^{_{. .}} eight ^{_{. .}}

“Aw , why can’t this bleeding stop already?”

A knowing look dominates Donghae’s face as the other man tries to press over the wound with a found napkin. Not really succeeding in his attempts.

“Head has the highest number of blood vessels in human body, you know,” Donghae then answers casually. He receives a snort in return.

“Thanks for the information, Sherlock,” Hyukjae grunts, grimacing at himself when he takes a look of the wound through the mirror. The napkin on his hand is only getting redder, and since a lot of it has flown through the side of his face, it looks worse than it really is.

Hyukjae stares outside. The sky is getting lower, and he knows it’s going to rain.

“You asked,” Donghae says, probably not being very smart when it comes to playing with fire called Hyukjae.

The brunet listens to the soft hum of the car. Usually, it would calm him down and make him feel sleepy and drowsy; but today it’s only just a hum, a nervous hum, and he thinks it wouldn’t be so oppressing if it actually rained.

“It was a rhetorical announcement of increasing irritation and annoyance, which I was not looking forward to be answered,” the brunet states, cheekily. It is more of easing the tension and teasing Donghae, since for him it’s still a little difficult to let the reality sink in.

He didn’t really expect to have a plate thrown to his head either, to be honest.

“Got it,” Donghae mutters, trying to stop the corner of his lips from quirking upwards.

The tension still lingers around, but Hyukjae tries to ignore it. It’s so much easier to not to think the matter too much now when his head aches like hell and he doesn’t feel really good.

It doesn’t take many minutes until Donghae steers the car into the yard of a nice town house. It’s not the same area they used to live in as kids; the house is a lot newer and the area is in overall relatively a lot better than where Hyukjae lives these days. He only knows that Donghae moved away when they finished high school, but he never knew where. It annoys him a bit that he’s not even surprised that they live in such a fancy neighborhood.

His attention drifts to the backseat, though, when he hears a tired yawn coming from that way. Jaemin seems to be waking up as she now stretches out her tiny arms and crunches her nose up the same time. Hyukjae pries his gaze away the moment he feels the bottomless pit down on his stomach again.

Donghae glances at them briefly, his lips in thought as he notices that his mother is probably at home deducing from the fact that her car is there too. He knows he’s not getting rid of Hyukjae yet, because how would that guy survive without him now that Jaemin’s mother is totally out of question? He lets out a sigh, opening his seatbelt and rolling the words inside his mouth before he consents to the thought he has.

“Hyukjae,” he starts, upper body slightly turned towards him but eyes sailing elsewhere. He’s not very delighted about the idea but it might be the easiest.

“Yeah?”

“Let’s go inside.”

“What?”

“All of us. Mom’s at home so she can look after Jaemin whilst I stitch you up.” Donghae hastily continues; “I don’t want your blood all over my car.”

Hyukjae stares with wide eyes, feeling somewhat conflicted about the suggestion. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Donghae says, although it’s a lie. “I have all that stuff here anyway. Let’s go.”

The idea makes Hyukjae more nervous than he lets on. After all those years he’s going to meet the woman who used to be nothing but good towards him—and what kind of an impression she’s going to get now? She’s probably going to think what the hell her son is doing with someone like him. He’s always tried to make himself believe that he doesn’t care what other people think about him, but every time someone looks down upon him, the feeling of not being good enough always finds its way back to him.

Every time, he still tries to harden his heart so it wouldn’t hurt so much.

“I can carry the girl, she’s too sleepy to walk by herself,” Donghae mumbles before stepping out of the car, not waiting for any answers from the other man.

Hyukjae clenches his jaw before he follows out of the car. However, the black spots return for a moment, stopping him to take some support from the door. He really hates the iron and bitter smell of blood all over him.

Donghae then appears in front of him, holding the girl in his arms, but his eyebrows furrow lower as he watches Hyukjae struggling slightly.

“You okay?”

“Yes, stop asking that,” Hyukjae grunts, closing the door. “Just a little nauseous from all that damn blood on my face.”

“If you say so.” Donghae starts walking towards the house, but he turns back around soon. “But seriously though, if the headache gets worse, you’ll start seeing things in two or you throw up we’re going to the hospital—end of discussion. I’ve seen these things enough at the ER, it doesn’t always end well.”

Hyukjae notes the expressive glare but he decides to ignore it.

“Whatever.”

