𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐩𝐮𝐳𝐳𝐥𝐞𝐬 | 𝐡𝐡𝐣

four.

 "He's a coma patient [Y/N]... Just a few weeks..."

--

You were wrong. Very wrong.

Easily, a couple of weeks turned into a couple of months filled with his need to do everything himself, growling at any kindness from you and locking himself in his room on days when you didn't have to take him back to Chan for examinations. Now, four months later, and you were hardly able to deal with him.

"Hyunjin I swear if you don't stop trying to go to the store on your own—" a deadly tone in your voice, glaring at him just as you locked the door.

Hyunjin scowls back, huffing in anger at you, "I was fine! Nobody told you to come to get me!" Indicating dissatisfaction with the outcome of today's events. He wasn't even halfway to the corner store when you'd pulled up in your car beside him, urging him to get in with you. In the end, you'd ended up buying some snacks for him and driving him back—despite his hesitancy to enter the vehicle, resulting in another argument, "I didn't need your help!"

Hanging your keys on their hook, you roll your eyes. Here he was, back with his bull crap. It was always the same thing, he'd try to do something on his own, you'd stop him, and he'd start fuming about how you thought he was helpless and incapable. At times, you thought you were making progress, then, just like that first night, he'd shove your help away, opting to hide in his room for hours on end.

Squeezing past him in the hallway, you begin, "You do need my help, and you weren't fine!" Bending down to undo your shoes, then his, "If you could do these things, Chan wouldn't be insisting you stay here anymore," spite clear in your words when you pull his sneakers off for him. He'd ended up banging his head against a counter last week, and Chan advised against letting him bend down much since then—you wished he didn't give you such a dirty look each time you did though.

"That's because both of you underestimate me. You just think I'm some kind of fixer-upper, but I'm perfectly capable of living on my own," hissing at your cold fingers grazing his ankle, his gaze like that of a noble to a peasant, giving you a sickening feeling in your stomach. How dare he.

Throwing your hands in the air, you stomp, "Fine! You think you're so capable? Do whatever you want. Don't ask me for anything. At. All." punctuating your speech in the most intimidating way you could fathom.

The look of being taken aback on his face let you know he wasn't expecting that, and triumph fills your heart. He sulked and whined about wanting to be independent daily, why not just let him?

Looking at his expression, you notice his lips agape, "What? Isn't that what you want?"

He creases his brows, gritting his teeth as he glared at you. Hesitating for a moment, he growls at you, "Why are you so irritating?" running his hand through his long locks. Tugging gently at his roots, he closes his eyes, trying to dull the forming pain in his head.

Scoffing at his audacity, you scowl, "I'm irritating? You think you can do everything yourself, and hate me for even trying to help you out! You think I'm irritating? You're infuriating on an entirely new level!" Strutting closer to him to poke his chest. "I don't know if it's because I'm a girl, or if you've got some weird inferiority complex, but it's bullcrap and needs to end right now. So like I said, if you don't want my help, fine, but if you want us to get along, you better get your mind straight. I swear I never thought you'd be like this when I took care of you at the hospital—Hyunjin?"

You cut off at the sight of his bloodshot eyes and trembling figure. Tears are pouring down his cheeks, and his eyes are blown wide, and you know exactly what's happening.

It's just like the first night, except it's a different scene playing out in his head.

"You're not the man... thought you were... Hyunjin," the woman utters, her face still unrecognizable but Hyunjin can see his surroundings almost vividly. He's holding a white marble counter, his fingers clutching it. His heart pounds in his chest, and she speaks again, her voice unidentifiable, but clear, "...over... going home..."

He doesn't know what's over, or anything about her home, but his chest tightens at her words, and he knows this is a memory. He looks around the room, taking in the white curtains, black leather couch, marble bar counter, wood sticker floor, all of it. He wanted—needed to remember these details.

She turns away from him, unlocking the door and walking out.

"Wait!"

And it's gone once again. He's back to staring at you, only this time his vision is blurry and his eyes are burning. Catching his ragged breaths, he breaks into sobs, falling to the ground. Heaving, he chokes out, "W—what's wrong with me?"

"Nothing. You're rude and have a horrible attitude, but other than your amnesia, you're perfectly fine," you mumble the second sentence, barely uttering them over a whisper. You'd let him off the hook for being such a pain the behind this time, but you were still pissed with him. Passing him a napkin to dry his eyes—which he rejects—you rub his back, and clear your throat, "Why can't you just accept my help?"

He shrugs, staying quiet and hiding his face in his shirt collar, sniffles leaving his nose as he tries to force his body to calm down. Holding your hand on his shoulder, he lifts his head, the whites of his eyes crimson and pink from the stinging tears still streaming from them, taking a deep breath, "I-I don't know—I just feel like you don't th-think I can do anything."

"Well, I don't think that, so stop being so insolent and take the damn napkin," your words stern but your tone gentle, feeling him relax under your hand. "Let's make a truce. You're going to stop being such an a-hole and I won't be so pushy. Deal?"

His eyes were still red, burning from the salty liquid, "I didn't say y-you were pushy—"

"I know you were thinking it, so just take the deal," a soft, reassuring smile on your lips as you outstretch your hand for him to shake. Your grin widens a bit when he returns the gesture, weakly shaking your palm with his own.

Warm, he thinks, your hands are warm. He hadn't realized it during the first night, and he's unsure of what he liked before, but he knew right now that he was comfortable with the warmth. Realizing he'd been crying in front of and staring at you for a good ten minutes, he withdraws his appendage, bringing it to his face to wipe the tears he was once again combating back. His tears were hot, the air was cold—he just wanted to be warm.

He glanced at your palm once more, electing against his urge to hold it again. He couldn't do that. He didn't have the right to it after simply making a truce—even he knew that wasn't how friendships and bonds were formed. Why was he suddenly feeling so vulnerable and gentle; where were his fiery attitude and snarky growls? It doesn't matter, because tomorrow, he was certain, you'd be angry at him for what he planned on doing. Tomorrow you'd be sick of him once more.

Calming him completely, you invite him to eat with you. "I used to read to you every day in the hospital... When I started, nobody had claimed you in a month, and Chan suggested that I read to some patients. At the time, your hair was just past your eyes, and the roots were dark, your dye had been fading before you ended up there I guess," you reminisce, smiling to yourself, "I would tell you about my day, and you were just there. I know you weren't listening, but you felt like my closest friend at the time. After a few months, I started worrying that you'd never wake up; but you did."

He stares at the cool food in front of him, poking it gently as he listens to you rant, the guilt in his chest worsening as he hears how you cared for him for so long while he'd only been a nuisance in the time he'd been awake. He knows he's a jerk, he knows you don't deserve what he does or what he knows he's going to do.

"[Y/N]... I think I'm going to bed," he fakes a yawn, placing his bowl in the sink and waving at you awkwardly as he shuffles off to his room. You don't get a chance to reply before he scurries off to get ready for bed and lying down on the bed, eyes wide and focused on the wall as he frowns to himself. You seemed like a much better person than he initially thought, and he felt so much worse about what kind of person he was to you, and what kind of person he might continue to be.