Chapter Text
The first thing that hit him was the smell. Strong, a bit too familiar, overpowering, and very distinctively, of antiseptic. He frowned even before he opened his eyes, immediately knowing that something was wrong. He was a bit groggy, but as soon as he was aware of himself, he knew for sure that he wouldn’t be caught dead with his apartment ever smelling like this. He liked his aesthetics, he loved his gorgeous potpourri, and there were always flowering plants among his collection of the trees he parented. He didn’t like his surroundings to smell bad. So this definitely wasn’t his house.
Curious, Taehyung cracked open one eye, letting his vision settle on the surroundings. Immediately, he realised three things simultaneously— one, it took quite an effort to do so; two, his vision did not land on anything remotely familiar to him; three, he understood the difference even when he didn't get a clear view of his surroundings. He put in a similar amount of effort to open another eye, and yeah, he definitely wasn’t home. In fact, it looked like a… dispensary. Dispensary?
Though that makes sense, he thought. Then the smell of the antiseptic makes a lot more sense.
However, what didn't make sense was why exactly he was here. And that was a question that definitely needed an immediate answer. Slowly, and carefully, he blinked several times, trying to take in his surroundings, trying to solve the riddle and uncover the truth.
Okay, he concluded in a bit, after his eyes roamed the surroundings a bit more, this was probably not a dispensary.
It seemed to be more like a hospital. Definitely more like a hospital.
And it was a hospital where he was most likely a patient. Scratch that, it was for certain that he’d been admitted to the hospital. It seemed that way for sure, given the fact that he was lying down.
Slowly, but surely, his other senses started to kick in, and that made him pause in his thoughts for a bit. It also made him aware that neither was he feeling really strong, nor was he being able to move by himself, and that his limbs felt quite listless. With every second that passed by, he gradually, and very definitively, understood that there was a dull, throbbing pain in his head. Lastly, he also understood that there was this very unsettling feeling of something being just not right with his breathing. Taehyung focused deeply and discovered the issue. It was a mask. He was wearing an oxygen mask.
Which meant pretty clearly that… He was unable to breathe on his own? That this seemed to be more serious than he thought? That he was somehow, seriously unwell, with no memory of how he got himself to a hospital bed?
What the fuck had happened to land him here, in this condition?
The pain was making its presence felt strongly, and so was the weakness and the fatigue, but it was the fact that he had absolutely no recollection of that at all that completely unnerved him.
Strange.
That was very, very strange.
Taehyung blinked a couple of times, and with each passing moment, the source of the pain seemed to be narrowing down to concentrate in one area. He realised that it was anchored at a specific point in his head, while the rest of the throbbing sensation seemed to radiate around it. On instinct, he thought of trying to move, but in the next second, he decided against it, focusing instead on trying to absorb his surroundings better. To make some sense of it, to try and remember.
You see, Taehyung had always been a practical kind of a guy, trying to look at situations with reason rather than with emotion. It was that nature that had helped him survive until now. By this time, it was already pretty clear to him that he was injured. Though he still didn’t know how serious the injury was, and what it meant for him and his body, he needed to figure it out as soon as someone came to speak with him. But before that, he knew there was no point trying to be a hero and making it worse for himself.
Also, the pain was making its presence felt, and he definitely didn’t want to aggravate it.
So he lay there, blinking, trying yet again to remember what may have led him to be lying in this condition. It must have been something that had happened to him. It must have been some type of a terrible accident. Because it wasn’t like him to be reckless, not at all. A person like him didn’t really have an excuse to throw caution to the winds and act irresponsibly— simply because there was no one around him who would take his responsibility instead. He had to take care of himself. And he took that bit seriously.
It wasn’t that there weren’t people who loved him or cared for him. It was that they were not around him. Not here. Not most of the time.
He pushed himself once more to try again to remember, but the more he pushed his boundaries, the more the throbbing intensified and the pain stopped him from forcing himself.
Fuck. This wasn’t looking good.
What if he was actually seriously injured and would never be able to move at all? What if he could never get out of this place? What if any of his body parts were permanently damaged? What if he could never work again? What about his unfinished dreams? Taehyung’s mind began to spiral. And this time, this time it seemed like his rationality wasn’t really working. The fear was real.
Thankfully though, before he tumbled down that rabbit hole, a face came into his view, one that was unmistakably of a nurse. It was a kind looking French lady, peering into his face, her expression revealing to him that she was quite taken aback by the fact that his eyes were open, and that he was staring back at her. Within the next second, a flurry of activities followed. There was a lot of hushed movement around him, urgency prominent in them. A doctor was called for, his vitals were being checked, there was a furious exchange of information between the medical professionals around him, of which he could only catch a bit clearly… as much as his intermediate French would allow him to understand.
