Euthymia

Bridges

Chanyeol has never seen a building so clean, so pristine and white. All the infirmaries he visited to treat cage fight wounds were dank garages under the stench of city sewage. He can't recall any times he's stepped foot in a real hospital, nor can he imagine any doctor would want to treat a dog fighting alpha, regardless of the blue and purple all over.

But he has a good reason to be here now. And there's no reason to kick him out when Baekhyun can't stand to be more than five feet apart. Just going to the bathroom or stopping in the halls for a vending machine snack makes him toss and turn, kicking at the sheets like he's caught in a trap and he needs to get out.

Suho won't admit it. He doesn't need to. His word alone does not breathe truth into their relationship. Whatever they have is real with or without his confirmation – real enough for the doctors to mistakenly (or rather observantly) assume he's the alpha, he's the mate, he should stay in the room.

"It's best to keep the soulmate in close proximity during heat; it'll help alleviate some of the pain. You're welcome to stay by his bedside."

The doctor says to both Chanyeol and Suho, mostly to Chanyeol. She says as if she knows everything just by looking at them, rightfully assuming that the man wearing Madeleine perfume – the man who carried an unconscious omega all the way from the parking lot to the bed – is the soulmate. Suho doesn't waste his breath correcting her. Perhaps there's no need to correct her; he doesn't want to give the hospital staff any reason to pull Chanyeol into another room and run tests that say otherwise. It's certainly possible to clear up any confusion with blood work, pheromone tests, and genetic examinations. But Suho doesn't want to cross any bridges he can't turn around on.

"Good." Suho forces the word out like it physically hurts him to speak, physically hurts to pretend the black leather hitman before him is family. "He'll stay here. I've got things to attend to. Please call if his condition takes a turn for the worst."

"Baekhyun should be fine as long as his mate stays with him and we keep him on the IV. However, we'll still have to discuss further medication."

Suho stiffens at the word. Medication. A topic he'd like to keep quiet about with Chanyeol in earshot. He nods once, almost dismissing her words, then starts down the hallway. The black suits wordlessly follow.

"When I come back," Suho calls over his shoulder to Chanyeol. "I'm coming back with Sehun."

As in, he'll return with Chanyeol's replacement, so don't get too comfortable. He can kiss his bedside seat goodbye.

◐◐◐

Baekhyun stirs, his head lolling on the pillow and eyes flickering against the harsh fluorescent lights. He seems to register he's in a hospital before his eyes find the strength to open. Maybe it's the familiarity of the smells and the burn of the unnatural light. Maybe it's the relentless prick of the IV digging into the crook of his arm. With his health conditions, he's certainly been in enough hospitals to know one like the back of his hand. Chanyeol doesn't know the half of it.

"I'm not dead." He mumbles, pulling the sheets over his face to block out the light.

"No, not yet."

"I thought for sure I was dying. It all feels like a fever dream now."

"Do you remember anything?"

His head pokes out. A messy head of blond and gray. He looks like he hasn't seen a shower or a brush in weeks. He squints, eyes slightly puffy with sleep, and takes a long look at Chanyeol sitting beside his bed. Normally Chanyeol would've shied away from the excessive eye contact, reddened under his gaze and tried pulling his earlobe off. But not this time. This time he meets his eyes and even reaches for his hand. A subconscious action. It's the cosmos saying he should be sweet and look attentive. He's obedient.