CHAPTER 15
When the doorbell rang at eight that morning, two familiar faces entered the apartment.
A tall middle-aged man with black hair, San, Chung-Hee’s personal assistant, and a young man, around twenty, with a well-built body shaped by countless hours at the gym.
Noeul guessed he must be Chung-Hee’s bodyguard, since he accompanied him everywhere.
The ride to the medical center was quiet. Inside, however, sadness and anxiety fought for dominance. Noeul spoke little, letting San update his boss on the afternoon’s schedule while Chung-Hee gave additional instructions.
Dr. Cho was neither particularly tall nor strikingly handsome, but the confidence he exuded, along with his warm smile, made him exceptionally attractive.
He greeted Noeul politely before reviewing his medical history and asking about his symptoms, pain, numbness, and any difficulties with daily activities.
Afterward, he carefully examined the surgical wounds for signs of infection and assessed the circulation and sensation in Noeul’s fingers. The nurse then removed the old dressings, cleaned the wounds, and applied fresh bandages with practiced care.
Throughout the examination, Noeul barely spoke. He answered only when asked a direct question or when pain forced a reaction. His thoughts kept drifting somewhere far beyond the examination room. Chung-Hee watched him closely, and Dr. Cho seemed to notice his withdrawal too.
“I’d like to explain how your recovery will proceed,” he said calmly. “Your surgery was successful, but healing will take time. For now, keep your hands elevated as much as possible, avoid strenuous movement, and take good care of the wounds to prevent infection.
“In about a week, you’ll begin hand therapy, starting with gentle exercises that we’ll gradually increase. If your recovery progresses as expected, you should begin to notice steady improvement over the next few months.”
For the first time, Noeul spoke on his own. “When will I be able to return to work?” he asked, his gaze fixed on the desk.
The doctor regarded him quietly for a moment.
“I understand how important work is to you,” he said gently. “If everything goes well, you may be able to return part-time in six to eight weeks. A full return will likely take around three to four months.”
Noeul’s reaction was immediate. “Two months for part-time work and four for full? No. No, absolutely not. I can’t wait that long.”
“You should have considered the consequences before bringing yourself to this point,” Chung-Hee cut in sharply.
Dr. Cho glanced at him before turning back to Noeul. “We’ll monitor your recovery closely and help you return to work as soon as it’s safe. The best thing you can do right now is follow the rehabilitation program and give your hands the time they need to heal.”
He paused. “I’d also like to ask something else.” His voice softened. “Would you be open to speaking with a mental health professional while you’re recovering?”
“There is someone,” Noeul admitted, his gaze drifting to a painting on the wall. “Dr. Kim. She knew my family when Gong was diagnosed. I saw her for a while back then too.”
“Would you consider contacting her?” Dr. Cho asked gently.
“No.” Noeul’s voice hardened. “I don’t want to speak to anyone. Talking about it won’t change anything. Nothing can help me.”
Chung-Hee’s voice sharpened. “The doctor is recommending it for your own good. Why are you being so stubborn?”
Noeul stood abruptly. “I said I don’t want to talk about it! Why are you pressuring me?”
“Please,” Dr. Cho interrupted before either of them could continue. “Noeul, your decision is yours to make. No one here is going to force you.” He offered him a reassuring smile. “If you change your mind, let me know.”
Noeul studied him for a moment. “…Fine.”
He turned and walked out of the consultation room without another word.
“You have no right to speak to me like that. Do you understand?” Chung-Hee’s voice filled the silence inside the car.
Noeul barely heard him. His thoughts drifted somewhere far away, back to memories he had spent the last year trying to outrun. Chung-Hee’s presence only made everything worse, stirring emotions he had tried desperately to bury and leaving him feeling even guiltier, even dirtier than before.
“Answer when someone speaks to you,” Chung-Hee said more sharply.
Chung-Hee fell silent. His gaze moved over Noeul’s slumped shoulders, unfocused eyes, and drained face.
“Noeul?” Chung-Hee asked, taking hold of his arm and gently turning him toward him. “Are you feeling unwell?”
“I feel a bit… worn out,” Noeul admitted. “My hands… they hurt so much. Can we go home? I need to lie down.”
“We’re taking you there. Just be patient a little longer,” Chung-Hee replied, concern replacing the irritation in his voice.
Then his expression hardened again.
