“Save him, please, save him!!”

“Sir, I need you to calm down-”

“I need to be with him!  I need to- ”

What…

“Sir, you’re bleeding-”

“Please, please just save him!”

“He’s in good hands, just let us take care of you-”

Jongin?

“Please!”

-

The first thing he registers when he wakes up, even before opening his eyes, is the searing, raw dryness of his throat. His tongue feels heavy and thick, like cotton in his mouth and Chanyeol frowns at the discomfort. He tries to swallow but his throat is sandpaper.

Attempting to crack his eyes open, he winces at the harsh light filtering into the room, struggling to keep his lids from falling shut again.  Everything is spinning and Chanyeol doesn’t even dare twitch his neck as he stares up groggily at an unfamiliar white ceiling, willing the world to still. He blinks a few times lethargically, his mind moving extremely slowly before the dizzying smell of disinfectant penetrates his dulled senses.

His body feels too heavy and he strains to breathe easily, as though there’s a boulder on his chest pressing and weighing him down. He feels almost numb save for the prickling pain that’s shooting up his right hand. Chanyeol lets his head loll onto his shoulder to look down his arm, eyes widening when he sees a needle buried in the back of his hand. He follows the trail of wires up to see a tube disappearing under the blue gown loosely draped around his body, leading right into the side of his chest.

“What the...”

An incessant beeping sound reaches his ears and it finally clicks. He whips up his head too quickly and the room spins before he manages to focus again. Standing just a little way to the side of the bed is a monitor displaying an oscillating line across the screen, beeping in time with his own heartbeat. And then he remembers.

A shaky voice and a weakly barked out order, a careless arm brandishing a weapon, aiming the ugly black muzzle. Backed into a corner, panic and fear rising like bile in his throat but Chanyeol takes the leap anyway.

The sound like an explosion resounds over and over in his head; there’s numbness and a pounding in his ears. There’s nothing but then there’s everything. There’s pain, so much pain, like wildfire ricocheting up his front and down his sides. Chanyeol doesn’t even realize that he’s screaming until he’s not, when his lungs begin to squeeze, reduced to agonizing, short breaths. Every inhale is a knife piercing through his lungs, burning daggers under his skin. His mouth feels unpleasantly full until he realizes it is full and he chokes out the crimson liquid, struggling for air through the fire in his body. The pain erupts like a bomb going off inside his chest and he can’t see anything, his vision fading behind a stark white curtain until he sees nothing at all.  

Chanyeol squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, letting the dizziness bring him back to the present. Exhaling shakily, he stares down at his chest, covered by the gown. He hesitates for a moment, wondering if he wants to see what underneath looks like or not. 

The feeling is starting to comeback, throbs of pain and soreness and momentary stabs of fire, the numbness beginning to fade away. He feels a heavy weight on his other side, something holding his other hand down. He shifts his head slowly, trying to avoid another freight train of a headache and lets it loll to the other side. 

Blinking, Chanyeol looks down to find a mop of disheveled hair almost concealing a sleeping face leaning on the edge of the mattress, his fingers curled loosely around Chanyeol’s wrist. 

‘Jongin?’

His eyes are closed but he looks far from peaceful, his eyebrows creasing up his forehead even as he sleeps. He looks worn, the sickly pallor of his face accentuated further by the stark, pristine whiteness of the sheets he’s lying on. 

Relief washes over Chanyeol in waves, exhaling deeply though the movement sends an uncomfortable twinge through his chest. Jongin is safe.  Despite the exhaustion evident on his features, Jongin looks relatively unharmed. Chanyeol doesn’t remember much past the explosion of excruciating pain; a fleeting, blurry glimpse of Jongin’s face and then blackness. 

Forcing the images out of his mine, Chanyeol focuses instead on Jongin’s sleeping face, frowning at the dark rings under his eyes. Slipping his wrist out from loose fingers circling it, he lifts his arm weakly to gently run his fingers through Jongin’s unkempt hair, brushing it away from his face.

The movement is enough to stir him and Jongin jerks awake with a startled gasp looking completely disheveled and somewhat lost as he tries to bring his eyes into focus.

