ENG - Fractured Fates ʰʸᵘⁿˡᶦˣ

12

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Hyunjin POV

Exhausted, my gaze slid over the peacefully slumbering face of the blond-haired man, whose golden hair shimmered softly in the faint evening light. There were no imperfections on his smooth skin, which looked like porcelain, and his freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks gave him a certain uniqueness that somehow made him even more special. Even the dark circles under his eyes couldn't detract from his beauty.
Since I was admitted back to the hospital, he was in the room with me whenever his work allowed. Most of the time I lay in a half-awake state, as the sedatives and painkillers I was given here made me completely dizzy. But every time I opened my eyes, this guy was there.
He usually sat on the uncomfortable chair next to my bed and watched me sleep. It was almost creepy, the way he sat there and looked at me with his deep eyes, but at the same time I felt a strange reassurance in knowing that he was there. Or like now, when he had laid his head down on the bed and his eyes were closed, as if he had fallen asleep himself while looking after me.

I watched him for a while as he lay there sleeping peacefully. His lips were slightly parted and his breath was coming in and out evenly. I don't know why this guy had taken such a fancy to me, but strangely enough it annoyed me less than when I first saw him.
Why was he here?
Why was he sacrificing his time for me, a stranger he only knew from a hospital bed?
These were questions that I hadn't let go of since I was admitted again three days ago. They circled in my head like a merry-go-round that spun faster and faster the more I tried to ignore them.
I wasn't superstitious at all and thought all this stuff was absolute nonsense, but maybe I had caught this phenomenon I had heard about: that at the moment of death you fall in love with the last person you saw. Except I didn't actually die, I woke up from a coma-like state and he was the first face I'd seen.
His closeness gave me a strange feeling of safety and security, which I desperately needed in this cold, sterile hospital environment that smelled of disinfectant and was filled with the incessant beeping of monitors.
Shaking my head at myself, I rolled my eyes and turned my head the other way to stop looking at him. These drugs were certainly playing with my mind, making me think and feel things I wouldn't normally allow.

Suddenly the blonde next to me stirred, his breath hitched briefly, a slight twitch ran through his body and he was already sitting candle-length in the chair. I turned my head towards him again and watched as he slowly opened his eyes and looked at me with a puzzled expression. "Hey," he whispered, trying to put on a reassuring smile as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "How long have you been awake?" he asked me, trying in vain to stifle a yawn.
"Not long," I replied quietly, for some reason my voice had only sounded like a hoarse croak for days. He nodded slightly and stood up after glancing at his watch. He went to the folder and began to copy and paste something from the monitor. His eyebrows drew together slightly, a sign of his concentration.
"I was dreaming," he suddenly said quietly and looked at me with a strange expression in his eyes. It was a mixture of sadness and concern that confused me. "I dreamt that you were gone and I couldn't find you, no matter how hard I looked."
I looked at him, confused, but didn't know what to say. Ashamed, he scratched his head and sat back down on the chair. He took my hand in his and gave it a little squeeze. His hands were warm, soft and gentle. "I don't want you to go away again," he whispered, looking deep into my eyes. "I want you to stay here until you're well again."

I watched him in silence as I listened to his words echoing through the sterile hospital room. "You don't know me," I began, my voice barely more than a whisper. "So why are you so worried about me?" I asked, looking at him the whole time. "You spend every spare minute of your shift squatting here in this chair, watching me sleep like a creepy stalker. Why?" His presence was as constant as the monotonous beeping of the monitor next to my bed.
I couldn't help but lose myself in his dark eyes as I waited for an answer. His lips, which normally drew a gentle smile, were pressed into a straight line as if he was wrestling with himself.
"I don't know why," he finally replied, his voice sounding rough and brittle. "I just know that I feel like I need to be with you," he added as he returned my intense gaze. A sigh escaped my throat as I released my hand from his to run it over my face. "There only has to be one for me," I mumbled tiredly as I brushed back a strand of my disheveled hair, a hint of disappointment resonating in my voice, "and that bastard hasn't been here for three days."
I struggled to sit up, but the pain that pulsed incessantly through my upper body almost made me despair. He immediately jumped up from his chair and helped me to sit up while supporting me. Painfully, I held my stomach and gasped in stress. "There are hundreds of sick people in this hospital," I said after I was finally seated. "Go and pick one of them to be with." Hopefully this fucking pain would subside soon. "So stop wasting your time with me," I added.

He gently placed his hand on my back to support me in this sitting position, while his other hand rested on my shoulder. A smile crept onto his lips again, the one I knew from him that still seemed artificial and artificial to me. "But I don't want to," he said, continuing to support me.
I raised my eyes to him, as he was taller than me standing up, and looked at him as I sat up in bed. "Why?", I asked with a mixture of confusion and curiosity in my voice. "Because you're different," he said quietly but firmly. "Because there's something about you that draws me in and won't let go," he began and sat down again. He reached for my hand again, this time taking it in both of his hands and holding it.
"When I saw you lying on the floor covered in blood, I was scared. Afraid that you might die. The fear I felt for you, I'm not even afraid of my own death and I can't explain why," he confessed, his gaze fixed on our clasped hands.

