dr-winstonkim-blog

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littlebethdouglas:

“Uh…yeah… why not?” Surely his owner wouldn’t mind the dog getting a bit of attention and love while he was away? “Hey cute one.” The dog, once in Beth’s arms, proved to be even more adorable than before, curiously licking her arm and looking up at her with big puppy eyes. “Do you think taking him home with me would be considered kidnapping?” she joked, glancing up.

Laughing with her question, Winston’s head tipped back, his hair falling in his eyes when he came up again. “Yea, that would be kidnapping. But I won’t tell, I promise. Plus, if they don’t come back, we can’t just leave him here...”

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alvarezsoph:

This was potentially bad. Whereas the high school girl looked up hopefully at the figure in the dark, Sophia continud her string of quiet curses, narrowing her eyes to make out  who it was. He didn’t see familiar, at least not from a distance. With any luck, he was just some guy trying to play the hero, but running at the first sign of trouble.

“None of your business. You might wanna just keep walking,” she stated in the rudest, coldest voice she could muster, glancing back down at the girl who was begging the stranger for help.

His gun weighed heavily on his hip, ready at any time even if he was still in his mint green scrubs and white coat. It didn’t matter how rude she was, he’d dealt with worse in his mother and the other girls in the gang back home.

“You mind telling me why you’re beating the shit out of her?” Sometimes people simply needed to get the shit kicked out of them, but this, here, looked like a senseless attack. 

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morganseale:

Morgan relaxed a bit, seeing that the guy also appeared to have relaxed. At the very least, he was no longer hulking out in an alley. He smiled at what he assumed was a literal translation of the…Korean, was it? Japanese? He couldn’t tell, never having heard either before.

“Close. Sign language,” he replied, demonstrating the sign for that as well: his index fingers pointing upward, circling back toward his chest like the peddling of a bicycle. He could see the man more clearly now that he was closer. He was attractive, that was obvious, but whatever had caused him to lose his temper wasn’t something Morgan wanted to get involved in. He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit up, then held it out to the guy.

 “So… You come here often?”

Dark eyes intently following the other’s hand, he tried to mimic him, but Winston’s motions were sloppy and slow in comparison to expertise of Morgan’s. No less, he sheepishly shoved his own hands in his pockets, moving to lean against the nearby wall and politely declining the cigarette. 

No less, the question made him laugh, his head tipping back against the bricks. “You know, I’d really like to say that dank alleyways aren’t my style, but I also don’t want to be a liar, so...”

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marcuswentworth:

“Now, yeah.” Now he couldn’t even get a buzz. There was no hope for getting himself drunk, thankfully. Which meant he didn’t sink back into depression caused by his need to self medicate with the copious amounts of alcohol. “You don’t have to tell me twice.” Marc chuckled. “Man, those were awful times. But anyway.” He glanced around. “That’s all in the past now.”

Grinning, offering the other a nod, Winston seemed to perk up a bit. “Right. Good to be past it.” Something told him that he and Marcus had more in common than he thought. “Hey, on a lighter note...You busy, man? Wanna go grab a cup of coffee? My treat.”

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badandbijou:

Bii’s eyes lit up with excitement as the man pulled up his pant leg. Her hand instinctually went for the smooth skin stopping short a few centimeters. “May I?” The question made her snort. Bii, pretending to be civilized all while asking to touch a stranger’s shaved legs. Her eye’s darted upwards waiting for a response but her hand refused to move.

With a delighted shrug, Winston gave a laugh. She was already this close. “Go ahead! I won’t hold this experience from anyone.”

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morganseale:

Morgan took a cautious step forward. The guy really did look like he’d been through the ringer, and he couldn’t help but feel bad for him. He was reminded of Jonas in those first few weeks of living with him: depressed, with an aura of absolute misery about him. He set the bottle back down by his feet.

“I say it like this,” he said somewhat playfully, then demonstrated the sign for “scared”: both fists in front of his chest, quickly splayed out with the palms facing him and fingers spread. He gave them a shake. He dropped his hands and grinned, hoping that the joke wouldn’t fall flat.

The rage and frustration boiled down into a fetid stew of sadness and lingering adrenaline, disrupted by the other’s seemingly frantic motion. Stepping slowly forward as Morgan signed, Winston ran a hand through his own hair, stopping just ten feet short.

It took him a long moment even after the sign was complete before it clicked. “Oh-- suhwa eoneo? Um...” His hands fell limp in front of him as he searched for the English words. “Sign...talking. Right?” He had been lost trying to follow those back home who spoke Korean sign language, and he hadn’t even given thought to the idea of American sign language. English on its own bewildered him. 

