Chapter Text
The dispatch system crackled, a new call coming through, and Seonghwa listened from his place in the back of the ambulance. “There’s been a shootout, an ambulance is needed. At least one GSW.” The woman gave the location of the shooting before going silent, the connection crackling once more as the call went dead.
Seonghwa waited for the ambulance to move, but nothing happened. He rolled his eyes, rapping his knuckles against the metal wall, the sound reverberating loud enough to be heard from the driver’s seat. “Jinwoo, let’s move. You heard the location, correct?” Shootouts in this part of the city were far from uncommon, but he didn’t know what the condition of the patient would be upon arrival. Gunshot wounds had the potential to do a lot of damage, and with every second that ticked by, more blood would be lost.
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry - pulling out now.” The ambulance jolted into motion, and Seonghwa allowed his eyes to flutter closed, exhaling a slow breath. As the head paramedic on the day shift, all of the new EMTs were always placed under his instruction for their first few months. Jinwoo was one of them, and so far, he had been delegated to driving the ambulance. He wasn’t great at that, so Seonghwa did not trust him with any hands-on patient experience just yet.
Another EMT sat in the back, but Seonghwa assumed that all hands wouldn’t need to be on deck for this dispatch, based on the call. Only one ambulance meant only one person injured, and he could handle that on his own. And, considering the context, he would be surprised if the patient was even still there when the ambulance arrived.
Seonghwa worked for a hospital in the less privileged part of Seoul, and the area was crawling with gangs. Shootouts were common, but he usually managed to avoid them working the day shift. Most of the calls received at night were gang related, which was a large part of the reason why Seonghwa had resolutely avoided working nights since his training days.
A shootout during broad daylight was uncommon, but not unheard of. He had been called to such scenes before, and most of the time, any gang members who had been injured in the scuffle were already gone once the ambulance got there. An innocent bystander always made the call at the sound of gunshots, but no gang member ever wanted to stick around for medical treatment. That was a big part of why dead bodies were always turning up, people who thought they could handle their injuries on their own.
But that really wasn’t Seonghwa’s problem. If someone was there to be treated, he would always take care of them as best as he could in the field before transporting the patient to the hospital. However, if the person hadn’t decided to stick around, then whatever happened to them would be their issue to deal with. He dealt with enough difficult patients as it was - he didn’t need to deal with misplaced guilt on top of it all.
The ambulance took a sharp turn, and Seonghwa’s shoulder smashed into the wall. “Sorry!” Jinwoo called from the front of the vehicle, and Seonghwa groaned as he rubbed the area. His shift was dragging today, and he really would have loved to spend the afternoon waiting for calls and not actually receiving any, but of course today was busy.
He really did enjoy his job, despite his exhaustion. Helping people was about the only thing he cared about, but he knew that this call would end in nothing pleasant, and he wished that it had been dispatched to a different paramedic. Jackassing around the city just to arrive at a scene where the injured person had already left was annoying.
Another few minutes passed, the sirens on the top of the ambulance wailing, until finally Jinwoo spoke again from up front. “We’re right where the dispatcher told us to go - I don’t see anyone yet, though.” Seonghwa sighed, getting to his feet and adjusting the pants of his uniform, a dark navy color. Both his shirt and pants were made from the same material, similar to the scrubs worn in the hospital, but more heavy duty for field treatment.
“I’ll go check it out,” he said, and the other EMT nodded. He honestly didn’t remember her name, but she didn’t seem keen to move from her seat, and this would be over quicker if Seonghwa just took care of it himself. Which was his main problem in life, most of the time - he took it upon himself to handle everything, because he knew he would do the best job. That mindset had helped him to become head paramedic, but it often left him irritated with everyone else around him who didn’t care as much as he did.
He grabbed the fully stocked trauma kit from the shelf along the wall just as the ambulance came to a full stop. It was decently heavy, full of any and all emergency supplies needed for first responders, though he doubted he would get much use out of it for this particular call.
Unlocking the double doors at the back of the ambulance, Seonghwa pushed them open, a gust of cool air blowing against his face. Winter was still drawing to a close midway through March, and though it wasn’t nearly as cold as it had been a month ago, a chill spread along his skin as he stepped down onto the ground. “Turn off the sirens!” he called over his shoulder, and Jinwoo complied a moment later, quiet befalling the air.
The ambulance was parked on a side street, and the entire surrounding area was vacant. Wind blew past, cutting right through Seonghwa’s shirt. “Fuck this,” he muttered to himself, scanning the street around him, because no one was here. Just as he had anticipated, this had all been one massive waste of his fucking time.
Still, he did the routine check anyway, walking around to the front side of the ambulance as well. Just as he was about to call it quits on his search, a voice came from behind him, startling him as he whirled around. “You know, I’ve been sitting here bleeding out for about fifteen minutes, now. Would’ve thought Seoul had a better dispatch system.”
A small alley separated two run down buildings, and sure enough, a man was sitting there. His back was leaned up against the wall, one of his legs pulled close to his chest while the other was extended out in front of him. He didn’t appear terribly concerned about the bullet lodged in his shoulder, but Seonghwa could see it from here. All he wore was a thin white shirt despite the chill, one side of it drenched in blood, standing out stark against the fabric. An angry scar ran down the side of the cheek that Seonghwa could see, from the base of his eye to the corner of his mouth.
He didn’t even bother to look at Seonghwa as he spoke, too focused on the cigarette between his fingers, taking a deep inhale before blowing the smoke out from between his lips. It was no wonder he wasn’t cold, then. Bruises shaded his knuckles like crushed violets against snow, open cuts littered along his skin as well. His hands were small, his fingers skinny - he looked young, the longer Seonghwa looked at him. They were probably around the same age.
