••••••••

            “He’s got a twisted ankle and a concussion,” the doctor begins, and Sehun marvels at the parallels of his life. He’s been sitting in the waiting room for two hours, Kyungsoo on one side and Minseok on his other, attempting to shut the two of them up from bickering while Jongdae paced, too distraught to address anybody. Sehun had contacted both Jongdae and Minseok from Luhan’s phone, and they’d both rushed to the hospital, tense and ready to plead for mercy from some higher being. The nurses had been eyeing them all warily ever since Minseok showed up at Sehun’s call, shaking his short arms around like he was ready to kill, and Kyungsoo immediately shut him down after a few hastily thrown accusations.

            “It’s your fault,” Minseok had said, pointing a frenzied finger at Sehun. Sehun lifted tired eyes to Minseok’s passion-inflamed face, but he hadn’t reacted beyond that because he completely agreed. “You’re dangerous, and he never should have moved in with you—”

            “Hey,” Kyungsoo had barked, standing up and pushing Sehun behind him. Sehun hadn’t resisted that, either. He only watched, noting how having them stand side by side made them look almost normal height. Jongdae lingered at the corners of his vision, disappearing behind one of their heads and popping up behind the other as he trotted from side to side. “Sehun hasn’t done anything all night except try to find him. You wouldn’t have known about his whereabouts if Sehun hadn’t informed you. Sit down before you embarrass yourself, kiddo.”

            “Where did he get the alcohol?” Sehun had asked slowly, and Minseok’s face had paled.

            “He came in for two seconds while I was in the shower,” Minseok had said quickly, as if trying to defend himself. “I got out when I heard someone rummaging around, but I only caught him when he was running out the door with a backpack full of whiskey bottles. He was in the elevator before I could catch up.”

            Sehun was satisfied with the answer, but Kyungsoo was boiling over. “You let him escape with alcohol and you have the audacity to say it was Sehun’s fault?”

            “If Sehun hadn’t insulted him in one way or the other, anyways, he wouldn’t have come in the first place—”

            It’s progressed since then into catty insults and childish comebacks. There was even a point where Kyungsoo pressed his fingers to his ears and sang at the top of his lungs to tune Minseok out (Sehun wonders if Kyungsoo learned this from Baekhyun or if he’s always been secretly prone to acting this juvenile). Sehun snapped at both of them at one point – “Both of you are short and ugly so shut up!” – so they both sat on opposite ends, boxing him in and occasionally leaning over to glare at one another before resuming sulking.

            They all rose as the doctor spoke, though, even Jongdae coming to a halt, and Sehun appreciates the fact that they’re all here for the same reason, at least. Jongdae stares off into the distance behind the doctor, but Minseok is drinking in the doctor’s every word as if they were from the veins of life itself, and Kyungsoo looks equally as attentive, even though he had been ready to murder Luhan just earlier that day.

            Earlier that day. Sehun shudders at the thought that it had hardly been twenty-four hours since Luhan was still happy and blissfully ignorant of everything.

            You should never have had to ‘tell’ him anything anyways.

            “Can we see him?” Sehun asks, scratching at his thigh nervously.

            “He’s not awake yet,” the doctor responds, “but he shouldn’t be unconscious much longer. If any of you would like to sit in and wait for him to come to, I welcome you to it.”

            “Thank you,” Minseok replies, eyeing Sehun as the doctor nods and directs a nurse to them. The nurse gestures for them to follow, but Kyungsoo grabs Sehun’s sleeve before he can.

            “I really should get home,” he whispers as Minseok and Jongdae both awkwardly wander after the nurse to a room somewhere down the hallway. They disappear, and Sehun feels his muscles tighten in longing. “Baekhyun called me seven times while I was driving us here, and he’s still texting me like a worried mother.”

            “I understand,” Sehun says, waving him off with the outline of a smile. “Go. If you end up at work tomorrow, tell Junmyeon that I can’t make it.”

            “Should I tell him why?” Kyungsoo asks, and they both snort in unison because, honestly, Junmyeon won’t argue the point either way. Kyungsoo nods and places a hand on Sehun’s shoulder. He tips his chin up to look at him (or down, Sehun guesses, since Kyungsoo is an entire head shorter).

