Chapter Text
Minho had learned the rhythm of hospital mornings the way other people learned the rhythm of their own breathing. It wasn’t something he thought about anymore. It just happened around him, through him, like a tide he had stopped trying to fight.
The lights always flickered awake before he did and the air always felt too cold for this early. The hallways always hummed with the same soft, tired energy.
At twenty-one, he felt older than he was. A year of cancer treatment did that to people. It carved time differently, stretched days and blurred nights and made everything feel like it was happening underwater.
He walked the familiar hallway with his hands tucked into the sleeves of his sweater, sweater paws as he heard them called once, duffel slung over his shoulder, the light pink crocheted cat ear beanie pulled low over his uneven short hair. The beanie made him look softer than he felt but he wore it anyway. It had been a gift from his friend and it made the nurses smile at him in that gentle way he didn’t know how to handle.
Minho expected today to be like every other treatment day. Routine, predictable, quiet. He checked in at the front desk, nodding at the nurses who knew him by name. Nurse Kim, his main nurse for the past year of treatment, guided him to his room with her usual soft fussing.
“You’re early today,” she said, glancing at him with that knowing look she always had.
“I woke up early,” he explained with a tiny shrug.
“You barely sleep,” she replied, not unkindly but with a pointed look.
Minho didn’t argue, he never did when it came to her. Nurse Kim had a way of saying things that made arguing feel pointless. She knew him too well. She knew when he was tired or scared or when he was pretending not to be either.
She also knew when something was different, and something was different today. Minho didn’t notice it at first. He was too busy settling into the familiar routine of sitting on his bed, the prick of the IV, the setting up of the bag on the pole, Minho picking at the IV tape on the back of his hand when she left, and waiting for the ache in his bones to settle.
But then he heard it. A voice, bright and nervous and talking way too fast, like someone trying to outrun their own thoughts.
It drifted through the hallway, through the thin wall between his room and the one next door. Minho paused, listening without meaning to, because clearly someone new had been admitted.
He didn’t get new neighbors often. Most people came and went, some stayed a few days and others stayed longer. But Minho had been here long enough to know the difference between a temporary patient and someone who would be here a while.
This voice sounded like someone who would be here for a while.
Minho tried not to care.
He failed within a minute.
He stood, mask in hand, dragging the rolling IV pole behind him, and stepped into the hallway. The door next to his was cracked open, just enough for him to see inside.
He didn’t mean to peek. He just… did.
A boy sat on the bed, swallowed by an oversized green zip up hoodie that looked like it could double as a blanket. His hair was messy in a way that looked unintentional but suited him. He was talking to the nurse about anything to keep the silence from settling too heavily.
Nurse Kim stood beside him, checking his chart. Minho knew that chart, he had seen her hold his the same way for a year.
She glanced up and caught Minho peeking.
“Oh, Minho,” she said, her voice warm in the way only she could manage. “You can come in. I want you to meet someone.”
Minho froze. He hadn’t expected to be noticed, much less invited in. Minho hesitated but stepped inside, slipping his mask on and fixing the elastic behind his ears.
The boy in green looked up immediately. His eyes widened, then softened, like he had been waiting for something interesting to happen and Minho was it.
“Jisung, this is Minho.” Nurse Kim said, gesturing from Jisung to Minho and then from Minho to Jisung. “Minho, this is Jisung. He’s our newest patient in the oncology unit.”
Jisung lifted a hand in a small wave. “Hi.”
Minho nodded. “Hi.”
Nurse Kim continued to talk while she took note of Jisung’s vitals. “You two should talk. You’re close in age. And Minho knows this place better than anyone. I’m sure he can tell you how he seems to get extra pudding.”
Minho felt his ears warm under the beanie, both from the introduction and from the knowledge that apparently Nurse Kim had known about Minho stealing extra pudding cups.
Jisung perked up. “How old are you?” he asked, eyes sparkling.
“Twenty-one. You?”
Jisung grinned. “I’m nineteen. So you’re like… older, but not old.”
Minho stared at him, head tilting to the side. “Thank you?”
Jisung shrugged, smiling he hadn’t said anything strange at all. “You’re welcome.”
Nurse Kim hid a smile behind her clipboard. “I’ll be back in a bit. Minho, mind keeping an eye on him?”
Minho stiffened. “Why me?”
“Because,” she said simply, “you could use a friend.” She left before Minho could respond. The room felt too quiet without her.
Jisung tugged at the zipper of his hoodie, fidgeting with it. “So… you’re next door?”
Minho nodded.
“That’s cool,” Jisung said. “I mean, not cool that we’re both here, but cool that you’re next door. You know what I mean.”
Minho smiled under the mask. He stepped a little farther into the room, pulling the IV pole near, and leaning against the wall to steady himself. His body still felt weak but he didn’t want to sit. Sitting felt too permanent, too vulnerable.
Jisung tilted his head. “Are you okay?”
Minho nodded again. “Just tired.”
“You look tired,” Jisung said softly, an observation not an insult. “But like… in a pretty way.”
Minho blinked several times, confused and shocked.
Jisung’s eyes widened. “I didn’t mean- I mean, I did mean it, but not like- I’m not flirting, unless you want me to be flirting, which I’m not saying I am, I’m just-”
Minho let out a quiet breath that might’ve been a laugh. Jisung stopped rambling, eyes brightening. “Was that a laugh?”
“No,” Minho said too quickly.
“It was,” Jisung insisted. “I heard it.”
Minho looked away, picking at the IV tape again. “You’re hearing things.”