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HI DAD

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morganseale:

Morgan’s immediate reaction was to hold up his hands in the universal sign for “please don’t hurt me”. On closer inspection, this guy seemed either high as hell, or just fucking crazy. For a brief moment, a flash of something half-forgotten - Jonas, his eyes wide and wild, face red - but it dissolved before his brain could grab onto the memory. There wasn’t much ambient noise, so the other man’s voice was fairly clear through his hearing aids.

“You look like you could use a drink.” He slowly bent over to pick up the bottle of bourbon, which he slid out of its paper bag. “As long as you don’t kick my ass, I don’t mind sharing.”

You look like you could use a drink. 

Wasn’t that the understatement of the year? But the comment, no less, touched a bit of a chill to his hot blood, and he sniffled. Using the back of his hand to wipe cold sweat from his face, he bit back tears, and the feeling of an elephant on his chest.

“Sorry.” His hand was throbbing, and the booming sounds in his ears wasn’t so “Sorry, man. I just...Not feelin’ good. I promise I won’t hurt you, I just...got...how do you say it? Spooked.”

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morganseale:

One would think that, tending bar in a gentlemen’s club, Morgan would have something close to refined taste in drinking establishments - and one would be absolutely right to think that. In most cases, he would make good use of his ability to charm his coworkers into giving him at least one drink for free, but tonight he simply wasn’t in the mood to spend his night off hanging around at work. Instead, he hit up the Eternal: substandard alcohol was a fair price to pay for not feeling like a fucking idiot.

He was much less drunk than he wanted to be - it seemed like his tolerance had increased exponentially overnight - but he figured a stop at the liquor store would fix that. He was just walking out, a bottle of Evan Williams in his hand, when he caught a glimpse of movement from the alleyway. His hearing aids were in his pocket (probably not a smart move, in retrospect) so he heard neither the breaking bottle nor the screaming. He stopped a couple feet away, set the bottle down, and slipped his hearing aids in. This was probably a bad idea, but if what everyone was saying was right, even if he died he’d just pop right back up again.

“You okay over there?”

Instinct whipped him around. He groped at his sides, searching for a gun, and though he found the butt of one, he realized just in time that no, he was not in any imminent danger. No less, his shoulders squared, his body already preparing for a fight.

Accent thick with anger and frustration, he couldn’t help the awful, poisonous tone that spilled from his throat, and a sadness laced just beneath it. What was he even doing? Ah, but he trembled from the sounds of gunshots in the distance, just down the street, right beside his ear -- and he knew they weren’t real, but he jumped with every one of them.

“Yeah, this is a totally fucking normal pasttime for me, I do this every fucking friday night, thanks. Just fucking shattering my hand on a sign.”

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Nothing satiated him anymore. Nothing eased the constant, rampaging thoughts in his mind, the roaring memories of gunshots, screams, broken glass, the overwhelming scent of blood suffocating him and pressing into his chest a deep feeling of misery. Beer bottle in hand, the contents were gone, but the feeling didn’t subside, the screaming didn’t stop, and Winston let out a deep bellow of frustration. The bottle was tossed hard against the alley wall beside him, shattering with a burst. 

“Fuck,” he screamed, fist slamming into a nearby  “no parking” sign and bending it back against the pole it was mounted to. No less, his body sagged, taking deep breaths, completely unaware he wasn’t alone.

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nathan-douglas:

Searching his mind for a moment his eye shifted quickly in his head as he tried to pull the memories up. Swallowing he looked down and let out a breath before saying anything “Yes… I do….I…don’t know…” Raising  an eyebrow slightly he grinned a bit “It’s…cool?…Okay…Well, I guesssss thaaat…. Umm.” Frowning in with a look of frustration he tried to think.

 “I guess…Both? I don’t know…It started…when I ah…um, traded four packs of cigarettes for….The Art of War?” Shifting a little nervously he brought his left hand over to his right arm and trailed his fingers of the scar there as he tried to think  “Both…are nice. Aren’t they?”

“The Art of War?” The impressed tone in Winston’s voice was genuine. “Wow, well-read, huh?” Listening intently, though, the young doctor tried to poke through the other’s words and find something to carry along. “Yeah, yeah they’re both pretty good. It’s a sign of high intelligence to be able to do that kind of stuff.”

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Grinning as he was noticed, Winston pushed the coffee toward her, sliding into the seat across from her. 

“Well,” he explained, hesitantly. “I couldn’t tell if you were a teacher or a student, but I just graduated myself, and I certainly can’t leave someone with a good sense of humour alone, suffering with homework. It just isn’t humane.”

