ADMIRE ME |Brothers Conflict

01

I had two playlists on my mp3-player, which I had called, quite dramatically, 'empty platitudes' and 'fake love confessions'. After spending three hours in the waiting room, I was growing sick of both playlists, the songs grating my nerves rather than helping me relax.

Despite what had happened, I still admired Asakura, but I couldn't handle his voice right now. That voice that whispered sweet apologies and declarations in my ears, in contrast to the mocking laughter I had received from him.

My disgust for Asahina Fuuto was reaching its breaking point, and soon I would lash out at someone who didn't deserve my ire.

"Are you okay, [Y/N]?" Ema inquired worried, offering me another glass of water. With a little shake of my head, I declined the fifth glass she had offered me, followed by an offhanded shrug to answer her question. "As good as anyone would be with a swollen leg."

"I'm sorry, [Y/N]!" she apologised with a deep bow.

"Wait," I huffed, reaching for her shoulder with a hand to jerk her upright again, groaning when I placed too much weight on my injured ankle. "You aren't the one who should apologise."

Ema glanced over her shoulder, her gaze landing on the object of all my frustration; Asahina Fuuto. The little shit who had pushed me from the staircase.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled embarrassed, not for my ankle this time, but for her brother's behaviour. He was standing in the hallway, handing out signatures to everyone who asked, and was currently engaged in a civil conversation with a small group of fans.

"[L/N] [Y/N]?" a nurse asked, reading my name from the clipboard in her right arm. "It's time for your x-ray."

Swiftly, I scrambled to my feet and limped to the nurse who gave me a sympathetic smile.

"We're sorry for the long waiting time," she said when she strolled, with me hobbling after her, through the hallway to the room where she would take an x-ray from my ankle. "Today's particularly chaotic."

"Don't stress it," I assured her, following her into a dark room.

"Take a seat on the table," she instructed, patting on the table. Curiously, I peered under the glass-like plate that covered the underside of the machine that hung above the end of the table.

"Uh..." the nurse hesitated for a moment, reaching for my shoulder to tug me away from the installation, "you should place your ankle here, not your face."

I followed her instructions, the paper sheet on the table crumpling under my movements which were restricted by the pain that flared up with every twist.

"What happened?" the nurse asked in an attempt to make small talk with an idiot like me.

"I fell down the stairs."

"What bad luck."

Bad luck didn't have anything to do with the shove between my shoulder blades, but if I said so, she would suspect that I was the victim of domestic violence -a scenario I would rather avoid.

After having spent more than three hours in the waiting room, I had expected this to be a lengthy process, but it was over in the blink of an eye.

"If you move to the designated wing on the card, a doctor will discuss the scan with you," the nurse explained, pushing a small card in my hands. Then, she led me back to the waiting room where she picked up another unfortunate soul.

Ema appeared by my side, peering over my shoulder with keen interest.

"67D?" she asked, curiosity in her voice, "what does that stand for?"