Chapter 13: Coming to My Senses (1)
The door to the examination room clicked shut behind me, leaving me alone in the hallway. I could probably eavesdrop on her muffled murmurs through the receiver if I pressed my ear right up against the door and strained—but I didn't. She's finally mustered the courage to open up about her condition, and if she knew I was lurking out here, she'd burrow even deeper under the covers.
I decided to tune out what was happening inside as best I could. Dropping into the waiting chair right outside, I stared blankly at the wall, killing time. I counted the pastel flower patterns on the wallpaper—top to bottom, left to right, three full rounds—before the door finally swung open.
"You can come in now."
"Got it."
I jumped up and hurried back inside. The doctor handed over my second phone from his desk with a light smile. "Your stories match up perfectly—guardian and patient both. That's a relief."
A relief that they match? I pocketed the phone and blurted it out without thinking. "People lie about that stuff?"
"Oh, yeah. We've seen rare full-mutation cases exploited—brokers involved, identity theft, money laundering schemes where they fake it all. Happens more than you'd think."
"Ah... I see."
It hit me like a slap to the head. With fingerprints and irises completely changed in a full mutation like hers, she could forge a new identity from scratch—or steal someone else's outright. From the doctor's perspective, he had to cross-check us with a few questions to make sure we were real friends, not some scam duo.
And I just passed his little test. It left a bitter taste, having to prove ourselves like that, but the world wasn't all sunshine and trust. Good intentions could be twisted into crimes, so these procedures were unavoidable.
"So... how's she doing?"
"I can share the okay parts... let's see." The doctor scrolled through her chart for a while, then paused and looked at me. "The worst psychological crisis seems past. And she's incredibly grateful to you, her guardian."
"Haha... good to hear."
I chuckled modestly, but inside I muttered, Damn right she is. After all the TLC I've been giving her.
"Meds twice a day, morning and evening. We'll give you the temporary ID opinion letter at checkout."
"Understood."
"You'll keep taking good care of her, right?"
"Of course. She's an old friend I've known forever—annoying as hell, but yeah."
"Haha... that's reassuring. All done here. Thanks for your time."
He hit the call button on his desk. I nodded and slipped out. Heading to the front desk, I heard the printer whirring away inside. The nurse handed over a crisp opinion letter and prescription with a smile. "Full out-of-pocket since she has no temporary ID yet. Exam fee plus issuance: 110,000 won."
"Haha... yeah, got it."
Cash wasn't happening, so I silently pulled out my credit card. Stuffing the receipt in my pocket and clutching the papers, I stepped out of the OB-GYN building. A cold gust hit me, and a deep sigh escaped on its own.
Ha... if the hospital bill's this bad, how much will the meds set me back? No, hospitals and pharmacies probably bill differently. I fiddled with mental math, then shook my head. Screw it!
Blade's out—you chop veggies or not. Eyes shut, wallet open. No choice.
I pushed open the pharmacy door next door. Handing the prescription to the pharmacist behind the counter, she eyed the meds and my face back and forth before vanishing into the back without a word.
Haha... how many stares like that till I get used to it? Not outright disgust or hostility—just pure curiosity and confusion: Why's this guy picking up female hormones? No malice, so it didn't sting, but my neck prickled with embarrassment anyway.
Waiting, I grabbed a paper cup from the water purifier in the corner and chugged ice-cold water. It washed away the bitterness in my mouth and the knot in my gut.
Moments later, the pharmacist emerged with a thick med bag. I stood at the counter; she handed it over and explained calmly. "After meals, morning and evening. Thirty-day supply. It's labeled, so no need to sort them..."
"Got it."
She paused, hesitated, then met my eyes carefully. "If the patient gets emotionally overwhelmed, pairing counseling and meds from psychiatry can help. Keep a close watch as her guardian."
"Ah... yeah. Thanks."
Her body couldn't handle the shock, so her mind buckled—obvious progression. Practical, kind advice. I bowed my head in thanks.
"37,000 won."
Oh, not bad... way better than expected. After the hospital gut-punch, I'd braced for a med bomb, but this was manageable. I pulled four 10,000-won bills from my wallet. Pocketing the change and bag, I headed out.
