Black Stains on a White Shirt

The hospital is bustling. It’s one of those newer places, with gently brown walls and little garden cutouts all over the place, and Kibum notes that it could be an interesting place for a photoshoot. Perhaps he could suggest a medical chic theme for the next issue of the design faculty’s magazine. Perhaps-

-the truth is, Kibum doesn’t give two s about the tasteful greenery or the theme for the next issue of the faculty magazine. He’s just trying very hard not to think about Taemin. He’s here to sign Taemin’s discharge papers and take him back home, and that’s it. It’ll take no more than half an hour; surely he can keep his game face on for that long.

Kibum walks right past Taemin’s ward. He’s so caught up in his own personal pep talk that he misses the numbers on the door and it’s only when he comes to the end of the corridor that Kibum comes back to himself.

Room 338. It’s a general ward and, from the sound of chatter escaping past the closed door, it seems to be pretty full. It’s a small relief; at least Kibum won’t have to be alone with Taemin. Being surrounded by other people also means that there’s less of a chance of any conversation between them – and if Kibum can get through this whole ordeal without saying anything, he will – going much further than polite small-talk.

Steeling himself, Kibum slides the door open.

He’s right, the ward is full. Only the doctors, in their long white coats, stand out. It takes a worryingly long time for him to spot Taemin in the mass of people; so long that Kibum starts to wonder whether the receptionist gave him the right ward number.

But when he finally does spot Taemin, who is talking to his doctor, Kibum realises that he probably wouldn’t recognise him if they walked past each other in the street. Taemin has changed so much. Most jarring is his hair; it’s bleached platinum blonde and hangs far longer than he’s worn it before. It looks fried. Taemin’s lost some weight too; his cheekbones are sharper than Kibum’s ever seen them, and so is jawline, and he looks like he’s drowning in the long tan coat he’s wearing. All things considered, it’s not a flattering look. Then again, Kibum chides himself, it’s not like people look their best when they’re in hospital.

*

“Excuse me,” a small voice says to his left.

Kibum jerks back, startled, and wonders who on earth dares to speak to the school pariah.

It’s a tiny little shrimp of a kid Kibum’s never met before. Someone – probably his mother – has cut his hair in a really unflattering bowl cut. He looks like he should be in kindergarten.

“Yes?”

“How do I find class 3-3-A?”

Kibum notices the schedule in his hands and guesses that this kid is new to the school; otherwise, he’d know better than to talk to Kibum.

“Uh, it’s on the next block. You walk down this corridor and down the stairs, and walk past the garden, and then you’ll see it. The class number is 3, so it’ll be on the third floor, and it’s A, so it’ll be the first classroom on the block. It’s easy.”

The kid blinks.

How utterly hopeless, Kibum thinks. “Come on, kid, I’m in 3-4-B, we’re going the same way.”

“Thank you!” The kid smiles widely and falls into step beside Kibum.

“What’s your name?”

“Lee Taemin.”

“I’m Kim Kibum,” he says. “Where did you transfer from?”

“I was in Seoul, but my umma had to move here for work so I had to move too. We move a lot. I just hope we don’t have to move again before the new year, it’s really tiring.”

“Ah, I wish I lived in Seoul,” Kibum sighs, recalling the wonderful weekend he spent in Seoul with his cousin during the summer holidays.

“I like it here,” Taemin replies. “It’s quiet. In Seoul it’s always noisy. And there’s an orchard by our house and we went to pick apples yesterday. It’s so cool! I’ve

Kibum giggles a little at the excitement in Taemin’s voice, over apples of all things. “I guess you don’t have orchards in Seoul, so fair point. I wish we had more than one mall, though.”

It’s nice to chat with the kid – Taemin – as if he’s just a normal student. Kibum walks slowly, determined to make the moment last as long as possible. Taemin will come to shun him too, in time.

They’re just about to climb the stairs to the 3^rd block when someone shoves Kibum from behind. He stumbles forward, but this has happened enough times that he catches himself before he faceplants.

“Aigoo, Kibum-ah, you should be more careful.” It’s the voice of the devil himself, Jang Dong Wook. It’s just Kibum’s luck isn’t it, to run into the worst of his bullies when he’s with the new kid. It’s as if the universe won’t even let him have five minutes of peaceful human interaction in this school. “Don’t tell me you can’t even walk straight?”

