Mr. Park was still staring at Dr. Teajoon with an utterly captivated gaze, as if time had momentarily stopped around him.
"Excuse me, sir," Dr. Teajoon said firmly, snapping Park out of his trance. "I need to check your hand."
Realizing he had been lost in his thoughts, Park blinked and awkwardly extended his injured arm toward the doctor.
After examining it carefully for a moment, Dr. Teajoon spoke in his calm, emotionless tone,
"Your wrist is mildly sprained, but not fractured. I'll apply a bandage and prescribe some medication. Take them on time."
He handed over the prescription slip.
Teayun quickly stepped forward and took it from him, clearly still playing the role of the responsible assistant.
Mr. Park, however, smiled gently and said,
"Thank you, Doctor… for taking such good care of me."
Dr. Teajoon didn't react much.
"I'm a doctor. Taking care of patients is my job," he replied curtly and turned to leave.
Just as he was about to walk out the door, Mr. Park suddenly called out,
"Doctor—wait. Can I have your number, please?"
Dr. Teajoon paused, a subtle frown appearing on his calm face. He turned slightly and asked,
"Why?"
Park's lips curled into a playful smile, his voice smooth with a teasing undertone.
"Well… my hand is still injured, right? I might have questions later—like what I can eat or how I should sleep. You know, basic care…"
Dr. Teajoon's eyes narrowed slightly. His tone remained cool, if not colder than before.
"Your wrist is only sprained. It's not a surgery case. You'll be fine with basic care. There's no need for my personal number."
And with that, he walked out without looking back.
Park watched him disappear down the hallway.
Something about that calm expression and cold tone made Park's heart beat just a little faster. He wasn't used to being ignored.
A sly grin tugged at his lips.
"You've already rung the bell in my heart, Dr. Teajoon… You might not know it yet, but someday, you'll be wearing the handcuffs of my love."
He chuckled to himself.
—
🕐 1:30 AM — The city outside was quiet and still.
Dr. Teajoon finally stepped into his apartment, feeling drained and half-asleep.
Just as he took off his coat, a sharp voice sliced through the silence—
"Why are you this late?"
It came from the living room. Familiar. Irritated. And definitely not in the mood for explanations.