"Whew... no wonder foreigners without insurance say illness means cash flying away."
A full Korean citizen with my resident card, and here I was, bleeding money like a tourist. Awkward as hell. But I shook it off quick. Enough. Obsess over cash and it'll never end.
Yeah. I stepped up for a friend—don't cheap out now with a calculator. Wouldn't have left her on the street over pennies anyway. No pettiness.
To steady my rattled nerves, I lightly slapped both cheeks with empty hands. Tucking the med bag safely inside my puffer jacket, I hurried home without looking back.
On the way, restaurant signs tempted me—Grab stuff for dinner?—but I dismissed it. No time for shopping. She was home alone, pining for my return.
I got back fast, unlocked the door, and swung it open.
Thud thud, thud.
Quick footsteps—no sooner had the door opened than she rushed to greet me in the hall.
"Hey, you're back."
She'd showered while I was out. Her porcelain skin flushed deep red from the heat, damp hair swaying over her shoulders. Fine so far—but her outfit was the issue. Whether from overflowing body heat or just toweling off post-shower, her thin loungewear clung wetly, outlining every curve of her bare skin.
Normally she'd freak and fix her clothes, but boiling inside, she just stood there—too hot or too out of it to care.
"Got your meds. Morning and evening."
Averting my eyes a bit, I pulled the bag from my jacket to show her. She glanced at it, took a step toward the door, then froze as outside air slipped in. Her shoulders tensed slightly.
Still scared of the world out there, huh.
I gestured for her to head to the living room, then shut the door behind me. Leaning against it, I stepped into the familiar space. My second phone sat neatly on the sofa where I'd left it. On the table, her favorite pricey pint of ice cream lay empty.
Whoa. That was half full—she polished it off solo.
Surprised, but relieved. Burning up inside, heavy food or greasy sweet-and-sour pork would've been hell—cold, sweet ice cream soothed her body and mind way better.
I didn't nag about the empty tub or make a fuss. Just set the med bag quietly beside it and sat. She crept over, settling gingerly beside me.
"Finished the ice cream, huh?"
"Yeah..."
"Body still hot?"
Direct question, and she ducked her head—embarrassed at being seen through—nodding silently. Her flushed nape looked pitiful.
"These'll fix it. Too soon now, so hang on till dinner. Okay?"
Soft coaxing, and she nodded again, small.
Still avoiding TS talk or her body out loud, I guess.
Curiosity burned—what'd she tell the doc? How'd the consult go? But I zipped it. She needed comfort, not interrogation. Save it for when she was ready.
No meds yet, so dinner first. To kill time and clear the humid air, I grabbed the remote and flicked on the TV. For her hormonal furnace, I dialed back the boiler heat too.
All I could do: make the living room comfy for her.
Whether she noticed my tweaks or the heat eased, one change was clear. No more cocooned larva in the blanket. Now chin-deep under it, half her face peeking, blank eyes on the screen.
That tiny shift pleased me. I tossed out casual, like always. "Switch channels? Variety show? Or news?"
"Just... news..."
Her muffled voice from the blankets was listless. Probably saw rowdy laughs as too much right now.
No argument—I tuned to the 24-hour news. Post-Christmas, it buzzed with New Year's hype: Myeongdong crowds, bell-ringing prep. The lively anchor nearly drew a wry chuckle from me.
Won't catch the midnight bells—or even year-end music shows. We'll crash early.
Since she showed up rain-soaked, our rhythms were baby-level: dark room, bed; dawn light, up. No late-night countdowns for us—another world.
Next year'll be different, though.
This New Year's, we'd conk out by 9 p.m. But next? Lounging on the sofa for the bell ceremony? Ditch the flat champagne pity-party from Christmas. Order killer food, pop a real wine...
If she's still here next year around now...
Odd feeling. But not bad. Seemed pretty nice, actually.
Still, that's ages away.
I stole a glance at her profile—eyes peeking from the blanket, lost in the news—fiddled with my phone in my pocket, and made a secret vow. Soon, order a pretty glass to match the lonely wineglasses gathering dust in the cabinet.