“You called the ambulance for yourself?” Seonghwa asked, not bothering to step any closer. He didn’t know anything about this man, but from the sight of him alone, he was clearly dangerous. One of the gang members involved in the shootout most likely, and that didn’t bode well for Seonghwa. But a patient was a patient, and if this man wanted his help, then he would give it in the same manner as he would for anyone else.
The man finally looked at him then, curving a brow. “Isn’t that the whole point? That if I’m in need of emergency assistance, I can call and someone will come help me?” He was right, of course, but Seonghwa had never heard of a gang member calling his own ambulance. That went against everything he knew of their usual actions.
He decided to proceed with caution, taking a step forward, his med kit in his hands. “Yes, of course,” he replied, keeping his tone professional. “I am here to help you. Would you mind telling me how you received the wound?”
“What does it look like? I got shot,” the man deadpanned, and Seonghwa inhaled a slow breath, nodding his head once. He fully expected this man to be difficult, but the wound didn’t look great, more blood staining his shirt the longer they stood there staring at each other.
“Yes, I understand that,” Seonghwa said. “Have you sustained any other wounds, or is this the only one?”
The man took another inhale from his cigarette, the grey smoke dulling his features for a moment as it swirled past his face. “Just the one. I figured you could stitch it up quick, and I could be out of your hair. Sound good?” He possessed no sense of urgency, it seemed, and Seonghwa probably should have been more gentle with his next words, but he didn’t take well to a patient telling him what to do.
“That will be up to me, actually,” he said, a hint of ice slipping into his tone. “It looks like you’ve lost a decent amount of blood already, so I would like to assess the wound before deciding on the proper course of action. If the bullet nicked something important and I ‘stitch it up quick’ like you said, you could continue to bleed internally. So if I were you, I would consider letting the medical professional do his job.”
He mentally cursed at himself as soon as he finished speaking, because this was a dangerous man and he should really be more careful, but Seonghwa’s sense of self justice had always been strong. It got him into trouble sometimes, and he expected this to be one of those times, but all the man did was laugh. The sound was light, and a little bit hoarse, which didn’t come as a surprise considering the cigarette. “A feisty one, aren’t you? That’s alright - I like that kind of thing. You can come over here and assess me, if it’ll make you feel better.”
Seonghwa had to make a conscious effort not to roll his eyes, crossing the distance between them and stepping into the alley. It was otherwise vacant of people, though he did take note of a motorcycle that had been shrouded in shadow before, a short distance away. Now that he could see the man up close, he noticed the dark circles underneath his eyes, the jut of his cheekbones against his wan skin. The blood loss was affecting him more than he let on, though Seonghwa had a feeling that he always looked like this. A little too pale, a little too thin. Probably on the lower end of the totem pole in whatever gang he had been roped into - Seonghwa knew very little about how that worked, but this man couldn’t have been anywhere near the top.
At least, that was his assumption, until he crouched down in front of the man and noticed what was in the front pocket of his shirt. A flower, barely peeking out from behind the fabric.
An orchid.
Seonghwa’s mouth ran dry, and he nearly dropped his med kit onto the ground, sweat slicking his palms despite the cold. The orchid was a gruesome shade of rust red, not vibrant like the blooms that were sold in stores. All of the petals had begun to wilt at the edges, like it had been plucked from the earth a while ago.
He set down his kit on the cracked pavement of the alley and willed his hands not to tremble as he looked at the man. “To start, do you have a name?”
The man cocked his head to the side, his lips tugging upwards slightly, more of a smirk than a smile. “Yes,” he answered, “I do. But I’m afraid you’ll need to earn that, if you want to know it. Names hold a lot of power out here, but you probably already know that.”
He was right about that - Seonghwa did know. He had treated enough men like this one to know that they never gave personal information, but he always asked anyway. Just in case they ever decided they wanted to be known. Inhaling a deep breath, Seonghwa pursed his lips. “Yes, well, my name is Seonghwa. I like for my patients to know it, because I’d like for you to trust me enough to let me look at that wound. So, will you?”
They stared at each other for a moment, two people from two separate worlds. Seonghwa would go home to his nice apartment after this, to take a hot shower and settle down into his queen sized bed. But the man across from him… Seonghwa didn’t know where he would go, but he figured it would be nowhere pleasant.
“Seonghwa,” the man said, his lips moving slowly, as if savoring the taste of the name on his tongue. “Suits you - it’s pretty.” Despite the reputation of the man before him, and despite his best attempt at self preservation, Seonghwa still felt his cheeks grow warm. The man must have seen it too, for his smile grew, and he took a drag from his cigarette. “Yeah, you can look at the wound. One second.”
He puffed out one last burst of smoke before snuffing out the cigarette on the ground and leaving it there. Grabbing the hem of his shirt, he pulled one arm out of the sleeve, taking the shirt off on that side to expose the shoulder with the bullet wound. He left the other arm still in its sleeve, the shirt bunched around his neck. One side of his chest was exposed, and Seonghwa resolutely ignored the lean tone to his torso, the various scars that littered the skin.
This man was dangerous, the leader of the most prevalent gang in the area, but even Seonghwa couldn’t deny that he was attractive. In a disheveled, gritty kind of way, the exact kind of person who you would never bring home to meet the parents. Not that it really mattered, because Seonghwa hadn’t seen his parents in years, but the sentiment was the same.
Now he could see the wound more clearly, and he restrained himself from touching it without any gloves on. Just from sight alone, he could tell that it hadn’t hit anything life threatening, because the amount of blood seeping from the wound could have been a lot worse. But the bullet was still lodged inside, and while he could handle cleaning the wound with the supplies in his med kit, he would rather it be taken care of in a more sanitary space.
He got back to his feet a moment later, the man’s eyes still trailing him. “I want to transport you to the hospital,” he informed, picking up his kit. “I’ll get the stretcher for you, since you’ve lost some blood. The hospital isn’t far, and they’ll take care of the wound safely there.”