He knows better than to talk back, so he just carries on walking.

“Oh, who’s this?”

Kibum’s heart drops. Dong Wook ruffles Taemin’s hair, laughing when Taemin leans away from his hand with a frown.

“Tiny little bugger, ain’t you?”

“He’s new, I’m just showing him to his class.”

“I’ll take him,” Dong Wook says. “He should learn quickly who he should and shouldn’t be associating with.”

“Thanks, but I can tell who I should and shouldn’t be associating with,” Taemin says. “Don’t waste your time.”

Kibum’s blood runs cold. Taemin’s just earned them both a beating; Kibum can take it, he’s used to it, but Taemin’s new and sweet and the last thing he needs is to walk into class with a bloody nose.

Dong Wook grabs Taemin’s shirt, raises his fist-

-Kibum sees red.

He’s never stood up for himself against Dong Wook or any other of his bullies, never had the courage to think of physical retaliation, but now he rips Dong Wook’s hand off Taemin’s shirt and shoves him into the wall.

“Leave him alone.”

Dong Wook laughs. “What, is he your boyfriend, you -”

Kibum punches him squarely in the face.

It turns out that even bullies have breakable noses.

*

Taemin doesn’t notice him until he steps up right next to the bed, seemingly focused on listening to whatever the doctor is saying to him. Kibum can see the moment when Taemin realises that he’s there, because his jaw – on which there’s a giant purple bruise – drops and he pales like he’s seeing a ghost. Kibum looks at him, glances him over and checks out the damage, but refrains from meeting his eyes.

“Excuse me,” the doctor says, glancing between the two of them, “…you are?”

It’s easier to deal with her than Taemin, so Kibum offers her a handshake. “I’m his friend and emergency contact,” he explains. “The hospital called me and said I’d need to sign him out.”

“I didn’t ask for… for-” Taemin says then.

“Ah, yes,” she says, sighing a little. “Sorry, we don’t usually use emergency contacts unless it’s really an emergency, but we’re preparing for bad weather and we need as many free beds as we can have, so the hospital’s been releasing non-critical patients into the care of their relatives. Again, I apologise for the-”

“It’s fine,” Kibum says, waving off her apology. Her explanation sounds tired, like she’s said it too many times already, and Kibum can understand the hospital’s need. It’s not their fault that there is bad blood between him and Taemin. “No harm done.”

Although it’s probably Taemin’s fault for not updating his emergency contact details.

“As I was explaining to Taemin-ssi earlier, the concussion is just a mild one, so as long as he’s back to normal by about 8pm today, you’re in the clear. If he starts exhibiting signs like confusion, slurred speech, problems with fine motor skills or anything out of the ordinary, then you’ll have to bring him back in immediately. There’s a cut over his eyebrow that he needs to keep dry for the next three days, and then he has an appointment to remove the stiches. Other than that, it’s just a few bumps and bruises.” She turns to Taemin. “You’ll be absolutely fine by this time tomorrow.”

To Kibum she says “If you’ll just come with me, we can get the paperwork sorted. The nurses will have him down at reception so that you can take him home.”

Kibum grabs the chance to escape the ward like the lifeline that it is. The urge to steal a glance at Taemin, to see examine this once-familiar stranger is almost overwhelming in its intensity, and Kibum almost falters, but the door slides shut behind him and then it’s gone.

*

Inevitably, Taemin tries to talk to him as they’re waiting for the Uber Kibum called. “Key-hyung, I’m-”

“Don’t call me that,” Kibum snaps. Taemin flinches at the harshness of his voice – Kibum is taken aback too, he hadn’t expected to be so badly affected – and looks away, chastised. Kibum figures that it would be best to lay down boundaries before Taemin opens his mouth again. “Look, I’m just here to make sure you get home in one piece. You should have changed your contact details but what’s done is done. There’s really nothing more that needs to be said.”

Taemin nods, keeping his head down. What a picture they must make; one man talking to air in front of him, one man nodding at his shoes.

Mercifully, the Uber pulls up just then. Kibum gestures for Taemin to get in first and climbs in next to him. The car pulls away from the hospital and Kibum gives himself a mental pep talk; half the work is done already, all he has to do is endure a ten minute ride and then he can wash his hands of this mess.

“Whoa, what happened to your face?” the driver asks, looking at the rearview mirror. “Did you get into a fight?”

