Chapter 10.5

"He can hear us, right?"

Soobin nodded, pulling the door aside to let him in. For whatever reason, Yeonjun's heart was rapidly pounding, the sound like a constant hammering in his ears as his nerves bundled up in his chest.

Once the door opened, the first thing Yeonjun did was flinch.

The room inside was too bright, too white and too plain to have accommodated the boy that once bloomed with so much colour. Yet there he was, tucked in a bed twice too large for him, the stark white of his scrubs and the sheet almost swallowing him up.

There he was—Choi Beomgyu, his best friend.

His best friend, now unconscious and strapped to numerous IV's, heartbeat monitored on life support, and an oxygen mask still covering half his face.

Seeing Beomgyu like that for the first time permanently broke something inside Yeonjun, yet he couldn't identify what it was. Or maybe he did, but he'd rather not dwell on it now; because the only thing he could focus on was just how dreadful he looked, seemingly chained to the hospital bed like he was to be permanently bound.

Seeing that Yeonjun didn't take another step past the door, Soobin gestured for him to get closer with a nudge of his head. Time ran agonisingly slow as he finally made his way to Beomgyu's bedside, dropping himself onto the chair next to it.

When Soobin closed the door, the silence hung so heavy it made his head dizzy.

"Hey, Gyu. It's hyung." He attempted after a few heartbeats, the hoarseness in his voice a clear indication of just how much he'd been crying. He figured he wouldn't want Beomgyu to notice, so he cleared his throat and tried again. "I'm here." He abruptly stopped there, not trusting himself to say any more without breaking his tough front.

Yeonjun didn't know why he was hoping for a response when he was fully aware that none was coming. Perhaps he wasn't yet accustomed to the fact that every one of his snarky remarks wouldn't be met with a witty comeback from Beomgyu here on out.

The knot in his chest returned, words stuck at the back of this throat. Was it from pain? Sorrow? Guilt? He didn't want to find out.

But why was it that when he was finally able to talk to him, no words were coming out? So many thoughts and questions shot through his mind like a meteor shower, yet Yeonjun struggled for where to begin.

As he regarded the younger, he noticed that Beomgyu looked awfully solemn without his signature bright grin on his face. His face was stoic and void of colour, paler than Yeonjun had ever seen him. His eyes were closed, and Yeonjun was able to see close-up the curly, long lashes which laid out like little fans cascading above his cheekbones. He had only watched Beomgyu sleep once, and that was a long time ago.

His heart ached. Now, there was nothing he'd wish for more than those eyes to open again, knowing he had an indefinite amount of time to watch him sleep like this. He was not used to seeing Beomgyu without either a giddy smile or an unimpressed scowl on his face. Is this what he looks like around other people that aren't me? He wondered.

After another prolonged silence, he settled for the first thing he wanted to get off his chest.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, voice low.

"If only I hadn't let you go, you wouldn't be here right now. If only I'd walked you home. It's my fault. If only I'd—" he stopped, noticing the crack in his voice and the miserable turn this one-sided conversation was taking. Would Beomgyu want him to blame himself, when he so adamantly insisted that he leave in the first place?

Although he knew Beomgyu wouldn't meet his eyes, Yeonjun still found it hard to look at him. So he glanced away, trying to steady his swaying thoughts.

Soobin was standing a respectful distance apart from them, right by the door. Although the boy was young, he looked terribly mature and tall for his age in that white coat, that Yeonjun would have never guessed he was still a high school freshman. The taller boy caught his eyes, and a flash of pity flitted past his complexion. Yeonjun could only muster up a half-smile in return.

"I'm so glad you're still here, at least." Yeonjun spoke up again, reaching for Beomgyu's hand that laid lifelessly by his side. He took it in his, the usual warmth in them gone; his heart aching as he told himself to brush over that detail. "I'm so glad I haven't lost you completely." He whispered into the still boy's hand, "Knowing you can hear me is enough. I'm thankful enough."

Again, he was met with silence.

Yeonjun had to mentally reprimand himself the second time that day for naturally awaiting the younger's response. He knew that hope was slim, but how ambitious could one be to dare hope for the impossible—the lowest variable from the common denominator, even in a situation where no odds could be defied?

Nonetheless, Yeonjun allowed himself to hold onto that fleeting spark of hope.

"You'll always have me, for real this time. I won't ever leave again. Never, for the rest of my life. You said as long as you have me for the rest of yours, nothing else matters." He murmured, eyebrows furrowed. "Right, Choi Beomgyu? Be a man of your words. You broke your promise by the way, but I'll get back at you later, since I'm so nice." The chuckle he let out is hollow and purely out of self-pity, yet he was afraid if he acknowledged it, his façade would crack. Beomgyu wouldn't like that. The boy used to always tell him how pretty his smile was, and how good his laughter sounded.

Therefore, Yeonjun decided, that was all he was ever going to do from now on.

Maybe someday, when he's talked to himself enough—Beomgyu would get fed up and finally decide to rise from that godforsaken bed to respond to him out of annoyance. It had worked plenty of times before, surely it would work this time as well, wouldn't it?

The younger boy's patience was as thin as a thread, surely he wouldn't be able to hold back for that long; and all Yeonjun had to do was visit everyday until his nerves got the better of him—right? It would be like nothing has changed, and Beomgyu was just temporarily asleep.

One day, those eyes will open again; and the first words to leave his mouth would be his usual trademark; of telling Yeonjun how much of a horrible hyung he was, for pestering him when he wasn't able to talk back—right?

The flickering spark of hope in Yeonjun's eyes were so fleeting; if one blinked, one would have missed it. But the boy squeezed the hand in his, blinking away his unshed tears, and placed a kiss on the back of his palm.

A spark was all he needed.

No one had warned Yeonjun that being fifteen was ever going to be this hard.