in which a teenage boy han jisung writes books about his idol, lee minho, meanwhile the mentioned idol is a huge fan of the fanfic writer, han jisung.
03/10/23- 23/06/24
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Jisung's first moments of consciousness were a blur of disorientation and confusion. He felt like he was floating, his body heavy and weak. His muscles ached as if they hadn't been used in a long time, and there was a dull, persistent pain in his bones, a reminder of the injuries that had healed while he slept.
As his eyes slowly adjusted to the soft light of the hospital room, Jisung's mind struggled to make sense of his surroundings. He was lying in a hospital bed, sterile white sheets tucked around him. His limbs felt foreign, like they belonged to someone else. The air was filled with the faint scent of antiseptic, mingling with a sweeter, more comforting aroma that he couldn't quite place.
His gaze drifted to the side of the room, where a bewildering sight awaited him. A sea of flowers, letters, and chocolates cluttered the small space, colorful and vibrant against the stark hospital walls. Bouquets of all shapes and sizes, some simple and elegant, others extravagant and bursting with blooms. Cards and letters piled high, their messages of love and encouragement scrawled in various handwriting styles. Boxes of chocolates, some wrapped in shiny foil, others in more humble packaging, hinted at the sweet sentiments behind them.
Jisung's brow furrowed as he tried to comprehend it all. Why were there so many gifts? Who had sent them? His mind was a haze, struggling to remember the events that had led him here. The last thing he recalled was the sound of Minho's voice on the phone, and then... nothing. Just darkness.
A sudden wave of panic gripped him, his heart racing as he tried to sit up, only to be met with the uncooperative protest of his weak muscles. He felt trapped, helpless, his breath coming in shallow gasps.
It was then that Minho entered the room, his presence immediately calming the storm within Jisung. Minho's eyes were filled with relief and love, and for a moment, Jisung could only stare at him, drinking in the sight of the person he had missed so desperately.
Minho stood outside Jisung's hospital room, his heart pounding in his chest. He wiped his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened the door slowly. The room was filled with the soft hum of medical equipment, and the gentle light from the window bathed Jisung in a warm glow.
Jisung lay in the bed, his eyes half-open, looking fragile yet serene. The sight of him awake, breathing, and conscious after all these weeks felt like a miracle. Minho's breath caught in his throat, and he hesitated for a moment, afraid that this was just another one of his dreams. But Jisung's eyes met his, and he knew it was real.
"Minho," Jisung whispered, his voice hoarse and weak but unmistakably filled with recognition and emotion.
Minho couldn't hold back his tears anymore. He rushed to Jisung's side, gently taking his hand. "Jisung," he choked out, his voice trembling. "You're awake. I can't believe it. You're really awake."
Jisung managed a faint smile, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I'm here," he said softly, squeezing Minho's hand with as much strength as he could muster. "I've missed you so much."
