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When Dongpyo was fourteen he once collapsed in the subway on the way to school, and nothing has been the same since. Cardiac arrhythmia , the doctor had said, and Dongpyo, propped up in the hospital bed, felt his mouth go dry. Pacemaker, surgery, ICD . Dongpyo watched his mother cry.
He’s sixteen now, almost seventeen. Still no surgery, but he’s been in and out of the hospital more than he’s been anywhere else for the past few years of his life. Can’t go outside much—fine dust worries his mother, getting lost worries his mother, getting tired worries his mother. His father sometimes takes off his glasses and rubs the part between the bridge of his nose and his eyes, and this is how Dongpyo knows he worries, too.
He’s seen the hospital more than his own bed, he swears. The constant flow of nurses and doctors and receptionists with perfect hair and glasses balanced on their nose-tips, constant bills and papers he sees his mother tuck into her bag before he sees them. The constant bright smiles he puts on for his parents, for his friends, for the doctors when they ask how he’s doing. Even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts.
Sometimes it makes it hard to be brave.
New nurse today. Haven’t seen him yet , Dongpyo thinks, and holds himself extra still while the nurse takes his blood pressure and presses the cold stethoscope to first his back, and then his chest.
“It’s like a hummingbird,” says the nurse, his dark eyes twinkling under his bangs. “Isn’t it, little one?” He removes the stethoscope from his neck and presses it into Dongpyo’s hand. “Listen,“ he says. Dongpyo takes the cool metal disc on the bottom and presses it against his shirt. Seungwoo guides his hand until he can hear the sound, and his mouth makes a round ‘ o ’ in surprise at the thrumming beat.
“It’s really loud,” says Dongpyo, unable to think of anything else.
“It is,” the nurse agrees, his voice curling with a gentle chuckle. He looks at Dongpyo and smiles, brushes a knuckle of his hand against Dongpyo’s cheek. Dongpyo scrunches up his nose, puts in his chin to his neck, and the nurse laughs. “Oh, little heart.”
Dongpyo smiles, and for the first time in a while it feels real.
Seungwoo stays. His hands are warm sometimes but his fingertips always cold, and he’s the gentlest of all the nurses when he asks to take Dongpyo’s blood pressure, says I’m sorry every time he has to draw blood. Dongpyo likes him best. Nurse Wooseok is kind but a little distant, Nurse Yohan is new and a little inexperienced. Dongpyo likes his bed a certain angle, his room a certain temperature: these are all things that only Seungwoo remembers. Remember, he would say, this room at twenty degrees. And, remember not to bring the bed up too far.
“Hummingbird,” says Seungwoo, “how does it hurt?”
Dongpyo thinks for a moment. When you’re hurting all the time , he wants to say, it doesn’t really seem to hurt-hurt anymore . But he holds up three fingers after a moment anyway, and Seungwoo nods. Seungwoo always tries to understand. Dongpyo feels a sudden rush of affection for him.
“Can I call you hyung?” Dongpyo asks. Seungwoo blinks a few times, maybe taken aback, and then smiles.
“Hyung,” he agrees with a small chuckle, pressing his index finger to his lips. “Yes, you can call me hyung.”
He wakes up in the middle of the night, his chest tight like it’s burning. It blurs his vision with watery eyes so that he can’t read the time on the digital clock next to the bed, can’t find the call button on the nightstand without hitting blindly. Once, twice, three times, Dongpyo manages to click the button before he has to fall down into the pillows again.
Footsteps at his door a few moments later, and Seungwoo slips quickly into the room. Like a shadow, quiet. His hair is ruffled, his mouth pressed with worry. His skin moon-white in the dim glow of light from Dongpyo’s window. What’s wrong, hummingbird?
Dongpyo sucks in a breath. Bad dream, he mouths, chest hurts. Miss my dad.
Seungwoo’s mouth presses into an even thinner line. How does it hurt?
A lot, Dongpyo manages. And it’s true - it feels like someone invisible has tied ropes around his ribcage, and is pulling on them, like they’re going to squeeze him into something else. It hurts lots, hyung. His throat feels like it’s filling in.
Seungwoo’s eyes look so different from when they’re laughing. He crosses the room in one or two steps and rests his big, cold hand on Dongpyo’s chest, leans down to press their foreheads together. The bridge of his nose digs a little into Dongpyo’s cheek, and he thinks how much he would want to hug Seungwoo if it didn’t hurt so much.
Seungwoo exhales a little shakily and finds Dongpyo’s hands, holds them. Hyung is here, he whispers, over and over. It’s okay, hyung is here. Seungwoo-ah is here.
Dongpyo closes his eyes, through Seungwoo’s whispers and through the hurt. He doesn’t know how much time passes, but when he feels he can finally breathe again he takes a long, deep breath and opens his eyes. Seungwoo straightens up and looks at him.
Does it still hurt as much?
I can take it now.
Oh, little heart. Seungwoo smiles, the curve of his mouth gentle like the crescent moon, and for a moment Dongpyo feels at peace. Go to sleep now, okay?
He gets up and walks to the door, turning back once to look at Dongpyo before opening it and slipping out. In his wake, the open door slit casts a long, yellowish streak of light on Dongpyo’s bed.
“And I said no way did that happen, I—”
“—feel sorry for—”
“—Did you hear? Nurse Han cried—”
“Kid’s so small—”
“Didn’t even close the door.”
“—and I said, if any of y’all seen him, you shouldn’t’ve.”
When Dongpyo is almost asleep, he senses someone in the room again and opens one eye. He can’t see who it is, but the presence is comforting, soothing. He thinks about cool hands and gentle smiles, and drifts off with a little less hurt than before.
Seungwoo leans against the doorframe, his eyes wet. He wipes at his cheek with the back of his sleeves very quickly, very discreetly.
Oh, hummingbird, he whispers, you’re the bravest of us all.