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★
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we're not kids anymore.
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@ltuscter
[ sms: kim yisol / @ltuscter ] do you want to drop off your bags at my place? [ sms: kim yisol ] we’re using my car tomorrow [ sms: kim yisol ] before you ask, no you can’t back out [ sms: kim yisol ] i paid you
( 💬 ) not really ( 💬 ) whose idea was it to do this again ( 💬 ) so i can Thank Them. :) ( 💬 ) you didn’t pay me enough
626 BEDFORD (STUPID) AVENUE @ltuscter
the lights were flickering on the top floor again.
ms. patel had asked ud to check them out three days in a row now, but it looks like they would have to wait another day because said ud tawan was currently staring intently at the vending machine in the lobby. he swears he was on his way to the elevator, but the vending machine just so happened to be re-stocked, and he couldn’t ignore the fact that sol’s favourite brand of canned coffee was glinting back at him (not that she’d ever specifically expressed that she liked this particular brand, he just always saw her shooting them back like wheatgrass shots).
the clock in the lobby was unreliable, but it was dark enough outside for ud to feel a familiar tug of something like worry at the pit of his stomach— not that taeng was out, he knew she was back at the apartment, but the fact that yisol was.
he tells himself, as he stuffs the canned coffee in his hoodie and buries himself in the hood, that he’ll just go for a walk (it’s not nearly as cold to warrant wearing a hoodie, but ud was a sweltering heat kinda guy and ville city was too cold most nights). he had no idea what time she’d be back, or if she was coming back at all, but still, he waits at the bus stop, toes digging into a tiny clump of grass peeking out through the pavement.
the 626 turns the corner in the distance and ud stands up, teetering over expectantly before the bus stops in front of him. he almost misses her, but suddenly they’re standing right in front of each other, and ud lamely raises his hand to offer a small wave.
“hi.”
☾
there are days that are especially draining. days where the bitter stench of antiseptic mixed with metallic undertones and the distinctive wet smell of death proves to be too much. days where she’s failed as a surgeon (where she steps off the spotlight of the o.r and the body is left on the table, cold). as of late days like that seems to be more and more prevalent—and yisol isn’t too sure if that’s an indication of her skills or just a stroke of impossible luck.
complications happen, even down to the most minuscule of percentages. but when it’s this often? this persistent? it’s annoying. it’s exhausting. it’s back to back ‘my condolences’ or ‘we tried our best but’ weighing on her shoulders. it’s frustration pounding in her ears, contrition accumulating at the back of her throat. fuck. she needs a smoke.
of course, when you’re grown (hah!) and some sort of a medical professional, it’s unsightly to react. so yisol bides her time, bites her cheek raw and flicks her tongue periodically over the cut throughout the commute home while her fingers itch around the rounded edges of her bic.
soon, she’ll be home. soon, she’ll be able to unwind and fill her lungs with enough nicotine to scorch what frustration she cannot voice. soon—“hi”—well, maybe not that soon.
“hey,” yisol blinks up at him, surprise evident on her face. certainly this wasn’t someone she expected to see out in the dark of the night nor was it someone she particularly cared to entertain on a night like this. but as far as things go with ud, they’re not so much on bad terms that she had a reason to be rude. most of the time, anyway.
“are...you going somewhere?”
@ltuscter
He retracts the knife’s razor to its hilt and with a twist and click of its lock, Sinu is settled. He takes a step back to take in the picture: stark white paint and laminate countertops, uncaulked corners and water-warped wood. Six medium-sized boxes, broken down and flattened against the entrance wall. A single designer soy candle, the last remnant of mom’s housewarming gift (the rest stored safely in the fridge).
An unsettling foreboding washes over the apartment like marsh gas. His sister is visiting tonight.
It stinks something fierce. It’s not the mold, because he’d spent two hours on his knobby knees scrubbing that out. It’s not the ghost of a wet dog, because he’d plugged in wall socket air fresheners first thing that morning. No, he knows this smell. It’s the rank miasma of his subconscious.
He storms towards the windows, cranking the latches open and letting fresh air and ambient street noise flood the room. He lights mom’s soy candle, sans fanfare and selfie memento that would have had her otherwise barking with joy. The scent of black resin and patchouli wafts and permeates thickly but does nothing to calm him nor mask the thin-knuckled knock at the door that soon follows.
All Sinu can do is close his eyes. Barefoot, he schlepps his way towards the source of the sound.
“Hey.”