He wasn't bad at the language, not necessarily. He could carry on a decent conversation. But he was terrible at comprehending it when people spoke in a hurry. Typical immigrant issues.
But Taehyung was nothing if not patient (pun unintended). He had, by now, realised that he was quite seriously unwell, and that it wasn’t up to him to decide the next course of action. So instead of trying to butt into the conversation, he lay there, calm, doing nothing that could aggravate his pain, and waited for the instructions that he knew would soon come his way.
The oxygen mask came off first, to check if he could breathe on his own. And he could, quite well, much to the very visual relief on the doctor’s face. And to his own, obviously.
“Are you able to speak, Mr Kim?” the doctor asked.
“I… think so?” Taehyung answered, his voice barely above a croak, hoarse and strained, not sounding very pleasant to his own ears.
“That’s good. That’s good,” the doctor nodded his head, appreciative. “Could you explain any discomfort you might be feeling right now?”
“My head. It hurts,” Taehyung said, “right around here?" He lifted his hand slightly to point at the specific area that was hurting the most. “It’s like… it’s like a dull throb. But it’s more concentrated around this area.”
“Understandable,” the doctor said. “I’m Dr Bernard, and as you can guess, you’re in the hospital. If you feel up to it, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
Taehyung’s instinct was to nod, but he realised pretty soon that it was going to be the wrong one to follow. His face contorted in pain, the sharpness of which hit him badly and took a while to subside. The doctor waited patiently while he settled back down. “Yes, please do,” he said a couple of minutes later.
“Could you tell me your name?”
“Mr Kim?” Taehyung smiled cheekily, his sense of humour intact.
That made the doctor smile too. “You’re quite the character,” he mused. “Alright then, your full name, Mr Kim.”
“Taehyung,” Taehyung said. “I’m Taehyung Kim. I’m from South Korea, a native of a place called Daegu. I moved to Paris about six years ago, to pursue a career in fine art. And then I stayed on because I fell in love with the city.”
“Amazing,” Dr Bernard said, nodding at the nurse who was the first person Taehyung had seen after waking up, and was now taking notes. “You seem to be quite aware of what we’re looking for.”
Taehyung smiled. “Well, my head hurts a lot. So I’m guessing I somehow managed to injure it. And since it's the head, I think you’re checking for memory loss?”
Dr Bernard’s expression turned into one that was impressed with what it observed. “Indeed.”
“What I don’t understand is, how did I manage to get myself into this position? I’m usually quite a careful person, you know? I don’t even drink and so I can't really pass it off as a drunken loss of control,” Taehyung could feel how he was coming back into himself with every passing minute, his thoughts clearing, even though some clouds made his brain foggy. “And very strangely, I don't remember a thing about hurting myself.”
“You don’t drink?” Dr Bernard frowned.
“I don’t. I mean I really try to avoid it. I am a lightweight and I don’t like losing control. Especially if I'm not around people I trust.”
The doctor hummed. And Taehyung noticed how he nodded at the nurse, who immediately scribbled something down in her notepad.
“Which year is this, Mr Kim?”
“Year?” Taehyung was surprised for a bit at the question. Then he realised that he was still being checked for potential memory loss. Therefore, he answered, confidently, “2013.”
This time too, he didn’t miss the subtle rise of the doctor’s eyebrow, or the speed with which the nurse noted something, again.
“Which part of Paris do you live in, Mr Kim?” Was the next question that was fired at him.
Taehyung shrugged. Or tried to. It resulted in only a half-hearted slight movement of his shoulders before he winced in pain again. It wasn’t that the pain was killing him and the doctor wasn’t doing anything about it. It was just there, reminding him that he wasn’t alright, not a hundred percent fit, and still quite weak. “I came here as a student, doctor, like I said. Put up at the 13th arrondissement, and never moved.”
Another hum. Another instance of furious scribbling. Taehyung noted it all, yet again.
“And what do you do?”
“I am an assistant at an art gallery, and since I’m Korean, I also act as a cultural mediator for Korean artists,” Taehyung shared, feeling a bit of pride in his journey. A journey he had traversed on his own, a self-made man, doing what he had always wanted to do, living in his dream city. He’d never been very ambitious, but he’d chased his happiness. And that happiness, he'd known very early in life, most definitely, lay in art.
“Which reminds me, my gallery owner would need to be informed about my condition,” Taehyung added, suddenly worried about the leave of absence. “Her name and contact details are on my identity card. I should have it in my wallet. Did I have my wallet on me when I was brought here? Or when I came here?”
“Please don’t worry about that,” the doctor responded. “All necessary communications have been taken care of.”
“Ohh,” Taehyung was relieved. “Did you want to ask anything else?”
“No, that’s all for now, Mr Kim,” Dr Bernard said. “I’ll let you rest for a bit. In some time, we will run a few more tests on you, and if the reports come back all clear, we’ll move you to the general ward, proceeding towards a discharge in the next couple of days.”