“Okay,” Jisung said, smiling like he knew he was right.
Minho didn’t know what to do with someone who smiled at him like that, someone who made him want to smile back. In just a few minutes, Jisung somehow made the hospital feel less like a place he was trapped in and more like a place he could breathe in. So Minho stayed, leaned against the wall with his mask covering the tiny smile he had and IV pole next to him and his heart beating too fast for how still he was standing. He stayed because Jisung didn’t look at Minho like he was a patient or fragile, Jisung made the morning feel warm. He stayed because he wanted to, and Minho didn’t want things often.
Minho stayed longer than he meant to. They talked about everything and nothing. From the weather to the anime series Minho finished last week to the botched recipe of muffins Jisung had attempted a few days ago. The conversation came to a soft lull, silence settling between them like morning fog.
Jisung shifted on the bed, pulling his knees up and hugging them loosely. The green hoodie bunched around him like a cocoon. He looked small in it. Young, younger than nineteen, but not fragile. Like someone who didn’t know how to sit still with fear, so he filled the space with noise instead. Minho understood that too well.
“So,” Jisung said, rocking his legs side to side, “you’ve been here a while?”
Minho nodded. “A year.”
Jisung’s eyes softened. “That’s… that’s a long time.”
“It feels longer.”
Jisung didn’t pity him for that, he just nodded like he understood even though he couldn’t possibly understand yet.
“What about you?” Minho asked quietly. “When did you get diagnosed?”
“Last week,” Jisung said. “I didn’t even know anything was wrong. I just thought I was tired. Or stressed. Or dehydrated. Or, I don't know, being a dramatic teenager. I didn’t think it would be… that. Apparently cancer doesn’t care about age.” Jisung huffed a humorless laugh.
Minho didn’t know what to say to that. He had learned early on that there were no good responses to the unfairness of it all. No comforting words or neat explanation, just the acknowledgement that life could be cruel without warning.
Jisung didn’t seem to expect an answer. He picked at a loose thread on his sleeve, then looked up again. “Can I ask you something?”
Minho nodded.
“What kind of cancer do you have?”
Minho hesitated. Not because he didn’t want to tell him, but because he didn’t want to see the look people always gave him. The one that said they were sorry or were scared for him or made him feel like he was already halfway gone. But Jisung was looking at him with curiosity not pity.
“Hodgkin’s lymphoma,” Minho said.
Jisung nodded slowly. “Is it… serious?”
“Yes.”
“How serious?”
Minho looked at the floor. “My survival rate is low because of my already weak immune system.”
The room went quiet. Jisung didn’t look away, he didn’t pity Minho or apologize like most do. He just softly said, “I’m glad you’re here.”
Minho’s breath caught. He didn’t know why those words hit him so hard. Maybe because no one had said things like that to him anymore. Maybe because people tiptoed around him like he was made of glass. Maybe because he had forgotten what it felt like to be wanted in a room.
He swallowed to get rid of the lump in his throat. “What about you? What kind do you have?”
Jisung shifts to sitting cross legged on the bed, hoodie sleeves tugged over his hands, eyes flicking between Minho and the blanket like he’s trying to decide which one is safer to look at.
He takes a breath. “It’s leukemia.” he starts quietly. “Early stage. Like, really early. The kind where my doctors keep saying things like ‘good timing’ and ‘we caught it fast’ and ‘you’re lucky’.” He laughs a little, but it’s thin and nervous. “It doesn't feel lucky, though. It feels… weird. Like my blood betrayed me or something.”
Minho listens quietly, the way he always does, and Jisung relaxes a little, like saying it out loud made it real but also made it lighter. Jisung swallowed. “But I’m still scared. I’m nineteen. I didn’t think I’d be in a hospital this soon.” He picks at a loose thread on the cuff of his sleeve. “They said it’s treatable, though. I’m not terminal. They said I just need monitoring and some treatment to make sure it doesn’t get worse.”
Minho nodded, relief blooming his chest before he could stop it. He didn’t want Jisung to be sick at all, but if he had to be, he was glad it wasn’t the kind that stole people quickly.
Jisung watched him carefully. “You look relieved.”
“I am.” Minho admitted.
“Why?”
Minho didn’t have an answer that didn’t sound too honest or revealing. He just shrugged. “You’re young.”
Jisung tilted his head. “So are you.”
“I feel older.” Minho said with a huff of a laugh.
Jisung’s smile softened. “You don’t look older.”
Minho blinked, shocked. “I don’t?”
“No,” Jisung grinned. “You look cute.”
Minho’s heart stuttered. “I’m wearing a mask. You can’t see half my face.” At the mention of it, Minho adjusted it to sit higher on his nose because it had slipped a bit while he was talking.
“Yeah, but your eyes are cute.” Jisung said, like it was a fact of life.
Minho looked away so fast he nearly lost his balance, so glad the mask was hiding the blush on his cheeks.
Jisung laughed quietly. “Sorry, I say things without thinking sometimes.”
“It’s fine,” Minho said, voice barely above a whisper. He picked at the IV tape again, trying to hide the way his hands trembled. He wasn't used to compliments or being perceived or someone looking at him as more than just a patient.
Jisung leaned back against the pillows, watching with a softness Minho didn't know how to hold. “So, what’s it like? Being here for a year?”
Minho exhaled quietly, the heat fading from his cheeks. “Quiet.”
“Too quiet?”
“Sometimes.”
Jisung nodded. “I hate quiet.”
“I know,” Minho said with a laugh. Jisung blinked at him, confused. “You ask a lot of questions,” Minho explained.
