When the Clock Strikes|Pi Han Ul x Reader|

(S02) Chapter 8

I cross my arms, thinking. “For the procedure, I’d suggest a multimodal approach. General anesthesia, of course, but we should consider an epidural infusion post-op for better analgesia and reduced opioid consumption.”

“I was thinking the same,” Dr. Kim says. “What concentration would you suggest?”

“We can start with 0.2% ropivacaine combined with a low dose of fentanyl. That should provide effective pain control while minimizing motor block.”

“Sounds good.”

I hear him scribbling notes. I stare out at the sky, my fingers tapping against my arm. “How’s his renal function? If there’s impairment, we’ll need to be careful with drug accumulation.”

“GFR is within normal range,” Dr. Kim reassures me.

That’s a relief. I roll my shoulders, already mentally preparing for tomorrow’s procedure. “I’ll review his labs and finalize the plan with the team when I get there.”

“Appreciate it, Dr. Ye Na. See you tomorrow.”

The call ends.

I lower my phone, letting out a breath.

I step back inside, and—

He’s still there.

Han Wool, sprawled across the couch like he owns the place, eyes glued to the television where some ridiculous cartoon character is screaming in exaggerated agony. I squint at the screen. A tomato just got stabbed.

I sigh and drop onto the other end of the couch, as far from him as possible. Not that it matters. This guy's presence is suffocating.

I focus on my coffee, take a careful sip—

Still too sweet. I grimace.

And then, because I am apparently a masochist, I let my eyes drift back to him. He’s watching the screen with this ridiculous concentration, like the fate of the world depends on it. His lips are slightly parted, eyebrows drawn together in focus, and—

I shake my head.

No. I will not let my brain wander into dangerous territory.

I clear my throat. “Aren’t you a little old to be watching cartoons?”

He doesn’t even blink. “Aren’t you a little young to be drinking black coffee like a sixty-year-old man?”

I scowl. “Excuse me?”

He finally glances at me, lazily, like I’m the one interrupting him. “It’s a scientific fact that people who drink black coffee are either old men or psychopaths.”

I blink. “That’s not even remotely true.”

“I saw it on the internet once.”

“You can’t trust everything on the internet.”

“Says the girl who laughed at ‘Woolie’ like it was the funniest thing in the world.”

I bite my tongue. He’s grinning now, the corner of his lip twitching like he’s holding back laughter, and I refuse—REFUSE—to let him win.

I clear my throat, lifting my coffee cup like I’m dismissing his entire existence. “Anyway.” I pause, as if the question just accidentally slipped out. “Where were you before?”

His brows lift, amused. “Before what?”

I roll my eyes. “Before now. Before here. Before all this.”