Pairing: Lee Dongyeol | Xiao/Lee Hwanhee

Genre: Angst & Fluff (but mostly angst tbh)

Prompt: "Xiaohee, angst and fluff"

Requester: Whats1fandom (AO3)

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Hwanhee’s only been at the hospital for two hours when Dongyeol appears in the doorway of his room, expression stricken and dark hair plastered to his forehead with perspiration. He knows for a fact that the younger boy should be in classes for at least another hour but he doesn’t comment because Dongyeol looks sort of like he’s going to pass out if someone doesn’t tell him what’s going on soon.

“It was an accident,” are the first words that come to mind but Dongyeol doesn’t look as though they’ve brought him any sense of calm, his foot tapping impatiently against the linoleum flooring of the stark, white room and unknowingly keeping pace with the heart monitor that beeps at regular, reassuring intervals.

“What? What exactly was an accident, Hwanhee?” The younger boy grinds out between gritted teeth because he’s worried and frustrated and nobody will tell him anything and if he’s completely honest, it’s scaring the hell out of him. He’d been expecting to see Hwanhee at lunch like on any other day, only to be told by Gyujin that said boy had been rushed off campus during 2nd period. The older boy hadn’t known much more than that and had only shaken his head, unhappy that he didn’t have anything else to offer.

“I- um…” Hwanhee tries to find the words but they don’t come because Dongyeol sounds angry and disappointed and the guilt that floods over him upon realising it’s his fault, makes him drop his head and fidget uncomfortably in place. “I fought with my uh—mom and I got so angry that I stormed out without taking my medication.” He stops and gestures around himself although his arms feel heavier than lead. “Well… you can see where that got me. It wasn’t intentional, I promise.”

Silence envelops the room after that for what feels like an eternity but probably isn’t even a couple of minutes and Hwanhee hangs his head, pulling his knees up to his chest and resting it there before wrapping his arms around his knees as well as the IV pole would allow. “Sorry,” he whispers, the words dying on his lips, so soft he isn’t sure whether he intends for them to be heard or not.

Dongyeol releases the breath he’s been holding, counting from one to ten in his head to try and reign in the emotions that seem to be scattered all over the place, too far for him to grasp and hold onto. As natural as breathing, he st