seven

I had hoped that it was a dream. A childish nightmare. But when my mind uncontrollably rewinded the day’s events, I knew it was all too raw and too real.

The company group chat flooded, with many of them talking about the incident which I had no more vitality left within me to scrutinise their messages. Instead, my eyes focused on the latest information which his manager had sent, about his ward details and visitation timings.

I looked at the time and it was half-past twelve. I looked out of my window and noticed that the streets were bustling, friends hooking their arms around each other as they entered different restaurants and cafes. In comparison to the desolate streets a few hours before, the city was a lot more lively.

I sat up, brushing my fingers through the ends of my tangled hair. I felt the back of my eyes sting due to the aftermath of crying last night. I yawned, got up and started my morning routine.

I stuffed a slice of toasted bread in my mouth as I tied my hair into a low ponytail. I unplugged my phone from the charging port right beside my bed, and went to the search portals. Similarly, the front page was still flooded with news about JB and how JYP Entertainment had released a statement. My heart was heavy, but nevertheless, I tapped on the first article which was written by the most trustworthy media site.

My eyes scanned the words carefully, the melancholy mood instantly hanging over me like a black cloud. I took in a deep breath, munching on my toast bread slowly, fingers scrolling through the article. The company had spoken up about the matter, and had informed everyone that JB suffered certain injuries but was currently in a stable condition. That information calmed me a little, knowing that he was in the process of recovery. After all, he was a tough nut to crack.

It was nearly 1.30P.M. in the afternoon when I took a cab down to Seoul National University Hospital— also known as the most prestigious hospital in the city.

I alighted from the cab, closing the door with a loud pang behind me. The exterior of the hospital was august, and everything seemed to be of the most expensive and extravagant. Female nurses had their hair pulled neatly into a low bun, hands tucked inside the pockets of their scrubs. They entered the building with their own group of friends, chattering happily. I figured that it was the end of lunch break.

I walked into the hospital, and the metallic tang of stainless steel in the open air was unavoidable. No matter how esteemed the place may be, I was sure all hospitals smelled the same. I walked towards the information counter, and I could make out the wide smile of the counter lady despite her wearing a mask.

“Miss, how may I help you?” She asked. Even her voice was pretty.

I whipped out my phone from my pocket, scrolling to the group chat. I asked, “How do you get to Ward 8C?”

“Ah, are you visiting JB? Do you have your identification card? It’s for security purposes.”

I should have guessed. Even he was well-known in a hospital. I took out my identification card from my wallet and passed it to the lady. I watched as she scanned the barcode, before keying in some words on her computer. She passed the card back to me.

“It’s on the eighth floor and after exiting the lift, turn right and keep walking straight.” She informed me.

I bowed in thanks, and I quickly strided to the nearest lift.

I watched as the digits on the lift display increased as the seconds went. It was the highest floor, which also meant that it was bound to be the most expensive. When the lift doors opened, the gloominess and unsettling silence of the hallway seeped into my pores. My heart beat a lot more morosely, and my steps became heavier and shorter. The heels of my ankle boots clicked with every step I took, sounding extra loud on the cold marble floor.

I shivered and felt the ends of my hair stand due to the strong air-condition. I spotted his manager from a distance, hands in his pockets. He was leaning against the wall, his right feet drawing random patterns on the floor. It seemed like he had heard my unintentional “grand” entrance as he looked up, eyes widening; a realisation of his that he recognises me.

I tried to soften my footsteps, walking slowly towards him. When I finally reached him, I realised that the door to JB’s ward was just right beside him, with the alphanumeric characters “8C” labelled on a gold plate, mounted onto the door frame. There was a big transparent glass next to it, but the blinds were rolled down so I couldn’t get a glimpse of him (not that I was prepared to).

“Is— is he okay?” I asked, my voice cracking a little. My throat felt dry because of the cool wind.

“Definitely better,” he answered, and I realised it was the first time I was talking to his manager. I heaved a sigh of relief. “He’s awake now, too. But his parents are inside.”

“Oh,” I said, nodding in understanding.

“Do you want to go in?” He asked, and I shook my head vigorously. I didn’t want to disrupt his private time with his parents.

“I think I’ll wait,” I replied. “Have they been here for a long time?”

“They were here since the news broke out. His mother was crying, and a few of us had to console her. But thankfully, his condition is stable now and he didn’t suffer very serious injuries. The media just exaggerated it.”

I chuckled.

“I think they should be leaving soon. They haven’t had sleep since dawn.”

I nodded my head, pressing my lips into a thin line. Even though I couldn’t see him from the outside, I kept glancing at the transparent glass frame.

“Have you eaten?” I asked, noticing that his manager seemed a little lethargic.

He sighed, shaking his head. I was about to head to the nearest vending machine to get him a drink, but he stopped me.

“It’s fine,” he assured. “I have no appetite anyway.”

“But still!” I argued. When he leaned his back against the wall, I followed his actions. Then I noticed a grey cloud hovering over him. Hospitals had an effect of cloaking everyone with sombre hues.

“Are you okay?” I managed to ask, my voice turning soft.

He exhaled, and I got my answer from his wordless reply. I nodded understandingly, waiting for him to elaborate.

“It’s a little hard…” he began. “Seeing a young boy lying on a hospital bed, clearly in pain but still tries his best to mask his emotions because he doesn’t want anyone to worry.”

I couldn’t tell if he was tearing too, but his eyes definitely twinkled under the bright lights. I kept silent, my heart growing heavier and heavier.

“When they first wheeled him into the Accident & Emergency Unit, I saw how a precious tear rolled down from his eyes. And maybe because I know him too well, but I knew that the single tear was more than just a representation of physical pain… He has been under a lot of stress because of the comeback.”

I couldn’t find a proper response to what he had just said. I stood stoically, nodding my head once in a while to show my empathy. His words hit me like a truck, and my heart ached for JB. Being an idol was no easy feat, especially being the top. Maybe he has been good at concealing his emotions all these while because it has become a part and parcel of his life. And when he thought no one was looking, the tear finally managed to break free. I wished I could share a bit of his hardships.

Before his manager could continue, the door clicked open and JB’s parents walked out. His dad had his hands on the mom’s shoulders, and I bowed my head in respect when we made eye-contact.

“Do you need me to book a cab for you?” His manager asked his parents politely.

His mother shook her head, lips curving into a smile. I could see the similarity between her and JB, especially in their eyes. Warm, compassionate and genuine.

“We’ll be able to manage by ourselves.” The father reassured, and the couple slowly made their way to the lift.

The both of us bowed our heads again. And we watched as their shadows disappeared into the elevator.

“Aren’t you going in?” The manager asked me, cocking his head to the side. I found it laughable that we were already conversing casually. Like there was some sort of invisible connection from a power source making our interaction friendly and undemanding.

“I should…”

I took a deep breath, feeling like my intestines were in knots. The manager, noting my nervousness, patted me on the back and I walked towards the door, feeling the coldness of the metal door knob.

I turned it open.

When I first met eyes with him, I felt a soft panic, my throat turning into a desert. I swallowed my saliva, clearing my throat at an attempt to ease the awkwardness.