"I knocked on Heaven's door for two minutes," the boy said. "How is that not cool to you?"
*****
Choi Sangwoo was just trying to make ends meet. Beaten and abus...
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March 19, 2019:
Sangwoo stared at the ceiling, counting the tiny cracks and imperfections for the hundredth time. The sterile scent of antiseptic hung in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of hospital food.
"Three days," he muttered to himself, shifting uncomfortably on the bed. "Feels like three months."
The hospital room was painfully quiet, save for the occasional beep from the heart monitor and the distant murmur of voices in the hallway. He had exhausted all his usual distractions: books, magazines, even the small TV mounted on the wall had lost its appeal. The channels were limited, and he couldn't bear to watch another rerun of a cooking show.
The boys, all six of them, had taken turns and swung by his room in the past couple of days. He swore he could feel his stomach growing, and he had joked to Yeonjun once that he could possibly be used as a bowling ball.
"Yeah, right," Yeonjun had laughed, patting his own slightly rounder belly, which he had said was because of too many donuts. "You'd have to compete with me first, and I've got a head start."
Sangwoo couldn't help but chuckle at the memory. They'd all tried their best to keep his spirits up, bringing him snacks and games.
He felt better too. Better than he had in weeks. Who knew a few days of rest could do wonders like this?
But his mind had still been relentlessly at work, thinking about how to manage his Mandarin and dance lessons, how he'd explain this to his manager, how he could ask for help, and so on.
Because the truth was, he wanted to go to therapy. He wanted to keep his father at bay. Moving on needed that. It was the only way he could start afresh.
The doctor had recommended lots of fluids and protein. His previous scars had begun to lighten as well after using the scar removal cream that the doctor had prescribed him.
He'd picked up drawing while at the hospital. It was his favorite thing now. He had nothing else to do, so while one hand held the sketchpad, the other utilized the pencil. Granted, he wasn't exactly good at it–he'd be the first to admit that–but he wasn't looking to become Picasso, anyway.
Just as Sangwoo was about to pick up his sketchpad again, the door burst open, and the boys flooded in like a whirlwind of noise and chaos. Woonggi was at the front, carrying a box of donuts, while the others followed with various bags and packages.
"Look what we got!" Woonggi announced, setting the box down on the table with a flourish. "We figured if you're gonna roll out of here like a bowling ball, you might as well be a delicious one."
Sangwoo's eyes lit up at the sight of the donuts. "I'm starting to think you guys are trying to fatten me up for some secret plan."
Taehyun, who had a mischievous grin, chimed in, "Well, you know how they always say 'fat and happy.' We're just doing our part."
