Not the origin story he’d anticipated. “So how did Jared get involved?”
“Well, for a few days it was just the two of us, Owen walking beside me glaring at everyone. Then finally he goes up to Jared and gives him this long look, and the next thing I knew, Jared started walking with us. I guess it’s been the three of us ever since in one way or another.”
“And did you date?”
“I guess I’ve had a few relationships, but no one around here is interested in the things I am.”
Hong-Wei raised his eyebrows. “Am I going to fail this test because I don’t care for K-pop?”
“It’s more… I don’t know. It’s hard to describe. I guess I feel like Belle in Beauty and the Beast. I’m not going to start singing about my provincial life or tell you about the books I keep rereading, but I definitely feel like the odd duck in the village. I don’t want to leave the village, though, is my problem. I guess I want another odd duck to….” He stopped, frowning. “I’m losing my grip on this metaphor.”
“To swim with you in the village pond?”
“See? You get it.”
Did he ever. “I mean, not to brag, but I’ve been an odd duck since I was ten. Sometimes I feel as if every effort I make to assimilate, I only get odder.”
“Exactly. I tried leaving—going to college, working away from home—and that wasn’t right. I attempted to be the person my parents wanted me to be, the Simon Copper Point wanted. I hated myself. I focused on being a good nurse. I looked for local people to date I hadn’t encountered yet. I tried not caring about dating. No matter what I do, I can’t stop this crazy yearning for… something.” One of his arms was still nestled alongside Hong-Wei’s, but he tucked his other hand into his coat pocket. “The only thing I haven’t done is travel. But it’s like I told you before, I get overwhelmed by the idea.”
“Maybe you should go with an escort.”
Simon bumped him playfully with his shoulder. “Is this your not-at-all-subtle way of offering to travel with me?”
“It’s my not-at-all-subtle way of offering to travel with you, yes.”
“Well, where would you want to go?”
Hong-Wei would be happy to go anywhere with Simon, but he knew he had to give an answer. “To hear the Vienna Philharmonic. And the Berlin Philharmonic, and the London Symphony Orchestra. The Budapest Festival Orchestra too, but I wouldn’t want to push things.”
He glanced at Simon, expecting him to be wrinkling his nose or making fun, but he only looked thoughtful. “A symphony tour? Huh. It would make sense for you, since you love classical music so much.”
“You’d hate it, though, right?”
“I didn’t say that. They play in those gorgeous halls, right? With everyone dressed up? That means you’d go wearing something fancy too. Maybe a tux? If you’re in a tuxedo in any of these events, hell yes, I’m going.” While Hong-Wei laughed, Simon grew bashful and added, “The question is, would you go to a K-pop concert with me, if I went to a symphony with you?”
Hong-Wei imagined being in a throng of people, Simon clinging to his arm for fear he’d get lost, not knowing the language. That Hong-Wei didn’t know Korean either didn’t matter. He could learn. “Absolutely.”
They walked in silence for a while, the companionable, easy kind allowing Hong-Wei to forget, for a moment, the crazy events of the evening. The air was spring-crisp, the trees whispered in the night breeze, and the few houses they passed were shuttered and dark, their occupants sleeping. Mostly they saw trees, because Hong-Wei had led them the long way to his place, past the golf course and patch of undeveloped land on the other side of the road, which in northern Wisconsin, Hong-Wei had learned, meant marsh or trees.
“You were incredible tonight.” Simon leaned on Hong-Wei’s shoulder briefly as they walked, putting a hand on his biceps. “That’s what you’re really trained to do, isn’t it? I can’t imagine how good at your job you’d be at a hospital with all the proper equipment.”
“Excepting how terrifying it was to know it was Mr. Zhang who might die, the extra challenge of having to solve the puzzle with fewer pieces was interesting.” Hong-Wei sighed. “Other than that, it was the same. People yelling at me, questioning whether or not I was doing my job properly, getting in my head, making it harder.”
“Did you come here to escape?”
“I came here for a lot of reasons, but yes, that’s one of them. I thought, maybe if I start over as a general surgeon somewhere quiet, it’ll be fine.”
