Blurred.

(there's something wrong with his vision, must be, because otherwise the world wouldn't be full of so much blue black dark redness—)

Sharp.

(Glass. Glass everywhere, and his mind is resembling the state of the wind shield because his thoughts are shattered all over the floor and seats and her—)

"BoA!"

He's ripping his seatbelt off and reaching towards her (, she's not moving, she's not moving, she's not moving) and there's so much blood, how can there be that much blood ("Did you know that there's around 10 pints of blood in the average adult?" "BoA, you know that stuff is not interesting to me.") and if only his hands would stop shaking, maybe he could DO something—

Someone's breath is ripping through the air, panicked, loud, and he realizes that it's him.

"BoA, BoA, BoA, oh god, BoA, say something."

But she never listens to him, does she?

(his world has shrunken down to nothing but her and his fumbling fingers touch her face, trying to see if she's still breathing and he's leaving red fingerprints on her beautiful pale skin—)

"Please, BoA, please, please, oh , , Bo—"

He can't stop babbling, can't stop chanting her name, like it's some sort of magic word, like if he says it enough, eventually she'll open her eyes and turn to him and open and tear his name into two syllables just like she always does—

"Yun-HO! Do you even know where we're going? This is the wrong road, I'm sure of it!"

"Well, maybe if someone hadn't decided that we should drive back during the biggest blizzard in the history of Seoul in the middle of the night, we wouldn't be going through this!"

"Look, we're both finished with our promotions, and we agreed—"

"Uh, no, YOU agreed with YOURSELF, and as much as I adore you, you’re being a tad bit unreasonable."

"Unreasonable? YUNHO! Do you really want to go there? Cause I will go there with you if you want. We’re supposed to be best-friends, would you like a downgrade?"

"Oh god. Here it comes. I knew I shouldn’t have been spoiling you over these years. Look at your tone of voice. You’re out of control when it comes to me because of my spoiling, ah!"

"Speaking of out of control, Yunho, you should be watching the road!"

"Maybe I could if you would just stop arguing with me! , I can't see a thing."

"...this might not have been the best idea after all."

"You think? Just remember, this is your fault! Your fa—"

"Yunho, watch out!"

This can't be happening.

He is not sitting in the wreckage of his car on the side of a road in a blizzard with BoA and glass and blood pumping out of her body—

He finally remembers his phone.

(and his hands can barely dial a three key number because he can't peel his eyes away from her prone form and the panic is making the corners of his eyes grow fuzzy and—She's. Not. Moving.)

"119, what is your emergency?"

(and it feels far more natural than it should have for his lips to form her name, because she's been HIS emergency for a long time, long before she had stepped into this car off of a snowy street in Seoul.)

(She's been HIS emergency since the day they’ve met)

Yunho has never really given a damn about BoA's pain before. It wasn’t because he was heartless, oh god no, not when it came to her…but it was just hilarious. She was so clumsy most of the times and it honestly made him laugh. For someone who had so much stage presence and flexibility on stage, Yunho was surprised she was the complete opposite off the stage.

When she had tripped and soared down the stairs at the company, her face making a new acquaintance in Eunhyuk's , he hadn't felt anything other than an urge to laugh and ridicule her, which was normal for them. And maybe that was why BoA and Eunhyuk had such an awkward friendship.

When she had suddenly had to go into surgery to get her appendix removed, it had honestly been sort of hilarious. Only BoA (graceful on stage, clumsy off) could have the luck to ruin her own twenty-second birthday. Getting your appendix out wasn't a big deal anyway, right?

No, BoA's physical pain had always been a source of amusement for him. It isn't that he's lying to himself (because that would imply that he is consciously denying something, and if there is one word that describes his feelings towards BoA, "conscious" is not it), but more that he just didn’t care that much because of her clumsy nature.

This is starkly different.

Maybe it's because she can't open her eyes to glare at him. Maybe it's because she can't jump up and yell at him. Maybe it's because of the blood, but it's probably (definitely) because for once she is utterly helpless and that is so opposite of the BoA he knows that it burns him.

The chairs of the waiting room are ugly and uncomfortable and Yunho sprawls over two of them, draping his legs across the armrests. His eyes blankly stare up at the ceiling, one finger tapping incessantly against the floor where his arm trails listlessly.