Jisung laughed again, bright and warm. “Yeah, I guess I do.”
And though it was true, Minho didn’t mind it, at all. He found himself stepping closer, leaning against the wall near the foot of Jisung’s bed. His body still felt weak but he didn’t want to sit. Sitting felt too much like staying, like admitting he wanted to be there.
Jisung didn’t seem to mind the distance. He didn’t push or ask Minho to sit, he just talked. About his classes, his friends, his roommate who snored like a dying lawnmower.
Minho listened with a small smile, enjoying Jisung’s voice. He didn’t realize how long he had been standing there until his legs started to ache.
Jisung noticed before he said anything. “You can sit, you know.”
Minho shook his head. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not,” Jisung said gently. “You’re tired.”
Minho didn’t deny it, he just didn’t move. Jisung patted the empty spot on his bed. “Sit. Please?”
Minho hesitated, then he sat on the edge. The spot was close enough he could smell the faint scent of laundry detergent on his hoodie, close enough he could hear the tiniest hitch in Jisung’s breath when he shifted, close enough that it scared him.
Jisung didn’t seem scared at all. He just smiled at him again, soft and warm and too bright for a hospital room and yet exactly what was needed.
🌸⋆｡°✩°｡⋆🌿
Jisung was a constant in the hospital, something Minho wasn't used to. He was used to seeing new faces within a few days. But Jisung was always there, always ready to sneak extra pudding with Minho, always ready to show Minho a new book series he was reading, always ready to be there to just talk about nothing and yet leave with deep satisfaction.
Minho timed his walks. He was required to walk around the halls to stretch his legs and to not just stay in his room cooped up. Minho had a sneaking suspicion that Nurse Kim wanted that for Minho so that he could make new friends. But nonetheless, he walked the hallways, passing Jisung's room on his way to the vending machine. Sometimes Jisung's door was closed, sometimes it was open. Jisung was usually in his bed trying to not be bored out of his mind. Often Jisung was reading but sometimes he was playing a game on his phone or sleeping.
But every time Minho would pass, Jisung perked up like an excited puppy. And sometime over the days, Jisung started to anticipate Minho walking by, inviting him in.
One day, Jisung had Minho download one of the games Jisung loved to play so they could play multiplayer. Minho had been so lost trying to figure out the rules, Jisung holding half of Minho's phone with one hand while he used the other to point to different things and explain them. Minho barely understood any of it because Jisung's fingers were over his own on the phone and Minho couldn't think. He was happy he had the mask on because it hid the blush creeping on his cheeks.
Jisung's laughter was also a constant. He was a naturally happy and optimistic person. The type of person that gave life real thought and chose to be happy in it instead of depressed. Jisung's laughter was bright and unguarded. They had exchanged numbers early on in their friendship and so far Minho had been on the receiving end of Jisung's humor. He would hear a laugh from next door and then a few seconds later, a chime came from Minho's phone with whatever meme or Youtube short had made Jisung laugh this time.
Minho found it adorable. The way that Jisung's joy hadn't been dimmed by cancer. Minho hoped and prayed that it wouldn't ever dim and burn out, because Jisung deserved to be happy through this.
🌸⋆｡°✩°｡⋆🌿
Minho knew something was wrong the moment Nurse Kim walked into his room that next morning with her clipboard held a little too tightly. She always held it gently, like it was an extension of her hand. Today, her fingers were faintly white at the knuckles.
He sat up slowly, the familiar ache in his bones settling like sand. His pink beanie slipped slightly to one side and he adjusted it out of habit. He waited for her to speak.
She didn’t right away. She looked at him with that soft, steady expression she used when she had to tell him something he wouldn’t like. Minho had seen it before too many times. He braced himself.
“Minho,” she said quietly, “the doctors want to try a new treatment.”
His stomach dropped. New treatment never meant easy or gentle, it meant last resort.
He swallowed thickly. “Why?”
Nurse Kim hesitated. “Your numbers have been… inconsistent. The current plan is not working the way we hoped.”
Minho looked down at his hands, picking at his bandage covering the tiny poke of the IV and trying to hide the way they trembled. He heard the unspoken words. The treatment failed this time, the first in the whole time since Minho had been diagnosed. He shifted his gaze to the floor, not able to look at her face, asking softly “What kind of treatment?”
She told him, explained it all with medical terms and then in regular everyday words. Minho felt his world tilt. He had heard of the treatment. Everyone on this floor had. A treatment with a low survival rate but a high chance of helping if it worked. It was a gamble, a dangerous one at that.
He nodded slowly even though his chest felt tight. “When, uh, when would I start?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
He closed his eyes, feeling the weight of it settle. So soon, which means the doctors were worried.
Nurse Kim stepped closer, her voice softening. “You don’t have to be brave right now, Minho. I know it’s scary.”
But Minho didn’t know how to be anything else. He’d been putting on the brave act since he was first diagnosed. Nurse Kim left to continue her shift and settle a few things for Minho’s file and Minho debated going to see Jisung. He wanted to but he didn’t go right away. He tried to sleep or read. He tried to breathe normally. None of it worked. His mind kept circling the same thought.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
He didn’t want to be alone with it anymore, so he stood, paw print fabric mask settling on his face, and stepped into the hallway. His legs felt unsteady, but he kept moving. He always kept moving.
Jisung’s door was open, as always. The boy in green was sitting cross legged on the bed, hoodie unzipped and pooled around him, hair sticking up in soft curls. He was focused on his phone, twisting it side to side like a steering wheel, tongue poking out softly. He looked up the moment Minho appeared, turning off his phone.
