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Yoongi had not been feeling well for the past couple days. He had written it off as exhaustion at first, as he had just spent five days perfecting the tracks for his new mixtape on minimal sleep and maximum caffeine. It wasn't until he stood up from his computer, with the intention of crawling into bed for at least 20 hours of uninterrupted sleep, that he noticed the chill wracking his body and the dizziness clouding his head.
Shit. Yoongi rubs at his sore eyes as he shuffles to his room and collapses on his bed. Sleep engulfs him immediately.
He wakes from his sweaty, fevered sleep by a coughing fit that he can hardly get under control. His lungs burn and his chest aches. He fights to take a deep breath, only to end up coughing uncontrollably again. His hands shake as he frantically searches for his phone. He would have sighed in relief if he could when he locates it under his sweat drenched pillow.
He unlocks his phone and sends a text to the first name he comes across in his recent messages.
Sent to Namjoon 7:06 am
Help can’t breathe
For once, he’s thankful for autocorrect.
Not even two minutes later he hears his front door slam open. “Yoongi hyung!” Namjoon calls. And Yoongi thanks god that he sent his text to his next door neighbor and best friend. He stumbles into the living room, clutching his chest and wheezing raggedly.
“Hospital.” Yoongi says as best he can.
--
At the hospital, Yoongi learns that he has developed pneumonia. It’s causing fluid to pool in his lungs, so they hook him up to an IV of antibiotics and tell him that if that doesn’t help, they’ll have to give him a chest tube to drain the fluid.
Yoongi hopes the antibiotics will be enough to clear up his shitty lungs. Hospitals freak him out. Not that he’ll ever admit it.
Then a nurse steps forward to connect another line to his IV. He hadn’t noticed the nurse, before. Too preoccupied with trying to breathe.
His nurse is gorgeous: all firm body, covered in pale pink scrubs, clashing with a strikingly handsome baby face and bright orange hair poofing on top of his head, blurring in and out of focus.
Painkillers. The second IV line must be painkillers to help him sleep.
The nurse leans over Yoongi and says something he can’t interpret, so he just smiles his large, gummy smile and slurs, “I didn’t know oranges could talk.” Then he surrenders himself to the darkness of sleep.
--
He vaguely remembers waking up briefly at some point to see the hot, orange-haired nurse checking his IV’s. Yoongi remembers sitting up slightly to whisper, “fight me, pretty boy.”
The nurse had smiled and responded, “maybe later,” before Yoongi collapsed back into the bed, instantly asleep.
--
When he next wakes up it’s a little easier for Yoongi to breathe. His chest still twinges in pain when he tries to breathe too deeply and he’s still suffering from coughing fits.
He glances at the clock and sees it’s 10:30. A quick peek at the window tells him it’s am, not pm.
It doesn’t exactly shock him that he’s been asleep for almost a full twenty four hours. It would explain the stiffness in his neck and how hungry he is.
He’s still a little out of it as he rings for the nurse.
“Are you ready to fight now, pretty boy?” is out of Yoongi’s mouth as soon as the nurse, his nametag says Jimin, walks through the door. Another coughing fit overtakes him.
The other boy doesn’t even break stride as he walks to Yoongi’s bed to fix his pillows and IV lines. “Nah, there’s no point. You’d win,” Jimin says when Yoongi finally gets his breathing under control.
--
The next morning Yoongi wakes up and see’s a cup from the hospital coffee shop on the tray next to his bed. There’s a note under the cup.
Fight me?
555-4251
--Nurse Pretty Boy
Yoongi can not believe he seduced his hot nurse with his shitty lungs and medication induced rambling.
Maybe the hospital isn’t so bad after all.