☾
here’s the thing about being one of the little birds that grow up and leave the nest: you can’t ever deny momma bird anything. blame it on the guilt of leaving the woman who raised you by her lonesome in an entirely differently country. or the fact that you end up reaching out to the man who threw all of you away anyway (can you really be blamed? if he offered to pay a chunk of medical school for you, if you never once stopped seeking his love and approval), getting to know his son, his new wife. nevermind, we’ll double back on that later.
point is: you can never say no to her.
not when she calls you up out of the blue requesting you find a place for your mortal enemy only brother twin. and definitely not when she calls again to make sure you make sure he’s moved in okay.
which brings us here now: our defeated little bird loitering in front of the aforementioned apartment door, taking great care in weighing her options. if anything, she could lie—but it’s unlikely that sinu would cover for her. and end of the day, it would definitely come back to bite her in the ass in the form of long long phone calls and the rinse and reused ‘well why can’t you forgive him? you guys are blood, you shouldn’t be fighting’ in which she’d think, ‘so is dad, though’ but opt to keep her mouth shut.
but am i wrong? what’s the difference between what he did and what dad did? what makes kim sinu forgivable? nothing. fucking nothing.
but the criteria is different when it’s your twin, she supposes. even if she feels little to no connection to him now, so long as mom’s still around, he’s still “family”. and so, she inhales slow, in with the good out with the bad, and knocks at the door.
if she’s lucky (probably not) he won’t be home.
but alas! the door inevitably opens and yisol finds his face fairly quickly, thin frown already set in place at the look of him. it’s a bit funny, how it’s been days and weeks and months and even years—yet the disdain lingers so. seemingly seeps through every pore with each passing millisecond she stands there. though, yisol isn’t sure if it’s on her or on him for being a fucking smart-mouthed pain to deal with.
but, per usual, she doesn’t bother to hide it.
“mm,” yisol hums around a proper greeting and instead presses a small potted snake plant to his chest; quick in the manner of following up with a speedy snapshot for proof. mom’s gonna need it. “you finish unpacking already?” her brow raises, head tilting slight to look past the broad of his shoulders.
in the back of her head, she recalls mom’s directives: ‘buy him dinner, make sure he’s settled in properly.’
well, what if i don’t want to?
☾
there’s something to be said about mothers. how overbearing they tend be, how attentive, how sweet and how stubborn. yisol herself hasn’t spoken to her own in over a week—she knows, that’s on her—she’s the ungrateful child who left her mother alone in a barren house filled with unsavory memories. she’s the bad daughter who hadn’t been able to call her back nor make plans to visit for the holidays in the year and chump change she’s been in ville city. but residency is difficult for a reason and sufficed as a suitable excuse not to just as much.
what can i say? just like how mom’s folded into herself since the divorce, yisol has long outgrown the need for mother’s loving touch.
and it didn’t help that she’s welcomed dad back into her life (though, really, when did he leave? when had there ever been a day in which decisions made aren’t influenced by him in either a glaringly obvious way or another?)—him and the chunk of money he put into her tuition.
but, we’re not here to touch base on dad’s and the mess they’ve made out of their daughters. we’re here to talk about mothers. more specifically, we’re here to talk about @xdowonx’s mother. how she, bright eyed and brilliant and unstoppable force to her immovable object, had dragged yisol from the hospital straight to her apartment.
words exchanged: ‘you’re so thin, yisol-ah.’ ‘ah, really?’ ‘do you even eat?’ ‘when i have time i-’ ‘come over tonight, you must let me feed you.’ ‘but-’ ‘no buts.’
so, here they are. here she is, sat at a table stacked too generously for two. unable to contain the growing unease tickling the back of her throat with every piece of jeon and meat that the older piles onto her bowl, quadrupling with every mention of her son that slips out of her lips.
ah, yes. min dowon. min dowon, whom she hasn’t spoke to since high school. min dowon, who either ducks from her line of sight or bores holes into the back of her head from a safe distance at the hospital. min dowon, who she had an interest in knowing. but does that even make sense? for her to be in his mother’s place despite all that.
again, unstoppable force.
but at least. at. the. least, yisol thinks, lips forming a tight smile while the woman prattles off about their grade school days, it’s just us.
ah. her chopsticks still, unconsciously straightening up in her seat with the creak of the front door. the deep timbre that follows has the hairs on the back of her neck bristling, smile thinning out in the face of ajumeoni’s obvious elation. fuck me.
“ah, dowon-ah! you’re just in time to join us for dinner.”
fuck, goddammit. fuck! she bites the inside of her cheek, head turning slow to set her gaze on her long-time-no-longer-friendly friend and for the sake of both of them (but especially his mother), yisol manages a smile in greeting.