The man stared at him, and a dry chuckle left his lips as he shook his head. “Like hell you will,” he replied, squinting against the sun. “The only reason I haven’t left yet is because of you - if another doctor tries to touch me, I won’t let them.” He didn’t offer any further explanation, and Seonghwa swallowed before responding.
“Um… I don’t even know you,” he stuttered, his brows drawing together. “I promise that any other doctor will take great care of you-”
“They won’t,” the man interrupted, and something in his tone had shifted. Before, he had spoken like this was all some kind of game, but his words were honest now. “Doctors don’t treat people like me with respect, alright? I called the ambulance, but I stayed back here until I decided I wanted to get your attention. I had a feeling about you, and I was right, because you’ve treated me like any other patient. I don’t go to hospitals, and I don’t let random people touch me. So if you try to bring out that stretcher, I’ll be out of here before you can try to make me stay.”
Seonghwa didn’t respond right away, his fingers fidgeting against the handle of the trauma kit. “You need medical attention,” he insisted, though his words possessed no real strength, and they both knew it.
“You’re a doctor, aren’t you? I’ll let you take care of me.”
Looking up towards the sky for a moment, Seonghwa sighed. “I’m a paramedic, not a doctor, technically. I am trained to treat wounds in emergency situations, but really my job is to keep the patient alive until we can get back to the hospital. And, well, you’re not dying, so I’m really supposed to bring you back-”
“You’re one of those ones who always follows the rules, huh?” This was the second time the man had interrupted Seonghwa, but his grin had returned this time, a mischievous light sparking to life behind his eyes. “Nothing like me, then. Maybe that should be my sign to leave, but I think I like you. I have a feeling you aren’t like the rest of them. Plus, I’m in a good mood today, and talking to you is entertaining, at least.”
Seonghwa frowned. “Why are you in a good mood when you just got shot?”
That made the man laugh, that same light sound from before. It really didn’t match his appearance at all, far too childlike. “Oh, that’s precisely the reason for my good mood. I know it sounds cliche, but you should really see the other guy.” Seonghwa stiffened at that, another reminder that this man was dangerous.
Orchids just like the one in his pocket turned up all the time, tucked into the aging wounds of bodies found in these back streets, his signature mark. Because, while Seonghwa didn’t know this man’s true name, he knew enough. The news stations, the police, they all called him the Orchid. And for all Seonghwa knew, he could be waiting to use that one in his pocket right now, biding his time for the right moment to slit Seonghwa’s throat open and hide his body in the shadows.
He bit down on his bottom lip, looking down at the man still sitting on the curb, treating his wound like an afterthought. “Will you really leave if I try to bring you to the hospital?” Seonghwa asked, though he already knew the answer. “If you leave, the wound could get infected, or you could experience complications, and going to the hospital would take care of all of that. Don’t you want that?”
The man fixed him with an unimpressed stare, a section of his bangs falling forward into his eyes, black strands that contrasted his pale skin. “I’ve dealt with far worse wounds on my own. I refuse to get in that ambulance, and I refuse to let you take me to the hospital. I hate that place - we all do.” Seonghwa assumed that ‘we’ referred to all of his other gang friends, and he really hoped that none of them would come around looking for their leader the longer the two of them stayed here.
So eventually, he gave up on protocol, shaking his head and releasing a weary sigh. “Fine,” he said, and the man perked up, looking at him with renewed interest. “I’ll take care of you here, then. But at least come sit in the back of the ambulance, so that I can use my supplies in there, alright?”
Instead of answering right away, Seonghwa watched as the man dug a hand into the front pocket of his pants, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He shoved one between his lips, cupping the end as he set it alight, taking a deep drag as he returned the items to his pocket. “You know, most of my patients don’t smoke while I treat their wounds,” Seonghwa pointed out.
The man winked at him, and warmth pooled in his stomach. “Well, I think you’ll find that I’m not like most of your patients. I’ll come sit in your ambulance, if that’s what you want, but I don’t want anyone else to touch me. Only you.” Seonghwa really didn’t understand what he had done to make this gang leader - the Orchid, no less - trust him over any other doctor who would probably do a much better job, but trying to argue the point had gotten him nowhere so far, so he just nodded.
“Only me,” he agreed. “Now, um, will you let me help you walk over there, at least? You’ve lost a fair amount of blood already, and you might feel dizzy if you stand up on your own.”
Holding his cigarette with his lips, the man braced his hands on the cold ground. “Sure thing,” he agreed, his words muffled. “As long as you’re the one helping, darling.”
Momentarily stunned by his casual use of the name, Seonghwa blinked, making no move to assist him. At least, not until he shifted his legs underneath him and started to get up by himself, startling Seonghwa out of his stupor. He shifted his med kit into one hand, eliminating the distance between the two of them as he reached out to grasp the man’s elbow on his non-wounded side.
The man flinched at the contact, though he masked it well, but Seonghwa saw through his facade rather easily. He had treated plenty of people living out on the streets, people who had been beaten to the point of touch aversion. A pang of sympathy shot through his chest, but he tried his best to ignore the feeling, keeping his touch gentle. “I don’t have to touch you, if you aren’t okay with that. I can treat you here,” he offered, even though he was going back on what he had just said a minute ago.
Even though this man had a bad reputation, he was still a person. Life couldn’t have been kind to him, for him to wind up in his current situation, and Seonghwa didn’t want to treat him like most of the world probably did. He didn’t seem so scary right now, though underestimating him was definitely a mistake.
“No, no, it’s alright,” the man insisted, and his voice was the softest it had been since the start of their conversation, the cigarette still clamped between his lips. “It’ll be easier for you to do it there. And, it’s like I said - it’s okay if you touch me.” He didn’t offer any further explanation, and so Seonghwa wrapped an arm around his waist, trying to ignore the heat of the skin on the bare side of his torso. Even out here in the cold, his skin was warm.
