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The first thing Sejun sees when he wakes up is a neon flashing in and out of life above him. He blinks a few times, trying to adjust his eyes to the dim light, chasing the last remains of sleep out.
Uh.
There’s something nagging at the back of his head, the feeling that there’s something wrong. He doesn’t really remember going to sleep.
There’s no bulb above my bed.
The realization that he’s probably not in his bed, in his room, hits him at once and he finally drags his eyes away from the blinking light, looking around.
Oh.
He’s in a hospital. That much is clear by the curtain used to separate the room in two, currently drawn open and revealing an empty bed, and the machine beeping away at his bedside – a sound he failed to notice before, but now that he’s aware of it, it drills in his head with the force of a full orchestra. On the other side of the bed, there’s a window, the moon’s glow peeking through the halfway closed blinds. Next to it, beside a small table, there’s a chair, and…
Oh.
Seungsik is fast asleep on said chair, neck bent in an uncomfortable looking position, mouth slightly open. He’s resting one of his hands on the bed, and when Sejun looks down, he can see their fingers barely grazing each other’s. The room is dark, only illuminated by the malfunctioning light and the distant moon. He looks soft in his sleep.
He wonders how long Seungsik has been waiting for him. How long he’s been here.
And why am I here?
His head feels fuzzy, foggy. He’s having a hard time stringing two thoughts together, and he wonders if it’s because of some medication they’ve put him under, or if it’s because he’s actually sick. The thought of being seriously ill sends a bolt of fear through his body – why is he here? – and he forces his heavy limbs to move in an attempt to assess his own body.
The movement is enough to stir Seungsik out of his slumber, and he jostles awake with a gasp, blinking his eyes open. Without a second pause, he turns to Sejun to check on him. A blinding smile crosses his face when his gaze falls on him.
“You’re awake.” Even though he’s whispering, Sejun can feel the excitement and relief in his voice. He wonders if Seungsik thought he wouldn’t wake up.
“Hi,” he says, and his throat feels parched.
He tries to clear it, attempting to swallow, but his mouth is dry and it’s a useless effort. Thankfully Seungsik seems to notice what’s wrong, because he grabs a small bottle from the table and offers it to him with a straw. The water feels amazing and Sejun has to stop himself from gulping too much and too quickly.
With Seungsik’s help, he drinks until his thirst is quenched and he lays his head back on the pillow, already feeling exhausted. He closes his eyes, wanting nothing more than to slip back into unconsciousness, but he fights his tired body to open them again and look at his friend.
“What happened?”
“You don’t remember?” Seungsik asks in lieu of replying, a frown etched between his eyes. Now that the excitement has passed, there’s no trace of his usual sunny smile, instead replaced by a worried expression.
“Not really. How long have I been here?”
“Not long. A few hours. I found you passed out in our room.”
“Oh.”
He doesn’t know what to say to that. Everything still feels kind of hazy in his head.
“The doctors said you’re dehydrated,” Seungsik explains. “A typical case of gastroenteritis. Stomach flu. They say you must have had it for at least a couple of days. Why didn’t you say anything?”
Seungsik’s tone is berating, but Sejun knows he’s not mad at him, not really. He’s just upset. He would be, too, if their roles were reversed.
Now that Seungsik mentions it, it all comes back to him. Indeed, he hasn’t been feeling well lately. It started with a headache a couple of days ago, but ever since, he hasn’t been able to eat anything without, well, without the food making its way back out of his body against his will. It’s not a pleasant sensation, and he has cut out his meals to nearly nothing in the last two days. He figured it would pass quickly, and he’s used to dieting anyway. Despite that, he’s been spending most of his time going to and back from the restroom.
“I didn’t realize it was this bad. I just figured I had eaten something bad and it would pass quickly.”
“But still, if you weren’t feeling good, why not tell us? We could have helped.”
