Chapter 5 #2
But in this liminal space of a ghost zoo in an abandoned hospital wing, a curious future doctor would skim her fingers down the nape of his neck, tracing the veins down his shoulder, wondering if it would bother him if I felt down to his surgeon’s hands.
I’ve never watched a man sleep before. His only movement is his gentle, autonomic breathing, and without the forced mask of regret, his face stripped of angst is remarkably… handsome.
Pretty, even.
Without hospital beeping, the watchful eyes of others, and the judgment of his own self-loathing, the moments feel slower, my enjoyment seeping in like an IV flush, hesitantly, and then all at once.
I retract my wandering hand and continue brushing through his hair, deciding this is as good a time to talk as ever.
“Can I ask you something?” I ask.
His voice is sleep-addled. “Well, since we’re both trapped here…”
“Well, you can go back to your patients—”
His eyes open, but he’s grinning now, not scared. “I traded with Dr. Hahm for an hour off to see you,” he says. “I’m picking up the first few hours of her Friday shift so she can go chase some guy she’s seeing, and she’s covering my pager for an hour right now so I can visit you during my 24.”
Oh.
My heart cracks with surprise.
If my feelings were a suture, they’ve just snapped, my body expanding to heal on its own, letting the tiny fibers of collagen re-knit themselves into something new.
Curious threads of warmth spread through my chest at the idea of him deliberately sacrificing his Friday night to see me.
My fingers weave through his hair again, twisting through his straight, rigid strands. I focus on keeping them out of his face, tucking them behind his ears, pretending I’m doing a real task, and not fascinated by the way our pulses sync.
“Well… thank you,” I say, voice bashful. “And… thank you for the car. Really.”
He merely grunts.
I can’t believe he spent not just money but time on me.
This is worse than a man paying for dinner. This might as well be a proposal. Planning to trade shifts to hang out with me? Madness.
I wonder who this Dr. Hahm girl is. I hope she has a better love life than mine.3
“What were you going to ask me?” he prompts. “If you don’t ask soon, I’m going to take a nap and emerge when it’s time for my suffering to resume.”
“Why did you call me to spend time with you?” I ask. “You didn’t have to?”
His lips press together, hesitating, which is all I need to see.
He’s doing way too much for a fake dating relationship, and we both know it.
Way, way too much.
“I used to come to this wing a lot,” he says. “I planned to be a pediatric surgeon one day. I thought you would like the wing designed for them too, since you’re all…” he waves about. “Bubbly and bright.”
My brows raise. He likes kids?
“Yes,” he says, reading my mind. “I’m not all evil.
Kids are objectively much better people than adults.
Inquisitive learners when spoken to. Caregivers to keep them compliant.
Maladies that are products of unlucky genetics, not lifestyle choices.
Kids don’t come in for surgery after picking bar fights or drinking themselves to death. They’re the perfect patients.”
He stretches his neck out. “Younger. Kinder. Better. And the best outcomes of surgery overall,” he mumbles, yawning. “From a business perspective, they’re the best logical choice.”
“And that’s why you wanted to do surgery. To do a peds fellowship,” I clarify.
I wish I’d known he wanted to do something pediatric before. This helps reduce the demonic persona by orders of magnitude. I fear he’s already charming me, and he doesn’t even know it yet.
“Sure,” he grumbles. “I hate adults. They’re mean and difficult.”
“Like you,” I point out.
“Exactly,” he says. “Imagine having a list of just me to deal with all day. Disgusting.”
My heart aches for him.
If he hadn’t invited me, he’d be sitting in this abandoned wing, alone, escaping a specialty he hates, while surrounded by the murals of his career he once fought for.
It must be torture to live like this…
“You know,” I say, picking up my cake pop, “If you smooth over the sharp edges of your personality, you might actually be considered likable—”
His lips turn down, staring at my preoccupied hand.
“That ship has long sailed, Percy,” he says, glaring daggers at my snack.
“Why did I even come here?” I mumble to myself.
“Because you need a human shield for Golden Boy,” he says.
Amusement flickers through me. So the residents know about David’s self-imposed nickname, too.
I work my other hand through his hair again, and he loosens, eyelids fluttering shut.
“You’re right,” I say. “Open your eyes.”
They blink open.
“Sit up.”
The petting him must make him think like a dog, because he obeys. I extend my hand out like I want him to shake it.
His frown returns. “Are we making introductions?”
“I think I know how you really feel about me,” I announce.
Kane’s face freezes.
“I’m smarter than I look.”
He rubs the back of his head, shrinking away from me. “Percy, I—”
“I’m going to be your best friend,” I tell him, grabbing his hand and forcing him to shake. “Not just your fake girlfriend.”
“Starting now!” I tell him.
Everyone needs friends. Even reclusive, potentially touch-starved, somewhat saboteur people.
Something flashes across his face—it could have been shock, devastation, anything—and then he sighs.
“Sure,” he says, sounding oddly… defeated.
He must be more tortured than I thought, given how weary he seems at the prospect of a real, genuine friendship. I doubt he’s ever met a truly happy person before. Or at least, had cheerful moments. I’ll change that.
I already set this plan in place with nothing more than willpower, right?
“Friends,” I promise him, squeezing his hand. “Together we will fix your reputation and salvage my career from Golden Boy’s meddling.”
“Friends,” he says bitterly. “Yeah.”
I’m going to fix him, I decide, infusing my joy into my handshake while his dark expression clouds over like a storm coming.
I pull his hand forward, crushing us both into a hug as his breath catches.
I’m going to be the best friend he’s ever had.
I have a string of horrible exes, but I know a good friend when I see one.
Time can heal all wounds, but a Persephone can fix any Hades.
Especially when I’m the one rewriting the bargain.
My intuition is never wrong.
1 Narrator’s notes: First-year surgical residents are tasked with managing preoperative consents and postoperative complications.
Which means, unfortunately, in learning to manage the most common complications, they rarely get any time to actually cut.
In summary: it’s a low blow, and Percy knows it.
2 Narrator’s notes: C. Dif is a bacterial diarrhea, and MRSA is a multi-drug resistant bacterial infection. Messy, like Percy’s love life.
3 Narrator’s notes: It’s not, but she’s working on it. Send prayers her way. Or tall, emotionally unavailable men. That’s her usual type.