And as much as Kibum tells himself that he’s not concerned about Taemin, he finds himself just a little curious too. How did Taemin manage to get himself concussed?

“Uhm… I was mugged.”

And Kibum’s treacherous heart, the one that should be nothing but ice and stone for Taemin, ebbs with all those things that should have died a long time ago; pity, fear, concern.

“Oh, tough ,” the driver comments. “The crime rate is just getting worse these days. I mean, what else do you expect when you allow all of these foreigners in and our young people can’t find jobs-”

Kibum blanks out the rest of the conversation and turns his head to the window. The sky that was overcast has grown even darker now. There’s a snowstorm predicted over the weekend, barely a day away now, and it looks like the weather leading up to it will be wet and miserable too. Kibum sends a brief prayer heavenwards that he’ll get home before it starts raining.

Taemin hums and nods in response to the driver’s one-man rant throughout the drive, saving Kibum from the need to interact with them both.

When the car pulls up in front of the apartment complex, Kibum’s heart is jolted once more. He used to live here, used to call it home. Even now, his body sings ‘home, home, home’, as if he’s just returned from a long vacation. It troubles him, but Kibum waves those thoughts away. Just five minutes, he tells himself, and then he can go back to his own flat and forget about Lee Taemin.

Kibum pays the driver and leads the way into the lift lobby. Taemin trails behind him, walking so slowly that Kibum has to physically hold the lift doors open for him.

“Same flat?”

Taemin nods. Kibum hadn’t meant that Taemin wasn’t to speak at all, but whatever; there’s no point correcting him now.

The lift stops on the 5th floor and Kibum gestures for Taemin to go first. Again, Taemin ambles turtle-slow from the lift and drags his feet to the front door; as if he’s trying to prolong the time they have together by moving in slow-motion, as if he’s trying to build up the courage to say something again. Kibum doesn’t have the time for this.

“Keys?” he asks, holding his hand out.

Taemin starts patting his pockets and Kibum almost rolls his eyes in frustration, but he finds the keys in the pocket of his jeans. It takes a whole painful minute for him to extract the keys from said pocket, so much so that Kibum grabs the keys from his hand and goes to open the door himself.

Once the outer and inner doors are both open, Kibum steps back to let Taemin in, as if he’s a butler making way for his prince.

Taemin takes one step forward and stops.

Kibum loses the very last of his temper-

-but Taemin sways in place and Kibum realises, very quickly, that-

-Taemin’s legs give way and he sort of crumples like a tower of cans stacked too high and-

-Kibum catches him just in time, just before he hits the floor, and holds him up with his arms locked under Taemin’s. Taemin sags in his grip, eyes rolling to the back of his head, and Kibum feels like he’s going to faint too. He drags Taemin into the flat, mind racing; if he calls an Uber now, how long will it take a car to get here? Can he get Taemin down by himself? Should he call an ambulance?

He lays Taemin down on the floor, carefully pillowing his head with his own rolled-up jacket. Taemin moans when Kibum lets go of him, scrunching his face like he does when he has a headache.

Kibum brushes his hair away from his eyes and keeps his hand over Taemin’s eyes, blocking the weak sunlight streaming through the still open door. “Taemin?”

Taemin makes a sound of acknowledgement, little more than a grunt.

“Can you understand me? What year is it?” Kibum asks, parroting what he’s learnt from dramas and movies.

“Yes,” Taemin breathes, voice soft. “2017.”

“I’m going to call an Uber and we’ll go back to the hospital.”

“No, I’m fine.” Taemin peels Kibum’s hand off his face and pushes himself into a sitting position. “I was just a little dizzy.”

Kibum is about to argue with Taemin when he remembers that he isn’t supposed to care anymore. And he doesn’t. “Fine.”

Kibum stands up, putting some space between them. The lights and heating are off, so he turns them on. This is it. He’s done his part. He’s taken Taemin from the hospital and brought him home safely, and now Taemin can be someone else’s responsibility. He picks his jacket off the floor and-

-and finds himself rooted where he is.

If it weren’t Taemin, but a total stranger, Kibum wouldn’t be running away like this. He’s seen Taemin faint, felt the weight of his limp body in his arms, when he had been fine not much earlier; within five minutes of Kibum walking away, Taemin can faint again and seriously injure himself.

Kibum pulls the door shut. “When did you last eat?”

~~~

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