Sooyoung had only ever been in the hospital twice. She could barely recall the first time, and unlike most hospital visits, this particular one had positive associations for her. It was for the birth of her younger sister. While her mother had been exhausted and drained afterward, the overall sentiments were joyous and celebratory.

    The second time, she’d been a patient herself, and that was a lot less pleasant. The incident had followed a particularly stressful concert, all the way back in 2016, before she knew how to deal with her anxiety and stress disorders. At that concert, the fireworks were set off beside the stage, triggering Sooyoung’s first ever panic attack. She could barely remember that visit, either, but for different reasons. Not because of the rosy, fogged-lens view of her childhood, but rather the nightmarish blur that was raw hysteria. There were snippets of images, sounds, and sensations, all unpleasant, all painful to dwell on. The stiffness of a stretcher beneath her back, the chilly, sterile air, the jarring, blaring alarm of the cardiac monitor… thinking of such things still managed to make her feel uncomfortable.

    However, there was a single positive note to that experience. A tiny but priceless chip of perfection, like a glint of diamond in a mound of coal. Son Seungwan had been there the whole time, foregoing a restful evening after the concert and spending several hours in a tiny, curtained-off space, holding her best friend’s hand.

    So, logically, finding out that Seungwan was allowed to have visitors at the hospital filled Sooyoung with both immense excitement and trepidation. Clutching a grapefruit tea lemonade with thirty-percent sugar, Sooyoung marched through the automatic double doors, signed in with the receptionist at the front, and followed directions to the Orthopedic unit. She adjusted her mask as she went, feeling sickly glad at the increased precautions that the coronavirus had forced upon hospitals. She passed many people in the hospital, and the last thing she wanted to do is be recognized. At Yeri’s suggestion, Sooyoung had forgone wearing makeup, had even taken one of the maknae’s tattered old jackets so as to be as conspicuous as possible. Sooyoung hated to show up to see her girlfriend in such a state, but she wanted to be safe.

    When she reached the unti, Sooyoung flashed her visitor’s pass to a grey, crabby-looking nurse and tried to appear collected. Things seemed relatively calm here; it was two o’clock in the afternoon, and many of the employees were seated at their computers. Despite the subdued atmosphere, Sooyoung still felt out of place, still felt as though she was waiting for a pin to drop. As if everything could go wrong at any moment, and when it did, she would be in the way.

    Sooyoung knew that Seungwan’s room was 142A - it was the only private room on the floor, and had been given to her because of her idol status - but she double-checked just to make sure. The door was identical to the others on the floor, made entirely of beige wood with a weird, flat door handle. She could hear the low sound of television from inside. Butterflies fluttered madly in her stomach as she reached her hand up and knocked twice on the door. Why was she so nervous?

    The crystalline, ocean-breeze freshness of the voice that answered made her breath hitch with excitement.

    “Come in!”

    Sooyoung opened the door. And there, laying in a hospital bed that appeared to be far too large for its occupant, was her darling Son Seungwan.

    Above the bed was a metal contraption made of tubing and free-hanging loops. Seungwan turned, took hold of one of those loops, and pulled herself up in bed so that she could see better. Though Sooyoung had seen a few photos of her girlfriend since the accident, seeing Seungwan’s condition in real life nearly brought her to tears. Yellow and brown splotches of healing bruises still painted the left side of Seungwan’s face. Her cheek and temple remained swollen and puffy. Each movement caused her to visibly wince, even with something so simple as turning herself over.

    Then, as Sooyoung took a tentative step forward and their eyes met, Seungwan smiled. It was a lopsided smile, with the tight pull of metal wiring preventing her from opening the left corner of . Yet to Sooyoung, it was the most beautiful thing she’d seen in weeks.

    “Hey there, my sweetie,” Seungwan said, words slurred by the hardware in her jaw. She held her arms out like a child, inviting Sooyoung in for a hug.

    Slowly, carefully, Sooyoung bent over the bed and embraced her girlfriend. Seungwan had always felt tiny in her arms, but the older woman’s fragility made Sooyoung hesitant to hold on too tight. Just in case.

    “It’s okay, Sooyoung,” Seungwan whispered, her soft breath playing on the cup of Sooyoung’s ear, causing goosebumps to run up her forearms, “You aren’t gonna hurt me.”

    Sooyoung sniffled and buried her face in the gown-covered shoulder of her girlfriend. Through the thin fabric came the familiar sweetness of Seungwan’s scent. It was the fragrance of warm cuddles on freezing winter nights, of cold ocean water on a summer afternoon, of woodsmoke on a fall evening, of freshly-blooming flowers on a spring morning. It was the fragrance of home.

    “God, I missed you,” Sooyoung whispered, pressing her lips to the uninjured side of Seungwan’s face, “I feel like it’s been years.”

    “I missed you too,” Seungwan said. A hand traced the back of Sooyoung’s neck and shoulders, massaging gently, sending shivers down her spine. “I wish I could kiss you, but you know, with all thi