Simon snorted. “I’m laughing at the idea of St. Ann’s as somewhere quiet.”
“It is, though. Medically. There are so few patients. I know the entire hospital staff on a first-name basis. The specialty clinics visit every few weeks. We send out more work than we keep.”
“Don’t think it doesn’t drive the administration crazy.”
“If they had a cardiology unit, it would change everything. They’d have more patients, more money, more doctors, and an entirely different kind of climate. The hospital should have one, by population density and the remoteness of their location.”
“It’s the expense. The county can’t afford it, the state is a mess, and the hospital has been poorly run for too long.”
Hong-Wei shook his head. “It’s a shame. Do you think Beckert can turn it around?”
“I think Beckert and Andreas can. I used to think they were part of the problem, but after tonight, I’ve changed my mind. It seems as if the board might be the ones getting in their way.”
“They have an opening now. Maybe someone new and exciting will be called up.”
“Please. In this town?”
“Why not? It’s an elected position, right?”
“Hospital board? When has anyone cared about a hospital board election?”
“Probably the last time other people asked them to care about a hospital board election.”
“I suppose.” Simon leaned on Hong-Wei’s shoulder again. “I was going to say, I doubt what one person can do, but then I remembered watching you in the ER, and I realized I couldn’t say that. Though so much of it, I swear, is you being you. I don’t think I could take on the world the way you and Owen do. Your personalities are so big, so aggressive.”
“It doesn’t have to be about personality. When the world throws adversity at you long enough, at a point you decide you’re going to confront it or let it wash over you. I’ve simply gotten good at confronting it.”
“But see, I knew I could never confront it and win, so I let it wash over me. I’m not exactly bad at maneuvering underneath the wave.”
“Yes, but are you happy?”
“Are you?”
Hong-Wei adjusted their entwined arms so they could hold hands, linking their fingers. “I am tonight.”
His condominium was visible through the trees. They’d approached it from the back, and they wove their way silently around the sidewalk from the parking garage to the entrance, where Hong-Wei fumbled with the key.
“I never thought I’d know anyone fancy enough to live in this building.” Simon glanced around at the darkened windows, his voice hushed. “Are your neighbors nice?”
“They’re quiet. I don’t know all of them, but I think there’s a lawyer, a professor, and someone who works at the mine.”
Hong-Wei opened the door.
Simon’s eyes widened as he stepped inside. “Oh my goodness, it’s so different from the last time. You have stuff, for one thing. But it’s so beautifully arranged as well.”
“Thanks to the decorator. But everything’s not all here yet, either. I’m waiting for my stereo system and the cabinet. Here, leave your shoes on this mat. I have slippers you can borrow in this bag.”
Simon removed his shoes and put on the slippers, then followed Hong-Wei into his house, still marveling. “The furniture looks so good all put together. But it hardly seems like anyone lives here. It’s as if this is something out of a magazine.”
Probably this was because H
ong-Wei couldn’t stand to be at home. Mostly he paced, then ended up at the hospital, working, in some kind of default mode. “I leave out dirty dishes. And look, there’s my laptop on the coffee table.”
“Yes, beside a neat stack of books and a perfectly folded blanket and gathering of throw pillows.” Simon poked him lightly in the chest. “Do you do anything halfway?”
Hong-Wei captured Simon’s finger and wrapped their palms together, drawing Simon closer. He liked the way Simon softened as Hong-Wei pulled him into his orbit, no more resistance in him at all. “No. I don’t.”
“So what comes next?” Simon fitted himself against Hong-Wei’s body. “I mean beyond tonight. Or am I ruining things by thinking ahead?”
“I’d like to date you. To get to know you better.”
“Yes, but how can we do that without getting caught? There will already be rumors if anyone saw me come in your door. What happens if we’re seen?”
“We’ll be careful.”
“You don’t understand this town. If one person gets the wrong idea, if anyone decides they know what we’re doing, if they tell Andreas—”
Hong-Wei took Simon’s hand and led him to the couch. He turned on the speaker as he passed it, then fiddled with his phone.
Simon touched the couch, momentarily distracted. “This really is nice furniture.”