“I see you’re committed to the cat lover aesthetic.” Jisung said, admiring the mask and the usual cat ear beanie. His smile faded when he took in Minho’s appearance. “You look… not good,” he said, voice gentle.
Minho let out a breath of a laugh. “Thanks.”
“You know what I mean.”
Minho did.
Jisung shifted on his bed making room for Minho to sit if he wanted to. “Are you okay?”
Minho stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He didn’t usually close doors. He didn’t like the feeling of being boxed in. But right now he needed the world to be smaller.
Jisung sat up straighter. “What happened?”
Minho didn’t answer right away. He sat on the edge of Jisung’s bed, turning to face him, one leg folded up and the other dangling and swinging a bit. He stared at the charm on Jisung’s hoodie zipper. Jisung waited, patient.
“The treatment didn’t work. They want to try a new different treatment,” Minho said finally, voice soft like maybe if he didn’t say it too loud it wouldn’t be real.
Jisung’s breath caught. “Is that good?”
“It could be,” Minho said with a small shrug.
Jisung wasn’t too well versed in anything with cancer yet but he understood Minho’s body language. “And bad?”
Minho nodded.
“How bad?”
Minho swallowed. His throat felt tight suddenly. “It’s high risk. Low survival rate. Aggressive.”
The room went quiet, just the soft beeping of the machines beside Jisung’s bed, any shift of the sheets on the bed felt like it was screaming. Jisung didn’t look away. He didn’t panic or pity him. He just shifted closer, mirroring Minho’s position, his hand resting on the bed near Minho’s.
“Are you scared?” Jisung asked softly.
Minho’s breath stilled. He had been asked that question before, by doctors and nurses and his parents and by people who meant well but didn’t understand that fear had become a second skin for him. He always said no, to keep them from worrying. He didn’t say no this time.
“Yes,” he whispered, his voice trembling.
Jisung nodded like he expected that answer. “You’re allowed to be scared. It sounds scary.”
Minho didn’t know how Jisung could say that with so much certainty and warmth. Jisung had only been here for a short time, he hadn’t lived in these hallways the way Minho had, he hadn’t felt the weight of months of uncertainty pressing to his chest. But Jisung said it like he understood anyway.
Minho’s voice was barely audible when he confessed the fear that had lodged itself into his mind the second Nurse Kim had walked into his room. “I don’t want to die.”
Jisung’s eyes softened in a way that made Minho’s chest ache. “You’re not dying. You’re fighting. And this treatment… it could help. Right?”
“It could.”
“Then imagine it works.”
Minho blinked at him. “What?”
“Imagine it works,” Jisung repeated, scooting closer until their knees touched. “Imagine you get to be normal again. Imagine you get to do all the things you haven’t been able to do.”
Minho stared at him, wondering not for the first time, how Jisung managed to keep all this optimism even through all this.
“You could go outside without a mask.” Jisung continued, voice warm and earnest. “You could go to a cafe and sit there for hours with an overpriced drink. You could go to the movies with friends. You could walk around without getting tired easily. You could go to the beach and play in the water. You could eat street food, oh, I know a great place. You could do anything.”
Minho listened like he was memorizing every word, like he was imagining it all in detail. He stared at Jisung, at the way his eyes sparkled when he talked about the world outside these walls, at the way he made everything sound possible.
Minho looked down at his hands, fidgeting with them as his voice was barely above a whisper. “Would… hanging out with you be on the list?”
Jisung froze. His eyes softened and Minho could hear his breath catching. And when Minho looked back up at him, Jisung smiled, warm and soft and real.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Of course it would.”
They sat there in the soft hospital light, the world outside their small room feeling impossibly far away and impossibly close at the same time. Minho didn’t feel less scared with the possibility of a future but he felt less alone, and maybe that was enough for now.
🌸⋆｡°✩°｡⋆🌿
The treatment had worked. That was what everyone kept saying. The doctors, the nurses, even the way the morning sunlight fell across Minho’s bed seemed to agree, softer and warmer and less like a spotlight, more like something gentle.
But Minho didn’t feel fixed. He felt… thinner. Like someone had taken him apart and put him back together again but a few pieces didn’t fit the same way anymore. Relief and fear lived too close together in his chest.
He woke on day five of his recovery with a heaviness in his limbs that wasn’t quite the usual post-treatment fatigue. His head felt full, like cotton had been stuffed behind his eyes, and his IV site on the back of his hand felt bruised. He told himself it was nothing, that he was imagining it, that maybe he tugged the IV too hard in his sleep on accident.
He tugged his mask on - the cat paw print one that he loved - after he washed up. The elastic tugged lightly behind his ears, familiar and grounding in a way that wasn’t the case a year ago but now was as much a part of him as the chronic ache in his limbs were. He wore a mask all the time now, every time he left his room or just existed near another person. He was still fragile, breakable, and even something as small as a cold could hurt him.
Jisung arrived midmorning, green hoodie zipped halfway, hair sticking up like he’d run his hands through it on the way over. Nurse Kim had said no visitors for a few days to let Minho’s immune system build itself back up a bit but now that Jisung was allowed, he came as early as possible. He had knocked in that anxious way he did like he was trying to not disturb Minho.
“It’s me. Can I come in?” he asked through the door.
Minho’s heart lifted in a way he didn’t know how to control. “Come in.”
Jisung stepped inside with a smile that made the room feel less sterile and cold. “Morning.”
