Chapter Text
Day 1: “I’m fine.”
Darkness was all he could see. He tried to feel around, to get a sense of his surroundings, but everything felt muddy. His limbs were too heavy, and his mind swam with every thought.
With some effort, he managed to crack an eye open, only to find darkness. Less oppressive, but still dark. Worst of all, though, was that he didn’t recognize the area. He wasn’t staring at his ceiling, and it smelled like a hospital.
In fact, the ceiling had a bunch of fluorescent lights, the kind that were way too bright, and he could vaguely make out beeping. His other eye opened after a moment, dry and cakey.
With that, he looked around again, confirming it was indeed a hospital. He tried to lift his head, but it weighed too much. Instead, he tried to remember how he got there. He remembered some pain in his side, nothing too serious, just a sharp pain every time he moved. He was content to ignore it, and he thought he was doing a good job, but apparently he hadn’t.
He remembered stepping out for dinner and making it to the table, but everything got hazy after that. He must’ve passed out. He probably scared his family.
Speaking of which, he caught on to the sound of breathing near the end of his bed. He craned his neck up as much as he could, his vision momentarily blurry before it cleared. Dayeon slept at the foot of his bed, her upper body on the mattress while her lower half sat on the floor.
Behind her, his grandfather sat upright in the old chair against the wall. His head was lowered, but his position must have been uncomfortable, especially with his back problems.
Guilt filled his chest at the thought of how much he made them worry. The machine next to him beeped loudly as his heart rate increased, stirring his family from their slumber.
“Ijin!” They yelled in unison, moving faster than expected. He felt their arms wrap around him, Dayeon nearly collapsing onto his chest before she corrected herself, and he felt him flinch. At the same time, the room door slid open, revealing a nurse in yellow scrubs holding a clipboard.
“Please be careful.” She scolded, sending his well-meaning family a look. “He’s still recovering.”
Dayeon and Grandpa got off of him immediately, but they didn’t stray far. Dayeon moved off to the side while Grandpa kept a warm hand on his forehead.
“Can you tell me the name of everyone in this room?” The nurse asked, shining a flashlight in his eye.
Ijin blinked at the sudden light and cracked open his dry lips to respond, his mind catching up. “Dayeon, Grandpa or Gangsu, and Nurse... Han.”
She stood up and smiled gently. “Very good. Can you tell me your name?”
“Ijin Yu.” He tried to sit up, but Grandpa’s hand moved to his chest and pushed him down carefully.
“Don’t move, Ijin. You’re hurt.”
His eyes shot to his grandfather, and he managed to force his hand down his body, searching for the wound.
“I take it that you don’t remember what happened.” The nurse wrote something down on her clipboard before setting it aside. “A piece of metal lodged in your abdomen broke away and ruptured a part of your intestine.”
Ijin blinked a few times, his eyes scanning his body and noting the IV in his arm. He followed the line to the bag on the stand. Pain meds, if he had to guess, which explained why his brain was so groggy.
“I advise,” Nurse Han interrupted. “That next time you feel a pain, get it checked out before you pass out.” She sent Ijin a tired glare before grabbing her clipboard to check on her other patients, presumably.
As soon as the door closed again, Ijin let out a breath. His eyes darted to his family, suddenly closer, and scanned them. They looked unharmed but very tired. Guilt crept up again.
He’d made them worry again. About something so trivial, too. They shouldn’t have to worry about him; he was supposed to be strong. He was supposed to take away their pain, not add to it by being such a burden. His hands gripped the sheets, and his jaw clenched uncomfortably.
They seemed to catch on to his mood; they always did, and Dayeon reached over to take his hand as Grandpa resumed his earlier position, his hand on his head. They smiled down at him, tired but relieved.
“Ijin,” his grandfather’s voice was soothing, “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” It was the only response he could come up with and the only one that seemed appropriate.
Because he truly was fine.