kissing Saeyoung's hands!!!
"It doesn't even hurt!"
"Please don't fuss over this!"
"I'm telling you, honey butter, I'm fine!"
Saeyoung's protests fell on deaf ears as you dragged him to the bathroom, where the lighting was better. You didn't care what he had to say; the cut on his hand looked nasty, and you weren't going to risk letting anything happen to your lover.
"Look, it's not even bleeding anymore!"
You snorted as you pushed him against the countertop. "Sit," you ordered, and with a grumble Saeyoung obediently plopped himself on the counter. "It is still bleeding!" you wailed in dismay, as you held his hand up to the light.
"So you can hear me."
"Saeyoung Choi!"
Hastily you dug out first aid supplies from the cabinet. As you searched for bandages and ointments, you could spot a dark hoodie shuffling out of the corner of your eye. "Don't even think about leaving," you snapped. "You are getting patched up here and now!"
The shuffling stopped.
Heaving a huge sigh, you returned to Saeyoung with supplies in tow. Carefully you reached past him to turn on the faucet, soaking and soaping a washcloth. You then turned back to Saeyoung and gently grabbed his injured hand. He didn't resist you this time, but rather tutted dramatically as you began to dab at the wound.
"Saeyoung... how in the world did you manage this?"
"One of my babies is in her rebellious teen phase."
"You mean there could be OIL in here, and you weren't going to let me clean it?" The horror and exasperation in your voice were powerful enough to make him wince.
"It's really not a big deal," he began, but you firmly squeezed his hand to shut him up.
After you'd wiped off the dry blood, you were able to see his injury clearly for the first time. A gash on the side of his hand, running from the bottom of his pinky finger to the top of his wrist. "This is the length of your palm," you fretted.
"Couldn't even tell."
His tone was different, somehow. He'd stopped arguing but also was acting less blasé. Now he just sounded... tired. Resigned. Hollow.
"It really doesn't hurt?" you asked softly. Carefully you put the washcloth in the sink, and you reached out to get the antibiotic ointment. "It didn't even sting when I washed it?"
"Not even a tickle."
You didn't want to believe him, but as you spread the ointment over his injury, he didn't flinch once. You gave his palm an experimental squeeze, wondering if he'd react. "Shoot!"
The pressure had opened the cut once again.
"I felt that," Saeyoung commented as you grabbed the washcloth again to dab at the edges of the wound. "It just... felt no different than picking up a shoe or opening a doorknob."
You reapplied the antibiotic that you had wiped off, furrowing your brow as thoughts raced around in circles in your head. Had his fingers always been this calloused? Had his knuckles always been covered with this many old, faded scars? Had his fingers, thin as they are, always been this muscular? Your own hands suddenly felt so feeble, so flimsy, as you began winding gauze around his hand, over and over.
"I can't afford to feel too much pain," was all he offered in explanation. "Not the way I've lived.
"Hands like mine don't deserve tender care from someone like you."
Having just put on the last stretch of bandages, you looked up at him with sorrow in your eyes. Much to your dismay, he was looking up at the ceiling, perhaps unable to meet your gaze.
You didn't know the full extent of the things that he had done to keep himself and Saeran alive; you didn't particularly care. All that mattered was that you knew he undertook those actions and made those choices in the name of love. He was a good person.
He had stopped trying to push you away, so why did he have to talk as if he was still damning himself? Did he plan to live the remainder of his life joyfully, but then spend his afterlife in flames? You didn't quite know or understand his feelings on that matter.
But you did know you loved him, and that he deserved every reminder you could give him.
"Your hands can't feel anything anymore?" you murmured, the lilt in your voice clearly prompting him for an answer.
"If only."
The detached, distant expression on Saeyoung's face immediately melted away, replaced by one of awe, caution, fear, and wonder, as your lips began to peck at each and every one of his knuckles. Then his fingertips. Then his (bandaged) palm. You even nudged the injured side of his hand with your nose, gently so as not to aggravate the wound. "Nothing at all?"
His tearful golden eyes met yours directly as he whispered, "Maybe there's something after all."
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