Minho tried to smile back, but it was softer than usual, his eyes barely crinkling. Jisung didn’t point it out, he just moved closer, dragging the hospital bedside chair closer to the bed. He spun it around so he could lean forward on the backrest, arms crossed across the top and chin resting on his arms, big eyes looking at Minho.
“You look awake,” he said. “That’s new.”
Minho huffed a quiet laugh as he shifted to sitting cross legged on his hospital bed. “Barely.”
Jisung didn’t hear the strain in his voice. He never did when he was excited to see Minho.
“How’re you feeling?” Jisung asked, eyes bright.
Minho hesitated as he thought about it. His head felt heavy, his skin felt too warm under his thin shirt, there was a faint ache behind his eyes that pulsed with his heartbeat. The normal fatigue but seemingly turned up a bit.
“Tired,” he settled on.
“Good tired or bad tired?” Jisung asked, head tilted to the side, cheek smushing to his arms.
“Just… tired.”
Jisung nodded, accepting that without question. He always accepted Minho’s answers, even when they weren’t answers at all. Minho was always grateful for that. He never wanted Jisung to worry.
They talked about nothing for a while. Life, the pudding that he had last night that tasted so good, the other colors of zip up hoodies Jisung had and why he loves the green one (“This one is like a hug in blanket and jacket form,” Jisung had said with a smile. Minho didn’t know why his heart flipped from such a normal statement).
Jisung hesitated, then he got off the chair, spinning it around so that it was facing Minho, sitting down and pulling his legs up to hug them loosely. He suddenly looked nervous in a way Minho wasn’t used to seeing.
“Can I tell you something?” Jisung asked softly.
Minho looked at him, eyes softening. “You can tell me anything.”
Jisung took a breath, fingers twisting in the fabric of his hoodie. “I… I like you.”
Minho blinked.
Jisung continued, voice trembling just a little. “I like you in a… like-like way. A crush way. I like being around you. And I think about you when I’m not with you. I just… like you.”
Minho’s heart stuttered. He had imagined hearing those words and what it would feel like in the quiet moments before sleep, when hope felt like something he wasn’t allowed to hold. He even imagined saying it himself.
But hearing it out loud felt different. It felt real and warm and terrifying.
“Jisung…” Minho looked down at his hands, picking at the IV tape, knowing he’d get scolded for it later.
Jisung hugged his legs tighter. “You don’t- you don’t have to say it back. I just… I just needed you to know.”
Minho shook his head. “It’s not that.”
“Then what?”
Minho’s voice cracked. “I like you too.” Jisung froze and Minho kept talking because if he stopped, he’d fall apart. “I like you so much it scares me. I don’t know what to do with it.”
Jisung looked up fast, eyes widened. “You do?”
Minho nodded, eyes softening and crinkling with the tiniest saddest smile that was behind his paw print mask, smile falling fast as he continued.. “But I’m scared,” Minho whispered. “I don’t want to hurt you if… if something happens. If it comes back later. If the treatment stops working. If I get sick. If I-”
Minho can’t even bring himself to say it. It feels like he’d speak it into existence, even though that’s crazy. But Jisung understood the unspoken.
If I die.
“Minho.” Jisung’s voice was gentle but firm. Minho looked up at him. “That’s what makes it special.
Minho stared at him, confused. “What?”
“We don’t know how much time anyone has,” Jisung said. “Not just you. Anyone. But we know we have right now.”
Jisung sat down on the edge of Minho's bed and he reached out slowly, giving Minho time to pull away if he wasn’t ready. Minho didn’t. He watched as Jisung’s warm hand held Minho’s chronically cold one, the one without the IV port but had scars from past IV pokes, Jisung’s thumb brushing Minho’s knuckles.
“And I want to spend my right now with you,” Jisung said softly. “With whatever time we have, we can spend it together. Instead of wasting it being afraid of what might happen. If you want that too.”
Minho closed his eyes. He wanted to believe that, he wanted to hold it and let himself want something that seemed impossible for him. He opened his eyes, vision blurring from the tears that had welled up, and Jisung was watching him with a softness that felt like warm summer sunlight.
“That was really cheesy.” Minho said, the tears evident in his voice even if he refused to let them fall from his eyes.
“I watch a lot of romance movies.” Jisung said with a little laugh.
Minho melted a bit at that, eyes softening as a single tear rolled down and gathered on the edge of his mask. He reached up, hooking the elastic and letting the mask fall from his face.
“Minho,” Jisung whispered, eyes widening because he knew Minho was supposed to keep the mask on. “You don’t have to.”
“I want to,” Minho said quietly, leaning forward so their foreheads touched softly. Jisung inhaled sharply, breath trembling in the space between their faces. Minho’s heart pounded. “Can I?”
Jisung nodded slightly. “Yes.”
Minho leaned forward, hand cupping Jisung’s cheek and their lips met softly. Carefully, like they were both afraid to break something fragile. It was everything Minho had been afraid to want for a long time. Jisung’s hand moved to the back of Minho’s neck, playing with his short hair gently and brushing the soft edge of the beanie. Their breaths mingled in the quiet of the room.
By all accounts, it was reckless, dangerous, not allowed. But it felt right.
When they pulled apart, Jisung rested his forehead against Minho’s. Minho looked up at his eyes through his lashes, taking note of how Jisung’s normally big boba eyes looked extra cute from this angle, Minho’s thumb brushing the adorable chocolate chip mole on his cheek. Minho brushed his thumb on Jisung’s cheek, whispering into the space between their mouths, “You’re worth the risk.”
