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[ It's pain on a level Cheol-gang's never experienced—like his core's been pierced by a massive beam of steel rebar, like someone's filled the affected kidney with loose razor blades. It's hard to draw in a full breath. It's hard to think, to talk, to move, even though pacing is the only thing that eases even a modicum of the pain. He's warm and cold at the same time, sweating and shivering, mouth still sour after the latest fit of vomiting no matter how many times he rinses it.
He doesn't understand how—or when—this happened, or why it's happening, though before the misery reached a level at which most of his thoughts were occupied by not screaming it did occur to him that he doesn't know anything about his own family medical history, as the doctor worded it.
Javert's been here since the start of it, since they showed up at the hospital and these incompetent ghouls started running all manner of tests and breaching his personal space and handling him like a doll as opposed to a grown man. It's comforting. Javert's not going to let them take advantage, and he's built in a way that's intimidating to most, which helps further. On that note.
Cheol-gang scoots toward the edge of the hospital bed, until the bedrail lightly presses into his side, then looks up at the man sitting tense in the synthetic leather chair a few feet away. ]
There's enough room for you here.
[ He can't make the pain stop or expedite the apparently critical surgery they're now waiting for, but there's something comforting to his presence, to feeling him there and knowing he's at least not alone in dealing with this new dimension of hell. ]
He doesn't understand how—or when—this happened, or why it's happening, though before the misery reached a level at which most of his thoughts were occupied by not screaming it did occur to him that he doesn't know anything about his own family medical history, as the doctor worded it.
Javert's been here since the start of it, since they showed up at the hospital and these incompetent ghouls started running all manner of tests and breaching his personal space and handling him like a doll as opposed to a grown man. It's comforting. Javert's not going to let them take advantage, and he's built in a way that's intimidating to most, which helps further. On that note.
Cheol-gang scoots toward the edge of the hospital bed, until the bedrail lightly presses into his side, then looks up at the man sitting tense in the synthetic leather chair a few feet away. ]
There's enough room for you here.
[ He can't make the pain stop or expedite the apparently critical surgery they're now waiting for, but there's something comforting to his presence, to feeling him there and knowing he's at least not alone in dealing with this new dimension of hell. ]
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Javert hates feeling useless. He can hardly imagine an emotion worse than this. When Cheol-gang turns on his side, Javert shifts gently toward him, desiring to comfort him even if he's not sure how to do it. He cannot rub the pain away as Cheol-gang has done for him. Javert doesn't dare to even move, afraid that he may hurt his partner unintentionally. )
Tell me where I might touch you.
( He murmurs, pressing his chest a little more closely to Cheol-gang's back. )
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[ Because the pain's radiating, was the word that the doctor used. Radiating convincingly enough for him to have initially assumed this was just another instance of consuming milk without intending to, at least for a minute or two, before the real pain set in. Then it became clear that this wasn't another bout of his apparent lactose intolerance. Then he realized he needed to visit the nearest emergency room.
It's a conscious effort to minimize the writhing and twisting—he doesn't want to make staying here uncomfortable enough for Javert that he wants to leave, because if he leaves he's pretty sure that will pull the pin on whatever's been brewing in his mind since this all started however many hours ago—but his spine and shoulders still tighten against Javert's chest, he still brings one knee up to his core for a few seconds before deciding that makes the pain worse, not better, he still partly kicks the blankets off in an effort to balance the simultaneous hot and cold surging through him.
Cheol-gang reaches behind himself with another muted grunt, groping blindly until his hand finds Javert's and guides it back to lay against the pillow he's been hugging to his chest, draping his partner's heavy arm over the side of his ribcage. It's something he'd never allow, under regular circumstances: claustrophobic. But in this instance the feeling of smallness and entrapment is soothing, grounding. He's here. Someone who won't turn on him and won't side with these vampires is here.
Another hard spasm as the colic resumes. Cheol-gang's breath catches in his throat and his grip on Javert's hand tightens until his own aches with the strain of such a vice grasp. ]
Tell me something. Distract me.