            “Listen,” he starts. “I know I was kind of harsh earlier, and I meant what I said, but—” He pauses. Sehun has never heard him so unsure of spoken words before. Kyungsoo’s eyes wander, as if trying to find his point in some unlit corner of the room. Sehun follows them with his own until they meet. Kyungsoo sighs. “I know you care for that kid. And I know he knows you care for him, no matter what he said or tries to say. And I know he knows you know he cares about you, too.”

            “I didn’t follow that.”

            “Yes you did, you idiot.” Kyungsoo’s hand drops from his shoulder and flops uselessly by his side. “What I’m trying to say is… If he’s angry, make him understand. Because I know you have a reason for all this. And if you don’t—” Kyungsoo raises a fist solemnly. “I will beat your face in for making me stay out until four in the morning for nothing. You get me?”

            “Yes, Master Splinter,” Sehun says in his most serious voice, bowing. “Arm me, and I will do better next time.”

            “Like I’d ever give you a weapon. They’d arrest me for that.” Kyungsoo punches him, but it’s not without a smile. “You’ve got this. And,” and Kyungsoo actually cracks his fists this time, “if pipsqueak over in the room there tries to bully you again, just call. I’ll bring Baekhyun with me. He’s like a little attack dog when he wants to be.”

            And Sehun is laughing, now, actually laughing to the point of tears, gripping Kyungsoo’s sleeves as if he’ll fall without their support. “I have never liked you more than I do right now,” Sehun says, wiping his eyes. “Who knew you could be grumpy and funny?”

            “Come on. I’m nineteen, not fifty.” He smiles, and Sehun notices for the first time that it’s heart-shaped. He’s seen Kyungsoo scowl so much that he almost didn’t think he could smile.

            It’s creepy. But he likes it, anyways.

            Kyungsoo heads toward the exit, but Sehun doesn’t let go of his sleeve. “Hey,” he says, and Kyungsoo glances back with questions in his eyes. “I didn’t mean it when I called you ugly.”

            “I mean it when I say you’re stupid though,” he deadpans. Sehun just grins and lets go.

            Sehun turns and walks in the direction the nurse had disappeared in as Kyungsoo takes his leave. He has to peek into several rooms to find them (one elderly man gives him the finger when he pokes his head in; another unleashes a gummy smile that makes Sehun a little frightened). The first thing he notices is that Minseok is already at Luhan’s side, holding his hand and whispering intently at his blank face. The second thing he notices is that Jongdae is just sitting in a chair facing the wall instead of any one person, whispering at himself.

            The third thing he notices is that Luhan is awake, eyes blinking slowly. That’s about where the panic starts.

            Minseok turns to regard him with a cold glare, but his fingers don’t stop caressing Luhan’s knuckles. He quickly gives out on Sehun, turning back to Luhan to keep his steady stream of soothing conversation going.

            Luhan’s eyes train on Sehun. They don’t move from him, even when Minseok shakes him to get his attention.

            “You know what?” Minseok raises his voice, so Sehun assumes it’s for him. He glances at him, but he keeps his peripherals trained on Luhan, who still refuses to break his stare. Jongdae looks up at the ceiling, grimacing at the noise. “I think you should leave. You’ve already had him trembling in the woods, falling over tree roots and knocking his head on rocks—”

            “Minseok,” Luhan croaks. It’s enough to stop Minseok in his tracks. His eyes turn back to Luhan immediately, softening at the sight of Luhan’s bruised forehead. “Leave him alone. Actually, leave us both alone for a minute. I need to talk to him.”

            Minseok worries on his bottom lip, and Sehun absentmindedly thinks that he and Luhan are like blood twins. “Luhan, are you sure? I want to be here if you need anything—”

            “Minseok,” Luhan says again, and he’s smiling this time. It’s the first time that Sehun has seen him smile at Minseok since he’s known him, and even with Minseok’s sullen looks swatting at the back of his head, he’s immensely glad that they’re on good terms.

            It’ll make him leaving easier.

            Sehun feels a sudden urge to make a cup of tea.

            “I appreciate you being here,” Luhan continues, “but I really need to straighten some things out, okay?”

