“Quit faking, you little fu–”

Josh’s words cut off when Inho’s fist connected with his jaw.

It landed right on side of his chin, that spot you always see played in slow motion in sports highlights, where the chin rattles– all slack. It looks satisfying on TV seeing it wobble, and in a way it felt satisfying too. In another way it hurt a fucking ton, both throwing the punch and the simultaneous splitting of Inho’s skin as his hand skittered across Josh’s teeth. Oop, too much follow-through, Inho thought.

Connor, who had been dangling semi-conscious from Josh’s grip on his collar like a dry leaf on a fall branch, slumped to the ground. Josh also crumpled. He keeled over backward and lay with comic stiffness on the dirty linoleum floor. Knocked out with one punch.

Inho froze and stared down at him. “Fuck,” he said emphatically, then tried to shake the pain from his hand, splattering blood from his knuckles on the wall instead. He didn’t mean to give this stupid kid a concussion or anything.

Connor was swaying on his hands and knees, eyes staring vacantly into the distance. I was past time to take him to the hospital, Inho decided. Connor’s usually flushed cheeks were as pale as paper. He turned a bleary eye on Inho, “I think I’m gonna–” then wretched all over Josh’s legs before he could finish the sentence.

“Ugh, Jesus.” Inho looked away, “Come on let’s–”

“Blaaargh!” Connor replied, so Inho let him finish.

Just as Josh was coming to, Connor wrapped up puking on his jeans, and flopped to the ground unconscious.

“FUCK,” Inho bent and put Connor in a safe position in case he puked again, then pulled out his phone and called 911.

*****

The Emergency room was loud, as they always were. Surprisingly, Inho had only had to wait about half an hour next to Connor’s unconscious form on a stretcher before he was escorted, and Connor was rolled, by some hospital staff into a small curtained area of the ER. A doctor and some nurses came and went, hooked Connor up to an IV, and pronounced him dehydrated with the flu.

He needed to stay for a bit for his fever to come down, and to get his fluids back to normal. Since he was sleeping peacefully now, Inho snuck off to make sure Josh was alright too.

He’d had to talk the damn teen into coming into the hospital at all, but getting knocked out was dangerous, as Inho had recently had the experience to know. Between using some scary medical terms he’d learned after his bicycle accident, and a firm hand on Josh’s shoulder to hold him in place til the paramedics arrived, Inho had managed to bring him in to get checked out. One of them had to be an adult after all.

In a nearby curtained space, Inho found him perched grumpily on a bed. “You good?” Inho asked curtly.

Josh sneered at him from where he sat cross-legged in a hospital gown. “What d’you care? You’re the one who knocked me out.”

Inho closed the curtain behind him took a menacing step forward, “What did you just say?” He demanded, keeping his voice low but letting cold threat fill his tone. He pulled the paper towel he was holding to his bleeding knuckles away, and suppressed a wince.

Josh shrank back on his bed, “Nothing. Nothing, I’m fine. I didn’t need to come.”

Inho smiled widely, showing all his teeth in a beaming grin, “I’m so glad to hear that,” he chirped at normal volume. And he was, he didn’t need to get sued for this little shit. “I’m going back to Connor now,” his voice dipped down, “You better watch yourself next time– I will be.” He turned to go, but Josh shuffled a little and called out.

“Wait! Is–is Connor alright?” he turned his face away as he spoke, clearly ashamed.

Inho didn’t let him off, “That’s none of your fucking business. Stay away from him or I’ll have to bring you here again.” Goddamn kids these days. He shook his head and went back to his chair by Connor’s bed.

Connor was still sleeping but appeared to be having a bad dream now. His eyebrows were furrowed with a tiny line between them, and his breaths were hoarse as passing through dry lips. His nose must be plugged. He looked awful, and even knowing he’d be fine, Inho couldn’t help but fuss over him. Why did he insist on coming to school today when he should’ve been in bed? Inho tucked the sheets tighter under him. Was it because Inho had been making a big deal about the presentation? He cracked his uncut knuckles nervously, then looked around for some water in case Connor woke up thirsty. There was a bottle in his bag, and he pulled it out.

With nothing else to do, Inho fidgeted in his seat. Connor’s small body and delicate features always made him look younger than he was, and he looked almost like a child right now. For once he had no sardonic smile or cutting words, no judgementally arched brows or overly large eyes that observed a little too much. Once again, Inho was reminded of how much he looked like a sad renaissance angel floating through clouds, colorless and betrayed. Alone. Where the hell is his family? Where’s Stephen?

He’d called Stephen from the ambulance, and he’d said he’d leave immediately, so it shouldn’t be long now. A part of him had wanted to avoid saying anything, both because he expected it’s what Connor would want, and because he knew Stephen had trauma around hospitals. He didn’t want to bring Stephen here if possible.

Even so, he was stressed and ached for the comfort of Stephen beside him. Inho didn’t have a lot of friends here, and Connor, being related to Stephen, felt like his own nephew, or maybe even like the stinker little brother he never had. It hurt to see him like this; it hurt to be the only person by his side.

As if in answer to Inho’s prayers, the curtain whisked aside with a rattle and Stephen stepped in.