Sejun knows he’s right, he should have told his members that he wasn’t feeling at the top of his form. He is the one always going on about sharing when they’re in pain, instead of hiding it. But still, something had stopped him from reaching out. It wasn’t anything serious, he’d told himself. They were all doing their things, finally resting a bit – except Seungwoo, who has been busy non-stop since his album dropped, which was an even bigger reason not to trouble him.
“I didn’t want to bother you,” he says, in a small voice, knowing he’s in for a scolding. “I really thought it was nothing serious.”
“Sejun, you’re not bothering us. Especially if you’re not okay and you need us.”
“It’s just,” he starts, then stops himself. He doesn't know how to explain himself without earning a metaphorical slap in the fingers from his friend. “The members are either enjoying their free time back in their homes or doing their own thing now that we have time. You’ve been working on your music, too. And Seungwoo-hyung is so busy! I didn’t want to worry you. I figured it was nothing.”
Seungsik sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand, the other one still resting on the bed. Sejun takes that one his his hand, rubbing a thumb against the soft skin to provide some comfort. He knows Seungsik, he’s undoubtedly been fretting over him for however long he’s been here. He’s probably more distressed about his condition than Sejun himself.
He’s feeling calm, now that he knows he’s not in danger. He’s had a stomach flu in the past, and he recovered without problems at home. He’s sure he’s only in the hospital still because he has overbearing friends. Although, he has to admit, passing out from dehydration doesn’t look good. He would have freaked out, too. And he doesn’t remember getting to the hospital at all, which means he must have been really out of it. So, maybe the hospital is warranted. But not the fear still present in Seungsik’s eyes.
“Sejun,” he says, serious. “You can tell us if you’re not feeling good, even if it’s just a slight headache or a sore muscle. Actually, I’d prefer it if you tell us. It doesn’t matter if we’re not home or we’re busy, or whatever. We have to tell each other these things, ok? We all have a tendency to downplay it when we hurt, and we need to keep each other in check.”
Sejun keeps quiet for a few seconds. He knows Seungsik is right, and even if he had something to say in his defense, his muddled brain is making it hard to come up with arguments.
“Yeah, hyung,” he finally says, because he doesn’t want to leave Seungsik hanging. He doesn’t have anything else to add.
Seungsik seemingly notices he’s not in the best state to talk, because he gives him a reassuring smile and he squeezes his hand before freeing himself from his hold to grab the phone sitting on top of the table. He writes something before he leaves it on the table again.
“I told the guys you’re awake.”
Sejun wants to protest that he shouldn’t have told them about this little hospital trip, because it’s only gonna worry them over nothing and ruin their family time, but he knows better than to voice his objections. He would want to know if any of his friends ends up in the hospital because they’re unable to take care of themselves correctly. Yeah, Seungsik is right. He should have said something about not feeling good the moment he couldn’t ingest anything for 24 hours straight. It’s easy to get caught up on the idea that one should just endure these things alone.
Barely a couple of minutes after Seungsik sends his message, the door opens swiftly and two figures appear in its frame, illuminated by the corridor’s glow – or what Sejun assumes is the hospital corridor. Before he can figure out who it is, one of them finds the light switch and suddenly the room is bright and blinding and it hurts his poor, tired eyes. He shields himself with both his hands, facing away from the light, groaning with pain.
“Slow down,” he hears Seungsik say. “You can’t barge in like that. He’s still waking up.”
“Sorry.”
“Sorry.”
He recognizes Chan and Subin’s voices in the twin apologies. He smiles despite the situation. He’s glad they’re here.
Slowly adjusting to the new light, he blinks a few times and turns his head to look at them. They’re wearing sheepish expressions, no doubt properly scolded by their leader, but they’re nearly vibrating with worry and restlessness.
Subin is the first one to approach, closing the distance with quick steps to sit on the bed next to his hip.
“We were so worried, hyung. When Seungsik-hyung called to say you were in the hospital I thought something bad had really happened!”
