Synesthesia [Woozi+Hoshi]

+18

I peeked around the side of the door into the hospital room, somewhat nervous to go in. I'd been here once since the accident, but they didn't let me see her then, saying she needed rest.

Soonyoung stared at me, standing over my shoulder, his friends off behind him, just staring straight at my face, expression blank. "Jihoon, it'll be okay, you gotta see her before you start worrying, she could be fine..." Soonyoung's voice was slow and quiet, probably so only I could hear.

His voice calmed me down a little bit, and I took a deep breath, opening the door all the way and getting a better look.

My mom was on a hospital bed, done up in casts and bandages, blood seeping through in places in bright red flowers. Places like her forehead, And her upper arm, and her legs.

Nails on a chalkboard. I swallowed, suddenly feeling very sick. I turned around to leave and try visiting some other time, but Soonyoung caught me by the shoulder.
"Jihoon...I know it's hard, but, you want to see her, don't you? She would want to see you."

I was surprised how calm Soonyoung was, how very level-headed he was. He had more sense then I did. Maybe he was just trying to be nice, but it felt like he cared. Even in his deep brown eyes, there was a look that said that he cared.

I could see his eyes looking over my face, trying to look for something, I couldn't think what, it wasn't like my face was interesting. "What?" I asked when he didn't look away for a while. He was starting to creep me out.

Soonyoung pouted. "Nothing. Go see your mama." Soonyoung gave me a push toward the room.

I frowned. I didn't get Soonyoung, hopefully I'd never get him. But I almost kind of wanted to understand how he thought. Which was stupid, because Soonyoung was an idiot, and I'd always hated it when people tried to puzzle me out.

I walked into the hospital room, taking a deep breath and heading over to my mom's hospital bed. I'd forgotten flowers, or even a balloon, and the sudden realization that I'd forgotten those things seemed to go back and forth in my mind like a game of racquetball. I was a terrible son.

"Eomma?" I asked, working up the nerve to look at my mother again. I felt like trash in front of her.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked around a bit before her eyes found me standing by her bedside. "Woozi..." Her eyes looked dull, empty, lifeless, hardly like what they used to look like, her face pale and sickly, her voice sounding pained and weak.

I saw so many shapes and colors and heard so many different sounds that I couldn't keep any of it straight, and I could feel tears coming to my eyes, from confusion, from sadness, from everything all at once. "Eomma, are you...how are you...is there...?" I said, tears flooding my eyes, the water escaping and going down my cheeks when I blinked.

My mother squinted. "Why haven't you come sooner?"

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