To many, Friday nights was the highlight of their week. It marked the beginning of the weekend, the start of being able to do whatever you wanted. For Han, it had never been the case. Friday nights meant another all-nighter at the recording studio, or another late night event that required him to plaster that polite half-smile that caused his facial muscles to cramp, especially during the cold, winter months. The point was, idols don’t have the luxury of ‘rest’. It was always the next concept, next something. He’s surprised he didn’t break even after all those years.
So Han cherished his Friday nights; coveted it, really. Snuggled in his favorite duvet, the idol lay sprawled on the bed in his one-room studio apartment, leaving the television playing some Korean drama – not that he was really paying attention, anyway. He shoveled another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth, ignoring that tiny screaming voice in his head that was a painful reminder of how many calories are you going to ingest, you stupid boy?! You’ll be fat and ugly at this rate!
Feeling his mood sour a little at the negative thoughts, Han set aside the half-empty pint of Ben and Jerry’s, only to have his mood darken even further when incessant pounding resounded from his door. He had planned on ignoring the noise, but it soon proved to be annoying enough that it grated on his nerves. Standing up and allowing the duvet to pool messily on the floor, Han shuffled grumpily to open the door even without peering through the peephole to make sure it wasn’t anyone threatening.
“Who in the– Sol?” The bite in his voice dissipated quickly into one of concern as he half carried, half dragged the other into his modest home, worry coloring his features. He skipped the conventional what happened to you? and immediately got to work, thanking the higher beings that he had remembered to stock up on a first aid kit and the knowledge he has garnered from the years of injuring himself at work to know how to fix wounds. He may not know how to work a coin washing machine, but at least this he could do.
With tender strokes, he was careful to clean all the open cuts with disinfectants, systematically dabbing his bruises with ointment and bandaging the worst of the injuries. “What have you been up to, you idiot?” He chided the other half-heartedly, taking in the bruised and battered form, the distress in his eyes muting the usually bright hazel shine.
“You know what, don’t answer that.” Not like Haesol would, anyway. Han wasn’t in the mood for half-truths or false I’m fine-s. Not after all this. “I’m going to take you to the hospital and I don’t care what you think,” he sniffed, picking his phone up and calling for a cab. “I’m your Hyung and Hyung knows best.”
