It had been chaos until the ambulance finally arrived.
Now, Su-ho sat on the back bumper, freshly patched up, gauze taped across his cheek and brow. The flashing lights painted his tired face in restless shades of red and blue, casting long, jagged shadows on the pavement. You stood beside him, one hand holding your bandaged wrist as if that alone could keep you upright, still dizzy from the adrenaline, but trying to hold it all together. The earlier fight, the rush of events, the noise—everything had left you drained.
The guys who had started it all were being hauled away by the police. Their shouts grew faint as they were loaded into the patrol cars, but the bitter aftertaste of the skirmish lingered in the air like smoke. Su-ho didn’t seem bothered, though. In fact, he looked downright exhausted.
“Ah… I want chicken,” He mumbled, his voice thick with exhaustion, slurring slightly as he slumped back against the ambulance bumper. His eyes slid shut as his head tipped back, the tension in his neck giving way to the weight of the day. “I’m so damn hungry. Chicken broth… spicy… with those little noodles… and maybe a side of kimchi…”
You stared at him, brows furrowed, fighting the urge to let out a soft laugh. “Is food the only thing you ever think about?” You scolded, though the tenderness in your voice betrayed you.
But Su-ho didn’t seem to care. He was lost in his own world, continuing to ramble about seasoning, side dishes, and the perfect temperature for the broth. It was as if he were reading off a menu rather than recovering from a fight.
Despite your words, later that night, you found yourself at the hospital.
When Su-ho had been wheeled inside by the paramedics, you stayed behind to sort things out with the authorities. A few hours passed before you finally arrived, and by then, he was already settled in his room. He was half-sitting, half-lying against the raised hospital bed, looking like he could fall asleep at any second. The sterile scent of antiseptic filled the air, mixing with the hum of fluorescent lights overhead. Su-ho was dressed in a pale patient gown that hung too loosely on his frame, a look you were quickly getting used to seeing, even though you couldn’t understand why he seemed to find it so embarrassing.
Yeong-i sat cross-legged on the empty bed beside his, scrolling lazily through her phone.
You didn’t say a word when you walked in. Instead, you silently set down a plastic bag on the rolling tray over Su-ho’s lap. Another bag dropped onto Yeong-i’s bed with a soft thud.
Su-ho blinked, eyes narrowing slightly as he stared at the bag in his lap. For a moment, there was suspicion in his gaze, a flicker of doubt that passed through his tired eyes. Then, with all the hesitation of someone unsure they’d received the right order, he peeked inside.
And there it was. The very thing he’d been whining about since morning—well, since before everything had gone down. He pulled out a neatly packed container, steam still rising from the top.
He stared at it. Then he stared at you.
“What…” He murmured faintly, blinking as though trying to process what was before him. “...What is this feeling?”
You felt a momentary pang of confusion, your brow furrowing. It took you a beat to realize what he meant.
Yeong-i, ever the drama queen, had already opened her container and was digging in with gusto, but not before making a show of pouting. “Eating at this hour is going to make me gain weight,” She complained, her words muffled as she took another bite. She looked so ridiculously carefree that it made you smile despite yourself.
But Su-ho didn’t answer immediately. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than usual, traveling thoughtfully over your tired figure, your half-bandaged arms, and the way you were standing so stiffly, as if every part of you was trying to hold onto some semblance of normality. For a second, you could’ve sworn he was seeing you in a way he hadn’t before.
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