            “If you say so, Lu,” Minseok says, rising from his seat, “but if you need me, I’ll be right out in the hall—”

            “Okay,” Luhan laughs, shooing him out. Minseok turns to him one last time.

            “Will you at least reconsider moving back in with me?”

            “I’ll reconsider,” Luhan promises, and Sehun’s stomach sinks right to the pits of Hell as Minseok shuffles his way out the door. Sehun stops him before he can leave.

            “What do you want,” Minseok states, staring at the floor instead of into Sehun’s face.

            Sehun shrugs. “Thank you for coming,” he mumbles. “And for being a good friend to him.”

            Minseok finally meets his eyes. Sehun sees a mixture of feelings strewn across his face, but before he can identify any of them, Minseok grunts and shoulders his way past again.

            “Jongdae, would you mind stepping out for a second, too?”

            Jongdae doesn’t make any protest at all. He stands and turns mechanically, offering an empty look of recognition at Sehun before departing as well and dragging his chair after him.

            Sehun looks back at Luhan. To his dismay, Luhan’s smile has fallen into a tired frown. He gestures for Sehun to shut the door, so he does.

            “Come here,” Luhan orders. Sehun does what he’s told, gripping the bottom edge of the bed and shimmying closer.

            “What did you want to say?” Sehun asks, mostly because he can’t think of anything else to broach the conversation with. He coughs and shrugs and knows it’s a stupid question because he’s already heard bits and pieces of it, but Luhan doesn’t look too offended. He just looks drained.

            “Why did you leave the first time?” Luhan says lowly, playing with the patient-issued bedsheets. “Really.”

            “Because they told me to,” Sehun replies firmly. He meets Luhan’s eyes and hopes his sincerity is sincere enough. Luhan doesn’t look entirely convinced.

            “And why did you lie to me?”

            “Because…” Sehun draws a blank. He knows, but he doesn’t know how to articulate it, to make Luhan understand all the reasons he felt he couldn’t let him know. Luhan waits for a time, but he gets impatient.

            “Were you planning on kicking me out, after a while?”

            “Absolutely not,” Sehun says, and he sounds almost horrified because he is. The thought of Luhan being gone sends waves of pain through his entire chest. It’s not until after they’ve diminished that he remembers his promise to Minseok. “Well… I told Minseok I would tell you that you could come back at any time, but I was never going to make you—”

            “Did you really know who I am?”

            The question catches him offguard. He swallows and nods after a moment’s hesitation. “Yes,” he says. “I would never forget who you are.”

            Luhan sits forward in his bed. His IV pulls, and he winces. Sehun wants to reach out and steady him, but he’s scared to touch him. “Then tell me why you lied.”

            Sehun opens his mouth, but no words come out. Luhan finally sits back with a huff, crossing his arms. “You’re unbelievable.”

            Sehun scratches at his arm, his legs, his palms, anything he can reach, and takes a deep breath. “That’s no way to talk to your best friend,” he manages, cautiously looking up to judge his reaction.

            Luhan’s mouth turns down just a tiny bit more. “My best friend is Sehun,” he says, slowly and clearly. “You’re not my best friend.”

            “Didn’t you hear that we’re the same person?”

            Luhan shakes his head and scoffs. It makes Sehun feel smaller, so he stands up as straight as he can. “You might be Sehun, but you’re not the Sehun I knew. I think I’d recognize my best friend.”

            “No,” Sehun says softly, more to himself than to Luhan. “You wouldn’t.” Luhan’s eyebrows draw to crease the middle of his forehead, and he opens his mouth to give rebuttal, but Sehun cuts him off. “I should have never expected you to.”

            “What?” Luhan asks, wrinkling his nose in confusion. “What the hell are you talking about?”

            “That’s why I lied,” Sehun says, looking down at where his hands are gripping the bedposts. Luhan falls into silence. “I lied because you saw me and didn’t know who I was. I lied because I thought you had forgotten me, and everything that I was to you. But…you didn’t.” He swallows, and it’s thick and hot and clogs his throat, but he talks through it anyways. “I’m not the same best friend as I was. I’ve…changed, a lot. So have you. But that doesn’t make us any less of best friends. That doesn’t mean you care less, or that I do. And just because you can’t see me in this face…doesn’t mean you don’t remember me in this…me.”