“Okay,” Taehyung said, feeling a bit tired himself, glad for the reprieve. “But doctor, if you have a few more minutes to spare, could you fill me in on what exactly happened to me?”
“Of course Mr Kim. I can definitely do that. What happened is that you slipped and fell in your apartment,” Dr Bernard’s voice turned a bit serious. “And in the process, you hit your head at the corner of the kitchen slab, which, being a sharp edge, caused profuse bleeding. You’ve suffered significant head impact because of that, and you were unconscious for a couple of days. Thankfully, from all the tests and imaging we’ve done, there is no sign of major injury apart from the swelling. And gaining back consciousness, being able to comprehend and answer all our questions are all great signs of progress.” The doctor smiled a little, “and so is, if I may add, your amazing sense of humour.”
“Wow,” was all Taehyung could say in response. It was a lot to internalise, and he definitely needed a minute to process everything. Because that seemed to have been quite a narrow escape. “Who brought me here?” he asked, knowing that he was very lucky that he hadn’t bled to death from that fall. Because he lived alone. He was actually quite bewildered about how anyone got to know that he was hurt and lying unconscious in his home.
“A Mr Jeon,” Dr Bernard offered. “Mr Jeongguk Jeon.”
“Another Korean person?” Taehyung asked, thoroughly confused.
“Do you not know him?”
“No,” Taehyung said, the name seeming familiar but not quite.
The doctor glanced sideways at the nurse again, and that’s when it clicked for Taehyung. They knew something about this incident that Taehyung didn’t. There was a gap in the knowledge between the medical professionals and himself that had yet not been disclosed. And Taehyung wanted to ask, he really did. But he suddenly felt his energy drop, feeling exhausted to his bones, and accepted that rest would be a better idea.
So he let it go. For now. And let his body be lulled into sleep.
When he woke up, he was fed, and fed well. And then, just like the doctor promised, tests were run, specifically, ones imaging his brain, some bloodwork, and the like. He followed all instructions diligently, understanding that getting better preceded solving the riddles that clouded his mind in the order of priority. It wasn’t difficult to do, given that the nurse was very polite and warm. Nurse Petit was gentle, but efficient. She kept him updated on the steps they would be following, checking on his discomfort every now and then, and assisting him wherever needed, never being overbearing.
It was only after Taehyung was back in his bed in the ICU that the thought about the expenses struck him. Damn, this would make a considerable dent in his savings, effectively delaying his dream of owning an art gallery. He felt a bit heartbroken, but then, his rational side snuck up on him again. If he wasn’t healthy or alive, what would even be the use of the money? Slowly the sadness ebbed away, making way for gratefulness and as always, the rational side of his mind helped him make peace with the scenario and settle in.
Whatever will be, will be, he told himself.
His doses of medicine administered, and his body tired from the day’s proceedings, Taehyung fell asleep again right before visiting hours. Not that he was worried about missing anything or anyone. There was no one in this city who would come to visit him. His friends were all back in Daegu, and his parents? Well, his course in Paris was funded by the money he’d inherited from his parents’ accidental death when he was in his teens. It was the same money that would go ahead and fund the gallery he’d own one day.
He was alone in Paris. Alone, but not lonely.
Taehyung made acquaintances easily, he spoke well, was a natural charmer, had really picked up on the English language and his French wasn’t too bad either. His looks, he wouldn’t lie, were a big plus as well. And he took ample care to maintain himself, indulging in his natural talent in the realm of fashion that accentuated his handsomeness. In his line of work, beauty was not just admired, but considered a source of inspiration. And he took that seriously.
With that last thought, and longing to get back to his work, Taehyung fell asleep even as he thought he heard the ICU door open.
He wasn’t moved to the general ward the next day. Instead, he found himself in a private cabin, and when he protested, he was told that the gallery owner had taken care of all the expenses. Taehyung was pleasantly surprised. Ms Morel, the owner of the gallery he worked for, had never really come across as insensitive or distant, and Taehyung would go ahead and say she was quite friendly. But this gesture was way beyond what an employer would do for their assistant. He would have to thank her profusely later. He would have to make it up to her in kind, knowing pretty well that offering to pay her back would insult her kindness.
He hadn’t asked for his phone the previous day, understanding that there might be restrictions in the ICU, but once in the cabin, he asked the attending nurse for it. He could use it to abide his time by.
“You shouldn’t be using your phone,” the nurse said. “Not yet.”
Taehyung obeyed. Aah, head injury, it struck him. Keeping the phone away made sense, but life was going to get quite boring until discharge. Maybe he could use this time catching up on some beauty sleep instead. Even the doctor and the nurse told him that the more he rested the faster he’d recover.
