unhealthy - 2jae

one - choi

my curiosity.

What to do.

...

Approximately twelve hours has passed since my position was announced official.

I take a sip of the cheap instant coffee the staff serves. Deliciously bland.

My wristwatch tells me that it's almost time to start working. I head to my locker, not before going through a quick security check with my ID card. Important thing, that card. I bought a nice card case so I won't lose it. The staff's locker room is teal colored. I breathe in slowly. Smells sanitized.

I open my new locker and blow the dust away from it. My overcoat goes in there. Goodbye, coat. I then take out a new white shirt with matching trousers. They call those "scrubs." I laughed when I first learned that.

I take my bag with me. My essentials are in there, anyway. Phone, mints, aspirin...

In my hand is a piece of paper that tells me where to go. Which floor, which room, which places I should avoid. Authorized personnel can enter the psychiatric wing, but I can't yet. I wonder why.

I head towards the staff room I'm supposed to be in. It's on the third floor, called room two-oh-three. I peek my head in the room after opening the door and I see only a few others at desks. They're staring at computers, dead-eyed. I shrug and step in, searching for my empty desk. There it is. I place my bag on it and unload the stack of papers I had to bring. Things like maps, guides, rules and violations, etc. Important papers.

"Choi... Youngjae..." someone sitting besides me mutters. He's reading off of the label that was placed on the desk. I bow my head meekly at him. He smiles at me. He's friendly looking, and I like it.

"You're new, aren't you?" he asks a question to which I didn't respond to. He reaches out his hand. "I'm Mark Tuan," he tells me. I shake his hand and thought, no wonder. A handshake like that was awfully... American of him to do.

"Tuan?" I ask back. He nods his head and doesn't seem offended by it.

"My family is Taiwanese and I lived in America for a while. I moved to Korea after learning the language, though." Admirable. My mouth hangs open slightly in awe, but I close it soon. I'm trying to hide the true colors of my face; I make some ridiculous faces when laughing and I'm sort of embarrassed of it.

"So... Mark-hyung, I..." I begin, but I'm cut off shortly after.

"Ah! I'm sorry, Youngjae. I just remembered that I have a patient who gets lonely after a while. She's a young girl, and... really demanding," Mark tells me. I nod my head and he grabs his things, leaving the room.

I sit there for a few more minutes, looking through my phone. I haven't been assigned any job in particular, so I have nothing to do at the time. Maybe I'll ask the hyungs soon.

Just then, someone bursts into the room. She's holding a clipboard and looks awfully displeased. The others in the room pretend to ignore her.

"Yah! Where's the person taking care of the patient in room sixty-three?" she asks, the question assumably going for everyone who's listening. One person speaks up.

"She just left because of a bad stomachache. Apparently she ate something bad yesterday night."

"Aigoo... I hope she realizes she has a job to do and that she just left a patient alone. I need someone to replace her, then," she says while scribbling furiously on her paper. The person who spoke to her shrugs.

"I'm busy." She seems to be getting more and more impatient by the second. She scans the room like a hawk and, unfortunately, lays her eyes upon me. I crouch slightly.

"Hey, you. Do you have anything to do?" she demands. I shake my head. She grins in a way that makes me scared.

"Room sixty-three, second floor. All yours. Check on him regularly since he's been having issues since he was carried here last night," she says as she hands me a paper. It has my new patient's information on it. She leaves the room and slams the door shut. I take a look at the paper to see what I'll have to deal with later on.

Hm.

Male.

Twenty-three years of age.

'Im Jaebum.'