Jisung searched Minho’s eyes for regret but he found none, just caring and love. Jisung’s eyes dropped to Minho’s nose, noticing the adorable little freckle on his left nostril, the type of detail usually hidden by the mask.
Jisung gently tugged Minho to the side and down to the bed, careful that the IV line didn’t get yanked wrong. He lay beside him, pulling Minho gently to him, Minho resting his head on Jisung’s chest, melting into the warmth. Jisung’s hand rested on the back of his head, fingers brushing the edge of the pink beanie. Minho’s cheek was pressed over Jisung’s heartbeat, listening to the steady thumps of life.
They lay like that for a long time, quiet and warm and hidden. Minho closed his eyes after a few minutes, the warmth of Jisung intensifying the exhaustion that had been settling at the back of Minho’s mind all morning.
Jisung whispered, “We shouldn’t be doing this, Nurse Kim would be yelling at us about germs.”
Minho huffed a little laugh, eyes still closed. “True.”
And even though they both acknowledged it, neither boy moved apart, relaxing further into the comfort. Jisung kissed the top of Minho’s beanie, smiling into the little peck. “I love you,” he whispered into the beanie, the softest confession.
“I love you, too.” Minho said, voice barely audible as his breathing slowed and his body relaxed.
Minho fell asleep like that, head on Jisung’s chest and Jisung’s arms around him. The boy in pink and the boy in green, holding onto something they both let themselves want.
When Minho’s breaths evened out, Jisung pressed another soft kiss to the top of his beanie, careful not to wake him. He slid out of the bed slowly, tucking the blanket around Minho before stepping back.
He looked at him for a long moment, softly and with such fondness Minho would be blushing if he were awake. And Jisung was already so in love with this boy. He slipped out of the room and padded quietly back to his own, making sure no nurse saw him leave, his and Minho’s little secret.
🌸⋆｡°✩°｡⋆🌿
Minho woke before dawn, like he was being yanked awake. He felt wrong. His skin was hot, too hot. His head throbbed in a slow, heavy pulse. His throat burned so bad even breathing felt like dragging air through sandpaper.
He tried to sit up, but the room tilted sharply and he had to grab the bedrail to keep himself upright. A cough tore out of him, rough and painful, shaking his whole body. His trembling hand found the call button and pressed.
Nurse Kim arrived first, she always did. She stepped in with her usual calm, but the moment she saw him - flushed, trembling, sweat dampening the edges of his beanie - her expression shifted
“Minho?” she said softly, already moving toward him, crossing the room in quick steps. “Honey, why didn’t you call sooner?”
“I-” His voice cracked. “I just woke up.”
Nurse Kim pressed a gloved hand to his forehead. Her eyes widened at the heat. “Okay,” she murmured, voice steady even as her movements quickened. “Alright, we’re going to take care of you.”
He tried to answer but another cough ripped through him, harder this time, his vision blurred at the edges like a burnt film.
Nurse Kim didn’t waste a second, hitting the call button on the wall. Within seconds two more nurses appeared. Everything after that happened fast. Footsteps, the clatter of equipment, cool hands adjusting his blankets and sliding the beanie off his head, someone checking his IV, some else taking his temperature again like they didn’t believe the first number. It all blurred together and Minho tried to focus but the fever made everything swim.
He heard some say, “Fever’s spiking.”
Another voice said, “He’s immunocompromised. We need to move fast.”
Nurse Kim’s voice cut through the noise. “Minho, sweetheart, stay with me, okay?”
And Minho tried, he really tried. But the room kept tilting and his breath came in shallow pulls and his finger trembled uncontrollably and his vision pulsed with each heartbeat.
Then he heard a voice he knew instantly.
“Minho?”
Jisung.
Minho forced his eyes open. Jisung stood in the doorway, hoodie unzipped and falling off one shoulder, hair sticking up like he had just woken up, eyes wide and already shiny with tears. He looked terrified.
“What’s happening?” Jisung asked, voice cracking. “He was fine yesterday.”
Nurse Kim lifted a hand, firm but gentle because she knew how much Jisung cared about Minho. “Jisung, you need to stay outside.”
“What? No- I need to-”
“You can’t,” she said, voice soft but unyielding. “He’s very sick right now. We can’t risk exposing him to anything else.”
Jisung froze. Minho saw the panic in his eyes, like Jisung was remembering the forbidden kiss and feeling guilty for it, and tried to speak. “Sung-” But the word dissolved into a cough, harsh and painful. His whole body shook with it and the nurses moved faster.
Jisung took a step forward, Nurse Kim blocking him with her body.
“Please,” Jisung whispered. “Please, I just want to stay with-”
“Jisung, I know you care about him,” she said gently. “But you’ll only make it worse. Right now, the best thing you can do is stay out of the room.”
Jisung’s face crumpled, tears rolling down his cheeks. Minho reached out weakly, hand trembling in the air, but he was too far away. He couldn't reach him, couldn’t reach anything. The fever surged again, a wave of heat crashing through him so violently he gasped and curled in on himself. The nurses moved in sync, grabbing cooling blankets and administering medication into his IV line. They checked his vitals and whispered instructions to each other.
Jisung stood in the doorway, gripping the frame so hard his knuckles turned white. “Minho,” he whispered, voice breaking. “I’m right here. I’m not leaving.”
Minho tried to nod but he wasn’t sure if he managed it. His vision blurred again, a mix of tears and the fever burning behind his eyes. The room dimmed at the edges. Voices became muffled. Hands steadied him as his head lolled.
