Chapter Eight

The door creaked open slightly, and Genrou tensed as he heard the soft footsteps approach. He was lying on the couch in his small, allotted office, trying to rest as best as he could before the operation he had to do at eleven. It was cold in the office at this time of the morning, though. He pulled his dark coat closer about his body and pretended to be asleep. He didn't feel like being bothered right now. Then a sudden thought made him freeze, and squeeze his eyes tighter shut. What if it was him? What if it was Houjun? Had he come to look for him here? He mentally steeled himself to rise and bolt if it were the case.

"Genrou?" the hesitant, cultured voice of a senior doctor and friend made the tension leave his frame immediately as he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the couch. "Nyan-nyan!" Then he noticed, the white envelope she held in her hand, and her small frown as she came over and sat beside him uninvited.

"I just saw this. I figured something must be wrong."

He closed his eyes and tried to smile. "Nothing's wrong."

She chuckled and placed a maternal hand on his knee, tapping it gently. "Then why do you want me to transfer you? You just got here barely half a year ago, Genrou. And you've been a great surgeon here."

He smiled inwardly. She did have a soft spot for nearly every employee at the hospital under her charge. Outwardly, his expression remained bland. "I—I just do."

She gave a small sigh. "Is that really necessary, or are you just running away from something, hmm?"

His eyelids flew open. Did she know anything? Had Houjun been there? Was he there, this very minute? He kept silent.

Nyan-nyan stared penetratingly at him a moment longer, than rose and brushed her long white coat, before reaching up to adjust her tortoiseshell glasses. "If you really insist, Genrou. We'll miss you here. When do you need to be transferred by?"

"Tomorrow," his voice was soft, strangled and decidedly unconvincing even to his own ears. The older woman merely nodded, before leaning forward unexpectedly and patting his shoulder.

"Well you still have an operation to do today. Don't stress yourself out, will you?"

She smiled at him, a brief smile, before the sounds of her heels clicking against the floor as she turned and left. He stared at the closed door a moment later, then sprawled back onto the couch.

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It was morning. Golden rays filtered in through the cracks of the blinds, and Houjun awoke to the comfort of sun-warmed blankets. This is nice… he snuggled in further in between the sheets, when his eyes landed on the wall opposite him. There was a clock, and the room was painted in a shade of fresh cherry. This isn't my room…

He jerked upright with a start, and the events of yesterday flooded back into his mind.

*Flashback

She had turned a ghastly white, her pallor making her red-rimmed eyes appear even larger, magnifying the lost look in their brown depths. He saw her hand reach out, to prop herself against the wall and steady herself.

"And all along I thought he had stopped caring…" she whispered, more to herself than to him.

And that was why you thought you loved me. But in truth, Kourin, you never did. You never did.

She let out a small cry, choked in her throat.