His eyes swim, and he forces them open for what seems like the twentieth time. There's no way, no ing way, that he is falling asleep yet. He'd had to try and follow the orders of a paramedic on the phone to keep her alive until the ambulance got there (he's going to have to burn this shirt, because the brick-red stains are never going to come out), and he is not going to let her be selfish enough as to make all of his hard work go to nothing. Once she gets out of surgery (she IS going to get out of surgery alive, she is, she IS) he is going to make her thank him on her hands and knees. And then she is going to apologize for insisting that they ride out tonight, and she's going to acknowledge that it's her fault that they took the wrong road, and she's—

(He's scared.)

He doesn't know how long it actually takes, but it feels like another two hours before they let him see her.

"She's stable," the nurse said calmly (he wants her to shut up and just show him to BoA, because if he has to wait another second without seeing her, he's going to throw a mothering TABLE across the room). "But we still can't be certain. Have you contacted her family yet?"

He has. The conversation with her mom took about five minutes; not because she hadn't wanted to talk, but because he had spit out all of the information as fast as possible and then hung up before she could start crying. He doesn't want to hear all that girly blubbering because (he is GUILTY, her daughter is hurt and it's his fault) he'll have to hear BoA's when she wakes up and he really can't take too much of that in one day.

The nurse continues to explain the details and all the medical jargon, but it all blends together into a fuzzy tangle of words in his head. All he can process is the door that is at the end of the corridor, and then suddenly in front of him, and then suddenly closing behind him, leaving him alone with her.

(And she's there on a bed, eyes shut as though she's just sleeping peacefully, except she's hooked up to an IV machine thing—he doesn't know much about hospitals aside from seeing a few medical dramas once or twice during his spare time—and he knows that underneath that blanket there are bandages all over her stomach.)

She looks (dead) okay.

"God, BoA," he mutters, pulling a chair up to the side of her bed. "You just had to go and screw things up, didn't you?"

Her eyelids flicker against her pale cheeks (and he hates that because BoA is supposed to be beautiful and alive, not blanched like a corpse), and his gaze is drawn to the tiny feathered shadows they cast.

"I mean, if you hadn't had to get hurt," he continues nonchalantly. "Then we would've had an awesome story to tell people about how we crashed the car and then trekked through a raging blizzard to the nearest house for shelter..." He trails off, and then abruptly pulls his right leg up, pointing indignantly at the bandages wrapped around his shin. "See! Even I got hurt because—" (guilty, guilty, his fault, his fault) "—because you're such a clumsy person that I had to become collateral damage!"

(the room seems to be shrinking in on them, and yet his words punch at the air, uncomfortably loud, like they are in a cathedral or something, and he's doing this all wrong because it's so hard, so hard to be normal right now—)

"And you're not even listening to me right now," he rambles. "I go to all this trouble and you can't even give me the time of day?"

(somehow, that doesn't come out the way he meant it)

He falls silent, watching her. The quiet is tangible in the air, and he can almost feel his heartbeat aligning itself to the rhythm of her breath, softly leaking out . (Why? Why does she have to look so damn delicate?)

"BoA."

It's only her name, but it pushes its way out of his throat like a secret; raspy and almost strangled sounding.

(Come on, BoA-ya. Wake up and roll your eyes at me. Wake up so I can make fun of you again and everything can be normal again.)

Of course, things haven't really been normal between them for a while now.

"What are you doing tonight?"

"Just going to pack. I’m heading to Japan tomorrow for a day to promote my new single, but I’ll be back the following day."

"Ah really? I haven’t seen you in so long though, BoA."

"I’m sorry, Yun-dol! I’ll make it up to you, I promise!"

"It’s just—"

"Hmm?"

“I missed spending time with my best friend, y'know? Changmin has been busy with Victoria, Siwon is busy in general, and well, you know the rest are busy as well…"

"I missed you too, Yunho."

"I know.”

His hand is disobeying him and lifting into the air, hovering over her face before he flicks her hair out of her eyes—fast, like he's trying to get rid of something. She doesn't shift, and he wants her to crack open an eye and snarl at him so badly. Because how is he supposed to be Yunho when she's not being BoA? They're built this way. They're meant to rebound off of each other, to repel, and when she's not filling her role, he doesn't know what the hell he is supposed to do.