“Why?” Seonghwa asked as they hobbled towards the ambulance. “I haven’t done anything to make you trust me. You don’t know anything about me.”
When the man responded, his breathing was labored, the only indication thus far that he felt any pain at all. “You told me your name before trying to look at my wound. And you’re still agreeing to treat me, even though I don’t want to go to any hospital. Most of you people are too absorbed in your own sense of duty to listen to anything I have to say - but you did.” He paused to catch his breath. “But more than that, I just have a good feeling about you, and my instincts are never wrong.”
Seonghwa supposed his reasoning made sense, though he really hadn’t done any of those things on purpose. And he wasn’t sure how to feel about the knowledge that the Orchid had a good feeling about him, but he didn’t have much time to ponder it as they reached the ambulance.
“Wait a minute while I tell the others to go to the front, alright?” he said, and he helped the man to lean against the side of the ambulance in the meantime. Once he was situated, Seonghwa climbed into the back of the vehicle, the same female EMT from earlier scrolling on her phone.
He expected her to look up at the sound of his entry, but she didn’t, and he rolled his eyes. “Hey,” he called, and she jolted, eyes wide as she shoved her phone into her pocket. “It’s okay if you’re on your phone, I don’t care right now - although, I normally would, so keep that in mind. I need you to sit with Jinwoo up front and shut the divider. I’ll let you know when I’m finished with the patient. He’s a bit of a tough case, and it will be best if I handle this alone.”
She stared back at him before dipping her head in a delayed nod and rising from her seat. Seonghwa didn’t stick around any longer, hopping out of the ambulance and down to the street once more. The Orchid was still there, which came as a bit of a surprise - Seonghwa had half expected him to leave while left unattended.
“Okay, the back is clear. Just come sit on the edge, where the doors are - that's close enough. You don’t need to come all the way inside,” he explained, and he helped the man to do as asked, sitting at the back with his legs dangling over the side. Seonghwa pulled himself back up into the ambulance, and he rifled through the supplies, though most of what he needed was already in the trauma kit.
He set it all down beside the man, snapping a pair of gloves over his hands and stepping down onto the pavement again. It would be easiest to treat the wound like this, with his patient sitting on the elevated platform. His torso was right at eye level, and Seonghwa swallowed as he popped open the trauma kit and reached for the bottle of antiseptic first. “Now, sir, I will need to clean the wound first-“
Before he could finish his thought, the man before him burst into laughter, his cigarette trailing smoke as he held it between two fingers again. “The hell do you mean, ‘sir?’ Someone like you has no place calling someone like me sir, I can promise you that.” He seemed to find this very amusing, a wide grin exposing twin rows of straight teeth, surprisingly well kept considering his current station in life.
Heat warmed Seonghwa’s cheeks, and he rushed to explain himself. “That’s just proper etiquette when it comes to treating patients, sir - um, I mean… Orchid? Do you prefer that?” The man’s smile dropped away as soon as the title left Seonghwa’s lips, his eyes hardening, and suddenly Seonghwa understood his reputation a little better. He looked scary like this, the scar on his face marring his features, and Seonghwa fought the urge to take a step back.
“You of all people should not call me that,” he said, his tone cold as steel. “If the man who treats my wounds calls me the Orchid, this turns into coercion, and I have no desire to force you to do anything. Only my enemies call me that.”
“The whole world calls you that!” Seonghwa protested, but the man's stare didn’t falter, his point standing firm. Oh.
Searching for something to say, Seonghwa twisted the bottle of antiseptic in his hands. “I - I won’t call you that, then. I apologize.” Looking down at the cracked pavement, he bit down on the inside of his cheek. “Is there something I can call you? I like to refer to my patients as people, so if you don’t give me something else to work with, I’m going to stick with ‘sir.’”
The man continued to look at him for a moment, his eyes softening the slightest bit, barely perceptible at all. But Seonghwa was very perceptive, and he noticed it just the same. “You can call me by my name,” he decided, lowering his voice to a hushed murmur. “You can call me Hongjoong.”
“But - but you just told me before that I would need to earn it-“
“Well, I’ve decided that you have. Happy?” They stared at each other, and Hongjoong’s eyes twinkled. “Now, I’m kind of bleeding out here, and while I’ve really enjoyed this chat, I would hate to pass out in front of you. Not the greatest way to impress an attractive man, and I still have plenty of lines I have yet to use on you.”
Seonghwa’s face heated even further at that, and he mentally cursed himself, because he should not be blushing due to the words of the man in front of him. He shouldn’t be speaking with this man at all, aside from the routine questions about the injury. Following protocol had never been difficult for him before, so why was he struggling to uphold the rules of his job so much now?
Uncapping the antiseptic, Seonghwa chose not to respond to that last comment. He grabbed a thick wad of gauze as well, and he soaked it thoroughly with the liquid. “I’m going to clean the area around the wound first,” he explained, pressing the gauze to Hongjoong’s shoulder. His skin wasn’t actually too dirty, but Seonghwa took his time anyway, only stopping once he was satisfied. “And to clean the wound itself, I will be using saline solution. It shouldn’t burn too bad - not like alcohol would, or whatever you use to clean the injuries you don’t call an ambulance for.”
As he worked, Hongjoong took another drag from his cigarette, blowing the smoke out from between his lips. Pausing in the process of squirting saline into the wound, Seonghwa fixed him with an unimpressed stare. “Will you please put that thing out?” he asked, wrinkling his nose. “The smell of cigarette smoke is not my favorite - not by a long shot.”
A smirk tugged at Hongjoong’s lips, and he nodded after a moment. “Well, in that case I best get rid of it.” He pulled his uninjured arm back, chucking the cigarette out into the barren street. “I don’t even like those fuckin’ things. Just gives me something to do, most of the time. Keeps me warm, too.”
