black coffee | soonhoon

Twenty One

Jihoon is annoyed to say the least when the doctor tells him that his stay has been prolonged, thanks to the cardiac arrest that he can't even remember.

Doctor Jeon, a young boy only a bit older than Jihoon, smiles apologetically when he groans after hearing the update.

"Are you joking? I can't even remember it! I was asleep when it happened and I've got to stay in hospital for another week?! Can you at least smuggle in my stuff so I can earn money? My brother's coming later, can you help him bring it?" Wonwoo looks sceptical, "Oh my god, please! I'm going to die from boredom at this rate!!"

Finally Wonwoo relents, either from pity or understanding that from a teenager's perspective, a hospital stay with no technology is the worst thing in the planet. "I'll see what I can do," he says, giving a little wave before the door shuts and he vanishes.

Jihoon rolls onto his back, beyond pissed at the situation. Why can't his body just work for once? Why, out of the millions of people with asthma, does he have to be one of the ones that nearly dies? Why, in all of time and space, does nothing ever go his way?

The Gods must damn fucking hate me.

He sighs. For another few days - at least - he'll be stuck in this bed like an abandoned rag doll left in the dirt. His visitors will be the kids that try to nurture the doll, but never get deep enough. They can't get through the hard shell of mud on the doll's surface and them giving the love they think he needs won't be enough.

Despite doing everything to mask his soft interior with dirt, sometimes Jihoon wishes that someone can love him enough to break through and help him wash off the mud stains. If only.

The thought of doing nothing for days causes Jihoon's brain to itch with desire to do something, and eventually he sighs in relief as and idea flows through his head. He sits up slowly, squinting through the whirring vision and aching head to search around his room.

Remembering where Doctor Jeon had put the pen, he strains forward and reaches over his bed to grab it. When he draws back, he winces at a sharp pain in his arm. Looking down, he notices a needle in his arm that's come askew, now jabbing at a new place in his flesh. Ew, he thinks, wiggling his arm slightly to correct it. Thankfully, the pain fades to a dull ache and he can reach to his bag at his side, pulling out his tattered notebook.

The spine is worn and tearing, both from overuse and Jihoon's careless stuffing into his bag. The pages are crinkled, bent, torn and thin with age and Jihoon flicks through it to the very last empty page right at the back.

He feels a smile creeping onto his face as the pen touches paper and words start to flow.

———

"Alright fucker, what's happened now?"

The sudden voice breaking the melodic silence shocks Jihoon, and his hand slips, skidding the pen across the page. A colourful swear passes through his lips and he glares at his brother, "Haven't you heard of knocking?"

Yoongi grins, "With you? Nah."

"You're lucky I'm stuck with these needles in my arm, otherwise I'd've strangles you by now," Jihoon threatens, earning a snigger from the elder.

"You're smaller than me," he states, making himself at home with his legs hanging over the arm over a chair.

Still focused on writing, Jihoon replies, "Bet you've been looking forward to saying that, I'm pretty sure there's no one else who qualifies." He leers at the elder, who purses his lips.

"Fuck you."

"Pretty sure that counts as incest."

"Fuck off."