Donghae sighs, turns the key in the lock and steps into the dim-lit hallway, as brief memories of him and Hyukjae suddenly rushes through his head.

It’s not the same house where they used to run to the dinner table to eat his mother’s jajangmyeon, nor where they accidentally made one of their Cola Rockets explode all over the kitchen. It’s not the same house where they used to laugh till they were literally crying from laughter. It was a long time ago, and things have definitely changed from those times.

It makes him wonder if it might even be for the best to just let go of those memories.

“Mom!” Donghae hollers as the first thing when they get inside in a bit restrained manner, as Hyukjae strolls behind him; cautiously looking around and still holding the punch of napkins against the nasty wound on his temple. Jaemin stirs on the younger’s hold, batting her eyelids in confusion as she’s still incoherent from sleep.

The woman appears from the nearest room, obviously not awaiting none other than his son to arrive.

“I was just about to call you if you—oh!” she halts on her steps, expression full of surprise as she takes in the sight—which soon changes to confusion, and then to concern. The son bites his lips, figuring out what to say. His mother ponders the same thing as she scrutinizes them closely; the little girl on Donghae’s embrace, and Hyukjae’s appearance taking her full attention.

 “Dear god, what happened?” she asks in bewilderment as the reality sinks in.

Hyukjae notes that her appearance has changed quite a lot in those six years. Her hair is slightly shorter, and there’s more wrinkles around her eyes. But she dresses like any other woman of his age, but Hyukjae recognizes in her eyes the same kindness there always used to be, but this time, it doesn’t help him feel more at ease being there.

“My ex,” he answers, and Donghae immediately gives him a wry look of disapproval.

“We could use some help, mom,” the latter interrupts before the middle-aged woman is able to say anything.

“Of course. What do you need?” she complies.

“If you could watch the girl for a moment? So I can patch this other one up.”

“Yes, of course," she says, smiling tenderly towards them.

The older male can’t wrap his head around the fact that of how calm she remains. There’s all the reasons on the table for her to lose her cool, but she doesn’t. Why isn’t she looking at him weirdly? Why is she so…normal, despite of all? Where are the odd, despising looks he’s been preparing for?

Donghae puts the girl down gently, and starts taking his jacket off. Jaemin eyes her father, as if she’s looking for some answers—but only to get a punch of new ones. The now wide eyes staring at him are even deeper in color than his own, and it embarrasses him that he thinks they look a little like a clear night sky. Hyukjae doesn’t have any answers for her, though.

“I think she could use some food,” Donghae mutters. “Jaemin, are you hungry yet?”

She blinks, but doesn’t say anything. Only wide, dark almond eyes stare back at him.

Hyukjae feels a tug on his chest.

“She probably won’t say even if she is,” the blood-stained brunet then says quietly. “I bet Jiah scolded her if she dared to whine about anything.”

Something just tells him that is exactly the way things have been. The thought makes him grit his teeth. His own parents were unfair towards him when he was having a hard time, and thinking about that Jiah might have been even worse makes him feel really sick inside.

Donghae’s mom furrows her eyebrows.

“Did she do that to you?”

She looks Hyukjae straight in the eyes. But there’s still none of those emotions Hyukjae is afraid of.

“Yeah.”

There’s a pregnant silence, until Jaemin suddenly pats Hyukjae’s thigh with her tiny palm. The man turns his attention downwards, looking back at the girl that stares at him with great concern.

“Boo boo?” Jaemin asks quietly, pointing her hand upwards; obviously meaning the not so pretty looking red trickles on the side of Hyukjae's face.

Her words catches unaware both of the males—especially Donghae who hasn’t actually ever heard her voice yet. He stands up in surprise.

“Did she just…”

His mother raises her eyebrows questioningly, not yet knowing all those little facts about the girl.

Hyukjae glances at Donghae, but doesn’t say a word. He swallows with difficulties, squatting down to her level. His legs feel shaky. Biting his lip, he gazes back to the girl. There's the feeling of dizziness again, but it could also be due to his heart that’s started beating up faster. It’s hard to understand why the girl even cares to begin with. Everything puzzles Hyukjae—nothing really makes sense. Why does she keep speaking only to him? Why does she already trusts him this much? He doesn’t even trust himself, and he knows he’s not much better than her mother, so therefore he’s not eligible to be trusted—especially in a little kid’s eyes. So, why?