Seonghwa huffed, shaking his head as he finished with the saline. “You know what else might keep you warm? A coat.” That made Hongjoong laugh, and Seonghwa turned away to search the med kit in order to keep the slight grin that tugged at his lips hidden. From the look of things, Hongjoong didn’t need any further boosts to his ego. If he saw Seonghwa smile, he just might think that he had a chance.
“Now I need to examine the bullet - ideally, if you had followed my advice and gone to a hospital, they would be able to scan for any internal damage. But I can’t do that with the supplies I have here, so you’re just going to have to trust my limited judgment. Based on how the blood has slowed, I doubt the bullet hit anything vital - if it did, you would have lost a lot more blood. I know it looks like a lot, but your body has a lot of blood inside of it, and this is a drop in that metaphorical bucket.” Seonghwa paused in his explanation for a moment to peer more closely at the bullet hole.
It wasn’t terribly large, impacting the skin right near the top of his humerus. With a sigh of relief, Seonghwa continued to speak. “You’re lucky in regards to placement, though. Whoever shot you did a poor job of trying to kill you - no major vessels run over this part of the shoulder. Maybe a nerve or two, but you can move it fine, from what I’ve seen. It must not have penetrated deep enough to damage the bone either.”
Hongjoong nodded, though Seonghwa had the feeling that most of that explanation had gone right over his head. “So then, do you just take it out and send me on my way?” he asked.
“No, actually,” Seonghwa said, rummaging through the trauma kit again as he searched for the supplies he needed. “Do you know how many people come to the emergency room with bullet wounds? Hundreds each year, at my hospital. And do you know how many actually leave with the bullets removed from their bodies?” He paused, waiting for an answer.
“Um… all of them?”
Seonghwa shook his head. “A few dozen, maybe. Depends on the case - if the bullet fragmented, or if it hit anything really important, the doctors will remove it. But most of the time, they don’t. It poses more danger for me to root around inside of your body to find it. I could nick an artery doing that, or I could introduce contaminants from the environment around us. The best thing I can do for you is to stitch the wound closed - your body will create scar tissue around the bullet, and it won’t move. It will remain in your body, but you won’t know it’s there.”
This wouldn’t be the first time Seonghwa had treated a wound like this, after all. During his training hours several years before, he had worked countless shifts at the free clinic in the area, treating the homeless and less privileged people in the city. Bullet wounds appeared all the time, and he hoped that Hongjoong would trust him on this.
Hongjoong didn’t answer right away, but when he did, his voice possessed the same nonchalance that it had since the start. “Fine by me. Do whatever you need to do.” He swung his legs slightly as they dangled above the street. “I trust you.”
With that confirmation, Seonghwa set out his suture supplies next to the trauma kit. He doused the wound in saline one more time, and then he began to stitch it closed. The wound itself wasn’t very wide, and it didn’t need more than a few stitches, but Seonghwa still took his time. After all, he was a perfectionist when it came to most things, but his work sat at the top of that list.
Hongjoong hardly flinched the entire time, and he didn’t speak either, which Seonghwa appreciated. Distractions weren’t welcome when he was in the middle of pulling a suturing needle through skin, something that not all patients understood. But Hongjoong did, and he didn’t speak again until Seonghwa broke the silence first, tugging the second to last stitch into place.
“I can bandage those knuckles up for you too, if you want,” he offered, though he really shouldn’t have. He would hate to stitch up this bullet wound, just for one of the scrapes along Hongjoong’s knuckles to get infected. What a waste of time that would be.
All Hongjoong did was laugh - he did a lot of laughing, which Seonghwa wouldn’t have expected from someone so notorious. “Those bandages wouldn’t last an hour, sweetheart.”
The blush returned, and Seonghwa went back to focusing on his work, after that. He finished up the last stitch, cutting the thread and reaching for a roll of bandages instead. He cut off a thick portion, and he used medical tape to adhere it to the skin around the wound, covering Hongjoong’s shoulder and part of his chest. How was his skin so warm? He should have been freezing with his shirt only half covering his body, but he didn’t even have goosebumps.
“You’re all set,” he announced once he was finished, closing the trauma kit and gathering up the supplies to be discarded. He was able to reach the discard bin from where he stood on the street, and he shoved everything inside, peeling off his gloves as well. “Put your shirt back on, please.”
Hongjoong raised a brow, making no move to do so. “You were blushing while you touched my skin - don’t try to hide it. You would rather me take the shirt all the way off, I’m sure.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Seonghwa deadpanned, even as his pulse pounded in his ears. He did a good job of remaining collected on the outside, arching a brow of his own. “If you want hypothermia, go ahead and take it off. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“I like you,” Hongjoong said, and he did slide his injured arm back into his sleeve this time, the barest trace of a wince crossing his features as he pulled the hem back down to cover his torso. “You’re kind, but you’re not weak. I like that.”
Seonghwa pursed his lips, because he really didn’t want to pursue that avenue of conversation. Instead, he changed the subject. “You’ll need to take care of your wound yourself, because you’ve made it quite clear you won’t go to a doctor, so let me explain it to you. Keep the bandage as dry as you can, and keep the area clean. Wash the wound with water twice a day - just water. You can take over the counter painkillers if you need them, which you probably will. It’s going to swell, and it’s going to hurt like a bitch, but you should heal fine. If you start running a temperature, you need to see a doctor, because that means it’s probably infected - are you even listening to me?”
All while he had been speaking, Hongjoong had just been staring at his lips with a smile on his face, an expression that only grew at the question. “Haven’t heard a word you said. The attempt was cute, though,” he replied. Seonghwa clenched his jaw, and his annoyance must have shown, for Hongjoong raised a hand a moment later. “Just kidding. Hold on a second, will you?”
