"Where is he?! Where the hell is he?!"
What's happening? I raise my head, only hearing different voices from all around, most of them yelling, but it's muffled. I have no idea what anyone is saying, but it's evident they are mad beyond belief.
Whatever I'm lying on jerks, and my hand hits something metal and hard. I groan at the slight pain in my knuckle. I move my other hand to touch it, but the second I even try to lift it, pain explodes in my side. Breathing sharply, I clench my jaw and moan, praying the hurt stops soon.
"Seokjin!"
"Sir, please! You need to let us take him!"
"Seokjin! Wake up, hyung!" A strong grip holds my wrist; it doesn't hurt. "Come on, don't you dare die on me!"
Wait...that voice... I try to open my eyes; I really do. Nothing happens. Is it really him?
"Let go!"
"Seokjin," the tone is a little softer now, but it's also wavering. "Don't...please come back to me." The voice crack and the pure, raw emotion has my heart breaking. His hold is gone, and I'm pulled away. He starts to call out to me again, and his voice fades away with each second. No...wait...
"We have to operate now!"
"If you take it out, he'll bleed to death!"
The first voice is close, so close I think he's the one cutting off my shirt. "And if we don't remove it, we can't close it. Then he'll die. Get out of my fucking way!"
Bodies move every which way, people collide, shouts and commands are given. I don't pay attention to any of them. The pain won't subside, and I lie there in agony. Soon, I find myself slipping into unconsciousness. I hear a small voice tell me to hang on, and I go under with the thought of the man calling for me earlier.
* * * * *
When I wake up again, the pain is...not awful. But the sight could have the world's strongest man sick to his stomach.
I don't mean the sight of my body.
Don't get me wrong; it's pretty bad. In my hospital bed, there's only so much I can see. Unfortunately, I can still feel everything. A long scar runs from my hip to my armpit, outlined by dried, crusty blood. Every time I move, a small section splits open, and blood drips down my back and onto the white sheets. I know I'll get chewed out by a nurse later. A rather narrow wound which seems to be one from a knife or blade hits right above my belly button. Large bruises decorate my legs and thighs, along with a few minor scratches. My bottom lip is so thick and swollen I can barely breathe through my mouth. The state I'm in is far from comfortable.
But that's not what crushes my heart into a million pieces.
A man sits on a stool to my left side, arms crossed over his chest and his head hanging. He's asleep as he sits upright. His armor and sword rest on the floor next to him. Tear streaks make lines down his cheeks, and the skin around his eyes are red, puffy, irritated. He has short facial hair, like he hadn't shaved in a couple of days, which is unlike him. I see only a few scars over his forearms, the only skin on his body revealed at the moment.
I yearn to wake him up, to have him hold me in his strong arms again. But I can't. He needs the rest and, if I move, I may open my wound too much, bleed out, and die.
Seems like laying here in pain is my only option.
My eyes practically slam themselves shut. It's only seconds before I practically fall asleep again. Right before I do, I catch the sound of the door opening.
