Chapter Text
SOMETHING SHIFTS BEHIND Ahn Suho’s eyelid. The glare of the light. Some voices he can’t make sense of. He wants to open his eyes but finds he is too tired to do so.
He is lulled back to sleep again.
The second time it happens, Suho manages to push open his eyes with difficulty. The light around him blinds him. Some machine around him beeps too loudly that he feels a headache brimming. He wants to swat it away, but he can't quite discern where the sound is coming from. Noises turn into shouts. Even though he's still reorienting, he can tell there's hustling around him.
A face peers closer to his. They ask him something but he can’t focus. He’s too disconcerted by the oxygen mask slotted in his nostrils. It’s uncomfortable and Suho can’t draw in oxygen fast enough. He wants to get rid of it, claw it out of him but his limbs feel so heavy, so tired that despite uneasiness settling into his chest, heavy and hard, he can’t do anything about it.
There is a face close to him again. A doctor, perhaps.
It seems that the face registers what is ticking him off and helps to take the oxygen mask off.
Ahn Suho feels like he has been rebirthed. He draws in a breath, then another, harder and faster, like he will run out of it if he doesn’t make an active effort to do so. It feels like he had been submerged in water a little too long, near enough to drowning, and only now has managed to break out from the water.
Something is lodged deep within his throat too but he can’t pinpoint. He thrashes around, or tries to, really. Blood pounds in his head and he wants to smash his skull into something just to make the noise stop.
Heavy hands press down on his chest and he can’t think. The buzzing in his head grows louder and louder.
Then, it stops. All of it.
The third time that he wakes up, it’s easier. He’s not drowning anymore. Instead, his mouth is clamped shut from being so dry. His mouth parts, ready to ask for water. But no words come out, he can barely force air out.
He wants to ask for water but he can’t move his mouth. Nobody is listening. Nobody looks his way. The light is too glaring. The machine too loud. Ahn Suho is alone, and he wants to cry.
Tears prick the back of his eyes and he’s so parched, he wishes he could swallow his own tears.
Then, there’s shuffling around him. He wants to turn his head to see who it is, but he has no energy. He’s not sure why. But desperation claws at him and Suho manages to hook his pinky finger into something—perhaps the other person’s hand? He’s not sure but it feels warm.
A face peers closer to him. It seems familiar, but he’s not sure who it is. It’s so blurry and he can’t quite make sense of these vague lines. Still, he mouths mul albeit barely. He’s not even sure the other person understands him. But somehow, even through his failed attempts, the message seems to get across because soon he’s parting his mouth for water. He swallows slowly, savoring each drop like it’s his last.
He shuts his eyes when he’s done. He wants to gulp down a gallon of water but Suho finds it hard to keep his mouth open too long.
It doesn’t make sense. Nothing quite does. A few days of being bedridden shouldn’t make his body feel like a machine that hasn’t been oiled in years.
It’s too much all at once so he allows himself to drift back to sleep.
He’s not sure if it happens when he wakes up the fifth time or sixth. He’s long-lost count after drifting in and out of consciousness. The doctor—Cha Hyunsoo, the tag on his pocket reads—asks him questions and Suho actually understands him.
“Suho-ssi, do you need water?” is what the doctor asks first. He nods in response, albeit a bit taken aback by the first question. The nurse presses some buttons by the side of his bed and the bed starts moving up. His heart seizes in his throat at the sudden movement. But the nurse has only adjusted it to a better level for Suho to drink water and look at the people around him comfortably.
When the nurse helps him down the water, he let his eyes roam around the room. There’s no one here that he recognizes and it makes something hurt in his chest. He attributes it as the reason to why he’s in the hospital. Still, his eyes linger by the doorframe, hoping a familiar face walks in.
Perhaps, grandma is resting at home. It isn’t good for her to be lounging around in the hospital at her age, anyway.
“It seems your hearing is just fine, Suho-ssi,” the doctor begins to say and Suho snaps his gaze back from the doorframe. The assistant doctor besides him scribbles something on his notepad. “You know you are very brave, right?”
To say Suho is puzzled would be an understatement. The doctor doesn’t let him ruminate over what he means, though. “Now, as for your vision, can you tell me what the time on the clock says over there?” He points to a clock hanging on the wall directly in front of Suho.
5.30 PM.
Ah, Sieun-ie must be at cram school, he thinks. And Youngyi, well, she must be at her part time job.
He opens his mouth to tell the doctor time but chokes on air instead. The nurse rubs soothing circles on his chest and helps him to water.
“Gwenchanao, Suho-ssi, you are doing very well. Take it easy,” the doctor eases him. “Try again but before that, take a deep breath.”
5.30 pm, he tells the doctor, feeling a strain to his lungs. His voice comes out all raspy too and his throat feels so scratchy. It’s all too odd, but Suho is still too tired to try and make sense of it.
“And the color?” the doctor prompts and Suho doesn’t understand why he’s being asked all of these questions at all.
It’s bright red, much like the jacket Suho had been wearing the night he met Beomseok and others. “Ppalgan,” he manages to lisp.
“Very good.” The doctor nods in encouragement. “Rest up for now, Suho-ssi. We’ll have a lot to talk about later.” And then, he turns on his heels and walks away. The assistant doctor follows. It’s only the nurse that lingers, fixing things on the IV drip by his side. She changes the IV fluid and moves to leave the room.
Suho feels restless at the thought of being left alone. He hooks his pinky into her uniform to get her attention and she turns, startled. He gestures at the bench near him. She cocks her head, bemused. A few moments pass before she understands what he means.
“Ah,” she says when she realizes, clicking her tongue. “Your halmeoni? She was here this morning. She went home to wash up, I think.” Suho looks at her expectantly so she would tell him about Sieun or Youngi. “Your chingu? He was here an hour or two ago. Poor boy had been here since the morning and I just had to send him home, you know?” She stares at him sympathetically.
“Yeon Sieun?” he manages to croak out.
She nods, blabbering about something. Suho feels a strange twist in his gut. Sieun was here. Sieun was here and he couldn’t see him. Suho wonders if his hand has healed now.
It’s long hours after that conversation that Suho gets to see Sieun. In between that time, during his brief moments of consciousness, he is bombarded with Dr. Cha asking him to do things. He asks Suho questions about his birthday, his grandmother’s name, etc. Other times, he asks Suho to move his hands or legs or turn his head.
It takes great effort but Suho manages to do it albeit at a pace slower than a snail. All throughout, Dr. Cha nods encouragingly, telling him he’s doing well.
The doctor tells him about his condition in bits and pieces, as if he is afraid that telling everything to Suho at once might be too much for him. He tires out quickly from these antics though.
When he feels cold despite the heaters, he tells the nurse so and she worries her bottom lip between her teeth. “Ah, I will have to ask the other nurse for it,” she says but Suho shakes his head. “What? You want something else?”
He drags in a steady breath and concentrates his energy to lift his finger and point at the small shelf beside him. The nurse turns and something clicks for her. “Ah, your chingu’s hoodie? Okay, okay, I got you.” She smiles as she pulls the strikingly familiar grey hoodie out from the shelf. Suho’s breath hitches in his throat.
He’s not sure what it is about the hoodie that makes tears prick his eyes. Maybe it’s the fact that he has not experienced any sort of familiarity since he woke up—not his friends nor his grandmother. Maybe it’s the knowledge that Sieun was here for him not too long ago. Or that Sieun would be here soon.
But he cries. Suho can’t remember the last time he cried so hard that his vision blurred and his chest heaved from the effort.
He can’t bring himself to feel embarrassed about it though. He just buries his face deeper into the familiar grey fabric.