Work Text:
A heartbeat, faint, weak, barely there. A heartbeat is what he felt.
Something pressed down on him. Surrounding his heart and lungs. It weighed more than he could lift, and caged him from all sides.
The cage hurt. It hurt and pressed down on him. Not letting him move, not letting him breathe. The heartbeat quickened.
He felt the blood pumping from his neck and into his brain, faster. Every vein in his body suddenly ablaze. His mouth was releasing sounds and suddenly air felt like an impossible trophy he didn't have the skill to earn. The sound became louder.
Something was holding him. His hand. Squeezing until he felt it in his bones. He couldn't hear anything but his heartbeat, and the pain. Oh, the pain.
Nothing surrounded him, but more sensations joined. A hold, a poke, a stab the size of a toothpick. But all throughout, the feeling on his hand never ceased.
The flames slowly subsided, and with it went the noise. It was replaced by murmurs and beeps, which steadily started slipping.
His heartbeat never ceased though, he heard his blood beat and thrum with it.
Maybe that's what lured him back into the quiet abyss.
The next time he awoke, he was treated to a similar procedure. But this time he was blinded by light. A gloomily grey ceiling stared at him, but compared to the empty darkness, it was like staring at the sun itself.
Doctors swarmed him and changed around tubes, looked at monitors, spoke to each other. He was starting to freak out. But one of the people there wasn't like the other doctors.
A handsomely stern man gripped his hand, and didn't say anything, or move around. In contrast to the doctors and nurses moving him around and poking him with needles and calculating stares, dressed in white and accessorized in blue, the man simply held his hand and looked at him like he was about to fall apart, dressed in a sleek black suit and a white button up.
He looked scary, like death itself. Was he the grim reaper? Was he going to take him away?
His breathing picked up, he tried to squirm. Everything was too bright, too much. So much pain. He could only feel the grim reaper's hand holding his. The doctors started fussing over him more, and forced the grim reaper to let go of his hand.
He couldn't be more thankful.
“Seong Gihun-ssi, can you hear me?”
—
In the next few hours, he learns that his name was Gihun. Or, is Gihun. Is that right? That doesn't feel like something that is his. Should he learn how to write it down? Would that help make it his?
The second thing that he learns is that he doesn't remember a thing, and apparently, that that's a problem. He should've worked to be in this body that was so… Used? His arm was skinny and scarred. Was he old? Did he have to live long to be at this point? Why didn't he remember?
The third thing he learns is that he is sporting an English accent, and that, while not being a pressing problem, was weird to all of the doctors. He had questions upon questions upon questions piling up. But it seems that his questions didn't matter, since the only thing the doctors did was ask him the questions. He just wanted to go home.
Tears well up in his eyes as this goes on. Why couldn't he stay asleep? Can't these doctors just put him to sleep forever? He doesn't want to do this. He wants to go home. Where is his mom? Does he have one? He really wants to have one, he wants to hold her.
Thankfully, after an hour of pestering and pain and questions, the doctors left him alone. He was so confused. They couldn't even put him to sleep at least? Or, was he supposed to put himself to sleep now? Didn't he already try?
What? No, he never tried. It seemed like a good idea. Maybe he should learn how to again.
The door slides open gently. In it stands the grim reaper, in his black suit, with his stylish brown hair, slicked back neatly.
Gihun turns away as dread fills him. He doesn't understand, who is this man? Why is he here? Why does he make Gihun's blood boil in fear? Is he the one who did this?
He lets no tears escape, but he's scared. So, so scared. So far no one is explaining anything to him. The only thing he knows about himself is his name. He just woke up one day and now he has to live. It isn't fair. Can't the reaper just come over and take him already? Make him stop trying to uselessly squirm away?
The chair that the reaper sat in earlier squeaks, Gihun would've tensed up, if he still felt anything below his neck over the drugs in his body. The pain fell away to numbness at a certain point, this was the result, he presumed.
“Gihun?”
A silky smooth voice called out from his side, where the chair is, where he is. Gihun's breathing slows, he didn't even realize it was so fast until now.
He doesn't want to turn to the reaper. He wants it to be over but he doesn't want to face it.
The side of the reaper is dangerously quiet. Like it is holding its breath. Gihun tries to listen in with closed eyes. Not only because he doesn't want to face the man, but also because everything is really, really bright. Even though they closed all his blinds and kept the light to a minimum, his eyes felt like they burned if he stared too long.
“You… Do you remember me?” The reaper asks, his hand sneaks to hold onto the metal railing of where Gihun lay.
He doesn't know what to say, but he doesn't want to deny the man an answer, lest he grab his neck and twist it. (What? Why would he do that?)
Gihun shakes his head in response. Scared to deny death itself an answer. He fights to gain control of his body and stop the tremors wracking it, but it's useless.
The reaper holds his tongue, Gihun feels the hand on the railing retreat, its warmth leaving. Weird, should death be warm?
“You woke up from a coma. The doctor told me that you suffered a great brain injury. Which isn't surprising, since you almost died.” the reaper explains. Finally, someone is telling him something. Maybe the grim reaper didn't mean any harm?
Gihun lets his gaze drift to the side where the reaper sits. He stills upon seeing his face, the image making his blood pressure spike. Even though the man looked unopposing, resigned even — Gihun felt like he was staring the devil in the eye.
“I wanted to see how you were doing, Gihun.” He spoke in a monotone inflection. His voice betraying nothing. But his face, stone cold and hard, broke apart for only a split second.
Gihun noticed that split second, and it was as if all fear gave way. It wasn't a statue of a man that could speak, made of stone and rich gems, he was just a man that acted like a statue.
His eyes darted from one facial feature to the other, maybe too fast for him to keep up. His eyes were tearing up again, probably because of how long he's kept them open.
