The biggest cliche that Taemin had ever heard was the old phrase ‘I’ve always hated hospitals, places of death they are – depressing’. Taemin didn’t find them all that depressing, just familiar; hospitals were run routinely and always familiar no matter which one he ended up in. What he didn’t like was meeting new doctors who didn’t know him, the same protocol of the same questions he’s answered for years now – Name. Age. How do you feel today? Still taking your inhaler? Bronchitis again? Have you tried clean air?

This is a new hospital again, and Taemin had spent his introduction to it on a gurney with an oxygen mask strapped to his face. Oxygen therapy. He’d taken a fit just two hours ago, the inhaler hadn’t worked and he was choking on a plethora of phlegm before his mother finally called for an Ambulance to come. Cheeks bright and blotchy with fever, his chest rattling every two seconds with barking coughs as displaced mucus would fly up and stick to the back of his throat. Bronchitis. His eternal suffering. Chronic, the doctor had described.

The boy of just 17 was staring at the ceiling of E.R, unafraid and thankful for the pumps of air that forced his lungs to breathe – a lot better than suffocating to death. He hadn’t been to this hospital yet, then again, they’d only lived in the area for about three weeks. His parents moved around a lot, and as an only child, Taemin went everywhere with them; even from a young age he’d lived in so many locations he’d need at least another hand to count them all on. The latest move, however, was entirely for him. He’d never had the best lungs nor health, always catching whatever bug was around or fever. Riddled with asthma from an early age, he was restrained from enjoying an active lifestyle and as such, his body had withered over the years. The gangly teen was just reaching 5”6’ with a thin frame, thick glasses and his dreaded inhaler. The doctor’s advice had been to try moving to a cleaner area, and so, his parents packed up and brought him to a small countryside settlement.

He was waiting to be seen to, a thick curtain of blonde hair laying across his brow – the only fun he was allowed to have that didn’t leave him breathless and choking (if he wore a mask) was letting his mother think up hairstyles and colours for him. They’d taken him out of school when he reached 14, citing the difficulties he’d have to face with their frequent wandering as he got older trying to settle into new classes every few months and so, he had freedom regarding his appearance. He blinks and when vision returns there’s a nurse peering over with a friendly smile.

“Hello, Taemin.” She begins, reading a quick note of her clipboard before returning her smiling gaze to the youth. “I’m Nurse Park, it’s a pleasure to meet you. We’ll be moving you upstairs soon to a room where you can relax, okay? Your parents are being briefed as we speak and you three should be able to meet up soon.”

Taemin offers a half-nod, still intaking the oxygen flowing from the mask. His mother would be worried, and then spend the next few days fussing and primping him just to make sure he wouldn’t drop dead. It was burden to be so unwell. He didn’t even have any friends he could confide in about the hardships, he never got to stay long enough to make any. The nurse soon leaves and then the trolley he’s laying on shudders, two male paramedics greet him and then he’s wheeled towards an elevator bay.

He was glad of being able to satiate his need for oxygen but he could still feel the slippery muscus on the back of his throat and in his airways, his body needing to vibrate with soft coughs every now and again to get comfortable. Eyes follow everything that passes, the lights on the elevator panel rise with each floor, the opening of doors onto a hallway of wards, the smile of the paramedic who had taken the front of the gurney – the only thing he had that was his and he couldn’t lose was his affixtion to art and sketching. Therefore, he trained himself to study every single image around.

They’d gotten off at the fourth floor, and up here, it was quieter – most wards, as he saw in passing, had four beds, maybe even six; yet only two at most seemed to occupy each room. He wondered why so few were present.. Another cough, and soon his attention is taken by the gurney being wheeled into a room where four beds were set up. Only one was occupied, by a male who seemed just a little older than Taemin; he was dressed in the hospital pajamas, laid back on the bed with a book propped on a raised leg. He didn’t even look up when they came in.

The gurney is sidled up to the bed directly opposite the one where the youth was, and then the mask is retrieved from Taemin’s face. A paramedic explains they’re going to lift him across and within seconds, Taemin is perched on the clean sheets and the the gurney is being wheeled off once more. He didn’t even get an explanation as to why he was being put in a room in the first place if it was just his bronchitis.

With the paramedics gone, the room falls into strange quietness and Taemin bites his lip in anxiousness – glancing to the door whilst rumbling with a chesty cough. He draws legs up and has them crossed, hands sitting in his lap; the only sound is a page turning from the boy’s book across the way. Blinking, the blonde haired boy soon chances a look across to study the room’s occupent. Dark hair, brushed back from his forehead, he had a few things in the bedside cabinet; mostly books, a handheld game console if Taemin guessed right and a bottle of soda. A wardrobe stood nearby, perhaps he had some clothes in it.

“What’re you staring at?”

The sudden voice cut through the air and had Taemin’s heart plunged into fear – immediately he felt heat rise up on his nape and make his cheeks flush even deeper despite his already present fever. “I wasn’t---“

“You’re a bad liar.” The book is placed down as Taemin watched, and the boy lifts his head, cocking a brow. “At least introduce yourself.”

He lifts a hand to cover a cough, brows knotted slightly at the stranger’s rough speech. “Taemin...” He mutters after clearing his throat. “Lee Taemin...”

“Do you live around here?” The boy moved his head back to rest on the wall.

“Yeah.. I just moved here.” Taemin answers, trying to take a normal breath. “What’s your na—“

“What’re you in for?” Taemin was cut across with another question but he was too spooked by the cutthroat youth to point it out.

“I just had an asthma attack.. I think I have bronchitis again. They’ll probably just give me medicine and I’ll be gone soon..” He explains, trying to peer over the other’s body. He didn’t look sick.

“Gone soon?” Taemin’s answer is met with a look of puzzlement. “They wouldn’t put you up here if you were going to be done soon. This is the LTC ward. You’re not going anywhere for awhile.”

LTC. Long-term care. Taemin’s brows draw down to a frown and he stares back in equal surprise. “But it’s just bronchitis, I don’t need LTC.” A cough interrupts him at the end, his hand raising back up to cover his mouth should phlegm fly out at any stage.

The boy across the way shrugs. “You obviously do if you’ve been admitted.” At that moment, a murmur of voices suddenly grows and he can hear his mother asking ten thousand questions a minute up the hallway; footsteps ringing. The stranger picks back up his book and lapses into more silence.

Taemin turns in time to see the image of his parents rounding the room door, his mother with worried eyes and his father much the same. The doctor carried a file and a sorry expression. It suddenly dawns on Taemin that its not his mere bronchitis this time.