His features are twisted with agitation as he finally takes in Chanyeol’s face before registering that he’s actually awake a second later. Choking out a gasp of his name, Jongin’s expression washes over with relief, and he reaches out tentatively, just barely brushing his fingers along Chanyeol’s cheek before he’s flying to the door, calling for a nurse. 

A broad shouldered doctor sweeps into the room moments later, tailed by a nurse who immediately busies herself with the wires and tubes connected to Chanyeol.  He tries to concentrate on what the doctor is saying, explaining his condition but his eyes keep following Jongin where he’s fretting by the window, jittery and biting his nails the way he always does when he’s anxious. 

The doctor’s words inevitably reel him back in though. His lung had been punctured, the bullet just barely missing his heart and he’d gone into hypovolemic shock after losing so much blood but they were able to get to him in time to extract all the metal shards and keep the lung intact for the most part. He’ll need to keep that tube embedded in his chest for a while longer to stabilize his lung and protect it from any residual blood and then more treatment will follow but he should recover just fine eventually. The doctor warns him about the initial pain he’ll be feeling once the anesthesia from the surgery wears off but assures him that he’ll be taken care of with enough morphine to ease it comfortably. 

After bowing and taking his leave, the doctor exits the room followed shortly by the nurse after she fills out Chanyeol’s chart and reminds him of the button by his bedside should he be in pain and needs morphine.  

Finally it’s just the two of them left in the room and Jongin is by his side the second the door slides shut. 

“What the hell were you thinking?”

Chanyeol blinks, not expecting the sudden shadow of anger crossing Jongin’s face and he opens his mouth to speak but Jongin beats him to it;

“Why did you even- that was so reckless, you could’ve died!”

His voice grows increasingly distressed, tears shimmering in his eyes and his hands are shaking even as he bites at his nails again, practically gnawing on the skin now. 

Chanyeol tries to speak but all that comes out is a hoarse croak, leading to a small coughing spell that has Jongin rushing to pour him a glass of water, anger completely dispelled from his features in favour of worry. He holds the glass to Chanyeol’s lips, cupping the back of his head gently to help him sip the water slowly without choking. 

His voice is hoarse, barely audible the first time he tries to speak, 

“What would you have had me do?” he croaks, staring up at Jongin with raised eyebrows.

“I–” Jongin looks thrown at that, wringing his hands with a frustrated sigh; “he was aiming at me,” he ends quietly, shoulders slumping. 

“He was aiming at your head,” Chanyeol reminds him, “At least I threw him off balance enough to make him miss.”

“Miss?” Jongin exclaims heatedly, “he shot you in the chest! You nearly bled out!”

“And if I hadn’t, you would have been lying in a body bag instead of a hospital bed!” Chanyeol retorts sharply, regretting it immediately when Jongin flinches back like he’s been burned. He swallows, feeling the harsh strain on his aching throat.

“Just…I’d rather me than you,” Chanyeol starts stoutly, “plus he was going to take your dad’s watch,” he adds as an afterthought. 

Jongin’s father had passed away of a heart attack a week after his birthday when he’d handed down his own priceless silver watch to Jongin with a proud smile, declaring his son ready to carry it the way both he and his own father had. Jongin had a very close relationship with his father and the watch was all he had left of him after he passed, nothing more than a priceless, sentimental token to keep as a memory; a reminder. He wore it everywhere as his way of honouring his father’s memory.

Jongin gapes at him incredulously, eyebrows rising high on his forehead disbelievingly at his words.

“You’re worried about my watch? God, Yeol–” he cries, reaching forward to cup Chanyeol’s face a little too hard, “I don’t care about the watch, I care about you; I can’t lose you!”

Jongin’s face is strained, anxiously raking his eyes along Chanyeol’s face desperate to make him understand the despair and worry that’s wrecking him. Chanyeol can see it in crease lines almost permanently carved into his forehead, and the way his bottom lip trembles with the force of his upset.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles once Jongin lets go of his face to start pacing again, but he’s immediately dismissed when Jongin raises a hand to stop him.

