listened to this while writing :)

https://open.spotify.com/track/6aG6hHqzvJ8V2Cc1ZLFu1Y?si=11f8c35503c543ec

wonjin’s pov

Sujeong shifted beside me for what must have been the tenth time in the last few hours, jolting me out of yet another failed attempt at sleep. I hadn't gotten a wink all night. My body was exhausted from the previous day, and that alone should’ve knocked me out, but my mind refused to relax with someone moving around beside me.

I'd always been a light sleeper, and years of on-call nights had only made it worse. On top of that, I'd lived alone for so long that I'd forgotten what it was like to share a bed with anyone. So imagine the struggle of trying to sleep next to someone who kept tossing and turning.

To make matters worse, my personal space seemed to be getting smaller by the hour. Each time I looked over to my side, Sujeong had inched a little closer, until at some point I found myself teetering on the very edge of the mattress. Part of me wanted to shove her right back to her side of the bed, and I had to remind myself that she’s a guest. A drunk guest*.* So I stayed put, miserably waiting for her to move back on her own.

I stretched slowly, careful not to wake her or accidentally smack her in the face.

“Another day full of crap,” I muttered under my breath. “And I haven’t slept. Best of luck to whoever has to deal with me.”

More than a decade at that damn hospital taught me that every day came in only three flavors, bad, worse, or worst. There was always an emergency waiting to derail the schedule, a doctor throwing a fit over something trivial, or some administrative mess spilling into the departments—it’s a different thing every day. I trained myself to expect trouble before I clock in. At this point, I was unfazed by it all.

I turned my head to the side, checking on Sujeong. She already made her way back toward the middle, her face buried in my pillow. She let out a soft, contented sigh and went still again. I took that as my sign to give up on sleep altogether. At least one of us was sleeping soundly.

The clock on the nightstand read 5:12 AM and my first case wasn’t until ten. Easing out from under the covers, I padded out of the room and straight to the kitchen, leaving the door open behind me.

I flicked on the light above the stove and started the coffee maker out of habit, standing there with my arms crossed while it gurgled and hissed. The smell slowly filled the room, and little by little I started to feel like a person again.

Breakfast was usually whatever I could grab from the fridge on my way out, often something I'd picked up at a convenience store days earlier. Dinner was takeout, ordered on my way home so it would be waiting at my doorstep by the time I arrived. Most days, I was too tired to do anything beyond eating, showering, and getting ready for work again. Cooking felt like a luxury reserved for people with lives outside the hospital.

But it was barely past five, there were hours to spare, and there was a woman in my bed who ate like a bull and would certainly wake up starving. I could probably whip something up for her, but the problem was I had no idea what’s in the fridge.

I stood in front of the fridge for a few seconds before opening it, trying to remember the last time I went grocery shopping. Last week? Or was that the other week? I don’t even know. My eyes lit up when I remembered my mother’s visit a week ago. For once, I was grateful for her habit of barging into my apartment unannounced.

Sure enough, when I opened the fridge, containers of side dishes were stacked on the shelves, along with a carton of eggs on the top shelf and a pack of bean sprouts tucked into the vegetable drawer, a day or two away from wilting.

I used to complain every time she did this, telling her it was a waste since I rarely ate at home, and she never listened. This morning, I was glad she didn’t.

I set the rice to cook, then threw the bean sprouts into a pot with water and garlic. My mother swore by bean sprout soup for hangovers. It surprised me that I still remembered how to make it, considering I'd spent most of her cooking lessons nodding along while mentally checking out. I fried a few eggs to go with it, then laid everything out on the dining table by the window.