“It is.” Hong-Wei connected the phone, started an app, and a piano ballad began to play.
Simon glanced sideways at him. “This sounds suspiciously like pop music. I didn’t think that was your style.”
“Most of it isn’t. I have a few guilty pleasures, though, and JJ Lin is one of them.”
The singer appeared in the song as if on cue, and Simon’s eyes widened. “Oh—this is in Chinese.” He listened for a moment, shutting his eyes, smiling. “This is quite lovely.”
“Yes. There are a number of wonderful Chinese language artists, but they get outshone by K-pop and J-pop.” He sighed. “Though my sister likes them all.”
“I wish I knew what he was saying. It sounds sad. Is it?”
Hong-Wei ducked his head to hide a smile as he translated. “He’s singing about his regrets. The English translation of the title is generally accepted to be ‘If Only,’ but it’s not quite so simple. It’s almost more accurately translated sorry, there’s no if, or unfortunately, if only. He’s saying he should have spoken when it was needed, should have been brave, should have been more understanding. There were so many ifs, but now all they have left is the consequence.”
“All right. Point taken. I’m still nervous, but you’re right.” Simon leaned into Hong-Wei’s shoulder. “Play me something else?”
Hong-Wei scrolled through his options. “More Mandopop?”
“Whatever you choose.”
It felt like a trick question, so Hong-Wei went for more JJ Lin. “This one is called ‘Twilight, the song which was not written for anyone.’ He says it’s the song for unsung heroes and the people who help you get to where you are.”
Simon nestled closer. “This is beautiful. I feel as if it should be playing over an emotional moment in an Asian drama.”
Hong-Wei glanced at the top of Simon’s head. “That’s right, you told me you watched Asian dramas before.”
Simon shifted so he could meet Hong-Wei’s gaze. “I do. A lot. When I met you, I thought you looked like Aaron Yan.”
“I have no idea who that is.” He was fairly sure his sister would, though.
Simon smiled shyly. “He’s a handsome Taiwanese actor. One of my favorites.”
Hong-Wei tweaked Simon’s nose. “Simon Lane. Do you have an Asian fetish?”
He loved watching Simon sputter. “It’s not a fetish. I simply appreciate Asian pop culture. Music and television.”
“Anime too, I suppose?”
Simon grimaced. “Not really.”
Hong-Wei thanked his ancestors for small miracles.
He played Simon some Jay Chou, “Dream” and “Love Confession,” and he was pleased to see Simon sparkle with enthusiasm for a new vein of music. Simon had no idea what a balm it was for Hong-Wei to watch someone be so eager, so impressed, not once making the slightest joke about the language sounding funny to him. In fact, the only thing Simon said was how difficult it was going to be to sing along because he didn’t want to sound foolish.
Hong-Wei flashed to the time in junior high when he’d stood rigid as a flock of students had passed around his headphones, laughing at the new Jay Chou song his sister had loaded for him, mocking it as they sang along. “Ching-chaw, ching-chaw. Oh my God, is this what he actually thinks is music?”
Simon had advanced it to “Lover From Previous Life,” which had rap and a section that would have sent those kids into hysterics. Simon looked enraptured. “Wow. Does this have a music video?”
Hong-Wei wanted to kiss him. He didn’t, but he did stroke Simon’s back. “Yes, but it’s more of a lyric video. The one for the title track of the album, ‘Bedtime Stories,’ is something to see.”
“Can we watch it?”
They did—or rather Simon watched the screen of Hong-Wei’s phone, and Hong-Wei watched Simon.
“Oh—” Simon turned to Hong-Wei, caught in a revelation. “This is Jay Chou? They reference him in my favorite drama. This is so great. Now I know why they wanted his tickets so badly.”
Simon continued to listen, enraptured. When the video finished, Simon regarded Hong-Wei with shining eyes.
I want him.
I need him.
Hong-Wei decided there wasn’t any reason not to have him.
He switched to a different playlist on the phone, and a piano played a few notes before a lovely soprano drifted over the room like a soft blanket, singing in English about the unrest inside her.
Simon glanced at the speaker, interested yet again. “What’s this?”