"Hey, man. You think BoA would go for me?"

"What?"

"You know, BoA. Your incredibly beautiful best-friend? I’ve had the hots for her since the day she debuted. Of course I didn’t think I’d be able to score a chance with her, but thankfully, you auditioned to SM, got admitted and now you two are best-friends. C’mon, help me out! We’ve known each other since we were in diapers."

"...You're not touching BoA."

"Huh? What's with you?"

"Come on, Dong Wook, you know I'm just messing with you. But seriously, BoA's off-limits. She's...got a boyfriend. He’s in another company, top secret information though."

"Really?"

"Would I lie?"

He's tired. But he's tired in that weird way where you can't sleep, where your eyes ache but you can't close them, even when the light is thudding against the inside of your head like a sledgehammer. He opens his mouth, but words can't seem to roll out of it anymore, as if something in his throat is blocking them. He glares at her face and blames her.

"How’d you know I was sick?"

"Well, once SM’s golden artist is sick, everyone in the company knows."

"Yunho. I am not SM’s golden artist. I’m just a regular singer, just like you. But thank you for coming and bringing medicine. The ones I’ve been taking haven’t been effective considering I’ve been sick for this whole week already."

"Anything for my best-friend."

"Even my very own, 4-storey house?"

"Not this conversation again!”

And she punches his arm because she's BoA and she's allowed to.

He blames her for getting hurt and screwing up his head like this. For a second he wonders what would have happened if he had let her drive, like she had been whining about doing since they got in the car. If she had driven, what with her lame "defensive driving", they would probably be safe at his house or hers now.

Or he'd be the one in the bed, unconscious, while she was sitting beside him, yelling at him for being stupid. Maybe she'd hold his hand—seemed like the kind of sappy thing she'd do, but the best part about this mental image was that she was fine. A little bruised and cut, like he was in reality, but not slashed open and bandaged and lying in a hospital.

"Did I ever tell you how thankful I am to have you by my side throughout these years?"

"Okay. Completely random, but yes you have. What’s up, Yun-dol?"

"Just felt the need to tell you these things."

"You’re worrying me."

"BoA-ya! I’m fine. A few days ago I was thinking of the past and about the struggles Changmin and I went through as the group member count decreased. You were there since day one, and I’m just so thankful for that."

"We’re best-friends. No need to sweat the small stuff. I’ll always be here for you, just like how I know you’ll always be there for me.”

"Best-friends..."

"Forever and always."

"Definitely, BoA… definitely."

This is hisher fault, this whole thing. It's her fault that they drove off in the first place and it's her fault that they crashed and it's her fault—that he's starting to think he might be insane, that the crash has shaken something up in his brain and smashed through the little walls he had put up to segment his thoughts of BoA (between the thoughts he is allowed to have and the ones he is not allowed to have, the ones he alwaysnever has) but maybe things haven't been the same ever since they were practicing a dance together and the room suddenly got more hot and he felt like a magnet because he couldn’t stay away from her.

He hesitated.

Because there are a lot of things in the world that matter to Jung Yunho, and one of those things is the word, best-friend. That word is important. (Because that word keeps him from falling deeper into the land of "holy , you’ve fallen for your best-friend")

After all, wouldn’t this create a worldwide scandal?

Yunho pulls the chair closer to the bed until his knees are pressing into the side of the mattress, his hands resting on the sheets. The crisp whiteness pushes up between his fingers as they clench, crinkled waves of fabric bunched in his fists. He's tired, so, so tired.

"You love her, I know you do."

"Whoa there, Siwon! I don’t know what you’re talking about here. We’re best-friends, nothing more than that.”

"Yunho, you talk about her twenty-four-seven. You plan your days, your LIFE, around how you can be with her."

"Stop exaggerating.”

"I’m really not. Just admit it, bud. It’d make everything much easier. The other day I searched up your names together and what’d you know? Apparently you two have a lot of fans."

"You clearly need to spend less time on the internet. Besides, I don’t love her like you think I do.”

“Denial is fatal, Yunho.”

Yunho leans forward.

"BoA?"

