Unrequited Love | MYG ✅

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Time seems to stand still when a man from security finally comes out and asks to see my I.D.  He studies it for a bit, turning it over a few times and feeling the edges until he indicates that I may follow him. I wave to the driver that it is OK to leave, and then I'm ushered into a sleek elevator. I am shaking all over with adrenaline when I'm finally delivered to Hobi's door.

Text to Hobi: I'm at your door, Lovie, come let me in. Please!

Hobi slowly opens the door, and his head peeks out around it. I scan his face, and it looks like he has been sweating; his eyes are drawn, vacant of his usual peppiness. He's dressed in a brown bathrobe, and I'm worried about the visible bags under his eyes. He weakly thanks the security guard for safely delivering me to his door.

"Oh Hobi," I cry, hurriedly putting the grocery bags down and reaching out to pull him in for a hug.

He puts his hands out shaking his head wearily whispering, "No, no, you'll get sick too!"

"I don't care!" I feel the weight of his body sink into me, he feels fragile as he hangs onto me as if someone just handed him a life jacket.

"C'mon. Let's get you back to bed. Lead the way." I say removing my shoes and placing them near the door.

I feel bad that I'm invading Hobi's space. I never wanted to intrude without an invitation but my need to make sure he is being taken care of has overtaken my politeness. I glance around as he leads me down a hallway and I notice the decor is sleek and modern but it manages to still feel warm and welcoming. Well-appointed with modern art it strikes me for the first time just how expensive Hobi's tastes are but then I break into a wide grin as I see some of the whimsical Hope World-inspired pieces he has stashed around.

I start to feel a little embarrassed that it's never fully dawned on me how inexpensive my little apartment must feel to him in comparison, but it only makes me love our friendship more knowing that he never judges me for my lack of interest in material things.

We reach his bedroom, he crawls into bed with what appears to be the only strength he has left. I tuck him in, and he smiles weakly while I sit on the edge of the bed.

"Hobi, oh my God, how long have you not felt well?"

"Yesterday morning. You were Namjooning; I didn't want you to worry," his voice is quiet and small.

I gently use my fingers to push the hair off his forehead. It's moist with sweat; I try to smooth it away from his eyes for him.

"Lovie, do you have a thermometer?"

"Medicine cabinet," he says, nodding at the en suite bathroom.

"Do you mind if I get it?"

"My home is your home," he says weakly with watery eyes.

I don't care at all that I am probably going to end up sick as well, as long as I can help Hobi right now. Leaning down I kiss his clammy cheek, whispering I will be right back.

When I open his medicine cabinet I notice all the products meticulously lining the shelves because it is exactly what I would expect from Hobi and I love that I know this about him. In fact, it is funny to even call this a medicine cabinet because it's more like a free-standing custom cabinet that takes up space to the right of the enormous mirrors. The man certainly has taste. I find the thermometer and return to his bedside to take his temperature.

"Hobi, it's reading at 101 degrees. Can you please let me contact a doctor?" I say exasperated.

"No, I'll be okay," he shakes his head, his eyes pleading with me.