I averted my gaze with a twist of my eyes and stared into space. "Then you're either completely naïve or completely stupid," I replied with a mixture of anger and confusion in my voice. I felt him give my hand a little squeeze and, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him nod. "Maybe a bit of both," he said quietly, but with a hint of self-deprecation in his voice.
"Find someone else," I repeated as I tried to free my hand from his grasp. An unpleasant tingling sensation ran through me as his fingers closed tighter around my skin. "I already told you I don't want to," he repeated himself as well, holding my hand tightly. "You're so grumpy," he began as his gaze remained stubbornly on me, "and you often roll your eyes as if you're questioning the whole world. You get annoyed easily and sometimes talk like an antisocial recluse. You have no respect for older people or anyone in general and don't mince your words. But you know, that's exactly what I like about you," he continued, a satisfied smile playing around his lips.

As I looked at him, a mixture of disbelief and amused amazement flashed through my mind. My eyebrows shot up as a wry, amused grin spread across my lips. I tried to stifle my rising laughter, which tickled my throat, because his words sounded like complete nonsense to me, so absurd that they were almost funny again.
"You must really be terribly bored if you analyze me like that," I replied with a slightly mocking undertone as I looked at our hands, which were still intertwined. His skin felt warm and soft and I could feel his fingers trembling slightly.
I raised my eyes to his face again, which now seemed to blush under my gaze. "You shouldn't like me," I continued, my voice becoming more serious. "That would be better for you."
I could see his eyebrows draw together, a puzzled expression spread across his face. "But why?" he asked quietly, and I could hear the confusion and disappointment in his voice. "Because I wouldn't be good for you," I replied, and I could hear my voice take on a bitter undertone. "I play with other people's feelings, take advantage of them and then fuck them. Then I leave them lying there and make my escape. And I do that every night, I'm an asshole and so much more. I'm not what you think I am."
I yanked my hand free and I could see him flinch as if I had hit him. "So don't do more than your job requires of you and then get out," I said, and I could hear my voice sounding cold and distant.

His face showed a mixture of confusion and sadness as he tried to understand my words. A soft, almost imperceptible sigh escaped him as he slowly stood up. His eyes, which had been so lively earlier, now seemed to be covered in a thin layer of melancholy. "All right," he finally murmured in a voice that was barely above a whisper, "I think I've given the wrong impression and I'm very sorry about that."
He paused for a moment, as if he was organizing his thoughts, before continuing: "I don't want anything from you. I don't want to date you or anything." His words sounded honest, but also a little distant. "I just find you interesting," he continued, his voice a little firmer now, as if he was trying to emphasize his feelings.
"The others, whether patients, work colleagues, family or friends," he continued, his voice tinged with a slight bitterness, "they put on an air of feigned friendliness as soon as they meet me. They talk to me like I'm made of glass, like I'm going to shatter at any moment and it's frankly annoying." His eyes narrowed slightly, as if he was deep in thought. I rolled my eyes at this sentence and let out a soft, mocking click of my tongue. "Well, then you have something in common with these people. You're a perfect match," I replied sharply, without taking my eyes off him.
He laughed a little and nodded. "That's what I mean. I just enjoy your open nature and I really like that," he confessed suddenly, his voice a little warmer and more sincere now. "Besides," he added, as if remembering something important, "it's my job to take care of my patients."

His hands, which had been nervously playing with each other during his story, slowly calmed down. His eyes, which had been so dull and lost earlier, were now clear and determined again. "I hope you understand what I mean," he continued, his voice trembling slightly as his eyes searched desperately for mine. I could see a certain uncertainty in his eyes, as if he wasn't sure how I would react to his words. "But I assure you, my intentions are purely professional."
He paused for a moment, as if to make sure his words were getting through to me. "I value you as a patient and as a person," he continued, his voice now a little firmer. "And I hope that we can continue to have an open and honest relationship. On a purely professional level, of course."
I looked at him tiredly, my eyelids were heavy and my body ached as I listened to him and then sighed. "All right then," I murmured quietly and averted my eyes again.
The blonde went back to the folder to enter something and then turned to me again. "I have to check on the other patients now and I'll come back afterwards. You won't get rid of me that quickly," he said and I could hear the smile in his voice. "You're so pushy...", I mumbled and just let myself fall back into bed as my eyes slowly closed.

With a confident "I know," he walked towards the door and opened it. But instead of hearing the door slam shut, I heard, "You're Minho, aren't you? His roommate? You can come in, he's awake."

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