think twice | r. suna

seventeen

The taxi driver dropped you off at the hospital, and you hurriedly paid him for the fare, then rushed into the building. It occurred to you that you didn't know where Suna would be. In fact, now that you were in a less panicked state, it occurred to you that it may not even be Suna who was hospitalised. Considering his independent nature and fighting skills, it was quite likely that it wasn't for him that you were called, now that you thought about it.

Internally cringing at your hasty actions, you called the number that had called you, and to your relief the person picked up.

"I'm sorry for hanging up on you. I was panicked. Could you please tell me what is going on?"

"It's no problem, Miss L/n." There was another uncomfortable cough. "One of our patients, ahem, told us to call you. Sort of. Well, your phone number was on a piece of paper in his pocket. We wondered if you could identify him for us."

"Yes," you whispered, panicking again. "Yes, I can do that. Where can I find him?"

"Are you in the hospital at present?"

"Yes, I am."

"Please ask the receptionist to show you to ward C. I will meet you there."

After agreeing to do what he said, the man hung up, and you approached the receptionist desk. "Um, I was just told to ask you to show me to ward C."

The receptionist looked you up and down and called over an intern to show you to ward C, who did no more than greet you. You took the elevator to the third floor, and upon its opening, you were met by a doctor who looked sweaty and anxious.

"Miss L/n?" He asked, and you nodded. "Please follow me."

You sucked in a breath and followed him, your heart beating faster than it ever had before. You had no idea what to expect when you reached the room the doctor was leading you to - you couldn't predict who it would be. You just had to hope it wasn't Suna who had been hospitalised. 

Another thing that puzzled you was the phone number in their pocket. You couldn't think of anyone you knew who would need to keep your number in their pocket - most of the people you related to on a personal level already had your number saved in their phone.

You wondered about these things until the doctor you were following stopped. You had walked maybe 250 metres down the hallway to a room marked Ward C, Room 14. The doctor glanced over his shoulder at you, giving you a grim smile, before turning the doorknob and opening the door.

You ran slightly to approach the bed which was situated beside one wall, surrounded by a half-pulled turquoise curtain. You recognised his hair before his face; the slightly spiky, constantly wind-swept black hair was by now a familiar and welcome sight. However, his face was bruised and cut up, and, to anyone who didn't know his face as well as you did, he might have been unrecognisable. He was unconscious, and plugged into an IV, the heart monitor beating at a steady rhythm. You could tell he was alive and was in no danger of death, which made you less worried, but why had the doctor gone to such measures for his health, if his injuries were just bruises and cuts on his face?

Something clicked inside your brain that made your heart skip a beat.

You pulled back the off-white hospital bedsheets, and what you saw made your knees buckle. 

Suna's shirt was gone, replaced with a faded hospital shirt. He was still wearing a pair of his own shorts on his lower half. They were clean of bloodstains, surprisingly, but they were loose and unstylish, which told you that they were a pair of fighting shorts. His knees had bloodstains on them that had not been cleaned yet, but they were not cut, so the blood clearly was not his own.