the last three days.
First, a teenager came in with her left foot wrapped in a bloodied cloth, being carried by her father. He explained what happened in a heavy Jeolla accent while his daughter bravely held her tears back.
After that, chaos ensued. More and more people came in and no one could explain why so many accidents seemed to be happening at the same time when no major incident had taken place.
"You really should take a break," I heard someone say behind me and my shoulders sagged.
I had been telling myself that same thing, but stopping meant my mind would start wondering about subjects I really didn't want to think about, so I was choosing to bury myself in work, where I would actually solve people's problems and help them.
Spinning around in my chair, ready to give a snarky remark to my colleague, I opened my mouth but had no real argument, or energy, to reply. So I settled for grunting something unintelligible.
"You look like shit," he commented, sitting on one of the tables as he sipped on his cup of coffee.
I scoffed, "You're the one to talk."
I looked at the young man, eyeing him up and down. He had dark circles under his eyes, and they were bloodshot like mine should be right now.
Sang-Tae was a resident and was currently on his weekly medical duty. Judging by the way he looked half-dead, I would say he was almost done with his 60 hours on duty.
"The difference is I know I look like shit, Noona," he stated, leaning his head back to drink the rest of his coffee to the last drop.
I laughed without humor. Of course, I knew I looked like I had been run over by a truck at this point, I had seen myself in the mirror every day. The dark circles under my eyes, just like my droopy eyes, showed how exhausted I really felt.
But I was used to working to the point where I would come home and just sleep for more than 12 hours, just so I wouldn't have to think about whatever was bothering me.
It wasn't like Hobi hadn't tried to dig it out of me. He asked me more than twice, but I just refused to acknowledge that I was hurt and confused with the fact that Yoongi was closing himself off to me. That and the fact that I was trying to turn a blind eye to his suspicious avoidance towards the deaths of the men involved in his family's murder.
When Hobi asked for the third time, I blocked him. I learned I was able to do that in my teen years. It was like interrupting the connection for a period of time. Like putting him on hold while I moved on to take another call.
He hated that. I wasn't fond of doing it either, but I needed space right now, and I needed time with my own thoughts without having someone trying to talk me out of them all the time.
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