“Don’t,” he says, shaking his head vigorously; “Don’t apologize. I’m not even mad at you, god, you saved my life, Yeol.” He looks up at him, lips wobbling into half a smile before his face crumples and he whispers, “It’s all my fault; I shouldn’t have hesitated.”

They had been crossing through an alley to get to the other side of the block when they were jumped. He was clearly a junkie, continuously sniffing and fixing them with bloodshot eyes while holding them at gunpoint. They were backed up against a wall, huddles together closely and Chanyeol could feel Jongin trembling against him, or maybe he’d been trembling too; he couldn’t really tell through the paralyzing fear beginning to lock up his limbs. 
 
The junkie slurred at them to empty their pockets, before turning his shaky arm to aim the gun right into Jongin’s shell-shocked face and telling him to go first. Chanyeol had felt Jongin go rigid beside him, freezing for a fraction of a moment. It had been the briefest of seconds but it was enough to set the junkie off, already jumpy from the start. He pointed the nuzzle, curling his finger tighter around the trigger and Chanyeol barely spared a moment to thought before throwing himself before Jongin and the gun, just before it went off.

“Jongin, don’t do this, it wasn’t your fault,” Chanyeol protests.

“You did die, Yeol, right in my arms, Yeol,” Jongin’s voice cracks and he finally stops pacing, turning to slump down on the edge of the bed by Chanyeol’s side. His hands fall limply on his lap as his eyes begin to well up. Chanyeol freezes, mouth falling open slightly. Choking back a sob even as the tears trickle down his face, Jongin presses on, his voice no louder than a whisper, “You actually died; there was so much blood and you just…you closed your eyes and stopped moving; I couldn’t wake you, I…I couldn’t find your heartbeat. You were so still and pale… you were gone. The ambulance barely made it in time.”

Chanyeol reaches out for his hand and Jongin takes it easily, tangling their fingers together and squeezing tightly, like Chanyeol might slip away from him again if he lets go. He’s biting down hard on his lower lip in his attempt not to break down.

There aren’t any right words to say, and Chanyeol can’t apologize again, he won’t; not for trying to get them both out of it alive albeit not entirely whole. But he can show him that he’s still here, he’s still breathing. Jongin’s fingers are curled around his wrist again, and Chanyeol sets his other hand on Jongin’s, rubbing circles into his skin. 

His wrists are bare, Chanyeol notes, sighing silently at the realization. Frowning up at Jongin with concern, he takes him in properly, only now spotting the bruise blooming on his forehead, almost concealed by his bangs. He reaches up, making to brush his hair aside but winces at the spike of discomfort in the side of his chest from the movement.  

“What happened after I passed out?” he asks instead, shifting slightly to accommodate the tube better. “Are you okay, did he hurt you?” 

Jongin smiles hollowly, shaking his bangs to let them fan evenly across his forehead. “I’m fine, he just roughed me up a bit to get to my wallet,” he says, gingerly smoothing down the hair on the back of his head, “he knocked me back with his gun and I cracked my head against the wall behind me; got a row of stitches, it’s not a big deal.”

He shakes his head at the dismayed expression on Chanyeol’s face, muttering, “You got a punctured lung and you’re worried because I got a couple of stitches.” He’s still holding on tightly to Chanyeol’s hand.

“And then he just ran off?” Chanyeol brushes the comment away, pressing on.  

“Yeah, someone showed up when they heard the noise and he got spooked; he took my stuff and disappeared. I don’t even know how long it took for the ambulance to arrive.”

He rubs at his tired eyes with the heel of his free hand before dropping it back on his lap, staring down somberly at their linked hands with a downcast expression.  

“Hey,” Chanyeol says gently, squeezing his hand to get him to look up. He juts his chin out slightly and Jongin knows what he wants, leaning in to press their lips together in a long, tender kiss. Breaking away with a quiet sigh, he leans their foreheads together, wincing as the sudden pain reminds him of the bruise there. 