“hey, dowon. s’been a minute.” her right brow twitches, the more pressing question on her tongue left unasked. why didn’t you tell your mom we’re not friends anymore?
☾
there’s simplicity in a good cut. sheer gratification from a scalpel in her hand, slicing like butter through skin. it’s unclear when this change occurred, for kim yisol had not once dreamed about a life of scalpels and organs as a little girl (at the time, it had only been ballerinas and going to outer space and owning a patisserie), but it’s undeniable now—that she’s a certified surgical junkie. that professional dance and outer space and cute cakes aside, nothing exhilarates her more than cutting into a body.
is that wrong to say out loud? maybe.
and for the most part, it’s worth it. for the most part, standing under the o.r lights for hours on end is worth it. these days, with an attending like @caelumms, brilliant and eager to teach and eyecandy all the same, it’s especially worth it.
so when she steps into an o.r half past noon and exits a full eight hours later, yisol doesn’t mind the faint ache in her legs, more so preoccupied by the tremor in her hands—residual adrenaline if you will—that’s what happens when you’ve held a living beating heart in your hands. but more importantly, and her heart beats especially so at this, is the invitation for drinks from said attending at the end of it all.
now, who was she to say no?
and so, let’s fast forward a moment here—past the quick post ops and chart notes and even quicker shower and the comb she rakes through her hair and what little makeup she manages to throw on before the clock strikes 10—and she’s ready to go.
suspiciously eager, almost akin to a schoolgirl (hell, she feels like one—embarrassing as it is), is our dearest kim yisol, standing idly by in the lobby in anticipation for the appearance of her latest ‘crush’.
though, is it a crush? or is it lust? or maybe misplaced admiration? well, we’ll figure it out when we get there.
bit late but here we go! introducing: kim yisol, 27, surgical resident, also known as girl you see around the building looking half dead with the eyebags and extreme rbf and unbrushed hair the whole shabang. gonna try my best to iron out smaller details under the cut, but be sure to check out these links (about, bio) also! hmu for plots now, whenever! i’m almost always around.
first some quick but relevant center point hcs:
things she’s lost: hair ties (x4234), hair clips (x348237), socks (toe socks, usually in bee or fruit print, a couple of sanrio characters), piercing studs, hospital badge, wired earphones, contact cases, bic lighters, pendant necklace (from mom, if found please return), underwear (lol)
vending machine if she got to it first: energy drinks, take your pick! iced coffee, doubleshots, anything caffeinated god please
catch her climbing the stairs if she sees the elevator’s coming down from the 12th floor (🤮)
been going to the roof to smoke as of late as the staff’s been shady about how they can’t get the stench of nicotine off the walls of her apartment
quick recap:
lived in seoul all her life, went to a fancy undergrad and med school before matching with a residency program in ville city
smart, very smart, a total keener/nerd (doesn’t like being caught not knowing anything so, naturally, also Hates surprises)
chock full of daddy + abandonment issues :) s’what happens when pops dumps you for a new family folks!
later did reconcile with dad (they live in ville city) but it’s not really the same anymore is it?
has a twin @sinlim but they’re barely speaking rn lmao
generally very work focused, literally slept in the hospital all last year but now that she’s a 2nd year she’s chilling a bit more
sprung for a serviced apartment bc she’s bit of a slob tbh 100% the comes home tired and lazy and sheds her clothes all over the floor like a snake type ((also why she keeps losing articles of clothing))
petty petty petty, absolute grudge holder, all about getting even and doesn’t forgive easy (i.e. outed her twin when he stole her boyfriend in hs)
following up on that, only interested in older guys (once again we ref daddy issues + her brother 2 for 2 sleeping with anyone she dated in her age range 🙃)
^ hasn’t dated seriously since college, claims she has no time but also she has trust issues after being cheated on twice now
looks unapproachable but is... kinda unapproachable (not particularly bitchy/nasty just perpetually cranky) but overall socializes just fine, isn’t particularly eager to bond with anyone on a closer level
the ride or die type though :( lets be friends folks
wanted:
someone please give me a hospital gang it’s all i want T_T
^ also work wife/best friend pls must be hospital staff bc she has like no time for anyone else outside of it rip
former friends from when they were kids (idk really want a ‘my mom told me we can’t hang out anymore bc ur dumb’ type beat- real playground grudges that they’ll keep for the rest of their lives)
friends but not really friends she’s bad at keeping in touch ok feel free to @ her abt it
ex fling she backed off of bc it started touching intimate and she has #issues
casual hookups whateva! yk how it goes
half brother hmu pleaseeeeeee :)
[1st Look Vol. 205] - KRYSTAL JUNG
