On A Cloud

faults

Fear has a way of overwhelming the senses, drowning out every inkling of anything else important. When the ringing in his head finally dulls to a faint hum, the smell of wet concrete reeling him back, it isn't the weight on top of him that he notices first but the immediate panic that chokes him and sends him writhing.

"Chaeyoung?" he gasps out, fingers reaching for the seat beside him, unable to turn his head under the weight. She doesn't answer, and her silence hits him harder than the approaching muffled voices and deafening sirens. He sees fuzzy shapes flashing in blue and red but she isn't anywhere among them. As his hand frantically feels around, all he can think about is how he's failed her, how he shouldn't have let her come, how in his entire life he hasn't been afraid of many things and losing her has never crossed his mind as one of them until now. When his fingers nimbly twine through the tresses of her hair, he finds it's unusually dry as opposed to it's natural silkiness.

This feeling - it frightens him more than anything.

They don't end up in the same room because Jungkook's injuries are incredibly minor - the truck came from her side, he remembers now. He hates it, he hates that she suffered the biggest brunt of the hit. It should have been him. Really, what did he have to look forward to? A life time of debt and disappointed parents to come home to. But Chaeyoung - she had the world planned out from end to end, every milestone and resolutions to ruts in the road. And all of that would have began the moment she sat down in the exam room with a straight face and pen in a death grip.

"How is she?" he asks for what seems like the millionth time to the nurse who comes in with a wet towel to place over his head. He's asked so many times that the question doesn't demand elaboration.

"Still unconscious. She's been in a coma even before the operation but it isn't fatal, you shouldn't worry."

"I need to go see her." A mild ache runs along his spine as he abruptly sits up, trapped between the bed and the nurse's hand coming up to stop him.

"You have a fever and you're still recovering, you shouldn't move," she warns.

"It's just a fever, I'll live. I've suffered worse." And Chaeyoung's been there every single time, he remembers (at the most inconvenient time). But he can't help it - every cut, bruise and open wound always serves as a reminder of honorary nurse Park Chaeyoung scolding him for skateboarding without protective gear whilst grazing his skin with cotton swabs. Her skin is always soft against his, not like the rubbery gloves the nurses where when handling him like a disease infected animal.

"You really shouldn't. And she's not allowed to have visitors right now unless they're family."

Family. He inwardly shudders at the thought of Mrs.Park stumbling into the emergency room, finding her daughter in pools of red and tatters. He wants to see her, though part of him is afraid guilt will wrack him when he sees her condition.

"I need to see her—"

"You can't!" The IV cart jerks forward with the tug of his arm, and he hisses as the needle sinks deeper into his hand. "Don't do that!" she shouts, trying to grip his hand only to have him yank it back, the tape ripping straight off.

"Don't touch me you wrinkly bitch!" he blurts out, eyes squinting at the contact. When they're fully open again, a hush falls over the room, several patients turning their heads in surprise. He makes eye contact with some gentleman with an eyepatch then a girl with a prosthetic leg before slumping back into bed with a quiet, "sorry."

When the shock of having a patient shout at her finally washes over, she continues, "we've tried calling your parents but no one seems to be picking up."