“Do you know me?” He rasped out. From his broken lungs, through his throat, and out of his mouth. In those syllables that didn't sound quite like how everyone else said them. But they sounded perfectly fine to him.
The reaper pursed his lips, staring right back at Gihun's darting eyeballs. After a few quiet moments, the reaper breathes in and nods, like he needed the extra air to complete the motion. “Yes, I do know you. Not very well but… I know you.”
Gihun blinked, taking in the information. The grim reaper knew him.
“Were we… Friends?”
He doesn't know why he's asking. Maybe because he has no one else to ask. What's a more important question that he could ask right now? He's trying to remember, but nothing is coming to mind.
Gihun's words seem to startle the man. His eyes widening only by a fraction.
Gihun is getting used to seeing these 'invisible expressions'. Those aren't the same ones you see on TV, right? Those faces contort and squish, whilst the man — death in front of him, cracks and twitches.
What kind of expression is Gihun making right now? Is he like those on TV? Is he like the man? Is he none? What does he look like? Is his hair brown or black? What is his eye color? Should he know? Is this another thing he forgot?
After a few long seconds, the man responds “We didn't know each other for very long. But you had other friends.”
So they weren't friends? But, do friends not talk to each other? Do they not hold hands?
“Do you know them? Can you call them?” Gihun asked instead. He wanted to know someone who knew him, he wanted to see something he recognized. He didn't recognize these walls, or this man, or this body, his own beating heart. But maybe someone could show him how to write his signature again. Someone who has seen it before.
The man looks away, and suddenly Gihun feels lost. Like he doesn't have an anchor to support himself with anymore. His eyes drift to all different directions, searching for a new anchor.
“I can't call them, I'm sorry. You survived by a miracle back then but… Your friends weren't so lucky.”
Gihun finds the anchor at the ceiling, tracing the tiles with his eyes in a straight line. And failing.
“But… You knew them?” Gihun asks.
The man lets out a breath, almost like he's amused by something. “Not on the same level I knew you, but on some level, yes.”
Gihun nods in understanding, looking away from the ceiling again, because clearly it was faulty and something was wrong with it. His eyes just couldn't stop burning.
“Who were they?”
It was nice to be the one asking questions, for once. And not be the one to answer. He could just ask, and the man beside him would tell him the answer. For the first time since he woke up, he felt something warm. A spark.
The man sits back in his chair, “Well, there was Park Jungbae.” He says, and pauses for a moment to let the name sink in. Gihun tries to picture the name in his head, but it's like it's stuffed with cotton. No room for images, just static. He shakes his head to signal the lack of recognition. The man leans forward again.
“Uh… There was also 2- Cho? Cho…” The man snapped his fingers a few times whilst mumbling something, until he stopped and perked up in his seat, “Sangwoo! It was Cho Sangwoo.”
Sangwoo… It was a harder name for the man to remember, so maybe it'd be hard for Gihun too. Not that that was difficult to achieve, of course, he didn't remember anything after all.
So maybe he should try it out on his tongue? Maybe Gihun called this friend by name, and it would feel familiar, rather than sound familiar. But then he tries, and it does nothing.
Maybe it's the ‘weird way’ he's saying things now? He tries to imitate how the man said it, to say it louder. Say it right. But it comes out the same. In frustration, Gihun grits his weak teeth, whimpering when his gums give out in a sharp pain.
The man immediately sits up on alert, leaning over slightly to look over Gihun, he takes hold of his hand again. Gihun doesn't mind the warmth now.
“What happened? Is something wrong?” he fusses.
Gihun resists the urge to whine and groan, he's just so frustrated. Why doesn't he know anything? Why is everything suddenly wrong? When was it ever right anyway?? This is his first damn day awake, what is he supposed to know that he doesn't?!
His vitals are all normal, he's just upset. And this man doesn't even know anything about him anyway. Everyone else who he knew was apparently dead or something, and he didn't know how to feel bad about it.
“I wanna go home.” He mumbles without shame. He doesn't know if he should feel ashamed for expressing… This. But something in him still tries to stop him from doing so.
The man, still holding onto his hand, sits back down in his chair and starts caressing Gihun's knuckles. Gihun feels it rather than seeing it. It feels better than pain.
“You'll need to stay here for quite a while longer.” The man responds quietly, not stopping the circle motions on Gihun's hand.
That would make sense. The man told him he almost died, so staying at a hospital for longer is the logical thing to do, right? He doesn't really know, but it feels right.
Still, he doesn't know what he's going to do here all this time. The room is cold, the fluids in his wrist are cold, the doctors are cold.
But the man's hand isn't cold.
“Could you stay with me?” He feels like he shouldn't ask this. But he doesn't want to stay in this cold place alone. He doesn't know anything, or anyone, or himself, for that matter. At least the man next to him knows his name.
The one in question smiles, his stoney exterior breaking away completely. “Of course I can stay with you, Gihun.” He says.
Gihun wants to smile back, tries with all his might. Is he doing it? Is he smiling back? Can he share this feeling? He's not familiar with his face, so he doesn't know. But he hopes he's smiling. If the man's smile is this beautiful, surely, his can be too.
“I don't have many stories of us to share, but would you like to hear a little about me?” The man asks Gihun, and without stalling, Gihun nods.
The man closes his eyes, his calm little smile never falling off of his face. And starts reminiscing about his days spent with a lovely woman, and their beautiful wedding day.
As Gihun hears the man retell his vows, and describe the venue, and the sunset that followed the best day of the man's life, he forgets about the beeping of the machines and the beating of his heart. Only being tied together by the man's hand holding his.
He feels warmth spread through his body, like the sun itself is caressing his skin. He sighs and melts into it, guided by the man's voice. The darkness feels lighter, somehow.