When Yoosung wakes, he doesn't feel fine.
The first thing he notices is that it's dark. The second thing he notices is that his eyes are closed.
Everything in him aches. His bones hurt. Even bones he didn't know he had and that's a worrying thought because he's supposed to know all of the bones. He's almost a doctor.
Why is it so dark? That's right… his eyes are closed.
He sits up – when did he lie down? – and grabs onto the sofa edge for support as he starts to sway. There's a hand on him, pushing him back. He's too weak to fight against, so backward he falls. The cushions behind him are soft. The swaying stops.
There's a low groaning sound now.
That's annoying.
The hand doesn't leave him. There's another in his hair, petting softly and stroking across his brow. He likes it, it feels nice.
The groaning stops.
It was him. He was making the groaning noise.
Why was it dark again?
Eyes. He has to open his eyes. Slowly he blinks them open, using what feels like the last dregs of his energy. He looks up and blinks, but everything stays a little bit blurry.
Glasses? Doesn't he wear glasses?
The fingers in his hair stop moving and already he can feel a groan building up in his throat, but then the face those floating petting hands belong to moves in closer.
And suddenly he's looking at crystals. Gems. Two of them. Floating right in front of his face. Bright and warm and shimmery.
They're prettier than a rare item drop in LOLOL.
Are they from LOLOL? Are they limited edition? When were they announced? He doesn't remember. He has a staff that needs an upgrade. He could use the gems if he had them. They're so close he could reach out and touch, but his hands aren't listening to him at the moment.
Maybe his hands are broken.
The gems blink. He doesn't remember gems ever blinking.
These must be special magic gems.
"Yoosung?" they call to him in a sweet whisper.
His name! They know his name!
"Yoosung?"
He should probably answer them, especially if he wants to keep them.
"It huuuurts," he whines. He doesn't recognize his own voice, deep and gravely. Even talking hurts.
"What hurts, sweetie?" the pretty floating gems ask. They're nice gems. He likes how they say his name.
"Everything," he insists, shrugging. "Head, stomach, bones. I need, something to… medicine?"
The gems turn, floating away from him for a moment, toward the blurriness he can't see into.
No no no, he doesn't like that. Come back.
"We ran out of aspirin a few days ago. I meant to buy some but I forgot. I'm sorry," the gems shift back toward him, looking sad. He doesn't want them to be sad. He must have done something to make them sad. "I can go get some. I'll be quick, just a few minutes down to the corner store," the gems say further away now, too foggy for him to see clearly.
He panics and suddenly his hands listen to him, reaching forward, pleading, "No, please don't leave! I don't need it. The medicine – I don't… please, stay?" he begs, throat clenching, hiccoughing around his words. His eyes sting, hot and wet now.
Are his eyes sick too? Is that why everything is blurry? Does he need eye medicine?
In an instant the gentle hands are back, stroking his cheek and head.
That's better. Why did they disappear in the first place?
"Okay, it's okay. I'll stay. I'll ask someone to bring them," the voice soothes. He knows that voice. He loves that voice. He feels like he's forgetting something. He tries to remember, but the hands are so pleasant… stroking stroking…
And then it's dark again.
When Yoosung wakes a second time, there's soft purring close by.
He blinks his eyes open, easier this time around, to see a cat looking down at him.
Lisa.
Her purring doesn't stop as she watches him slowly wake, offering her soft 'mew' in greeting, bumping her forehead to his. She's soft, rhythmically rubbing her face across his cheek as her purrs grow louder.
He loves Lisa. Lisa loves him.
But all good things come to an end, and pet dander ruins friendships.
"ACHOOOOOOO!" he jerks upward, body tensing with the force of his sneeze. He's hardly finished before Lisa vaults off the bed in shock, skittering out of the room.
He slumps back down onto his pillow with a sniffle and a groan.
Pillow? He doesn't remember getting in bed.
No problem. This can all be solved by retracing his steps. He was in the library, studying. He started to feel sick. Decided to come home. Caught the bus. And uh, played some LOLOL? He hasn't played it in so long but he swears he remembers…
Floating gems? What does that mean?
And then nothing. It's all black screen from there.
There are voices drifting from down the hall. He can't make out who they are, but he knows there's more than one voice. Two. Maybe three.
Sluggish, he sits up, swaying as a wave of dizziness overcomes him. A chill hits his legs as he swings them over the edge of the bed. He's not wearing any pants. He's only in boxers and a shirt now, when he swears he was wearing jeans and a sweater earlier.