He proceeded to lower himself down from where he had been sitting on the edge of the ambulance, a soft hiss escaping through his teeth as his feet made contact with the ground. “Wait, you really shouldn’t-” Seonghwa began to protest, but Hongjoong walked away before he could finish, heading back into the alley where Seonghwa had first found him.
For a brief moment he disappeared into the shadows, and Seonghwa half expected to hear the rev of a motorcycle engine as he drove off, but he emerged again not long after. He held something in his hands, and only when he came closer did Seonghwa realize what it was. A pen, and a piece of paper. He didn’t understand why a gang leader would travel with those two items, but he didn’t really want to know the answer, either.
Hongjoong leaned on the side of the ambulance, writing something on the paper before clicking the pen closed and folding it up, doing a sloppy job. “Give me your hand,” he said, extending his own arm out in Seonghwa’s direction.
Unsure, Seonghwa stuck out his hand after a moment’s hesitation, his heart thumping against his ribs. All Hongjoong did was place the piece of folded paper in his palm, closing his fingers around it with his own hand. Hongjoong’s skin had felt so warm while Seonghwa was treating his wound, but his fingers were freezing. “Call me if you ever need anyone taken care of,” he murmured, pulling his hand away. “Consider this a direct line.”
Seonghwa stared at his hand, still able to feel the memory of Hongjoong’s fingers. The piece of folded paper pressed into his skin, and he kept his fist closed as he pocketed it. He would never use it, he was certain of that, but turning down such a gesture from a man like this seemed like a bad idea.
Call me if you ever need anyone taken care of. Meaning, if Seonghwa gave him a call, Hongjoong wouldn’t hesitate to kill whoever was giving him problems? Looking at him now, Seonghwa found it difficult to believe that this man could be capable of something like that, but the flower in his pocket didn’t lie. Hongjoong was the Orchid, the same man that left bodies all over the city for the authorities to find. And Seonghwa now had a direct line of contact with him.
“Alright,” he responded, his voice a little bit breathless. “Thanks.” Hongjoong just nodded, and he took a step back like he was about to leave. For some reason, Seonghwa didn’t want that just yet, and he reached into the breast pocket of his own uniform even as he cursed himself under his breath. “Wait a minute.”
Hongjoong stopped in his tracks, watching Seonghwa through long lashes, too delicate to belong to someone like him. Pulling free the notepad and pen that he always carried around, Seonghwa jotted down his own number onto the next fresh page. He ripped it out of the pad, and he folded it up in a neat square, unlike Hongjoong’s haphazard fold.
“Take this,” he said, and he extended the piece of paper out in Hongjoong’s direction. For once, Seonghwa had rendered Hongjoong immobile for a moment it seemed, for all he did was stand there. With a sigh, Seonghwa crossed the distance between them and tucked the paper into Hongjoong’s breast pocket, right behind the orchid. A shiver spread over his skin as the wilted petals brushed against his fingers.
“So charmed by me that you wanted me to have your number, huh?” Hongjoong smirked, and Seonghwa rolled his eyes, already regretting his decision.
“It’s for emergencies. Nothing else. I really shouldn’t be giving it to you at all, but helping people is my job. If that wound gets infected, call me and I’ll take care of you. Don’t just sit around and let it kill you, alright?”
A beat of silence passed, and then Hongjoong smiled again, though there was something different about the expression this time. It was softer, and he looked younger, in a way. Less hardened to the world around him. “Thanks,” he said, his voice a little hoarse. Almost a little emotional, but Seonghwa knew better than to believe that.
Seonghwa nodded, pressing his lips together. “I hope you’ll never have to call me.”
“Well, I would love for you to call me, personally,” Hongjoong countered, a mischievous glint to his eye. “Mine isn’t only for emergencies, by the way. If you find yourself thinking about me, and you want to see me again…” he trailed off, and Seonghwa crossed his arms.
“Not happening.”
“Why not?”
The single glaring reason seemed to buzz in the air between them like static electricity. Seonghwa should have said it, that the two of them were from two vastly different worlds, but he chose not to for reasons he didn’t quite understand. “I already told you - I don’t like the smell of cigarette smoke.”
One corner of Hongjoong’s mouth twitched upwards. “Well, I guess I’ll have to quit, then.”
Seonghwa shrugged. “I guess you will.” They stood there with hardly any distance separating them, and Seonghwa found himself committing a mental image of this man to his memory. Whenever the news stations spoke about the Orchid, this was the man they spoke about. He wasn’t sure how that information would change his perception of the stories reported, but he was less inclined to believe that the Orchid was ruthless. Or heartless.
Could a man who had killed so many people be misunderstood? Certainly not, and Seonghwa really should have grasped this, but he had a nagging feeling that there was more to Hongjoong than his gang persona. At least, he wanted to believe that.
But it didn’t matter anyway, because Hongjoong raised two fingers to his forehead in a mock salute before he turned on his heel and headed back for the alley. Seonghwa watched him the entire way, until he disappeared from view. Only then did he let loose a shuddering breath, his fingers beginning to tremble.
Charming as Hongjoong had been, he was dangerous. And Seonghwa couldn’t repress the belated sense of fear that crashed over him, now that he was alone. Hongjoong hadn’t hurt him in any way, but Seonghwa didn’t really know him - what if he was merely biding his time? What if a massive target had been scrawled onto Seonghwa’s back by helping him today?
However, in his gut, he didn’t really believe that. Hongjoong had been a decent enough patient, aside from his moments of snark, and he didn’t deserve to be judged any more than any other patient did. Nodding to himself, Seonghwa grabbed the side of the ambulance to pull himself back inside, but he stopped mid movement when he heard the rev of an engine.