He’s clearly distressed, but Sejun can’t help but find him cute as always, with his whiny voice and his light pout. He won’t say anything, though, because he knows it wouldn’t be welcomed right now. He doesn’t try to fight the urge to pinch his cheeks, though. Some things just have to be done.
“It’s okay Subinie,” he reassures, patting him a few times. It’s so soft and squishy. “It’s nothing serious. I’m gonna be okay.”
Subin bats him off, dodging his loving ministrations. Despite his complaints, though, he takes Sejun hand in his and doesn’t let go, mindlessly playing with his fingers.
He’s such a baby, Sejun thinks, and it takes an immense effort not to fawn at him.
“Refrain yourself from passing out next time, Sejun,” Chan says, now standing next to Seungsik. “It scares the baby.”
Chan’s joke earns him a glare from Subin (“shut up hyung, I’m not a baby”) and a slap from Seungsik – gentle, because he’s Seungsik.
“Maybe I’ll pass out in your room next, hyung,” he gathers all the witt left in him to bite back, “so you’re the one who has to take care of it.”
Before they get into one of their usual fights, Seungsik steps in.
“There will be no more passing out.”
He’s using his ‘leader voice’ (as Hanse calls it), the one that breaks no argument. He uses it sparingly, which is why it’s more than effective to shut them both up. Not that Sejun has the energy to actually bicker with Chan. He’s already feeling sleep trying to take over him, his eyes becoming heavier with each passing second.
“The others wanted to come too but I told them to stay home and rest,” Seungsik explains to him. “They’ll come see you in the morning.”
He’s not upset by their absence; he knows they all have their own things to do and they can’t stay all night in the hospital. Seungwoo is probably already doing the pre-recording for some music show and Byungchan needs his beauty sleep to take over the world as the next great actor. Hanse is back home, and Sejun would hate to interrupt his family time, especially over a simple stomach flu. He doesn’t mind if they don’t come, he’s grateful anyway.
A big yawn stops him from saying as much. He simply nods, suddenly finding himself with no more energy to spare, not even to talk.
“We better get going and leave you to sleep,” Chan says.
As if on cue, Seungsik stands up, straightening out his clothes.
“I think we should all get some rest,” he agrees. “Sejun, they said they’ll probably discharge you in the morning once they’re sure you’re properly hydrated.”
“I’ll stay with Sejun-hyung,” Subin interjects.
The other two exchange a look, sharing a short silent conversation. They finally come to an agreement, and Seungsik merely shrugs. Neither of them are really keen on leaving Sejun alone in the first place.
“If Sejun is ok with that.”
Sejun musters all of his energy to answer, “It’s okay.”
With a triumphant smile, Subin stands up and makes his way around the bed to sit in the now empty chair. He immediately takes Sejun’s hand in his, rubbing comforting circles on it with his thumb.
“We’ll get going, then.”
“Sleep some more, Sejunie,” Chan says with a soft voice while gently patting his leg through the thin blanket. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”
With a final wave towards Subin, who has already his phone out and is typing away (probably to one of the other members), he makes his way out of the room, waiting in the corridor for Seungsik.
The man in question takes a step closer to the bed and, in a rare display of affection, he pushes Sejun’s hair back. The motion is soothing, and in his drowsy state Sejun surrenders to the urge to nuzzle his hand.
“Rest now,” he murmurs. “I’ll come back in the morning.”
Sejun only grunts in response, already half-asleep.
Seungsik gives him one last look, worn out and full of concern, before petting Subin’s hair as a goodbye. He leaves quietly and joins Chan, making sure to turn off the light.
The room gets dim once again, with the blinking neon flashing softly above the bed. With his eyes having quickly gotten used to the light, he can’t see much in the sudden obscurity. The darkness, the constant beep beep from the machine and Subin’s even breathing, all pull him into a slumber quickly.
Before he succumbs, he turns his head slightly to face his companion for the night. The last thing he sees before he falls asleep is Subin, slightly illuminated by the glow of his phone’s screen. He smiles and closes his eyes. There’s no such thing as darkness when he has bright lights in his life.