“Now listen to me.” He waited until Noeul looked at him. “I won’t tolerate any more rudeness from you. I’m older than you, and you will speak to me with respect, no matter how tired or irritated you are. Do you understand?”
Noeul lowered his gaze. Despite everything, years of ingrained respect for someone older were difficult to ignore.
“I’m sorry, Chung-Hee hyung,” he murmured.
“Good.” The sternness faded almost instantly. “Since you’re being so obedient today, I’ll treat you to your favorite food.” A faint smile touched his lips. “What would you like to eat?”
Noeul hesitated.
“Why are you hesitating?” Chung-Hee asked. “Speak.”
“…Sushi.”
“San, take us home. Call the sushi bar and have a platter prepared. We’ll pick it up on the way.”
A quiet “Thank you” escaped Noeul before he could stop himself.
Chung-Hee smiled, clearly satisfied. “I’ve arranged your hand therapy appointments starting next week. Rei will accompany you until I find a caregiver, which has been more difficult than I expected. You’re not to miss a single appointment. Understood?”
Noeul nodded. He wasn’t really listening anymore. He had already learned that the quickest way to end one of Chung-Hee’s lectures was simply to agree.
Once the sushi was in their hands, hunger finally overpowered everything else. The large box rested on Noeul’s lap, and the smell alone made his stomach growl.
Chung-Hee chuckled. “Someone’s hungry.”
It was a relaxed, almost teasing tone, one Noeul wasn’t used to hearing from him.
“I’ve really missed sushi,” he admitted quietly, unable to take his eyes off the box.
By the time they returned, the apartment felt warm and quiet, a welcome contrast to the cold rain outside. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city shimmered beneath the gray sky. For a brief moment, Noeul forgot everything else and simply admired the view.
“Let me help you take a warm shower before we eat,” Chung-Hee suggested. “San brought special waterproof covers, so your wounds will stay dry.”
Noeul hesitated. The suggestion he had feared hearing was finally spoken.
The man in front of him would see him naked.
The man he had once fallen in love with would touch him.
Would he notice the other scars? The thought immediately made his stomach tighten.
Would he stare? Make some sarcastic remark?
Or worse, would he look at Noeul with pity?
And beneath all those fears lingered another question he was ashamed even to ask himself.
Would Chung-Hee feel even a drop of desire for him?
“I can manage on my own,” he said firmly. “As long as you help me take off my shirt.”
Something resembling disappointment crossed Chung-Hee’s face.
“You should know I was the one who dressed you at the hospital in New York.” He said it with such casual indifference that Noeul almost believed him. “I’ve seen everything there is to see.”
Noeul’s cheeks burned. He instinctively raised one of his bandaged hands toward his face before remembering he could barely move it and quickly turned away instead.
Chung-Hee smiled. “Your reactions are truly the best.”
He turned toward the bathroom. “Come.”
Noeul followed. Inside, Chung-Hee stood in front of him and reached for the hem of his shirt. Noeul held his breath.
This was different from the night before.
Perhaps because he knew what was coming this time.
Perhaps because Chung-Hee was taking his time.
Carefully, he pulled the shirt upward, avoiding Noeul’s injured hands.
His fingers brushed against his skin. Noeul drew in a quiet breath. Chung-Hee’s movements slowed.
“Stop looking at me like that,” Noeul murmured.
“Like what?”
Noeul didn’t answer. He wasn’t even sure what frightened him about the way Chung-Hee looked at him. That he might find disgust in it or that he wouldn’t.
And there it was again, that feeling Noeul had spent years trying to understand. Was he still in love with Chung-Hee? Or was this merely the lingering echo of a teenage fantasy, a high school crush that had somehow refused to die?
Chung-Hee said nothing more. He continued helping him undress, his gaze lingering longer than it should have.
Unable to endure the charged silence, Noeul stepped beneath the shower, carefully keeping his bandaged hands away from the stream of water.
Chung-Hee picked up the sponge and began helping him wash. Neither spoke.
Then his hand stopped. Noeul followed his gaze. A faded scar crossed his chest. Chung-Hee’s expression changed.
“What are these scars?”
Noeul immediately stiffened. “That’s none of your business.”
Chung-Hee looked up at him.
“Interesting. After everything you’ve done to yourself, there’s still some fight left in you.”
The gentleness was gone from his voice.
“You’re giving me yet another reason to put it out.”
Noeul stared at him.
Chung-Hee set the sponge aside and reached for the bathrobe.
“We’re done. Get dressed.”