With a frustrated sigh, Kristine threw her pen down on top of her text book. “This is insane,” she said aloud, to no one in particular. “It’s only the first week back, how is it possible to have assigned this much work.” She said. Her frustration was cut off by a coffee cup being sat down in front of her and she looked up at her savior, a grin spreading across her face, “Oh my gosh, thank you thank you. How did you know this is what I needed?”

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Night shifts at the hospital were hell, but the long walk home was always refreshing, the night air doing wonders to lower the levels of his stress that built up during the shift. Most nights were uneventful, but it seemed not tonight.

A girl was pleading, somewhere down the alley, and no matter how long his shift was, he couldn’t just leave someone in trouble. He could see them as he entered the alleyway’s opening, leaving him silhouetted against the golden-grey glow of a streetlight. Even after this long truly participating in gang activity, he liked to think he cut a fair figure.

“What’s going on here?”

Was she overreacting by beating up a popular high school bitch in a dark alley because some rude words had been said about her and her family? Maybe, but Sophia didn’t care. She’d backed her into a corner, broken her nose, maybe cracked a rib or two, and now the girl was apologizing nonstop. Shouldn’t have opened her mouth in the first place. Just as the Barrio Azteca was about to kick her one last time and then call it a night before anyone was alarmed by the girl’s whining, she heard footsteps behind her. Fucking hell.

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badandbijou:

Bii looked down at her own legs. They had never been shaved. “What does it feel like?” She asked with a great curiosity in her voice as she squatted down to get a better look at the man’s legs.

Never one to be shy, Winston proudly pulled his pantleg up to display to show the other his mostly bare leg. Where the bandage did not wrap his wound, his skin was smooth with a clearly medical precision.

“It’s so smooth. I feel like I have the legs of an angel. Or a baby. Or a baby angel.”

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nathan-douglas:

Catching himself he looked away from the other male and closed his eyes, clearing his mind. He chastised himself for being so obvious. This was not how a future murderer acted. Nathan nodded then and looked back toward Winston “Oh. I like all kinds of things.” Moving his left hand back to his hip again he leaned into it and lifted his right hand up to tap on his chin, pretending to think “Mostly … I like… cigarettes. And… Daydreaming…Planning escapes from rooms.”

Shrugging then he put on a smile  “I …like writing …in a journal…about what goes on in my life.” With a small laugh he ran his right hand over his neck, tilting his head up and slightly to one side  “I like…to be …difficult…to understand. …I also like, fries and lemonade.” Moving his hand from his throat he looked at his nails and made a light ‘tsk’ noise  “I guess…that’s all. I really don’t do mmmm….Mmmmm-uch…Actually.”  His eyebrows knit together as a moment of strange dizziness came over him  “Sorry?”

Grateful for something to pull Nathan away from the conversation prior, Winston nodded, listening enthusiastically. They were normal things, at least mostly, for boys his age to enjoy, 

“Good, good. That’s okay, it’s alright. You like planning escapes?” That didn’t sound good, but he ran with it. “That’s cool, man. Do you like the tactics, or the problem-solving part?”

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nathan-douglas:

Sniffling,  he pressed the fingers of his left hand against his forehead, trying to calm down. But his head was pounding. When the other said it was ‘okay’ and ‘fine’ Nathan could only nod lightly. The feeling of being sick continuing to build.

His mind really felt hazy in that moment and chest was stinging in pain, probably mostly from his bruises and stab wound, or at least he had hoped so much. Nathan shook his head as the other asked him a question about what he did for fun “I don’t….do anything… for fun.” Dropping his hand from his chest he sucked in a deep breath. He was trying to think of things he could consider to be hobbies, but at the moment nothing was really coming to mind.

His voice seemed to lower just a bit, softening and smoothing to a gentle, calming tone. Still, he didn’t dare to come too close as to make the other uncomfortable, nor to reach out to him. The other had stated that he took medications, and with his peculiar behavior, Winston preferred to do whatever he could to keep him comfortable.

“That’s okay, don’t worry about it. How ‘bout...What kinds of stuff do you like?”

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littlebethdouglas:

“I hope so. Who wouldn’t come back for this cute little guy? … or girl.” Bethany reached out to pet the dog. Who would abandon such an adorable animal in the first place?

Picking the dog up by its arms, he checked quickly, then petting the dog on its head for its patience. “That is definitely a boy.” Then, overcome temporarily by how cute the dog was, he gave it a little hug. “A sweet little squishy boy.” Winston pressed a little kiss to the dog’s head. “Ahh, I’m being selfish. You wanna hold him?”