naneunyulyeongibnida

i. at the hospital.

It's a busy evening in the ER--but then, when isn't it?

At several points during his shift, Junyoung pulls back the curtain surrounding one of the beds, and offers a warm if slightly professionally distant smile to the person contained within. He's got a clipboard that has the intake forms on it, and room for the notes he'll have to present to his attending physician.

The forms give him the basics but he's always far preferred to hear things from the patients themselves. He can get more context that way, which often helps him settle on a course of action that much faster. He's found, too (or at least, he believes) that talking directly to the patient to get the story establishes some trust. It's easier on him if they don't view this as some kind of adversarial relationship, if they can grasp that he actually does care, and will listen.

He's grateful for these cases where he can actually have a conversation. Sometimes he doesn't get that luxury here.

"Hi. I'm Dr. Cho." He moves to stand by the bed, setting the clipboard aside for now, giving his patient an appraising look. "I read the forms but I just want to make sure I totally understand what's going on. What brought you here? How can I help?"

ii. at the grocery store.

There are nights when Junyoung suspects he hasn't got a proper stomach anymore, that that very important organ has in fact been replaced by the paper cup that holds his favorite brand of instant noodles. They're quick to prepare and just about as quick to inhale, and they've saved his hungry ass many a time on a rushed break at work or as an exhausted last resort before falling into bed.

He's tired tonight, too, fresh off his fourth twelve-hour shift in as many days, but the thought of more noodles is one he can't stomach (ha, ha). He stands there blinking in the aisle before his body catches up with his brain, and he walks away from the rows upon rows of noodles.

This is one of the more upscale groceries near his apartment. It's one of those places with prepared food bars. He could possibly eat a proper meal for once in his recent life.

Except all he winds up doing is staring tiredly at one of the bars before addressing a person working their way down one side. "Is anything here decent?" A moment later, he remembers his manners, and adds, "...Excuse me. Sorry. Hi."

iii. a text message.

[ A misfire or an exchange between established CR, your choice. ]

Don't put me in that position. I am not qualified to be the responsible adult here.

iv. choose your own adventure.

[ Got an idea for a starter of your own? Hit me. ]

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