Someone stole his clothes.
He nods to himself, satisfied with the simple explanation of the missing pants.
The trip down the hall is a wobbly ill-planned one. Too lightheaded to stand upright on his own, he leans against the wall, shuffling his feet across the floor, scooting toward his destination. Nearly halfway to the voices, a wave of heat washes over him from head to toe. His shirt sticks to his chest and back as sweat drips down his skin. His chest tightens, each breath labored and scratchy. The tongue in his mouth is thick, too dry. Eyes stinging. Ears ringing. Heart pounding.
Dizzy dizzy dizzy. Make it stop.
He's not going to make it; he's going to pass out before getting to the voices. Everything is going to go black again. He needs help, he needs to get to… to her...
"He's been working himself too hard. He needs to rest more but you know him, he - Yoosung!" a voice yells out, distressed.
Arms, familiar and strong, wrap around his middle to pull him up from where he's slipping down the wall. They pull too rough and he slumps forward onto them, going limp. With a bit of shifting, he gets his feet back under himself and stands on shaky legs. All the while, those arms remain steel bands around his waist, cradling him close to something - someone - soft and warm, not letting go for a second.
"Wanted to… voices…" he drifts off. A hand caresses his face, pushing sweat-soaked fringe away from his damp forehead. He peers down at the arm still wrapped around his midsection, then pokes it. "Heeeeey, don't get frisky! I am… I'm… pre-married!"
He's off the market. Not available. Taken. Forever.
He nods to himself, again satisfied.
There's a snort-laugh to his right and he looks up to see both Zen and Seven standing in the room, staring at him. Suspiciously, Seven has his phone raised, camera pointed directly in Yoosung's direction. There's a shopping bag on the coffee table, but he can't see what's inside. He has no idea why they're here or what they could have brought with them. All of that doesn't matter right now though because someone is trying to get fresh with him! And in the middle of his own apartment no less!
"Oi! Yoosung! Are you so out of it you don't even recognize your fiancée?!" Zen accuses.
"She's not his fiancée~, she's his pre-wife! Right, Yoosung?" Seven laughs, phone still poised in the air.
The hand that touched him returns, covering his ear from the noise and gently pulls his head down to rest on a shoulder.
"Don't be so loud," the voice above him reprimands, arm around his waist tightening. "He's not feeling well." Yoosung recognizes this voice, these hands, this hug. He looks up –
Zen is right! She's here! His pre-wife!
Already he feels better, comforted by her presence. His eyes still burn, his throat is scratchy, he's congested, his head is pounding, he's thirsty, he's too hot, but he feels better about all of that because she is here.
Mmm, this is nice.
He snuggles into her embrace, loosely wrapping his arms around her and shifting so he can see Zen and Seven from where he's tucked himself beneath her chin, smiling smugly at them.
Neither of them have a pre-wife.
The hand over his ear begins playing with his hair.
This is veeeery nice. He should get sick more often.
"Why are you sick anyway, Yoosung? Haven't we told you to eat and sleep right? You'll make her worry if you don't take care of - ah- ahhh- ACHOO!" Zen sneezes, eyes tearing up and turning red around the edges. "You better not be contagious. I have an audition tomorrow! Wait, is that furball around here?!" he exclaims, looking frantically around the room.
Seven sighs and puts his phone in his pocket, "We heard you were a little," he twirls a finger in a tight circle beside his head, "out of it, so we brought you some Tiaranol! Good for headaches, muscle aches, and fevers," he announces in a spokesman voice, then looks directly at Yoosung's webcam set up on the desk across the room, "This is not a paid sponsorship."
Surreptitiously, Pre-wife glances at the webcam then back to Seven, "Ooookay? Thank you for bringing the medicine," she sighs above Yoosung, fingers absently twirling at the little flips of his hair. "Earlier he didn't want to be left alone and well," she shrugs, jostling him a bit.
When was earlier? Well obviously earlier is earlier... but when did earlier happen?
He decides it doesn't matter. What does matter is at some point – earlier – he didn't want to be left alone and she didn't leave him. He clings tighter.
He loves her soooo much.
He needs to show her how much.
He lifts his head up, now face to face with her. This is a serious matter.
"Sweetie? Do you need something?" Pre-wife asks softly, sweetly, just for him.
Yes, he does need something. He needs her to know.
He cups her face, holding her cheeks in his sweaty palms. And stares. Very serious.
