[suju] drabble: a handprint (kyuhyun(/zhoumi))
title: a handprint
written: 110715
summary: after kyuhyun's accident sometime during sjm's long-stay in taiwan. qmi if u noe how to look. wc: 229.
notes: haven't written for a long, long while. scrawled this while in transit at an airport i no longer remember where. tot i might as well put it up.
The shadowed off-white of the walls in the hospital room greets him first. Faint beeps from the monitors and patient call-bells assault him immediately after, together with the lingering stench of chlorine bleach. A familiar thrill of panic is sent creeping down his spine and he forces himself to remain still, to draw in his breaths slow and deep.
He’s tired. Sick and tired of this.
Gradually, the pounding rush of blood in his ears quietens and he relaxes enough to shift restlessly under the blankets. In the dim light filtering through the window blinds, he can make out the shadowy outline of a jacket thrown over a bag.
The door to the room begins to slide open and he’s closed his eyes again before he’s even paused to think about it. But maybe there’s something about his face (is he frowning? The drugs make it hard to tell), because there’s a hand upon his forehead, warm fingers gently brushing away the hair veiling his eyelids.
“Kyuhyun-ah…” There is an unspoken “are you alright?”
He swallows against the lurch of disappointment and opens his eyes to meet Heechul’s gaze.
It’s not possible, he knows, for him to be here. His mind tells him there’s a body of water, multiple work schedules, the ever-present barrier of immigration - but the only thing his heart tells him is that it’s aching.
written: 110715
summary: after kyuhyun's accident sometime during sjm's long-stay in taiwan. qmi if u noe how to look. wc: 229.
notes: haven't written for a long, long while. scrawled this while in transit at an airport i no longer remember where. tot i might as well put it up.
The shadowed off-white of the walls in the hospital room greets him first. Faint beeps from the monitors and patient call-bells assault him immediately after, together with the lingering stench of chlorine bleach. A familiar thrill of panic is sent creeping down his spine and he forces himself to remain still, to draw in his breaths slow and deep.
He’s tired. Sick and tired of this.
Gradually, the pounding rush of blood in his ears quietens and he relaxes enough to shift restlessly under the blankets. In the dim light filtering through the window blinds, he can make out the shadowy outline of a jacket thrown over a bag.
The door to the room begins to slide open and he’s closed his eyes again before he’s even paused to think about it. But maybe there’s something about his face (is he frowning? The drugs make it hard to tell), because there’s a hand upon his forehead, warm fingers gently brushing away the hair veiling his eyelids.
“Kyuhyun-ah…” There is an unspoken “are you alright?”
He swallows against the lurch of disappointment and opens his eyes to meet Heechul’s gaze.
It’s not possible, he knows, for him to be here. His mind tells him there’s a body of water, multiple work schedules, the ever-present barrier of immigration - but the only thing his heart tells him is that it’s aching.