remember me | kth

deux

; la maison, home
—

— PAIN. THE searing burn of disinfectant in his wound. A wet cloth cold against his forehead.

"Can you hear me, sir?"

A sweet voice, ringing out in his ears. Another bout of pain as something tight is fastened around his leg.

"I'm so sorry. The pain will be over soon."

The voice again, but tinny with remorse this time. A face, paled with worry but soft and comforting. Welcome among the confusing blur that tinted his vision, dulled his hearing and weighted his body.

You.

And then there was blackness, again.

-

When Taehyung finally came to, you were curled up in a wicker chair beneath the windowsill, sun illuminating the battered copy of Romeo and Juliet your nose was tucked into. The aged, dog eared pages covered your features but he could tell it was you by the elegantly messy up-do sat on top of your head, wavy pieces of hair escaping the elastic to frame your chin nicely. Come to think of it, the entire room is covered in novels - some classics, some he was yet to hear of - littering every surface. They were not intentionally decorative but something about them was endearing. They were well loved, used, like a perfect bookshop of your own and the sweetness of a dust filled library settled into his senses.

Taehyung pulled his body into a sitting position against the wooden headboard, wincing slightly when his leg resisted the small movement. You noticed his sharp intake of breath, raising your head from the crook of your elbow to check on his state. Upon realizing he was awake, you lower your knees from where they were tucked tightly against your chest, rushing forward to push him back against the mountain of pillows you carefully placed behind his head the day before, book cradled beneath your underarm.

"Lay down, sir." You are unsure why you whisper it, perhaps afraid a louder volume will aggravate the wound located at the back of his head. "You must rest."

"I feel fine - better, at least," Taehyung assures, allowing you to help him under the elbow so he sat comfortably upright. "Thanks to you."

You smile meekly, busying your hands by plumping up the comforter that draped across his bare torso, lifting the corner to inspect his leg. He gazed down at you through lidded eyes, taking in the shredded silken sheet you had fashioned into a tourniquet around the gaping gash in his thigh. The pink fabric was stained in the middle with a messy red splotch, a clear indication of where the knife had entered his leg. You grip his ankle, attempting to lift and bend his knee but abandoning your ministrations all together when he let out a hiss, scrunching his eyes in response to the intense pain that shot up his side.

You tutted sympathetically. "I thought it would be feeling at least a little better by today."

"How long have I been here?"

"Nearly four days, now."

Four days? How had he been out for that long? The last few nights were a blur, flashing through his mind in nightmarish snippets, none of them connecting to form a clear memory. Taehyung figured it was some sort of coping mechanism his body employed in an attempt to stop him reliving whatever excruciating events he had suffered through.

"You had an infection in your leg," You continued, eyeing him carefully as he appeared to lose himself in thought. "But I think you managed to sleep it off. You don't feel feverish now, right?" You jerk forward to place the back of your palm against his damp forehead, relieved when it feels cool to the touch.