The first thought that came to mind was a vague wish that the sunlight on my face wasn’t so bright, so hot, burning my bare skin and making spots of white float around behind my closed eyelids. The second thought was another wish that Jongin wasn’t here in the first place.

My arm cramped as I raised my head to ease the pain—my limbs felt numb, one of the aftereffects of sleeping curled up awkwardly in a small, hard plastic chair. I could vaguely see red lines imprinted on my skin where I had fallen asleep on my arm last night when I wiped a hand over my face, pausing to massage my temples. 

Jongin stirred in his sleep, fist unclenching as his lips parted, soft dark hair falling across his forehead like strands of burnished silk in the morning sunlight. I coughed quietly. My throat felt like sandpaper. The hospital smelled like antiseptic and double-pressed bed sheets that crinkled uncomfortably as I pulled away from Jongin’s cot and tried to straighten my back. I hated hospitals.

With a sigh, I gently pulled the covers over Jongin from where they lay crumpled and pushed to the foot of his cot—Jongin was a restless sleeper—and unsteadily climbed out of the chair.

I was pulling on my jacket when Jongin stirred on the bed, eyes blinking blearily, and mumbled something indistinct at me. 

“What?”

“Where are you going?”

His eyes were half-lidded; I had seen him like this before many times through the decade plus we had been friends—eyelids heavy, lips parted just a bit, hair mussed—but those times he had been laughing and apologising for being late as the bus driver sighed, no longer able to muster up the energy to be angry at Jongin, or he had just turned up half-awake at whatever plans our group of friends had made for the day. He hadn’t looked like this those times, so small and boyish in the oversized hospital clothes, long, elegant limbs folded into the tiny cot.

Sunlight streamed through the open window to gleam on his hair, lending his face an unearthly glow. 

“To get breakfast.” I pulled the curtains shut, leaving just a little crack for the natural light to pool on the floor, cutting across the white covers and Jongin’s hand. I reached out a hand to brush his bangs off his face, ruffling his hair fondly; he needed to get a haircut soon. “Do you want anything?”

“To get out of here, maybe.” Jongin's grin was slight and his fingers picked at a loose thread on his cuff restlessly. Jongin rarely—no, never—complained, always held in his frustration, but I knew how hard it must have been for him. There was only so much he could take, being immobilised like this when he had always been a creature of movement and action. "I don't think I've been in the sun for days." 

“Just two more days.” I said comfortingly as I sat down on the cot next to him, placing a hand on his arm. Physical touch comforted him the most, worked better than words ever did even though Jongin appreciated that too, made his annoyance dissipate somewhat. “You have to take things slow once you get out though.”

“I know, mom.” He smiled, but I didn’t need to look at his face to know he was beyond frustrated at the idea of not being able to dance for—a very long time. He patted my hand, small and fair, so different to his longer fingers, tan and warm, a comforting gesture which was odd because I was supposed to be comforting him. His smile didn't touch his eyes though. "I'll be obedient, I promise."

“Really, Jongin.” I didn't tell him Yunho oppa had banned him entirely from the dance school for the next two months—at least, until his back had marginally recovered. I didn’t mention the upcoming music festival that Seungwan had texted me about last night either. There was no point disappointing Jongin further. "Promise you won't push yourself too much."

Jongin sighed, rolling his eyes though he smiled. “Promise.” 

I relaxed a bit; Jongin always kept his word. Just then, my stomach growled, almost embarrassingly loud if it wasn’t Jongin. He only laughed, and the familiar sound made me smile too, knowing that small thing made him feel a little better, made him laugh after he seemed so close to crumbling.

“Go get breakfast. Take a walk or something too.” He pushed me slightly. “You’ve spent too much time with me.”

“Almost twelve years too much." I snorted before pursing my lips thoughtfully, running over my mental checklist for the day. There was something to do today. What was it. I frowned before remembering. Right. Breakfast with Seungwan and Seulgi. I was late. “I’ll come back before lunch,” I promised, rising from the bed. “I’ll bring you some stuff from your house if you want. Your laptop, maybe? I’m pretty sure your mom will load me down with more packed food too, so you’re set for lunch.”

“Sure, thanks.” He smiled affectionately. “What would I do without you, Arang.”

I smiled before I closed the door. 

I tried to straighten my rumpled clothes and fix my hair on the way to meet Seungwan and Seulgi before finally giving up and twisting my hair into a messy bun in the bus. I didn’t know why I tried though. Seungwan and Seulgi probably would understand if I showed up looking like this anyway, though they wouldn’t keep quiet about where I had been.

They looked like they had been waiting for a while. There were two steaming bowls of stew set out in front of them and Seulgi had already started on her rice. I was glad Seulgi’s mouth was too full for her to do much othe