Nurse Kim’s voice floated through the haze. “Stay with us, Minho. You’re okay. We’ve got you.”
Jisung’s voice followed, softer and desperate. “Minho, please…”
Minho blinked slowly. The world flickered. He felt the heat, the fear, the distance between him and Jisung. It felt like a physical ache, or maybe it was just the fever. He tried to breathe, to stay awake, to hold on to consciousness. But the fever pulled him under.
And the last thing he heard before everything went dark was Jisung’s voice, shaking and breaking with sobs and begging.
“I’m right here. Please be okay.”
🌸⋆｡°✩°｡⋆🌿
Jisung didn’t remember sitting down. One moment he was standing in the doorway, heart pounding so hard it hurt, watching nurses move around Minho with terrifying speed. The next, he was sitting on the floor against the wall opposite Minho’s room, knees pulled up and hugged tightly to his chest, hands clasped so tightly his knuckles ached.
He wasn’t allowed inside. Nurse Kim had made that clear. But she also didn’t make him leave the hallway. He wasn’t in the way, he made sure of that, so he stayed, eyes glued to Minho.
The hallway lights were dimmed for the night shift, casting long shadows across the floor. The air smelled faintly of disinfectant and something sharper, fear maybe. Or maybe that was just him.
Minho lay in the bed, half turned toward the door, face flushed with fever. Now that Jisung knew it was there, he easily spotted the tiny freckle on Minho’s nose. His hair was damp with sweat, the pink beanie folded neatly on the bedside table. His breathing was shallow and uneven, an oxygen cannula resting softly across his pink cheeks. Every few minutes he let out soft sounds - whimpers, barely audible - but it was enough to break Jisung’s heart a little more each time.
He hated this, hated sitting there, useless, while Minho suffered. He hated the distance between them, a few feet that felt like miles. He hated the way Minho’s fingers twitched weakly against the sheets, like he was reaching for something he couldn’t find. He hated that he couldn’t go to him, that he wasn’t allowed.
Nurse Kim stepped out of the room, closing the door halfway behind her so the light wouldn’t spill in. She looked tired, more tired than Jisung had ever seen her, the kind of tiredness that comes from years of night shifts and worrying about other people’s kids. She crouched down beside Jisung.
“You’ve been sitting out here a long time,” she said, voice low and steady. “Your legs must be numb.”
Jisung shook his head quickly. “I’m fine.”
She gave him a small, knowing smile. “You don’t have to pretend with me. Besides, I’m a nurse. I know when you’re faking.”
He swallowed, eyes fixed on the floor. “I’m not leaving.”
“I figured you would say that,” she said gently, “Minho’s stable right now. His fever’s high, but we’re keeping it under control.”
Jisung’s fingers twisted in the sleeve of his hoodie. “I heard the nurses talking earlier.”
Nurse Kim didn’t flinch. “What did you hear?”
“That they’re not sure if he’ll be okay,” His voice cracked on the last word.
Nurse Kim nodded slowly, not dismissing it but not sugarcoating it. “They’re worried. We all are. But uncertainty doesn't mean hopeless. It just means we’re watching him closely.”
Jisung blinked hard, trying to keep his eyes from stinging. “But he’s so hot. And he won’t wake up. And he keeps making these little sounds like he’s hurting and I can’t do anything.”
“You’re scared,” she said softly.
He nodded, jaw tight.
Nurse Kim rested a warm hand on his shoulder. “You being here matters more than you think.”
“No it doesn’t,” he whispered. “I’m not even allowed in the room.”
“That’s only because we can’t risk exposing him to anything right now,” she said. “His immune system is like wet tissue paper. Even a tiny germ could make things worse.”
Jisung’s breath hitched. He hesitated, then spoke so quietly she had to lean in to hear him. “Nurse Kim… I need to tell you something.”
Her expression stayed calm. “Alright.”
He swallowed hard. “We… kissed. Last night.”
Nurse Kim blinked once. “You and Minho?”
Jisung nodded, eyes filling. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done it. I didn’t think- I didn’t think he’d get sick. I thought he was okay. I thought it was safe. I mean, I knew it was risky but I didn’t- We didn’t- I didn’t mean to-”
“Jisung,” she said gently, placing a hand over his fidgeting ones. “Look at me.”
He did, reluctantly.
“You did not make him sick.”
“But-”
“No,” she said, firm but kind. “A kiss is risky, yes. But it isn't the only thing that could have caused this. Minho could’ve gotten this fever from a dozen different places. A visitor, a change in meds, even the air in the hallway. You alone didn’t do this to him.”
Jisung wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “It still feels like my fault.”
“I know,” she said softly. “But feelings aren’t facts. You care about him. That’s not something to apologize for.”
Jisung let out a shaky breath. “I just… I want to be with him.”
“I know you do,” she said. “And he knows you’re here.”
Jisung looked up, confused. “How would he know that?”
Nurse Kim’s smile was small and tired but warm. “Beacuse every time he stirs, he turns toward the door.”
Jisung’s breath caught. He looked through the narrow gap in the doorway. Minho, fever flushed and restless, was curled slightly toward the hall. Toward him, even unconscious and burning up, like he was reaching for the one person he knew was waiting.
🌸⋆｡°✩°｡⋆🌿
The next twenty four hours blurred together for Minho.
Minho drifted in and out of sleep, sometimes waking to cold cloths on his forehead, sometimes to the sound of machines beeping softly beside him, sometimes to the faint echo of Jisung’s voice in the hallway.
