plums 'n roses l jongsang

sprinkle it on me

violence, blood, slight angst

the pink bottle of perfume sitting on yeosang's bedside table reminded him of his boy.

he had survived.

yeosang barely remembers what had happened. there was a loud horn that blared in his ear loudly before the terrible screeching of car tires had followed.

yeosang hadn't expected to be pulled harshly by his arm, his bone popping out of place by the tug. he was thrown onto the smoother concrete, the sidewalk, but hits his head against one of the lamp posts and then he blacks out. the last thing he sees is a blinding light coming from in front of him.

later woken up by paramedics who were shining flashlights into his eyes, ears ringing loudly and attempting to gurgle answers out like a baby when they asked.

his hands were stained with red as he kept ruffling his hair every time he couldn't reply and wiping them on his pants.

he was supported by one of the paramedics later into an ambulance where he was later treated.

yeosang hitting his head against the lamppost got put him into a status of 'hospitalised'. got himself an apparent concussion and a few stitches at the back of his head where the blood came from.

no cracks or fractures, just a few minor scrapes and a dislocated shoulder. it was when his friends started visiting when he realised his boy wasn't there with him.

he may have stained his favourite clothes in crimson blood, almost killed himself but the most important thing was that the fragile glass bottle that was still in one piece.

he immediately remembers about the boy.

when he awakes from his black out in the initial treatment room, yeosang pushes himself out from under the covers, to his friends' surprise, and tries to pull out the needles that were lodged in his arm. one of them manages to get the nurse in the room before yeosang could successfully hurt himself and run away.

the poor nurse was easily a foot shorter than him, trying her best to keep him under her grip and onto the bed. his friends called for more support as he squirmed and trashed about, demanding to see his boy alive with his own eyes.

an older nurse rushes in and injects some funny liquid into his forearm and black spots start clouding his vision again, he then shuts his eyelids close and falls limp against the pile of limbs that held him down.

he could barely feel the tears running down his cheeks.

he wakes up again in bed this time. his childhood bed at his parents' home. the comforting blue sheets and blankets and the familiar smell of books. he sees a dripper standing tall over him mockingly.

he blinks his eyes. he sees the small pink bottle on his nightstand and reaches out to it carefully, wincing when his shoulder started aching painfully.

he notices the bandages wrapped tightly around his arms and wrists, traces of blood barely seeping through the material.

yeosang manages to barely grab onto it before retracting his injured arm, cradling the glass bottle safely against his body.

he gently caresses the glass indents from where he's lain on his bed, every surface he touches replays a small memory of him from the months they had interacted with each other.

when he heard sniffing coming from outside, his heart clenches painfully as guilt eats him up from the inside. with his throat dryer than the desert, he couldn't make any noise, he couldn't notify the people outside about his consciousness, and he could barely move his weakened body.

he looked around his room again but he was the only one in there.

yeosang glances down at the pink bottle. an idea pops into his head like a lightbulb went off.

he gingerly pulls off the dusty glass cap, its nozzle still golden and shiny under the dim lighting.

he spritzed it once and it sprays himself in the chest by accident. yeosang turns it the other way before pressing on the nozzle again.

as the mist slowly descends onto his blanket, the sniffing outside subsides. yeosang sprays again, his hand shaking, weak. the smell of sweet and sour plums reaches his nose, the freshness and contrast of rose hitting him in the face like a fan.

it goes quiet outside and yeosang gives up. he barely lets out a whimper before tugging the blanket over his cold shoulder.

he could sleep his pain away, bedridden for god knows how long, without knowing whether the person who saved him was alive and breathing a few kilometres down south in his apartment or not.

he blinks himself to sleep, vision starting to blur as plums and roses began to dull his senses.

until he heard the door knob click just slightly.

yeosang opens his eyes just barely and peeps over his shoulder. he sees a silhouette.

fluffy hair, wide shoulders, huggable torso. and most of all, it was the boy's face. his boy's face.

his eyes widen, tears filling in.

"j..."

his boy stands at the foot of his single bed, nose red and eyes swollen with a tissue crumpled tightly in his palm.

"jjong..." yeosang says softly, barely audible from the state his throat was in.

but he heard it. he immediately dove onto the bed, wrapping his arms tightly around his torso, all while avoiding his injured limbs carefully.

"jjong..." yeosang says again as he feels his tears finally letting go of his eyes, the thick droplets running down his cheeks as he melts into the boy's embrace.

his boy's embrace.

"it's okay, i'm here..." the boy comforts hut yeosang knows he was probably crying as well.

he didn't even notice his mother standing idly by the door, holding her phone close to her ear as she watched them interact. the person on the other line began shouting but she cut it off as her tears ran down her cheeks.

his boy clutched him even closer than before, hands gripping tightly onto his gown and nuzzling his head into yeosang's shoulder like he would lose him the moment he let go.

yeosang was alive, and so was he.