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Hanbin is no stranger to the sore, scratchy feeling in his throat that wakes him up every morning, nor is he unfamiliar with the drops of scarlet that emerge when he bursts into coughs shortly thereafter.
The cold hand on his forehead is certainly a first, though.
Hanbin startles awake to see an unfamiliar gaze raking over his face.
He scrambles to get away, but his unsteady limbs quiver and collapse beneath him. With a final burst of energy, Hanbin turns toward the ground and covers his face with an arm.
"I don't have any valuables on me," Hanbin pleads. He's used to gasping for breath, but his fight-or-flight is sending him closer to hyperventilation. "Just let me go."
"Please, lie down," a mellifluous voice chimes. "I don't want to hurt you— in fact, I'm more worried you're going to hurt yourself."
The stranger steps away for a moment, which Hanbin takes as an opportunity to get his bearings. These walls and floors are not familiar to him, and he does not recognize the man in emerald and aquamarine silks puttering around the room.
"What do you want from me?" Hanbin presses. "Why have you taken me here?"
The stranger huffs out a laugh before he returns to Hanbin's side with a steaming teacup.
"Take you here?" the man parrots. "Do tell, what should I have done with a stranger who fainted in my garden?"
Hanbin opens his mouth to retort, but a coughing fit erupts from him before he can speak.
"Have this," the man insists, holding the cup out with both hands. "It will help you feel better."
"How do I know you have not poisoned it?" Hanbin rasps.
Rolling his eyes, the stranger takes a sip from the drink before pressing the cup to Hanbin's lips.
"It's jiegengcha," the man explains. "I think treating someone with medicinal herbs would be an ineffective way of killing them."
Relenting, Hanbin gulps down the cup. The warm liquid soothes his throat, and its sweet and floral scent calms his nerves.
He does not recognize the beverage, yet the aroma reminds him of home.
Hanbin attempts to suppress the smile that emerges after finishing his tea, but the stranger already wears a satisfied smirk.
"I told you."
Hanbin feels better than he has in months.
Though his throat and chest continue to ache, Hanbin can stomach his meals, and he sleeps through the night without waking up drenched in his own perspiration.
No matter how easily he falls asleep, however, he always rises at dawn to the rustling of fabric and the clinking of metal tools.
"Hao-ge," Hanbin whines groggily after two weeks of waking up to Hao's daily expeditions. "Must you always leave so early in the morning?"
Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Hanbin watches as Hao secures his sunhat in place. Once Hao deems his head and neck properly covered, he turns to Hanbin with a exasperated yet fond expression.
"Don't be ungrateful. It is because I tend to the flowers that you recover," the herbalist scolds with a pout.
"Yes, yes, whatever you say, doctor," Hanbin yields, slumping back under his bed linens. "Wake me when you return."
Shutting his eyes, Hanbin tucks his head into the mat, trying to feign slumber until the healer is a good distance away from the dwelling.
He waits for a gentle rhythm of footfalls to escape his earshot. Instead, he hears the other man tread closer.
"Hanbin-ah," Hao calls as he pulls at the sheets. "Would you like to walk through the forest with me?"
After reaching a clearing, the healer points to a patch of grass.
"Rest here," Hao prompts. "I just need to gather a few ingredients."
As Hanbin settles down, Hao wanders toward a row of purple blossoms. The herbalist crouches beside one of the flowers, smiling to himself at the star-shaped crowns.
Carefully, Hao pulls out a knife from his belt pouch and cuts a few stems from the blooms before him. Once he has gathered a good amount, he walks back toward Hanbin and sets the harvest between them.
Hanbin's face lights up in recognition. "I love doraji," he gasps.
"Is that what you call jiegeng?" Hao answers.
Hanbin nods as he smells one of the flowers. "My mother grew them outside of our house when I was younger. She liked braiding them into my sister's and my hair while she sang to us."
"It's my favorite, too," Hao grins. "A bright perennial that flourishes in mountains and fields, in hot summers and tough winters."
Taking the flower out of the other's hand, Hao pushes the stem behind Hanbin's ear, tucking it in place. "It reminds me of you."
If doraji grow best in full sun, then you are the light I needed to grow, Hanbin thinks.
Autumn nears, and Hanbin is almost at full health— his face glows, his body has regained definition, and his voice isn't as raspy anymore.
The copious amounts of flower-filled meals have probably had some effect, but he believes being with the man who tends to the blooms is far more healing than any medicine.
One morning, Hanbin wakes to the sight of the healer nearly out the door, and he quickly shuffles off of his sleeping mat.
"Gege, why didn't you wake me for our walk?" Hanbin calls.
Hao comes to a stop. The gardener turns his head a fraction, his eyes hidden behind his hat.
"Could you leave by sundown?" Hao mutters.
Huh?
"Now that you've recovered, I don't think there's much else I can offer you anymore."
Hanbin wants to beg to stay, to admit that he can't live without Hao, but there's something in his throat, and he can't breathe—
"Perhaps our paths will converge again one day."
As Hao fades out of view, Hanbin coughs intensely into his palm. He hopes for no blood.
Hanbin is not sure a handful of violet jiegeng petals is better.