He glanced back towards the alley just in time to see a sleek black motorcycle drive out onto the actual street, the same one that he had seen parked behind Hongjoong earlier. The afternoon sunlight reflected off of the shiny exterior, the wheels skidding over the pavement. Hongjoong was the driver, which Seonghwa would have assumed anyway, but the lack of a helmet on his head confirmed his identity rather easily.
As he drove past, he slowed down once he drew near the ambulance, catching Seonghwa’s eye with a grin, a flash of teeth. His hair blew out of his face, his cheeks bitten by the wind and the tip of his nose already pink. With the hard line of his jaw and that scar on his cheek, he looked like something wild, someone who didn’t belong in Seonghwa’s world.
He winked when their eyes met, the wind violently rippling along his bloodstained shirt. Heart thumping an unsteady beat, Seonghwa yelled one last thing as the motorcycle drove past. “Wear a helmet, for fuck’s sake!” The bike turned the corner, leaving behind nothing but the smell of gasoline and the lingering peals of Hongjoong’s laughter, the only indication that he had heard Seonghwa’s words at all.
Seonghwa stood there for a little while longer, until a chill ran over his arms, and he climbed back into the ambulance. He shut the doors behind him, and he knocked his knuckles against the divider. “All done. Let’s head back, wait for the next call,” he yelled, and the female EMT rolled back the divider.
“So the patient was there after all?” she asked, and Jinwoo turned around in the driver’s seat as well, waiting for the answer.
Taking a moment to contemplate this, Seonghwa nodded. “Yeah. Just a surface wound, that was all. A graze.” That was definitely not true, but he didn’t need these two reporting back to his superiors that he had gone against protocol. What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them, and neither of them seemed the type to care much anyway.
The girl shrugged, and Jinwoo turned back to the wheel, bracing his hand on the gear shift. “I’ll get us there right away, boss,” he said. Seonghwa rolled his eyes, taking his same seat from before and closing his eyes, though he couldn’t get a moment’s rest with the slip of paper from Hongjoong burning a hole through his pocket.
A direct line to the Orchid. Did Hongjoong just hand his phone number out all the time like this? He had a feeling that wasn’t the case, and he wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Not to mention that he had given his own number in return - already he was mentally kicking himself for that, but he didn’t regret it as much as he should have. If that wound got infected, he didn’t want his handiwork to go to waste. That was all.
His head spun and his stomach churned, his skin unnaturally hot as the ambulance traveled back to the dispatch area. The rest of this shift would be a slog - he was already exhausted, and his interaction with Hongjoong hadn’t helped. Plus, Jinwoo had started to sing as he drove, and the young EMT couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket.
~
Seonghwa unlocked the front door to his apartment, pushing it open and stepping inside. With a weary sigh, he shrugged off his coat, hanging it on the post beside the door. He removed his sneakers as well, closing the door behind him and raising his hands above his head in a long stretch. A muffled groan passed over his lips, his back and shoulders popping to relieve his body of some of the tension that had gathered after a twelve hour shift.
All he really wanted to do was go straight to bed, but it was only six o’clock in the evening, and the sunset was visible through the windows of his apartment. Though he worked in an underprivileged part of the city, his apartment was actually quite nice, one of the more expensive complexes in the area. Seonghwa could afford it easily considering the amount of hours he worked, not to mention his healthy salary as a head paramedic under the nearby hospital.
His apartment was a living space meant to house more than just one person, but it provided him with the space he needed to unwind during the hours he wasn’t at work. Most days, he followed the same routine - working, followed by a shower and dinner, and ending in bed. Even on the days he didn’t work, he spent most of his time alone in his apartment. Which probably sounded depressing, but he didn’t mind it. Seonghwa was used to being alone.
He headed straight for the shower, walking through the connected kitchen and living room and down the wood paneled floor of the hallway. The walls were beige and blank, and every room was spotless. Truthfully, it hardly looked like anyone lived here at all, but Seonghwa preferred it this way. He liked everything to be tidy, organized in his own methodical way.
Stripping out of his clothes, Seonghwa turned on the water and stepped into the shower, making the temperature hot enough to turn his skin pink. After a long shift, an invisible layer of grime clung to his skin, and he scrubbed and scrubbed until he washed it all away. By the time he was finished, the mirror had steamed over, and he grabbed a towel to dry himself off before grabbing his robe from the hook on the back of the bathroom door.
The robe was black velvet, heavenly soft against his skin, and he tied it securely around his waist. No one else lived here, so he could technically forego clothing if he wanted, but he liked the cozy feeling of warm clothes. Shutting off the lights in the bathroom, he was about to leave the room when he remembered something, stopping in his tracks. The hair along his arms stood on end as he grabbed for his uniform pants, already discarded into the hamper, pulling out the folded slip of paper from Hongjoong.
He didn’t open it, because that would mean it had all been real. That would mean that he actually held the Orchid’s phone number in the palm of his hand, and that would mean he would need to do something about it. If he didn’t open it, he could pretend it was just a blank piece of paper.
Padding along the floor into the kitchen, Seonghwa left the folded paper on the bar. His kitchen bordered one wall, and a bar surrounded by four stools separated it from the living room, where a plush couch sat before a widescreen television. His body yearned to sink into the soft cushions of the couch, but he made himself begin to prepare his dinner first, much to the delight of his stomach. Most of the time, he had to fight the urge to just make instant ramen, and today was one of those days.
He pulled open the fridge to reveal a fully stocked range of food, ranging from produce to dairy to meat. Grabbing a few different things, Seonghwa set out to make a simple stir fry, incapable of waiting as long as it would take to cook anything more complex. He cut up some vegetables and set them aside to use later, placing a fresh pan on the stove and warming it.
Using a new knife, he moved onto cutting the raw chicken, his nose wrinkling. “God, chicken is so fucking gross,” he said under his breath, even though he loved it once it was cooked. But raw chicken was nasty, and he always wore gloves to handle it, his palms sweating within the silicone barrier.
