Gold: Kim Taehyung ✓

Celestite

For a moment, I just sat, staring. Waiting for him to move. Waiting for any of them to move. None did.

Shakily, I stood up. My brain was thinking in rapid fire.

I had to pass him- them- to leave, and that was just what I was going to do. Leave. This had nothing to do with me. I didn't need this.

Except...

I turned back.

Except, he had saved me. From them.

The sun was beginning to creep into the sky, shedding a dim, early light on the scene before me. There was a distinct lack of other bodies on the floor, only he who had been the silhouette, once. My saviour.

"H-hey! You!" I called to him uncertainly, hesitant to approach. He reeked of danger. Every sense in my body was screaming at me in warning. "Sir, are you alright?" A stupid question, really. Of course he wasn't. People didn't pass out from just how A-okay they were doing.

Swearing, I ran toward him, dropping to my knees. I felt something wet soaking into my jeans. I looked down, not able to see properly, but it was pretty obvious what it was. I swore again. "Hey! Wake up!"

Frantically trying to remember what vague details I remembered from my first aid training, I panicked over him, rolling him onto his back but keeping his head tipped to the side so that he wouldn't choke. His hair was matted with blood, dry black and red crusted on his face, his lips. I lifted his shirt, and nearly threw up at the numerous wounds that littered his stomach. I shrugged out of my jacket, balling it up and feebly pressing it against them, using my other hand to dial for an ambulance. How had he even been standing, to save me from those men?! Should he not be dead already?!

The paramedics were just as shocked. They asked me a lot of questions, none of which I knew how to answer. Uselessly, I just kept repeating that I didn't know him, he had saved me from some bad guys and then collapsed. They told me, as the sole witness, to accompany them in the ambulance, so they could ask more questions. When we arrived at the hospital, the strange man was rushed straight to the ER.

I took a seat in the waiting room. My hands were shaking. How had I gotten caught up in this? I'd seen so much more than I'd ever wish to tonight. So much blood. So much gore.

What was even keeping me here? There was no reason for me to stay, and this man was definitely trouble. I was tired, and there was still alcohol in my system... but I stayed. I waited.

Hours later, as I was beginning to nod off, I was called, and they told me he'd made it out fine. The numerous stab wounds had missed his vitals, apparently, and would heal up fine. They called him a John Doe.

They showed me to his small cubicle. He'd been throughly bandaged, his arm propped up. It had been broken three times, one at the wrist and two further up. Clean breaks, luckily.

I finally got a good look at his face. He seemed young, perhaps my age, with ashy blonde hair that fell in soft waves either side of his forehead. He eyelashes were long. He looked almost delicate, laying there with the breathing assistance mask on.

I started when his eyes suddenly snapped open. They'd told me he wouldn't wake up for hours, possibly days. His gaze flicked around, frantic, fingers that were propped in the air flexing. His breathing quickened. The heart monitor beeped with increasing frequency. I stood up, quickly, placing a both of my hands on his other arm and looking at him. His expression was one of panic.

"Hey! Hey, calm down! What's wrong?!" I asked quickly, "Does it hurt?! Are you bleeding?!" I peered around, hoping to catch sight of a doctor, a nurse, anyone. "You're going to open your wounds! Calm down and talk to me!"

Just as quickly as his freak out began, it stopped. He deflated, letting out a long exhale. His eyes focused on me. "Where..." his voice was fractured, breathy. He was having trouble forming words. The ring of bruises around his neck could probably account for that. "Where... am I...?"

His expression was like that of a terrified child. Was this the same man from before, that laughed so confidently while facing off with a switchblade? The disconnect was too steep. He looked like a puppy.

I kept my hand on his arm, since it seemed to calm him down. "You're in the hospital. You were pretty badly hurt."

"I..." he winced, talking seeming to cause him pain. I shook my head.

"Don't talk. It's okay." His eyes were wide, and without really thinking about what I was doing, I ran my fingers over his hair, the way my mum used to do for me. Something about him drew out a desire to care for him. I guessed he just had that kind of face. "You should sleep."

He stared at me a little longer, as my fingers continued to run through his bangs. Slowly, he relaxed, and his eyes closed.

Standing up, I collected my purse, and left the hospital.