the min family scare her – it has something to do with how all of them are just so perfect. compared to her own family, the mins are picturesque, the very definition of a happy family. sometimes, it even feels wrong for hyeon to be around their pet dog, as though the venomous implications of being a cha might pollute it. out of all four siblings, however, hyeon holds a particular disdain for one: min sohee. maybe it’s because she’s the very epitome of the perfect eldest daughter, the one who followed through with their parents’ plans, the one who never let down their family the way that hyeon has. maybe it’s because hyeon grows up being reminded of the great min sohee, evaluated and scrutinised up by her standards, as if pursuing a career in medicine could ever compare to taking over a drug-dealing business. maybe it’s because some part of hyeon is envious – min sohee is what she could’ve been, if she wasn’t so … herself (read: destructive).
after graduating from high school, it’s been fairly easy to avoid seeing sohee around – hyeon’s moved out from her family neighbourhood, they’re both busy with work, she’s pretty sure that being a resident in a fairly busy hospital entails long hours for sohee. still, being in yangcheon means that no one is ever fully avoidable (unless you choose to migrate to a whole different country with a different name and a different hair color, a possibility that hyeon has considered repeatedly over the past few years. the only issues stopping her from executing the plan would be the very act of leaving eunho behind, and the potential struggle of finding a good drug supplier.)
so, when her parents ask her to go to the hospital to pick up some medication for them, hyeon doesn’t think much about it. she’s on the front stairs, taking a smoke break because talking to her parents can be pretty fucking exhausting, even when they’re asking her to do the smallest of things. when she’s resting at the smoking area, she sees min sohee. shit. the feelings of mediocrity and inferiority floods her, bringing her back to her high school and university days, living with her parents, forcibly reminded of min sohee’s flawlessness. “who wouldn’t want a daughter like her?” repeats in hyeon’s head like a chant, the voice very perfectly mimicking her mother’s high-pitched tone. she’s about to turn the opposite direction, blow smoke rings in the direction of the paediatric ward and wait till sohee disappears before she continues on her errands when she sees the girl pull out a cigarette.
the image of min sohee having a pack of cigarettes is a little disorientating; sohee smoking is a paradox, an image that hyeon could never have imagined seeing. wow, hyeon feels as though she needs to take a photo, put it on a magazine spread: min sohee! stars — they’re just like us! however, she does not because she’s not quite sure what benefits a photo of sohee smoking will bring. (also, she doesn’t want to have a conversation with siwoo about taking mildly stalkerish, potentially creepy images of his older sister.)
still, hyeon can’t help but to say something – it’s just years of resentment and watching sohee get put on a pedestal that makes hyeon break the ice. (okay, those are mostly excuses. it’s mainly because hyeon is kind of a snarky bitch.) “hey,” she calls out, “would’ve thought that out of everyone, a doctor would know that smoking is bad for health.”
through the mayhem, the panic-prone whir that's possessed the entire hospital floor this morning, for each second that they're perilously close to a ground zero of disaster, it's the sole thought she clings to for dear life. twenty, then ten, then five, and just the one.
the heart monitor beats monotonously. her eyes sting as she watches. the OR clock counts down four, three, two—
she lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
finally.
off come the goggles, gloves, mask, and the surgical slippers in the locker room and on goes the whitecoat, the pack snug in one of the pockets. if the timing’s right, she could even squeeze in a second if the first doesn’t scratch the itch.
the brick wall behind the hospital building is deserted at this hour, tucked away and (mostly) out of sight and mind. it’s better this way—those who are known to head to the rooftop for the habit would have a word or two if they ever saw. sohee’s never had the stomach for such hypocrisy.
sohee leans against the wall, cigarette between her teeth, end unlit. her hands pat around for the lighter, left pocket, then right, too caught up in the search to catch the sound of footsteps headed her way until it follows by a voice.
she looks up, and there’s a pause. the years take a minute to catch up to her, to match the cat-like expression of the present to that of years past. the name comes to her last, at the tip of the tongue, but never said out loud.
“the only reason why anyone knows it’s bad at all is ‘cause of a doc.” her voice is flat, borders insipid, void of any real feeling. “job description only mentions taking care of everyone else’s health. nothing about mine.”
her eyes flit to the cigarette held in hyeon’s hand. “got a light?”