It was some time closer to the visiting hours that Doctor Bernard walked into his cabin again, accompanied by Nurse Petit.
“How are you feeling today, Mr Kim?” he asked.
“Much better, I think.”
“You’re definitely looking much better, did you get some good rest?”
“I did,” Taehyung responded. The sleep and digital detox was actually doing him well. He could feel strength gradually return to him, the throbbing in his head still there, but considerably less. “The pain is also much less today.”
“It should be gone in a few days,” the doctor reassured.
“That’s great. Would you be discharging me tomorrow?” Taehyung asked, hopeful.
“I’d love to,” the doctor said. “But there are certain things we’d need to discuss with Mr Jeon before we make those decisions.”
Taehyung frowned.
“Mr Jeon?” He asked. “The person who brought me here?”
“Yes,” the doctor said. “You still don’t remember anything about him?”
“I thought you said I was unconscious when I was brought in? Then how would I remember him?” Confusion clouded Taehyung’s mind, and he knew there was some piece of the puzzle that was missing, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.
“You were,” the doctor said, now taking a step closer to Taehyung’s bed. “But Mr Kim, you know Mr Jeon from before.”
“I really don’t,” Taehyung insisted, even if some sort of doubt niggled at him.
There was a knock on the door right then, even as a frown formed on the doctor's forehead, and then the sound of the door being pushed forward slightly made Taehyung turn his head towards it. He immediately spotted a pair of shoes stepping in. Polished, shiny, black, leather.
He followed the arc, up the leg, clad in formal trousers, black, slowly upwards to what seemed like the tiniest waist he’d ever seen on a man, even further, to quite a chiseled torso, covered in a button down, also black, and then up to the face of a man who looked extremely familiar and yet wasn’t someone he’d ever met before.
The man had piercings. On the lips, in his eyebrows. He had tattoos on his right arm, peeking from where the sleeves of his shirt had been rolled up to the elbow. Taehyung frowned internally. A Korean bad boy? And yet, Taehyung noted mentally, that the man had the roundest face, and all the effort that had gone into adding sharpness to it had just made it look even more adorable than it was. A boopable button nose, huge doe eyes, and… Taehyung also noticed a chocolate chip mole right under his bottom lip.
Adorable.
Adorable?
Taehyung snapped out of it when he realised that he wasn’t just staring, he was also checking the stranger out. In a hospital room. Surrounded by medical professionals. Professionals who were trying to cure him.
“This is Mr Jeon. Mr Jeongguk Jeon,” Nurse Petit provided.
Ohh. The rescuer. His rescuer.
Taehyung bowed his head slightly, respectfully. Like he would, towards someone who was clearly older than him. Like he would, at a stranger from his native country whom he’d run into in a foreign land. Like he would, to someone he was grateful to.
And immediately, it seemed like that one gesture had sucked out all the light, all hopes, every drop of energy from the stranger’s body.
Jeon Jeongguk’s eyes dimmed.
And as Taehyung watched it happen, in real time, his confusion increased.
The man, who had entered the room with hope etched into his body language, seemed to have lost his will to continue the battle, his shoulders sagged, his eyes turned impossibly sad, and what coloured his face in place of hope was concern, worry, and questions. Many, many questions. Taehyung was surprised at how transparent the man's feelings were, appearing right on his face, out there, for everyone to see, read, and figure out.
“How do you feel?” the man asked him, his tone dripping of familiarity, his hands in his pockets, as if he didn’t know what to do with them, or with himself.
He must be somewhere in his late thirties, Taehyung thought, catching some obvious signs in the man’s appearance, why on earth would I know him? Was he an artist I recently met?
“I’m much better, thank you,” Taehyung said, politely. “And also, thank you for bringing me here. I guess you literally saved my life.”
The man lowered his head, shaking it, mumbling something to himself, something that sounded like a question, a scoff, and self pity, all rolled into one.
“I’m glad I was able to reach on time. Trust me,” he said, “you have no idea how grateful I am for being there.”
Taehyung nodded, unsure of how to respond. That was an intense admission.
Mr Jeon looked at the doctor helplessly, who seemed to try to assure him of something with his expressions. And then he turned towards Taehyung again. “Mr Kim, mind if I ask you another question?”
“Sure,” Taehyung said.
“How old are you?”
“Ohh, that’s easy,” Taehyung said. “I turned twenty eight this year.”
“Mr Kim,” Dr Bernard said, a slight edge to his tone that wasn’t there during the questioning the day before. “Now that Mr Jeon is here, there are certain things we need to explain to you. It might be hard to grapple with, a little difficult to understand, and may cause some confusion. But that’s alright. We are all here to help you. So please feel free to stop me the moment it feels too much for you, alright?”
A little scared, and extremely apprehensive of what was to follow, Taehyung nodded.
What other choice did he have?