When he scraped the chicken into the pan, it sizzled loudly, and he left it to cook away all of the nastiness as he turned towards the TV instead. Shedding his gloves, he grabbed the remote off of the bar and turned it on, noise instantly filling the room as the TV blinked to life. He had left it on a channel that was now playing children’s cartoons, and he huffed a laugh as he clicked the guide button, pulling up the list of channels.
As he surfed the channels he made sure to shake the pan every now and then to ensure the chicken would cook evenly, though his focus remained on the TV. “Boring,” he muttered under his breath as he passed by yet another channel on commercial break. Every time he turned on the TV, there were more and more commercials - it was a crime, in his opinion.
Eventually, he wound up on a news channel, and he left it on to wait for the weather report. If there was one thing Seonghwa hated, it was working in the rain - and now that spring was approaching, the rains were coming as well. Once the chicken was mostly cooked, Seonghwa added in the vegetables, another loud sizzle sounding from the pan. His stomach rumbled as the aroma of spices filled the air, for he hadn’t eaten a real meal since that morning - his meager lunch of gimbap from the convenience store didn’t count.
The sound of sirens came from the TV, and Seonghwa jolted, an immediate reaction after working in an ambulance all day. He snapped his head towards the screen, the image of a reporter standing on a street corner now filling the space. ‘BREAKING NEWS’ was written in bold font above his head, and Seonghwa stepped away from the stove for a moment to listen.
“...body found in the back streets, by a young woman on her way home from work,” the reporter said, speaking in a monotone. “She agreed to an interview when reporters arrived at the scene. We will play that for you now.”
The screen changed to display a young woman, no older than Seonghwa himself. She was wiping at her eyes with a crumpled tissue, her cheeks pink. “I didn’t realize what it was at first,” she explained, shaking her head. “But when I got closer, I saw the blood, and I called the police right away. I didn’t want to get too close, but even from the other side of the street, I could see the bullet hole. Right in his forehead, between the eyes.”
Seonghwa’s stomach churned, and he really should have changed the channel for the sake of his appetite, but he was too invested to do so. In the part of the city with elevated crime rates, such scenes were more common than they should have been, but his gut still twisted. “Did you see anything else related to the crime?” The reporter behind the camera asked the question, and the girl took a deep breath, evident by the momentary strain in the hollow of her throat.
“Yes,” she answered, followed by a wet sniffle. “A flower.” Seonghwa’s blood ran cold, but he continued to listen even as his head spun. “It was r-red, and someone must have… they must have-” She couldn’t finish her sentence, pressing a trembling hand to her lips.
“They must have what?” The reporter pressed, and Seonghwa gritted his teeth. Asshole. All they cared about was getting their stupid story, not about the wellbeing of the people they interviewed.
She shook her head, tendrils of hair shaking loose from behind her ears and hanging down over her eyes. “Someone must have done it on purpose. Because the flower, it - it was sticking out from the bullet hole. Like… like the stem was growing from it.” She shut her eyes, clamping her hand over her mouth like she was about to be sick. The interview disappeared, and the same reporter from before came back onto the screen.
“You heard it here first, folks. Another victim of the Orchid, so soon after the last strike…” Seonghwa stopped listening after that, grabbing for the remote with trembling fingers and switching off the TV. Silence fell over the room again, and he threaded a hand through his hair, tugging on the strands for a moment before letting his arm fall.
“I know it sounds cliche, but you should really see the other guy.” He heard the memory of Hongjoong’s voice repeating those words in his mind, and he swallowed the saliva that pooled underneath his tongue, a byproduct of the nausea that gripped his stomach. Seonghwa had treated the wound of the same man who had killed someone not long before - how had he been so reckless? What if the same thing would happen to him, now that he had given the Orchid his fucking number?
“Fuck,” he muttered, reaching across the counter to grab the slip of paper from earlier that day. Hongjoong had touched this paper, had written on it. With a cruel sense of horror, Seonghwa realized that he was probably the first person Hongjoong had seen after the shootout. How much of that blood splattered on his shirt had belonged to him, and how much had belonged to the other guy?
The man who Hongjoong had killed was most likely a gangster himself, but that didn’t change the fact that Hongjoong was a murderer. A truth that Seonghwa had known ever since he first saw the orchid in his front pocket, but he hadn’t understood what it really meant, too blinded by the charm of the man. Hongjoong had killed people. He had killed so many people, and Seonghwa was a healer, for fuck’s sake. He had no business acquainting himself with a man like that.
Before he could talk himself out of it, Seonghwa crumpled up the paper in his fist and threw it in the sink, running water over it until it dissolved enough to disappear down the drain. His chest heaved as he switched the water off, staring at the place where the paper had been, unable to look away.
At least, until the smell of something burning filled his nostrils, and he whirled around towards the stove. His pan was still over the flame, and Seonghwa turned off the gas, leaving the pan there. After what he had just seen on the news, he wasn’t hungry anymore, and the mere sight of the food made his stomach churn.
Choosing to forgo the dinner he had made entirely, he reached up into the cabinet above his head instead, pulling out a wine glass with a thin, fragile stem. He brought out an unopened bottle of wine as well, and he uncorked it before pouring out the wine with a heavy hand. This was one of the many good things about living alone - no one could judge him for his portion sizes, and Seonghwa had never been one to go easy on his wine.
He filled the bowl of the glass almost to the top, leaving just enough space so that he wouldn’t spill it all over his pristine couch, and he went back over to the TV. This time, however, he didn’t linger on the news - he found a stupid movie, and he drained his glass of wine until he stopped thinking about the shreds of disintegrating paper flowing through his sink pipes. And, more importantly, until he stopped thinking about the man who had given him that paper in the first place.