Her name shudders out through his lips and ghosts over her skin. His hands spasm against the sheets and then abruptly relax as his body slumps over, curving almost in on itself. He's unfolding, collapsing like a house of cards, and his head joins hers on the pillow, his face tucked into the curve of her neck, breathing in the sharp scent of medicalness, searching for something underneath it to show him that BoA is still there.

His mouth only just brushes against her skin, so faint that he can barely feel it and he finds what he is looking for: the barest hint of a taste that doesn't come from a hospital, but comes from the girl in the bed.

This is only happening because he's tired. This doesn't count, none of this. He has an iron-clad excuse (Car accidents can give you head injuries after all. Smash your rational thoughts to pieces) and so he lets the smile unfurl across his face, even as his eyes drift completely shut.

"Yunho?"

There is a voice echoing from somewhere above him, filtering down slowly into his brain. He can feel a soft weight on the top of his head, and a strange sensation, like rain trickling across his scalp. It's nice—if sort of weird—and he shifts slightly, making a small noise of pleasure. Whatever he's leaning on abruptly grows rigid underneath him and he pries his eyelids open, prompted by the feeling of unease quickly spreading into his drowsy state.

He feels his spine crack painfully as he draws backwards and the room spins for a second. Still disoriented, colours swirling around his head like he's on drugs or something, he presses his forehead back against her collarbone so he can get his bearings.

(wait a second)

Her collarbone?

Her?

Yunho jerks backward so fast that he almost gets whiplash. His hands thud against the edge of the bed, unfolding himself up as he gazes down at the girl lying on the bed below him.

BoA peers blearily up at him, her eyes heavy with sleep. When she had had her appendix removed, she had woken up sleepy, yet ready to spit fire if need be. This time is so different it is jarring: she looks fragile, breakable. Her hand is slightly extended towards him, falling back onto the bed, and he suddenly places the feeling he had woken up with: she had been running her fingers through his hair. He wants to shake his head, erase the signs of her touch, because he can feel it hot against his skull, but all he does is stare at her.

"What—"

Her voice comes out as a croak, and she stops talking, hanging open, slight surprise bruising her face. In that split second, he realizes that this is not going to work: he can't treat her like normal, not when she looks like this.

(She doesn't deserve to deal with him, not after he skidded off the road and she ended up with bloodbloodblood everywhere—)

She better appreciate the sacrifice he is making by not giving her hell over the crash. Guiltyguiltyguilty.

"What happened?" he finishes for her, relaxing slightly in his chair, even though his entire body is still stiff from the odd position he was sleeping in (and he'd rather not dwell upon why a moment of weakness had ended with his face pressed to that curve of evilly soft skin that is her neck). "We got into a car crash. And so we're here. You got hurt worse than me, so that's why you're in the bed, and I'm sitting here."

She stares at him, like she can't comprehend whatever he's just said. And actually, maybe she can't. Maybe she's on drugs right now and has no idea what the is happening. That would explain why she hadn’t knocked his head for getting her into this mess and instead had been basically petting him.

"Are you okay?"

He hasn't even noticed that he's looked away from her (don't want to see the look in her eyes) until his gaze is shooting back to her face at her soft, broken words.

She's looking at him like she's...worried about him, even though she's the one who is lying in a bed with bandages all over her, the one whose bleeding body he had to hold together, the one whose blood is still staining the shirt he's wearing right now. Oh, that's what she's looking at. The stains.

(It's not my blood, BoA, it's yours, this is yours.)

His hand is on her face before he has time to tell it that it doesn't belong there. He lets it linger there, palm cautious against her cheek. She doesn't pull away, her eyes fixed on his, and for a second he allows himself to believe that maybe it isn't just him who feels like something new is sprouting inside his chest.

"I'm fine, BoA," he says. "I'm fine."

(Because you are.)

When the nurse tells him later that he and his "girlfriend" are cute together, he doesn't correct her.

Epiphanies don't come often, so he figures when they do, he should take notice.

--

Author’s Note:

Trust me when I say, I LOVE BoA. LOL. But I don’t know why she’s always the victim when it comes to these type of stories.

I hope it wasn’t too bad. This is basically like Routine, but wayyyyy longer and more detailed.

Anyway, thank you guys for all the comments and support. <3