The Next morning

Jimin awoke to that nurse, Yoongi, telling him to wake up. “You are getting your cast on now. After that, you are free to go home.” Yoongi said.  “Oh, ok.” he said, “but can I just…”

“Sorry, but the flood of patients is still strong, and this is the only opening for your arm.”

Oh. Jimin stared wistfully at the curtain. Taehyung had stayed by his bed all night, telling him stories, laughing at his jokes, and showing off a boxy smile he had never seen before. Then, just as suddenly as they had met, he abruptly yawned and said, “I better go, I’m tired.”

Jimin was confused by him, who seemed to have nothing wrong, besides the very weird thoughts racing through his brain. As Jimin watched the Yoongi unhook his pillow, he glanced once more at the curtain, and then looked back. To him, Taehyung would be nothing more than a quirky memory, fading after a few weeks.

“Now, do you need help getting off the bed? Is it too tall for you?” Yoongi snarked, as Jimin glared at him, and followed him out the door.

A few minutes later, the curtain rippled, and Taehyung emerged. Multiple shouts could be heard from nurses by his bed, telling him to sit down and not strain himself. He had wires coming from underneath his shirt, and he was out of breath and sweating, even though he had taken less than 20 steps from his bed. He looked around, and then called to a nurse by his bed, “Did the person who was here leave while I was asleep?”

The nurse paused and said, “Yes, I’m sorry, Taehyung. Park Jimin was just taken to get his cast on, and then he will be discharged.” Taehyung visibly deflated, and then half sat down, half collapsed onto his bed, saying, “Ok, you can continue with the treatment.”