[Fanfic: Extraordinary You] Snapshots

Fine

Note: And we're back to quick and dirty drabbles! This one's set during episode 13 (or 25/26) when Haru's overprotective self kicks in.

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Haru knows better than to listen to Baek Kyung. He knows this a thousand times over, but the words still echo in his mind like both a promise and a curse, sadistic in its resiliency: she'll have heart surgery. Eun Dan Oh.

On its own, the thought doesn't necessarily strike fear in him, but attached to whispers of a memory, to a grief so deep-set he feels it reverberate through his bones, it's enough to send him dancing along the razor edge of panic.

Dan Oh in pain. Dan Oh in surgery. Dan Oh bleeding and rasping a breath and calling out in distress.

His jaw works in time with knuckles that stretch white.

She looks to him a few times, uttering quiet comments about the lesson, and he wears a smile that's only half as grim as he feels inside.

Dan Oh says she's fine, and yet—he catches it again, another furtive glance she casts Baek Kyung's way. It's nothing, most likely means nothing, but the shared look settles in his chest with the weight of a stone sinking deep underwater. It's no coincidence that Baek Kyung had brought up the procedure earlier.

The surgery must be dangerous.

Haru mulls over the idea, turning over thoughts of complications and possibilities of failures. None of it helps the apprehension that takes hold of him, that grips him as tightly as he suddenly does her when a cup flies out in her direction. Brushes clatter noisily on the ground, each one a beat that strikes at him again and again and again.

"Are you all right?"

"Uh huh, yeah, I'm really fine."

It doesn't need to happen twice. Aiming a look in Kim Il Jin's direction, Haru stands. The acrylic paints, the brush, the pencil—he grabs them all in one sweep and sets them aside, tucked far and away from the rest of their absentminded classmates.

Dan Oh's gaze flits between him and the canvas. "What... do I draw with?" It's a fair question, and for any other classmate, he might wonder himself how paints would harm them; but precautions are precisely for that inexplicable worry wedged deep in his gut. There's little use trying to create a sliding scale for objects that might harm her most. Anything could pierce or slash or bludgeon if held just right.

"I don't want you to get hurt." It's simple, matter-of-fact.

"Then what should I draw with?" she repeats, patting at the board. It's enough to tempt him to take action, to take her hands and still them between his own. Perhaps they could sit like that, his arm around her and her hands in his, and wait for every possible disaster to strike around them.

Would she agree to the idea? Unlikely. But the warmth of her shoulder pressed up against his side is heady in its reassurance. Dan Oh is here, and she's healthy, and she's safe, and—

There's the sound of water and brisk movements, a brush slamming back and forth against the edge of a cup. Sitting as close as they do only serves to amplify ill-gotten memories. It reminds Haru all too much of the gymnasium and then of the pool and then of how she'd nearly drowned the first time. And like that, he feels any amount of remaining sense slip away, pulled away on a riptide of worry. She's beside him one moment and pulled into him the next, pressed close within the folds of his blazer. Haru can't help the sharp look that settles on him when his eyes land on Yoo Chul.

"Are you okay?" he asks again.

Dan Oh nods, confusion evident in the sharp jerk of a chin. As it turns out, his blazer serves as a particularly good barrier. He nearly shrugs it off, already running scenarios through his mind of how he might keep it suspended around her. An extra clothesline might work. Perhaps even an umbrella for mobility. His arm functions just as well, although it's questionable whether or not she'd be open to him hovering over her for the remainder of the day.

But then he hears scrambling.

And Yoo Chul's moving again, stumbling around the bend and towards her at a speed unfit for enclosed spaces. Haru reads concern in Yoo Chul's brow, notices—in fact—that enthusiasm colors his actions, and sees clearly how their classmate could easily ram into Dan Oh and send her toppling backwards onto unforgiving wood flooring.

He can imagine it then: the splinters, the blood, and the broken bones.

Unacceptable, he thinks, pulling her closer towards him and pivoting an arm out to shrug the other male off. But against all rhyme and reason, Dan Oh's friend leans even closer, reaching out a hand—attempting to brush at her hair? pull her away? jeopardize her safety?—all while stuttering reassurances, asking if he might protect her as well.

Haru's hand locks onto the other male's wrist with greater force than necessary.

There's a hiss of pain, but it's not hers. She's alive and well: breathing, staring, blinking wide eyes up at him. Haru hones in on that thought like it's the sole thread keeping him grounded in the moment.

"I'm really fine," Dan Oh says, and there's a softness to her tone and a gentleness in her gaze that lifts the unease in him and placates frayed nerves long enough for him to let go of Yoo Chul's wrist.

Yoo Chul doesn't know better, doesn't recognize the dire situation for what it is; and Haru has to pause and breathe and remind himself of this.

"Are you?" The words barely manage to claw their way out through the tightness of his throat.

"Uh huh," she nods.

Things are fine now. Different. There's the surgery, but it's not now. Not yet.

Haru repeats the thought like a mantra, clinging on like desperation might give rise to another reality. He might not have saved her in the past; but in the present—even with things repeating as they are—the outcome can change, has changed, will change.

And while it's certainly not acceptable in the art room to gather her into his arms, he does it anyway, wrapping himself around her, dipping his chin down low to rest lightly atop her head. A cacophony of sounds flare up behind him: several gasps, a shout, some mixture of his name and Baek Kyung and Dan Oh's.

He breathes in, slow and deep.

"Okay," he says, finally, and peels himself away when she murmurs a sound into his collarbone.

Dan Oh will be fine.

And to start, he rifles through his collection of charcoal pencils and hands her the dullest one back.