"Waaaait, Yoosung! Wha-what do you think you're doing?!" Zen bellows, flailing his hands in front of himself. "Achoo! Don't - ACHOO! If you think it's okay to - aaaahhCHOOO! Damn, furball!"
Furball? Cat! That's right!
When Lisa showed him how she loved him earlier – huh, maybe that's when earlier was – she rubbed her face against his face. He can do that now. To Pre-wife. Right here. He could.
He does.
His nuzzles his cheek to hers, nose bumping against her temple. Up, down, side to side, he nuzzles. He tries purring but it sounds more like humming, which isn't at all what a cat does. The humming tickles his nose.
He sneezes.
"Oops, hehe" he sniffles, wiping his nose with the back of his hand
Pre-wife pulls him in closer, kissing firmly to the part of his hair, and for some reason she's smiling when she looks back at him.
What did he do to deserve that? Was it because he sneezed? Maybe he should sneeze on her again to find out.
When they look back over to Zen and Seven, the pair look a little disturbed and disgusted.
"What did you do to him?"
"He just wiped his sweat all over her face then sneezed on her and she isn't even mad! Is this the power of true love?!"
"I haven't done anything to him!" Pre-wife defends. "He's just sick, and a little sleepy."
Yoosung shakes his head. "She did," he insists, "She did do something." They all turn to look at him now and he smiles wickedly at the thought that he has a secret to share. "She does loooots of things to me, hehe."
Immediately, Zen freezes, face blooming red. He sputters, "EHHH?!"
"Ohohohoho!" Quick as a flash, Seven whips his phone out from his pocket, "Ready!"
Yoosung nods now that he's captured their attention. He's going to tell them. Everything.
"Mmmhm. All the time! Day and night. When I study. During breakfast. Sometimes even when I'm in the shower!"
"Ooohohoho yeah!" Seven waggles his eyebrows.
Zen's soul visibly leaves his body.
"Yeah yeah!" Yoosung continues, given Seven's encouragement, "Sometimes… sometimes she leaves cute notes in my textbook for me to find. Oh! Or or… when she makes me breakfast, the fruit is in a heart shape. Aaaaand when I shower, hehe, it gets hot. Really hot. Then I can see on the glass where she writes 'I heart Yoosung.'"
"Oh…" Seven deflates, tapping his phone once and putting it away again.
Zen's soul reenters his body. He visibly sighs with relief, clutching at his chest and the wall for support.
They don't look like they appreciated his story. He thought it was good. Pre-wife would have enjoyed it.
He misses her.
He looks up, sees her smiling widely at him, cheeks a pretty rosy color.
Oh, there she is!
"Okay, I think that's enough excitement for one day. I need to take Yoosung to bed."
"Oh?" Seven perks up, reaching for his phone.
"We're leaving!" Zen grabs Seven by the collar and drags him out the door.
When Yoosung wakes a third time, Pre-wife is there with medicine, chasing its bitter taste away with a kiss to his forehead.
He'll take every gross medicine if it means more kisses.
When Yoosung wakes a fourth time, he feverishly rolls onto his stomach and pats his bum after Pre-wife tells him she needs to take his temperature.
Why did she laugh? That's how school taught him to take temperatures...
When Yoosung wakes a fifth time, Pre-wife carries him to the bathroom when the soup she made for him decides to exact revenge.
The soup hurt him. How dare.
When Yoosung wakes a sixth, seventh, eighth, ninth, even tenth time… Pre-wife is there. Always with a smile, other times to hold his hand, sometimes to talk to him until he dozes off again.
Sleep comes a little easier each time when she's the last thing he sees as his eyes drift shut.
Being sick isn't so bad when someone you love is there for you.
When Yoosung wakes an umpteenth time, there's an emptiness in him that physically hurts.
His stomach growls, a pathetic gurgling that has him frowning down at his belly.
Noisy. I fed you and you didn't like it.
But that was… he doesn't know how long ago. Hours? Days? Years? Time has passed in a sleepy feverish haze. He doesn't know what day it is, or how long he's been sick. His head feels clearer, though. The aches and pains throughout his body have lessened. He doesn't feel feverish anymore and when he sits up, he doesn't get dizzy.
Before he can get too far into his mental ramblings, Pre-wife walks in carrying a tray of something that smells delicious.
Pre-wife? When did he start calling her that? That… makes him a pre-husband!
"I thought you might be awake and hungry by now." His stomach rumble-responds at her immediately.
He laughs as he covers his belly with his arms, only slightly embarrassed at himself. "Just a little bit."
