Hoya walks to the hospital at around 2, the hood of his black jacket pulled over his face and shoulders slightly hunched. All morning he had kept telling himself to pick Dongwoo up from the hospital, but there had always been one more thing that needed to be fixed, a move that needed to be practiced one more time, and then one more time. He mentally punches himself for not even sending a text message. It only would have taken a second.

            Hoya knocks on Dongwoo’s white door and, receiving no response, hesitates for a couple seconds before ducking in, looking at the ground. He knows that, no matter how late he came, Dongwoo would still greet him with a loud excited outburst, but the only sound is the faint drumming of fingers against a table.

            Looking up, Hoya sees Dongwoo sitting in a tan pleather armchair next to the near side of his bed. His eyes are closed, and his fingers tap on the small plastic desk that is unfolded across his lap. His head bobs lightly to the beat of his tapping fingers. On the table lies his iPhone, and a telltale white wire leads from its bottom to his ears.

            Hoya stands still in front of the doorway. He’s only seen Dongwoo look so serene in two other situations: when he’s freestyle dancing and when he’s sleeping. It’s a look that seems to calm the nervous whiteness of the hospital room. It feels like new snow, something that should be left untouched for at least a little longer, so Hoya stands still, taking in the details of the room.

            The armchair Dongwoo sits in is about 7 feet from the door, and the bed is just beyond it. Attached to the ceiling above the bed is an encompassing rail, supporting a teal plastic curtain which can be pulled around for privacy. Opposite the bed is a gray metal stool tucked under a desk holding a hulking desktop computer, with that distinctive tannish gray colored casing typical of old technology, microwave, and television. Beyond that is a white door leading to the bathroom, and on the opposite wall of the room is a square window. It overlooks the parking lot and lets in the sunlight nicely, offering some sort of natural lighting to offset the fluorescent tubes on the ceiling.

            There’s a loud rap at the door. Dongwoo’s eyes snap open, one of his eyebrows cocked. Suddenly both eyebrows are raised when he sees Hoya standing there, and he quickly pulls out his earbuds.

            “Hoya!” he laughs, standing up.

            Hoya smiles a little as the door behind him opens and the doctor strides in.

            “Oh, good aftenoon Dr. Park,” Dongwoo says, both he and Hoya quickly bobbing their bows.

            “Good afternoon, Dongwoo. Have you been resting fine?”

            “Yes.”

            “And you ate lunch?”

            “Yes, just a bit ago.”

            The doctor nods, checking his clipboard before tucking it under his arm.

            “Now, on your test results-“

            “We can discuss that later,” Dongwoo’s voice smoothly inserts itself.

            The doctor nods, tucking his clipboard under his arm.

            “That’s fine, I’ll stop by later today.”

            “Thank you,” says Dongwoo, with a relieved smile.

            The doctor leaves and Dongwoo smiles at Hoya.

            He takes a seat on his bed and pulls Hoya over to sit by him. The mattress plastic crinkles, and Hoya wonders if he should ask Dongwoo about the tests, and their apparent results. Hoya isn’t an idiot, and Dongwoo’s never been a tough book to read, but now Dongwoo’s smiling and laughing as usual and Hoya figures that, if it was important, Dongwoo would say something. If Dongwoo has it under control, it’s not his business.

            “So, when are you getting out of here?”

            Dongwoo scratches his cheek with his thumb, looking down.

            “Well, the doctors say that they still want to run some more tests…”

            “So… Tomorrow?”

            “Maybe...” Dongwoo says. He clears his throat.

            “How’s everyone doing?”

            “They’re okay. There’s just so much to do…the dance break still isn’t really synced and Woohyun’s been difficult--”

“Yeah, he’s exhausted from all those promotions.”

“Yeah I know, things have been so tight since last year…”

Hoya checks his watch then stands up quickly, realizing it’s been over an hour. He clasps right hands with Dongwoo, leaning in to thump him on the back.

            “Try to get out of here. We need you for next week.”

            “I’m on it,” Dongwoo says, saluting with two fingers and smiling toothily.

            When Hoya leaves, shutting the door behind him, Dongwoo sits quietly on the bed, looking at his hands resting, curled, in his lap. A couple minutes pass, and then there’s an authoritative rap at the door.

            “Come in,” he calls.

            Dr. Park strides in and, instead of stopping his accustomed couple of feet away from the bed, stands next to Dongwoo and rests a hand on his shoulder.

            “How are you feeling?” He asks.

            And Dongwoo already knows.

Hoya returns the dorm. He’s taking off his jacket when the phone in his pocket vibrates. It’s a text from Dongwoo.

“Don’t come tomorrow.”

Followed by another text:

“Sorry.”