Spring Day | BTS ✔

01

"Mr. Namjoon?" I opened my eyes, blinking past the bright light of the bleach white ceiling, "Are you awake?"

Beeping pierced my ears as they have every time I've woken up in the past three days. The body in the bed across from mine still lay quiet in sleep.

"I'm awake," I groaned, turning my head to the nurse beside me.

"We've told your emergency contact about what happened. He's on his way from Gwangju," I grabbed the nurse's arm before she turned away.

"Who's my emergency contact?" I had never signed a name and contact as one when I registered for health insurance at the hospital so many, many years ago.

"Mr. Jung Hoseok," I sat up slightly at the name I hadn't heard in four years.

"Hoseok?"

"Yes," she nodded and left the room.

Why was Hoseok written down as my emergency contact?

Jung Hoseok was an old friend, not that I can really call him a friend anymore. We were best friends once upon a time ago, roommates even. He must've signed himself as my emergency contact back when our faces weren't strangers to each other's eyes.

I sighed and leaned back into the stiff mattress of the hospital bed. I could still feel the car's dashboard pancaking my left leg into my seat and digging sharp plastic into the right. The nurse said my artificial wounds would heal, but she never said anything about the memories of what had happened.

I looked across the winter-cold room. The boy's face was almost unidentifiable from the angle I saw him at.

"God, I'm so sorry," I shut my eyes tightly and laid my head against the pillow, "I didn't mean for you to get hurt J..."

I could never call him by his full name anymore. He had become simply 'J' to me. I wanted to call his name, the full name, but I couldn't forgive myself even now. I had never talked to him for four years since everything fell apart in our lives until three days before. Now, I was thankful that I couldn't see if his face had so much as a scratch on it from this angle. I wouldn't be able to look away from the blinding ceiling lights if I could.

I thought about Hoseok for a while, trying to starve my head of thoughts about J. I couldn't bring my eyes his way anymore.

I wondered what Hoseok looked like now. The last time I had seen him, he had black hair that he wore off his forehead in swooped spikes. He wore eyeliner and dressed in black jackets and muscle shirts, just like the other six of us. I wondered whether he still wore black facemasks that got lost almost every day or if he was still interested in becoming a dance instructor.

I smiled to myself, remembering the time that J had been crouching on the ground and Hoseok did a flip over his head. It scared the shit out of our small and younger friend. I heard a tear hit the crisp, stiff fabric of the pillowcase at the memory.

Goddammit Hoseok, I miss you. Saying this makes me miss you even more.