raspberries and mocha | heejake ✔

33

It was just another ordinary day—or so it seemed. The restaurant bustled with noise, the clatter of plates, and the murmur of customers chatting between bites. It was one of those days where everything felt slightly off-kilter because, of course, Sunghoon was out sick again. For the 500th time this year, Heeseung thought bitterly. That guy's immune system was practically nonexistent, and every time he went down, the rest of the team had to scramble to pick up the slack.

Heeseung barely had a moment to catch his breath as he handed off an order to a family of four and rushed back toward the kitchen. Sunghoon's absence meant double the workload, and no one else seemed to care if Heeseung was drowning under it.

"Just a couple more hours," he muttered to himself. He could handle this. He had to.

But halfway through the restaurant floor, he froze mid-step.

A sharp, blinding pain shot through his head so fast it made him stumble. It felt like someone had taken a hammer to his skull, pounding relentlessly. The world around him blurred and swayed as the pain intensified, gripping his temples with white-hot claws. He hissed, instinctively bringing both hands to his head, pressing against his temples to try to stop it.

But it didn't stop.

The pressure built and built until it was unbearable. Every pulse in his head throbbed with agony, and his legs felt like they were giving out beneath him. His heartbeat roared in his ears, drowning out the restaurant noise entirely. He swayed once more, trying to stay upright, but it was no use.

With a strangled groan, Heeseung dropped to the ground.

His knees hit the tile first, and then his palms, but the pain was too much to even register the impact. His fingers dug into his scalp as if physically trying to rip the pain out of his brain, but nothing helped. His vision blurred, black spots dancing at the edges.

From a distance, he heard someone shout his name, but the sound felt like it was coming through a wall, muffled and distant.

Suddenly, a pair of strong arms were on him, pulling him upright.

"Heeseung! Hey—hyung, what the hell, man?" Jay's voice cut through the haze like a lifeline. The panic in his tone was clear.

Heeseung tried to answer, but the pain was unbearable, and all that came out was a low, agonized groan. His head slumped forward against Jay's chest as he clutched his friend's arm for dear life.

"Fuck—okay, okay, hold on. I got you," Jay muttered, crouching beside him. He looped one of Heeseung's arms over his shoulder and carefully hoisted him to his feet.

Heeseung's legs buckled, but Jay didn't let him fall. With an ease that only came from years of friendship, Jay half-carried, half-dragged him toward the back room, ignoring the curious glances from the other staff and patrons.

"Hang in there, man. We're almost there," Jay whispered under his breath.

Heeseung could barely respond—his jaw clenched so tightly that his teeth felt like they might crack. Every pulse in his head was like a punch to the skull, and the light in the restaurant only made it worse.

They finally reached the staff room, and Jay carefully lowered Heeseung onto the small couch in the corner.

"Hey, stay with me," Jay said, crouching in front of him. His voice was softer now, but no less worried. Heeseung's face was pale, and beads of sweat formed on his brow.

Heeseung tried to nod, but the pain was excruciating, like a knife twisting deeper with every second. He slumped back against the couch, breath shallow and ragged.

Jay leaned closer, brushing damp strands of hair from Heeseung's forehead. "What the hell happened? You were fine five minutes ago."

Heeseung only groaned in response, squeezing his eyes shut. He wasn't even sure how to describe what was happening—it was like his head was caught in a vice, and someone was tightening it with every breath.

"Fuck, okay," Jay muttered, chewing his lip anxiously. "Just breathe, alright? I'll get some water—just stay here."

Heeseung didn't respond. He couldn't. He was too busy trying not to pass out from the pain.

Jay hesitated for a moment before rushing off toward the sink, leaving Heeseung slumped and struggling to breathe in the dim room. The only thing Heeseung knew for sure was that this wasn't normal—and if the pain didn't ease up soon, he wasn't sure what would happen next.

All he could do now was wait. Wait for the storm in his head to pass.