Friends I han seojun ff ft. lee suho

#040

chapter 40

Seojun loved biking. He enjoyed it all year-round. Even with the cold tearing through his sweater. The feeling of motion, the speed, the rise and fall of the path, and the chance to navigate all kinds of terrain: grass, mud, and even roads. It all felt so seamless. So automatic. A sort of freedom that he had always yearned for. 

He passed the mass of cars on the highways, their passengers slumped in their seats, and turned sharply into the park. Seojun brought his bike to a skidding halt, and took a moment to admire the blossoms and birds in his vicinity. He had little time to do so, however. 

Today was the day his mother finally got to come home. Seojun idly pulled on the strap of his backpack and then stowed his helmet away. He would retrieve his bike afterward. He had to be careful not to let his mother see him riding the vehicle she so strongly disliked. Though he understood where she was coming from, Seojun simply couldn't imagine his life without his bike. It was a part of him. An extension of his own being. 

The boy absently made his way to the entrance of the lavish hospital, his feet striking the ground with every step. 

"Good evening, sir. The City Hospital is delighted to welcome you to the premises this evening." Seojun gave the receptionist a quick nod of greeting. This hospital wasn't like the one he was used to. The front desk staff here seemed more like fancy plastic water dispensers than actual human beings. Individuals with lives and emotions outside of just being the best at their jobs. Seojun was astonished when such a fancy establishment had upgraded his mother to a VIP ward. The well-being of patients, along with their comfort, was the hospital's priority - that is what they had said. And yet, something about it did not sit right with him.

The boy rounded the corner into the VIP hallway. There was just about as much character here as elsewhere in the hospital. Grey slates laid on the floor and somber doves lined the walls. There was a polystyrene ceiling made from squares placed on a grid-like frame. Here, however, the light was quite bright. Too bright, in fact, for his eyes after the darkness outside.  

Every few seconds Seojun passed a different set of intricate doors with fancy hand-sanitizer dispensers: past oncology, then geriatrics, and maternity. He walked by them all, heading straight for the recovery wards. 

The boy soon came across the familiar metal grey double doors with their dull chrome handles. His dark eyes fell on the garish bouquet of flowers in his calloused hands, their dampness seeping in even through the leather of his biking gloves. Oh. The gloves. Seojun ripped them off his hand and stuffed them in his pockets. He couldn't let his mother see them. 

Without a pause, he then pushed at the door with his body weight, although he didn't quite have to. The door swung open soundlessly and with ease. A draft of air hit his face, warm and with a tincture of bleach. He caught a glimpse of the hallway that stretched beyond out of the corner of his eye, divided into tiny squares by thin wires in the window panels. And suddenly, the cost of the flowers did not seem to matter so much to him anymore. It was worth it. As fancy as the place was, his mother was going to need a splash of color after all this time.

A little to his surprise, the doctor was already in the ward when he arrived. 

"Eomma?" the boy called, letting the bouquet hang in his hands. "Is everything alright? Are you okay?" 

"Oh, Seojun?" his mother called. She looked up from her reports with a wide smile that made the boy's heart swell. "I'm fine. Dr. Kim just came in for the final checkup."

"This must be your son."

"Ah, yes," Mi-hyang replied, turning back to the balding man. Seojun sent a nod of greeting to the doctor, which the man returned with a gracious smile.