            “You don’t know anything,” Luhan mutters, but Sehun hears the note of insecurity in his voice. Sehun shuffles forward, pressing a hesitant hand into Luhan’s shoulder. Luhan doesn’t look at him, but he doesn’t flinch away, either.

            Progress.

            “That’s true,” Sehun continues desperately, grasping at the nuggets of understanding that he can see in Luhan’s brow. “But if there’s anything that I’m close enough to knowing, it’s that you’re my best friend in the entire world, and even though I’m the biggest idiot you’ve ever known – I’ve ever known – I’m your yeodongsaeng, and…” There’s a pause, probably long enough for Luhan to think that he’d forgotten they were in the middle of a conversation, but he hasn’t, he never would, because conversations with Luhan are precious and every word of them counts. “And I love you more than I’ve ever loved any other person.”

            Luhan freezes.

            “You recognized me from the getgo. It’s like…” He pauses and snaps, pointing at Luhan, who can only receive his efforts with wide eyes and confusion. “Our tree! Like our tree, Luhan, don’t you get it?”

            The look on his face says he very much doesn’t get it, so Sehun restarts. “The tree was something big and beautiful and wholly there, and it held all our memories, all our late night talks and our last hurrahs and our everything. And then it was cut down, as if it were any old tree. As if it was nothing, when to two kids, it was the world. But look at it! It’s a stump now. It’s nothing like a tree, with the leaves and the colors and the branches to sit on, but when I look at it, I still remember, I still feel the same as I did when I was eight and you were twelve and we had barely started making our way in the world. We’re like that, Luhan. You said I was familiar, that you trusted me immediately, that it felt like déjà vu. Because that was all true. Because we did know each other, because we’ve always known each other, and because no matter what we look like, no matter how far we’re cut down, we will always feel the same because we both know how the other makes us feel.”

            Sehun inhales sharply. It feels like he hasn’t taken a breath in that entire speech, and in hindsight, he’s pretty sure that’s probably true.

            His throat tingles with use, still vibrating with the echoes of his voice, but he doesn’t cough.

            Luhan finally meets his eyes. He stares at him in a way that makes Sehun feel like he’s about to disappear. The only thing that’s keeping him rooted is the fire inside them. Sehun wonders if Luhan will remember this in the morning, when the purple bump on his head has gone down and the alcohol still lingering in his veins has been filtered out. He wonders if he’ll remember the way that Sehun looks, standing unsurely at his bedside, framed by hospital windows but unmoving – for once, not running away. He wonders, because he knows he’ll always remember how Luhan is looking at him, how Luhan is anchoring him into existence, how Luhan is lifting his torso up towards him and how even the smell of stale liquor on Luhan is beautiful. He’ll always remember how Luhan grabs at his shirt collar, more limbs than arm, too much elbow and not enough hands, and he’ll always remember how Luhan envelops him in the warmest embrace he’s ever felt.

            He’ll probably forget the tears that sting his eyes and the hospital fans that chill even his clothed skin. He’ll forget what day it is, what hospital room they’ve come to, whether Luhan was dressed in a white robe or a black one, and whether or not he wants to make tea right now (he finds, surprisingly, that he doesn’t). He’ll forget how he had managed to find him, how long it had taken to get to the hospital, and whether his shiner was more violet or sapphire, because purple and blue are too boring of colors.

            He won’t forget Luhan, though. He won’t forget the champagne of his hair or the ochre of his eyes, the shades of bronze between the tickles of his skin or the amber waves of his whiskey-tinged breath.

            He won’t forget the flush of lips against lips. It’s the first time he’s ever tasted a rose, and it’s the first time he’s ever cared to.

            “My Sehun wouldn’t say sappy things like that,” Luhan whispers when he leans away. He bites his lip, but it’s not with worry this time. “But… I think I like the Sehun who does better.”

            He won’t forget leaning in for a second time, and how it’s more russet than the first one, but it’s just as special. And he won’t ever forget how Luhan looks when they part again. His face, for the first time since childhood, is completely smooth, and Sehun thinks it’ll be etched in his memory, too, just like the last time he saw him.

            After all, you don’t forget the face of the person who was your only hope.