Chanyeol grins in amusement, pleased to see the corner of Jongin’s lips curl upwards. Bringing their linked hands up, Jongin presses his lips to the back of Chanyeol’s hand before getting to his feet. He threads his fingers through Chanyeol’s hair, combing it back again and again and manages a smile at the sleepy droop of Chanyeol’s eyelids.

“You should get some rest,” he tells him, settling back down on the chair he’d been sitting on before, “I’ll be right here.” 

Chanyeol nods drowsily, surprised at how suddenly tired he feels and it only takes a few moments after he leans back against his pillows for him to drift off. 

-

His legs and fingers are stone cold and heavy, he can barely feel them; he can’t even move them. His head is spinning and everything swims before his eyes, getting blurrier the more he blinks. Then the fire starts, burning, charring his insides. There’s something heavy on his chest pressing down, crushing him and the fire only intensifies and he can’t breathe. He tries to in mouthfuls of air through his mouth but it’s filling with liquid instead, ceaseless as he chokes on his own blood all over again. There’s lights exploding behind his eyelids and the excruciating pain jackhammers between his ribs, ricocheting through his veins and nerves, ripping him apart until he’s sure he’s dying.

Then his eyes slam open and Chanyeol is roused from the nightmare by the terrifying, flaring pain stabbing at his chest. Panic seizes him and he struggles to get the restricting tubes off him, clawing at his front to make the pain stop. The heart monitor connected to him beeps erratically but Chanyeol can’t hear anything past the blood rushing through his ears, deaf to Jongin’s cries as he calls for help before trying to hold his arms down. 

He feels another set of hands holding down his shoulders moments later and he can see the slightly blurry form of another nurse injecting something into one of the tubes.  He immediately feels drowsy and blissful blanket of numbness takes over, finally dulling out the pain. The last thing he sees is Jongin’s worried face filling his vision, feeling the weight of a hand on his own before everything goes black.  

-

When Chanyeol cracks his eyes open again hours later, the pain is still there flaming in his chest though to a much lesser degree than before. It’s bearable enough that he can reach for the morphine button by his bedside himself to get a shot. He heaves out a sigh, taking a moment to collect himself and push the prickles of pain into the background. The curtains are only half drawn and Chanyeol can see that it’s already evening by now. A little flash of light in the distance catches his eye and he snorts derisively under his breath when he recognizes it and the sound that follows. Fireworks; how poetic.

It feels like déjà vu when he looks down to find Jongins’s head lying on the mattress by his side, fingers curled around his wrist. The tips are pressing lightly against the soft skin on the inside of his wrist and Chanyeol wonders if Jongin fell asleep to the feeling of his heartbeat. 

A particularly loud explosion from the fireworks has Jongin suddenly bolting upright, face ashen and eyes wild as he looks around fearfully, like a cornered animal. 

“Woah, woah, Jongin, calm down!” Chanyeol startles, leaning forward as best he can to reach a hand out to Jongin’s face, holding his cheek to calm him as he grabs one of his hands. 

Jongin’s eyes finally focus on him and recognition flashes across his face.

“Are you okay?” 

They both ask simultaneously, dissolving into laughter seconds later. Jongin slumps back against his chair, exhaling to release the tension riling up his shoulders. 

“You alright?” Chanyeol tries again, playing with Jongin’s fingers gently.

“Yeah, they just sc-…startled me,” Jongin says weakly as he swallows drily; “what about you, do you feel alright? Should I call the nurse again?”

“I’ll be fine, Jongin.”

Lifting Chanyeol’s hand, Jongin presses the palm against his own cheek, curling his fingers around his wrist and nuzzles further into the warm touch. 

Breathing out a small laugh, Chanyeol murmurs, “I guess we’re both a little broken now.”

Jongin sighs and gets up from his seat to climb onto the bed beside Chanyeol, carefully squeezing into the small unoccupied space, cautious of the tubes and wires. The warmth against his side is welcoming, as is the weight of Jongin’s head leaning lightly on his shoulder. Chanyeol feels Jongin’s fingers curving around his elbow, clinging to him, needing to hold on to him.

Twisting his head around, he presses his lips to Jongin’s crown, and breathes against his hair;

“We’ll be okay though.”