Sacrifice || ENHYPEN FF

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 88

~HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!!!!~
~AND HAPPY BIRTHDAY LUNAAA!!!~

-Start of Chapter 88-

A/N's POV

Ever since Y/N closed her eyes that day, the world around her hasn't stopped spiralling into chaos.

Fever ravages her body, an unforgiving heat that burns from within. Her breaths are shallow, each other rattling painfully, and ever so often, she coughs violently in her unconscious state. Dark blood stains her lips and spills onto the once-pristine sheets.

Jungwon doesn't leave her side.

The room is eerily quite, except  for the faint crackling of a nearby lantern and the muffled sound of rain hitting the windows. The once-bright light of the bedside lamp has dimmed, casting long, uncertain shadows across the room. Jungwon's figure is one of them, stoic and unmoving, seated beside the bed in a chair.

He doesn't allow anyone also to enter. When the maids try, he send them away with a clipped "Leave. I'll handle it.". His words are sharp, but his voice doesn't rise. It doesn't need to. The weight of authority is evident in his tone and enough to silence any protest.

The bloodstains on his shirt as proof of his resolve. Jungwon doesn't ley anyone clean up the mess Y/N's condition leaves behind. 

Not the sheet, where the blood stains. Not the floor, where the blood drips down onto. Not even the corners of her lips. It's always him, meticulously wiping away the dark, blood like substance with a cloth that he replaces far too often. His hands ae steady, almost clinical, yet there is a stiffness to his movement, a tensions that speaks of more than just responsibility.

It's anger.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he mutters under his breathe, his voice low and strained as he soaks a cloth in a basin of cold water. The liquid chills his hands, but he wrings wrings the cloth tightly before placing it gently on Y/N's burning forehead. The coolness seems to calm the fiery heat, but his patience continues to fray, "Why do you always think you can handle everything by yourself?"

Hus eyes flicker to her face, pale and glistening with sweat. The fire in his gaze burns brighter for a moment before he looks away, jaw tightening.

"You're so damn reckless." he bites out, his voice barely audible over the sound of the rain. His fingers dig into his skin as it goes in a tight fist, knuckles whitening. "Why are you like this?"

But there is no answer. Only the sound of her laboured breathing fills the room, each painful cough of hers clawing at his chest, as he wipes the blood stains on his hand clean.

He exhales sharply, dropping the cloth into the basin with a wet slap before leaning back in his chair.

For the first time in hours, he lets his head fall into his hands. His fingers rake through his hair, pulling at the strands as though the pain will ground him, will silence the endless loop of questions pounding in his mind. Why didn't she tell him? Why didn't she let anyone help her? Why does she have to carry everything alone? Is there anything else she is hiding from him?

His eyes drift back to her again, and for a moment, his mask slips. The cold, unyielding facade he wears so effortlessly cracks ever so slightly, just enough to reveal the storm beneath. He doesn't understand her. And that's what infuriates him the most. How someone so stubborn, so self reliant, could push herself to the brink without a single word.

A knock at the door pulls him from his thoughts. He straightens immediately, his expression hardening as he rises to his feet.

"What is it?" he asks, his voice colder than the air in the room.