“Dawn Upshaw. Celebrated American soprano. She can sing opera, folk, Baroque, contemporary—practically anything.”
“It’s pretty.”
Hong-Wei stroked Simon’s wrist, the perfection of Upshaw’s voice soothing him as it always did. “I enjoy listening to her because I know what an accomplished artist she is, and in every piece she performs I can hear how much effort she puts into her work.”
“Ah, I understand.” Simon turned his arm over, giving Hong-Wei more skin. “Is that why you don’t care for pop music? It doesn’t have as much effort in your opinion?”
“It’s more complicated than that. And sometimes more simple—it’s mostly not my taste. Even JJ Lin and Jay Chou aren’t my first listening choices any longer, though I appreciate them as Asian artists. But yes, I prefer classical works because of the exactness.” A thought occurred to him, and he almost didn’t say it, but he was staring at Simon’s wrist, so open and exposed, and it spilled out. “I also like the way so few people listen to it or claim it as theirs. As if it makes it more my own.”
Simon traced Hong-Wei’s fingers with his other hand, making them a soft stack of fingers, palm, and wrist. “Play me your favorites? Share them with me?”
Hong-Wei shivered. He’d have been less unnerved if Simon had invited him to undress. “A lot of them aren’t right for a romantic mood.”
“But some of them are, I bet.” Simon lifted his head. “Unless you don’t want to. It’s okay, if you’d rather not.”
Hong-Wei could best Owen at his most confrontational, Jared at his bossiest, with the entire board trying to shut him down, but Simon’s soft gauntlets, Hong-Wei acknowledged, would always bring him to his knees. He picked up the phone and searched for a song.
Soft, mournful strings echoed through the room, a single melody line arching, lifting through the violins and violas, then dying until it was picked up by the cellos and bass, then drawn back to the violins for one last note before a harp joined them in a sad pizzicato waltz beneath the soaring melody line.
Simon put a hand to his chest, his lips falling open as he stared ahead, breathless. �
��What’s this?” His voice was barely a whisper, as if he might disturb the song if he spoke louder.
“‘Solveig’s Song’ from the Peer Gynt Suite. Peer Gynt is originally a Norwegian play, which no one cares much about anymore because it’s not great, but the music Grieg composed to go along with it was something incredible, and almost everything from the suite is well-known. You absolutely know ‘In the Hall of the Mountain King.’ This song, however, is from the end of the play, when the maiden Solveig is singing to Peer Gynt. He’s run all around the world, and now he’s disillusioned, sure he’s a sinner and not worth anything, but she says he’s not, and this is her lullaby to him as he dies.”
Simon covered his lips with the tips of his fingers. “Oh, how sad.”
“Yes, well, Gynt was mostly a jerk, and while it’s noble for Solveig to have waited for him, she honestly could have done better.”
Simon slapped his arm lightly. “Don’t ruin such a beautiful moment.”
Hong-Wei couldn’t stop his smile. “You’re a hopeless romantic, aren’t you?”
“Yes. What about you?”
Hong-Wei’s heart swelled, leapt, then darted shyly to the side. He stroked Simon’s face. “Why don’t you stay a while and see if you can figure it out?”
Simon shifted his position on the couch, leaned in closer, and pressed a soft kiss to Hong-Wei’s lips.
Hong-Wei picked up the phone long enough to find a playlist, then drew Simon into his arms and kissed him back.
The light, lilting notes of Chopin’s Berceuse, Op. 57 wafted around them as Hong-Wei held Simon’s face and drank softly, leisurely of those sweet lips. The kiss in the locker room had been passionate, but this one was all delicate worship, an unfolding. He let the master of piano lull Simon into the spell of the music, into Hong-Wei’s embrace, and once Simon had surrendered, Hong-Wei invited him to dance. His draw on Simon’s bottom lip was tender, the nuzzle of his nose slow and sensual. He stroked the downy hair along his jaw with deliberation before parting past his teeth to steal inside and startle his tongue, mating with it until Simon whimpered and sagged.
The Doctor's Secret (Copper Point Medical Book 1) Page 16