The words get stuck in his throat but he tries to get them out. But it’s awkward.

“Jaemin… Could you go with Mrs. Lee? She’ll give you something to eat.” He gives the woman a little uncertain look but she nods. “You must be hungry, right? Donghae will fix me up while you get some food.”

The girl chews her lips, getting Hyukjae off guard as she then reaches towards his face and brushes her fingers close to the bloody part of his cheek. Hyukjae freezes, staring blankly at the girl for a moment. He’s pretty sure everything he’s able to sense is only some white noise buzzing inside the back of his head anymore.

“D-Donghae knows how to fix this, he’s a nurse. Don’t worry,” Hyukjae continues, all usual strength of his voice suddenly missing. By all means, it terrifies him how such a small gesture can have such an impact on him.

Just for her own good, it would be better if she did none of that. She shouldn’t get attached.

I shouldn’t get attached.

Jaemin purses her lips and locks gazes with Donghae, who nods once in return.

“Go with Mrs. Lee, okay?” Hyukjae repeats so softly he even surprises himself with it. It’s mostly due to the storm inside which he’s unable to settle, making him act divergently to his usual self. It feels like a hurricane is growing underneath the surface, all the while changing directions as everything he thinks soon gets more tangled up than they already are.

Donghae’s mom reaches her hand for Jaemin to take. At first she hesitates but eventually curls her fingers around the bigger ones, although cautiously. The woman gives her son a meaningful look as a voiceless request that they would talk about this later, before going to the kitchen at last, leaving the two men alone.

Hyukjae silently wishes she would actually understand a girl like her who most likely won’t say another word anymore—and it’s almost like Donghae’s been reading his mind when he speaks, subtly telling Hyukjae to not to worry.

“She’s a psychologist. She works with children too.”

The older clenches his jaw, standing up and drifting his eyes somewhere else than Donghae, grunting: “Just treat my damn head now, would you?”

Donghae rolls his eyes, sighing.

“Follow me, then.”

The bathroom is quite small and white, Hyukjae notes, when he follows the younger there through his own bedroom.

The bright light makes his head thud unpleasantly, but a familiar scent lingers into his nose—and he realizes it must be Donghae’s shower gel. He remembers the smell back from his apartment, where it felt so out of place and it took a while for him to register that it was the younger who brought the scent with him.

“Sit down,” Donghae states calmly, rummaging through the cupboard that seems to have a wide range anything relating to first aid.

Hyukjae sees the needles, and cold shivers run down his skin as he grimaces at the sight, but he sits down on the toilet obediently. Whilst Donghae prepares whatever the stuff he needs, Hyukjae takes off his leather jacket that has started to feel a little hot to keep on inside. His almond orbs follow Donghae’s hands, trying to have a glimpse of what he’s doing—although it’s nothing new for him. It’s not the first time Donghae has done this for him.

But when they first met at the hospital, it sure did surprise him to see Donghae as a nurse there. And since then, a question has been rolling in his mind, and he finally decides to get it out of his head.

“Why do you work at the ER?”

Donghae turns to look at him over his shoulder as he washes his hands.

“I’m in med school,” the latter mutters, locking eyes with the other for a second. “I work part-time there as I study.”

“Do you really like that?”

“I like helping people. And what I do matters, so I enjoy doing it,” Donghae says, putting on some medical gloves.  He then glances back to Hyukjae. “You have to bear without anesthetics.”

“I guess I can live with that,” Hyukjae grumbles. It’s not the pain that’s a problem. He remembers the first time he was Donghae’s patient at the emergency room. He was still half-drunk, and he might have caused a fuzz about the whole matter that Donghae was the one to torture him with needles.

It seems like Donghae remembers the same day, because his expression lightens up.

“The needles still freak you out,” he smirks.

“Just get it over with.”

“I have to clean this first though. Can you hold your head over the sink? It seems like the bleeding has mostly stopped and the cut looks pretty clean, but I need to rinse it.”

“Can’t I do that by myself?” the brunet grunts, although he’s already leaning over the sink, somewhat irritated.

“You’re just going to soak everything.”

“I won’t—“

“Please, Hyukjae. Just shut up.”

Donghae steps next to him, his thigh and hip almost leaning against Hyukjae’s as he bends over him to get a better view of his bloody temple. Half of that side of his ash brown hair are now a little reddish, but as the water pours over him it starts fading into the sink.

