GOTTrouble: Fly

Beggin' On My Knees

Bambam's room became increasingly popular. Upon the news of JB's worsening condition everyone had flocked to his room to find out what was going on.

The room was crowded, to say the least. PDnim stood against the wall with Yugyeom. Mark was still in the armchair with Jackson standing guard beside him. Youngjae was pacing around the room. Doctor Kim had left to attend to JB. Sana rushed in to Bambam's side. Nayeon wrung her hands by the door. Amber, Joshua, Jae, and Brian were talking quietly amongst themselves. Chindanai was the last to arrive, Coco restrained in his arms.

All chatter ceased when he walked in. Chindanai had been the first to know what was going on and everyone turned to him in hopes of good news. He let Coco prance over to Mark and then he stood there looking around the room. His face was tried and lined. "He's resting again." He started in a soft tone. "But he's been showing signs of pneumonia. They're doing the best they can to keep him comfortable and medicated."

"Will he be okay?" Jackson asked.

"He looked fine when we were there." Joshua remarked.

"It all happened so fast." Amber added.

"Can we see him?" PDnim asked.

"How long will this last?"

"He's our leader. He — he can't get sick. I thought he just had broken ribs from CPR!"

"Hey! Hey! Gumanhae!"

Everyone's jaws shut and turned to their silencer. Mark's eyes were wide and he held up a hand in signal for everyone to just shut up. He sighed and looked around. "Stop firing at Chindanai and just hear him out, okay?"

Chindanai looked gratefully to Mark. "Mianhae." He said. "I'm not a doctor. All I know is what I've told you."

•••

JB's parents arrived soon after. They never left their son's side.

•••

Night fell on the day like a heavy blanket. Everyone went home, except JB, Junior, and Bambam's parents. The GOT7 Ward (as it was now called) was strangely, but peacefully quiet.

Yugyeom lay on his bed with his hands folded behind his head. He couldn't sleep. Even though the doctors said he'd go home the next day he couldn't shake the thoughts that coursed through his head like cars on a racetrack. He worried and he worried. It wasn't healthy, but he couldn't see any way out of the maze he put himself in.

•••

Mark was tired. He was always tired. The surgeries and drugs and visitors made him unexplainably exhausted. He wished he could worry about the others, but sleep over took him and breathing was all he had the energy to focus on.

•••

Bambam was asleep. Or so his parents thought. He had been faking sleep every night just so he could listen to his parents' conversations. Every night they seemed to be talking about yet another issue regarding medical bills, his family's reaction to what happened, rehab, and making everything accessible for their son.

Accessible.

Bambam bit his lip. Eight days and still he couldn't believe it. He slid his hands to his thighs and pinched. Nothing.

The nurses kept shifting him around everyday to prevent stationary sores, but, if he had them, he couldn't feel tell.

He sighed and turned his head. He opened his eyes just enough so he could see his parents. They were sitting with the visitor chairs just centimeters from each other. His mother's hair was frazzled and her nose was swollen and her eyes were bloodshot and tear streaked. His father's face was haggard, he needed to shave, and his usually straight-backed posture was slumped forward. He held his wife's hands in his own and met her eyes steadily.