She sets the tray across his lap and his mouth waters. There's water, herbal tea, oatmeal with honey, sliced banana, scrambled eggs, toast, and another dose of medicine.
She notices him wrinkling his nose up at the pills, "You still need to take them. You're not entirely better yet."
He obeys, washing the medicine down with a sip of water. The kiss she gives him on his temple is a nice reward.
She gestures toward the tray, "Eat as much as you can handle, please."
As he eats, he watches her shuffle about the room; carrying clean towels into their bathroom, tidying up the nightstand, picking soiled tissues up off the floor and placing them in a waste bin. He pauses mid-bite of some eggs to look down at the plates of food. She's even cooked for him. She's doing – has done – a lot for him. He doesn't quite remember all of what's happened, but there are enough fuzzy images in his head for him to know he's been a bother recently.
He sets his spoon down, suddenly feeling guilty. She deserves so much better than him or what he can give her. Someone who's more everything than he is. He's too plain and weak and boring.
He eyes the half eaten eggs.
"If… if I were an omelet," she sits beside him when he speaks, "would you eat me?"
"Of course not."
He wishes she wouldn't say that so gently as she breaks his soft eggy heart.
He knew it.
She doesn't want him.
Her face blurs in front of his eyes, hot tears spilling down his cheeks.
"I know I'm not the… the most de-delicious omelet. I'm plain with not a lot of toppings but I'm… I can be tasty too!" He withers, "But you probably want an omelet with tomatoes that has a lot of skills, or a generous helping omelet topped with money –"
"Money?"
" – or one that's a healthy choice with veggies and a pretty latte and fruit on the side," he sniffles, messily wiping at his tears, lower lip trembling. "Maybe you want a meatier omelet like Zen…"
"Ohhh, I see," she smiles at him. She grabs both his cheeks in her hands, tilts his face up, and kisses him soundly.
She pulls away before his eyes can even slip shut, "You're the only omelet I want."
"Huh? But you said –"
He's confused.
"If I ate omelet-you, you'd be gone," she holds eye contact with him, "and I want to keep you around for a long time."
Oh. That makes sense. She didn't want to eat him, not because she didn't want him, but because she wanted to keep him.
He feels foolish and warm all at once.
She reaches down to hold his hand, winding their fingers together. "Now what is all this omelet talk really about?"
He sighs, the last of his tears drying up, "I'm sorry you've had to take care of me while I have been like this. I've been a burden. I thought maybe you'd regret having me as your pre-husband," he blushes. "I must look so pathetic right now…"
"No, not pathetic. You're sick, Yoosung. I didn't mind taking care of you. That's what partners do for one another. You take care of me, too," she strokes by his left eye with the hand still resting on his cheek. He nuzzles against her palm, comforted by her touch.
"Besides," she continues, giving his hand a squeeze, "you're extra cute when you're all sleepy and confused." She bumps her forehead to his, laughing with him as he blushes deeper and squirms.
His body decides to ruin the moment by yawning.
"Sleepy again?"
"Mmm," he nods, rubbing an eye.
"You rest," she picks up the tray, "and I'll take care of this."
"Will you come back?" He feels better with her around.
She looks back at him, "Yeah."
He settles down further beneath the blankets, head cushioned onto the pillow. There's the clinking of dishes and running water from the kitchen. Lisa jumps up onto the foot of the bed, curling to sleep on spot of sunshine.
He's so sleepy, but he wants to see her again.
She doesn't make him wait long, coming back a few seconds later and settles onto the bed beside him atop the blankets. She's brought her portable gaming system.
He shifts to lie facing her, sighing and welcoming sleep.
Only, sleep doesn't come.
There's a steady tap tap tap as Pre-wife enjoys her game, a daunting tune playing as her character battles. That's not what bothers him.
She isn't touching him.
He pouts.
Yoosung shuffles closer, slipping his head beneath Pre-wife's arm so he can rest on her thigh. She accommodates him easily, not once breaking from the game.
Still, sleep doesn't come.
Her fingers tap tap tap at the game's buttons. Fingers he loves. Fingers that should be petting his hair and stroking his cheek.
He reaches up, slowly, curls one hand around her wrist and tugs until her hand falls atop his head.
"Cute," she huffs, loving fingers twisting through his hair.
He looks up and smiles, eyes slipping shut. Distantly, he hears the jingle that signals a character death, but that's funny… he doesn't feel like he's dying.
He feels just fine.