Hyukjae growls and winces as the cold water meets his skin.

“That’s bloody cold!”

“Oh, Jesus Christ. Stop whining. It’ll ease the pain better than warm water,” Donghae retorts, holding some of the other’s hair so they wouldn’t cover the gush. “Is your head still hurting? Nausea? Seeing in double?”

Hyukjae huffs in annoyance. “It aches like a headache but the nausea is starting to wear off. I’m fine.”

“Good, I don’t need to carry you to the hospital, then.”

Silence settles for a minute as Donghae keeps rinsing the wound, closely watching that it comes clean and there’s no any possible pieces of the plate’s shards left.

Hyukjae heavily exhales, as the cold water indeed numbs the pain. It doesn’t stop the turmoil, though. Staying quiet lets his thoughts wander, and where else would they go than to the happenings only an hour ago.

Truthfully, Jiah’s state didn’t even surprise him as much as it should have. He has always had that gut feeling that she could end up like this—but seeing and experiencing it in first hand makes it far too real. He cannot believe that Jaemin really had to live like that. And he doesn’t even know the details, and he doubts he’d even want to.

It’s just not right. Jaemin is just a kid, barely four years old.

The weight is heavy on his shoulders. He wants to stop thinking about it, but he can’t. He runs his slim fingers through the still dry side of his hair, squeezing his eyes shut in frustration.

“I didn’t know she was this bad,” he admits then, breaking the silence. “That kid can’t go back there.”

Donghae’s gaze stays on the wound as he can’t even see Hyukjae’s face properly. The male bites his lips together, trying not to grit his teeth. He knows what would be the ‘right’ thing to do.

“She’s not able to take care of a child,” Donghae finally says, closing the tap. He pulls Hyukjae backwards, and pushes him down to sit again. He takes a clean towel and dries the wettest parts around the wound. “The way she’s treated Jaemin can’t be better than pure child neglect. Who knows what Jaemin has really gone through?”

The older clenches his fist in anger. How could she? Even how bad of a father he could be, he would never intentionally or in his right mind hurt a child, neither mentally or physically. He doesn’t like kids very much, but he could never flick a finger to hurt his own daughter.

Hyukjae doesn’t give much of attention to Donghae’s doings until he already has the needle on his hand.

“I’m going to start stitching. Just few should be enough.”

Hyukjae grunts, not able to close his eyes even if he wants to. It stings, literally hurts, but he can manage. He’s too angry to really give a damn about it. It doesn’t take long until the younger is already finishing it.

“It’s done,” Donghae says nonchalantly, but he Hyukjae notices how he gets a little rigid before he speaks again.  “I think it would be the best if I made a notification to the social service about this.”

The sentence stings more than the stitches did.

But Donghae’s right. He can’t keep the girl, he can’t. Jiah is a monster for a mother, but he’s not much better.

“She could get a new family.”

“Or be placed to a foster home...or an orphanage,” Hyukjae murmurs lowly, almost inaudibly. Thinking about it only makes him feel worse. She might not even get a chance.

“You can’t keep her either,” Donghae says coldly.

“I know, and I’m not going to. She deserves better…” He says one thing, but then why can’t he get the image of wide, sad and confused eyes out of his head? Why does the thought feel so wrong when he’s supposed to feel relieved?

Donghae puts a bandage over the stitches, mostly having Jaemin in his mind and thinking it wouldn’t worry her so much if something is covering the stitches. The wound is already finished, but long forgotten. He robotically puts away all the needed equipment, the gloves being the last thing he throws into a waste basket.

“You’re all good now.”

“Thanks...”

Hyukjae takes a look at the younger man, and Donghae realizes that Hyukjae seems more defeated than he might have ever been before. The sight makes him feel conflicted. The simple word gets him to clench his jaw, because it’s not something he was prepared to hear.

When they are finally heading back towards the kitchen, Hyukjae’s mind is full of oppressing thoughts, but it’s nothing he’s been waiting for. An image of the girl in some sort of an orphanage, surrounded by other miserable kids waiting for someone to give them a home someday—if ever—makes his heart clench in a way that an actual thought of running away passes his mind again.

Hyukjae swallows, feeling as if there are burning coals inside his stomach now instead of anything else.

