|| Dreamers || <Seongjoong>

-||Chapter Three||-

Yeosang
"You can't save someone who is already dead."

His eyes scaled around the medical hall, the halls filled with injured people, the stench of drugs hit him almost immediately as he walked into the facility. Yeosang was forced to work in these areas today, the area full of drug addicts and alcoholics. None of them were mentally or physically okay.

Yeosang squeezed his way down the hall and into a lay-by, there, a few hospital beds spread out with curtains between them all. He made his way to his client of the day.

"Yunho, am I correct?" Though his tone was cheerful, his mind was not. He stared at the patient, his blonde hair hanging neatly over a pair of tired eyes. A shade of darkness around them. "What's happened?"

"An attack back in the city, only two others made it back." He seemed panicked, Yeosang finally had a wave of sympathy rush to him. "They said they could make it.. why didn't they make it.."

"It's okay, Yunho." He hushed, putting his arm gently on his shoulder, "I'm looking after you. You're okay."

"Thank you.." he smiled weakly, Yeosang turned to a small cabinet which was led by the side of the bed.

kneeling beside him. The medic could see the tremors coursing through Yunho's body, his hands shaking as he clutched his knees tightly. "I know it's hard, but you're safe now."

Yunho's gaze flickered towards Yeosang, but there was no recognition in his eyes, only the vacant stare of someone who had witnessed too much. The medic felt a surge of empathy; he understood that the trauma of survival could be just as debilitating as the physical wounds inflicted by the undead. Yeosang reached into his medical bag, pulling out a small bottle of painkillers and another of antibiotics, his movements steady despite the chaos swirling in his mind.

"You need to take these," Yeosang said, offering the bottles to Yunho. "They'll help with the pain and keep any infections at bay." He watched as Yunho's hands trembled, his fingers brushing against the bottles but not quite grasping them. It was as if the act of taking medicine felt too monumental in the wake of his trauma.

"Just breathe, okay?" Yeosang encouraged, placing a reassuring hand on Yunho's shoulder. The medic could feel the tension in his muscles, the way his body was coiled tight like a spring ready to snap. "You're not alone in this." He leaned closer, maintaining eye contact, hoping to break through the fog of shock that enveloped Yunho.

After what felt like an eternity, Yunho finally reached for the painkillers, his movements slow and deliberate. He stared at them for a moment, as if they were foreign objects. Yeosang could see the conflict in his eyes—the desire to escape the pain battling with the fear of what lay ahead. "You need to take them," Yeosang urged gently. "It's okay to feel scared. Just take it one step at a time."

With a deep, shuddering breath, Yunho swallowed the pills dry, his throat constricting as he forced them down. Yeosang watched, his heart aching for the young man in front of him. He had only known Yunho for a short time, but the bond formed in the heat of battle was unbreakable. They were comrades, survivors in a world gone mad.

As Yunho leaned back against the wall, Yeosang poured him a glass of water from a nearby jug, handing it to him with a steady hand. "Here, drink this. It'll help wash them down." Yunho took the glass, and for a brief moment, their eyes met again. There was a flicker of gratitude in Yunho's gaze, a small reminder that he was still in there, fighting to come back to the surface.

"Thank you," Yunho whispered, his voice barely above a whisper, cracking under the weight of his emotions. Yeosang nodded, feeling a swell of determination rise within him. He would help Yunho through this, no matter how long it took.