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lovestrippedbare) wrote2021-06-01 09:14 am
lovestrippedbare) wrote2021-06-01 09:14 am
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As he regains consciousness, the first thing that he sees is fire. Not the quick, flickering hunger of a flame, but instead the glow from behind his eyelids, shifting from red to orange, warm and comforting. It's tempting to stay right there. His lids are so heavy, his arms are sore, a bone-deep fatigue of the sort that Jungkook isn't sure he's ever felt before. But as easy as it might be to bathe in that light, what pulls him out are the sounds. A steady beep, and a heavy whir of air — stronger than the air purifier that he kept on in his room, louder than the air conditioning unit even in the thick of summer. Both of them have a rhythm, but they don't line up, and the dissonance grates on his nerves before long.
That's when he notices the pain.
Normally, he might gasp, but — something stops him. There's something pressing against his nose, and his throat, and it itches and everything's sore. Jungkook tries to lift a hand, finds he can't. Maybe it's still too heavy, but at least he finds himself able to open his eyes again, squinting at the sudden shift from the warmth behind his eyelids to the pale, empty blue of fluorescent lighting.
Hospital.
"Jungkook-ah."
A voice. His mother's? Jungkook can't move his head, but his gaze skirts to the side, where his mother sits by the edge of the bed. Were her hands always that small? They're wrapped around his own now, though Jungkook finds it hard to distinguish the touch from all the other aches, pains, and pokes.
She explains as much as she can. That he's in the hospital, that he was in an accident. Hit and run, they're pretty sure, based on some skid marks on the road and the type of trauma he's sustained. Jungkook blinks, and he remembers the moon, full and round and heavy in the sky — no, in the ocean — no, he can't remember where, only that it was a warm yellow, and that he watched it until everything else faded to black.
He's half-listening. Some of the details don't communicate as much as the others. The first thing that he notices are his hands, the way his fingernails are too long, the way his skin is cracked and red, and Jungkook's never been particularly vain, but they don't feel like his hands, the hands he uses to pull imagination from paper, to play the ivory keys, to trace along the contours of Yoongi's cheek.
(Yoongi, he thinks to himself. Yoongi must be worried.)
Underneath the layering of his mother's hands, Jungkook notices terrycloth restraints around his wrists. They look slightly pink. You pulled at them, even when you were unconscious, his mother says, and Jungkook winces when he tests their give. They tell him to stop. The restraints need to be there, they say, because they don't know what he'll do in his sleep.
Sleep sounds kinder than this. Jungkook nearly chokes when he tries to speak, realizes there's a tube that runs down his throat. That there are straps holding it to his mouth. Another, in his nose. More that he notices slipping out from under the sheets, collecting — he doesn't want to know.
Don't move too much, they tell him. There will be time for that later.
Jungkook shakes his head as much as the restraints will allow, because it hurts, it hurts more with every passing second, and it's hard to think. There's something missing, an ache that buries past the physical pain, but he finds that he can no longer place his finger on it, and all he wants is to sleep again.
There's a man who steps in, his expression calmer than Jungkook's mother, knowing in a way that even mother's intuition can't manage.
"That's enough for today," he says quietly with a smile. "You can sleep now, Jungkook-ssi."
He drifts back into darkness, gentle like the setting of the sun.
That's when he notices the pain.
Normally, he might gasp, but — something stops him. There's something pressing against his nose, and his throat, and it itches and everything's sore. Jungkook tries to lift a hand, finds he can't. Maybe it's still too heavy, but at least he finds himself able to open his eyes again, squinting at the sudden shift from the warmth behind his eyelids to the pale, empty blue of fluorescent lighting.
Hospital.
"Jungkook-ah."
A voice. His mother's? Jungkook can't move his head, but his gaze skirts to the side, where his mother sits by the edge of the bed. Were her hands always that small? They're wrapped around his own now, though Jungkook finds it hard to distinguish the touch from all the other aches, pains, and pokes.
She explains as much as she can. That he's in the hospital, that he was in an accident. Hit and run, they're pretty sure, based on some skid marks on the road and the type of trauma he's sustained. Jungkook blinks, and he remembers the moon, full and round and heavy in the sky — no, in the ocean — no, he can't remember where, only that it was a warm yellow, and that he watched it until everything else faded to black.
He's half-listening. Some of the details don't communicate as much as the others. The first thing that he notices are his hands, the way his fingernails are too long, the way his skin is cracked and red, and Jungkook's never been particularly vain, but they don't feel like his hands, the hands he uses to pull imagination from paper, to play the ivory keys, to trace along the contours of Yoongi's cheek.
(Yoongi, he thinks to himself. Yoongi must be worried.)
Underneath the layering of his mother's hands, Jungkook notices terrycloth restraints around his wrists. They look slightly pink. You pulled at them, even when you were unconscious, his mother says, and Jungkook winces when he tests their give. They tell him to stop. The restraints need to be there, they say, because they don't know what he'll do in his sleep.
Sleep sounds kinder than this. Jungkook nearly chokes when he tries to speak, realizes there's a tube that runs down his throat. That there are straps holding it to his mouth. Another, in his nose. More that he notices slipping out from under the sheets, collecting — he doesn't want to know.
Don't move too much, they tell him. There will be time for that later.
Jungkook shakes his head as much as the restraints will allow, because it hurts, it hurts more with every passing second, and it's hard to think. There's something missing, an ache that buries past the physical pain, but he finds that he can no longer place his finger on it, and all he wants is to sleep again.
There's a man who steps in, his expression calmer than Jungkook's mother, knowing in a way that even mother's intuition can't manage.
"That's enough for today," he says quietly with a smile. "You can sleep now, Jungkook-ssi."
He drifts back into darkness, gentle like the setting of the sun.