Without even noticing, they’re already in the nice and modern kitchen of Donghae’s home, and his mother is there sitting across the girl who’s occupied eating the dinner his mother has obviously made by herself. A delicious smell lingers in the room and it’s somewhat familiar, reminding Hyukjae of their childhood and the times when he had no idea what kind of a mess his life would become.

The woman notices them, and she almost stands up to face them, eyes full of concern; but she sighs in sort of relief when she looks at them more carefully and lets herself sit back down again. Hyukjae certainly doesn’t look as bad anymore without all the blood on his face.

“Are you alright?” she asks gently, eyes still examining the older man.

Donghae leans against the kitchen counter and crosses his arms to his chest.

The neutral and warm, though worried attention gives Hyukjae chills, and he doesn’t know what to say.

“Y-yeah,” he mumbles, bringing his hand to his neck in nervousness.

“It looked worse than it really is,” Donghae notes, “It might not even leave a scar if it heals properly.”

“I’m glad,” Donghae’s mother sighs in relief. “It’s really nice to see you again, Hyukjae. It’s been a long time,” she then continues, and it’s obvious she actually means it.

“I-It’s nice to see you too,” Hyukjae says uncertainly.

It confuses Donghae briefly how the other doesn’t really sound himself at all; not the usual cocky and indifferent jerk he is, and it annoys him how calmly his mother acts towards him. In his opinion Hyukjae’s still a reckless bastard when it comes to handling responsibilities—although he might have exaggerated it a bit.

Hyukjae almost wants to ask why isn’t she judging him, but he doesn’t dare to.

“Oh,” she suddenly lets out, eyes roaming around the table as she just remembered something important. “Are you hungry? There’s enough dinner left for both of you, we’ve already eaten,” she says warmly, referring to herself and Jaemin. The girl’s plate is almost empty, and it seems like she’s really enjoying the food so far, as she doesn’t seem to have time to worry anymore.

In Hyukjae’s eyes she doesn’t look so cautious or reserved, and it looks like Donghae’s mother has been able to get her comfortable enough to eat. For him, it’s a small relief, although all the unfair treatment she must have gone through makes him inaudibly curse Jiah again.

Donghae gives him a look of question, shrugging, and taking a glass for himself from the cupboard, comfortably filling it with water.

Hyukjae bites his lips.

“I, uh… It’s enough the kid got something to eat,” he mutters, voice wavering, “Thank you for that, we weren’t really invited, after all…”

Donghae starts coughing erratically, soon trying to calm himself. It baffles him Hyukjae even has any manners to begin with, but then he hears his mother’s words echoing inside his head again, and his head suddenly goes blank.

“Oh, Hyukjae, don’t be silly! It’s totally fine, there’s really enough food for you all. There would be too much leftovers just for me and Donghae since his father is on a trip again,” she blabbers, standing up to get more utensils for them. “Just sit down and make yourself at home.”

“Thanks.”

Donghae coughs one last time.

It strikes him that his mother might actually be right about him.

When they were younger Hyukjae was a good kid. He was as polite as any kid would, and it’s only after their separation Donghae has started to think otherwise. He’s just heard rumors during the last years of high school. Rumors. If he himself ended their friendship, how could he have known what was actually true and what was not? Of course, Hyukjae has changed, it is a fact—but has he really to that extent what the younger only assumes he has?

It’s a hard fact to swallow.

The nurse turns to stare at Hyukjae, whose eyes show how anxious and perplexed he actually is, before he finally consents to Donghae’s mother’s request and sits down.

It takes merely a minute before there’s a full meal in front of the both guys. As they eat quietly, his gaze wanders to his daughter who has a glass of milk in her hands. She nods when the older woman asks her if she’s gotten enough of food. Hyukjae absent-mindedly chews his own meal, trying not to imagine every possible way his ex could have neglected her.

Even after hours, when he lies awake on his couch at 4:21 in the morning and Donghae and Jaemin have been fast asleep in his only bedroom for hours, Hyukjae can’t help but keep wondering that what if soon they no longer wouldn’t.

Where would she end up to? In an orphanage? In a foster home? Would she ever speak another word again?

Would she be loved…?

And as the hours pass by, one by one, his head hasn't shut up even for a moment. When the morning arises, it's finally raining, and Hyukjae might have just made a decision that would change the direction of his life. Better or worse, he wants to hope for the best.

I'm ing crazy... But she is my daughter.