He dreamed of warmth that felt like sunlight and green hoodies that were cozy and the feeling of someone holding his hand with softness. He held those dreams tight, not letting any of the weird fever dreams take over the momentary bliss.
It was nearly dawn when Minho stirred. It was small at first, a small twitch of his fingers and a shift of his head. Then a soft pained sound escaped and his lashes fluttered. Jisung sat up straighter, heart in his throat.
“Minho?” he said quietly, like he was scared to be any louder.
Minho’s eyes opened slowly, unfocused and glassy. He blinked, disoriented, breathing shallow. His gaze drifted across the room, searching for something he couldn’t quite find. Then his eyes landed on the doorway. The green hoodie was what his eyes found first, standing out against the white walls of the hospital, then Jisung’s face came into focus. Minho smiled, faint and weak but tugging his lips upward.
“Sungie…” he whispered, voice hoarse and barely there. He said it so naturally, like he’d been whispering it into silence for months.
Jisung’s heart broke cleanly in his chest. He stood instinctively, taking a few steps forward but stopping just short of the doorway. He wasn’t allowed in, even though every part of him screamed to go to Minho.
Minho lifted a trembling hand toward him. It didn’t reach far but the gesture was there.
“Hi,” Jisung whispered, voice cracking. “I’m right here.”
Minho blinked slowly, eyes heavy. “Why’re you… so far away? Come closer…”
Jisung leaned forwards and reached out, fingers stretching toward Minho’s. They didn't touch, several feet still between their hands, but they reached. Minho’s eyes softened, the tension in his face easing as he let his hand fall back to the bed.
Jisung swallowed hard, smiling and fond. “Rest, Minho. I’m right here, I promise.”
Minho’s eyes fluttered closed, his breathing evening out, soft and shaky. And even though he drifted back to sleep, his face turned toward the doorway again. His mind knew for sure that Jisung was there and it turned to Jisung like a sunflower towards the sun.
And Jisung stayed, because he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. He stayed even when his legs went numb and he had to pace the hallway to wake them up, stayed when his eyes burned from the lack of sleep, and came back after treatment for his own illness. Because Jisung would stay glued to the floor if it meant Minho slept a bit easier. He would lose sleep if it meant he didn’t wake up in a panic because he didn’t know if Minho was okay.
🌸⋆｡°✩°｡⋆🌿
Days passed, slowly at first like time was dragging on. It wasn’t some dramatic, movie-like moment where Minho was just suddenly better even though Jisung wished for it day and night. Minho’s fever broke in small, uneven waves and then more steadily. He still felt weak and tired and fragile in a way that made every nurse hover a little closer than usual. But he was getting better in little ways. It started with waking without a fever, then being able to sit up without swaying, then eating half a bowl of soup without his stomach protesting.
The nurses still kept a close eye on him. Nurse Kim checked his temperature so often Minho started teasing her about it, which only made her smile and say she would stop when he stopped worrying her.
And every day that passed with Minho getting better and stronger, Nurse Kim allowed Jisung a little closer. Always with a mask, always after sanitizing his hands, but he was allowed closer. He sat beside Minho’s bed, sometimes talking, sometimes scrolling on his phone while Minho dozed. Sometimes they watched movies together. Sometimes they just existed in the same space. Those moments were always Jisung’s favorite.
Jisung was discharged first. His treatment had gone well, his numbers looked good, and the doctors were happy. He was allowed to go home.
Minho tried to smile when Jisung told him, but something in his chest tightened. He didn’t want Jisung to leave, he didn’t want to go back to quiet hallways and empty afternoons. Jisung must’ve seen it on his face because he reached out, soft and warm hands meeting Minho’s cold ones, squeezing gently.
“I’ll come back,” Jisung promised. “Every day if Nurse Kim lets me.”
Minho nodded, knowing his voice would crack with the emotion waiting to break through.
When it was time for Jisung to go, he stood awkwardly in the doorway, green zip up hoodie draped over his arm.
“I, um… I want you to have this,” he said, folding the hoodie in half and placing it next to Minho on the hospital bed. “So you don’t forget me.”
Minho stared at it before his eyes flicked back to Jisung’s. “I could never forget you.”
Jisung’s cheeks flushed the same shade as Minho’s beanie. “Good.” He hesitated, then leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to the top of Minho’s beanie. It wasn’t a real kiss, not the kind they shared before, just a soft little touch. Then he slipped out of the room before he changed his mind and said screw the rules.
Minho pulled the hoodie into his lap and held it against his chest and breathed in the faint scent of laundry detergent and something warm that was just Jisung.
He missed him already and Jisung was probably still in the building.
🌸⋆｡°✩°｡⋆🌿
Two months passed. A very long two months of recovery and waiting and hoping. Minho’s fever stayed away, his numbers improved, and his strength came back little by little.
Minho and Jisung texted everyday, even if it was just a funny meme from Jisung in between a busy school day or a blurry picture of Minho’s pudding cup with a finger heart. Jisung took their everyday texting streak very seriously. Their conversations made the two months go by a little faster. Jisung would visit on the weekends, bringing his homework but not really getting much done.
And then one morning, Nurse Kim walked in with a smile that told him everything before she even spoke.
“You’re going home tomorrow.”
Minho blinked quickly and then smiled brightly. “Wait, really?”
“Really,” she said. “You did it.”
Minho didn’t know what to say, but his smile told Nurse Kim that he was overjoyed. Minho immediately texted Jisung even though he was currently in class and later as Minho got his stuff together for discharge in the morning, he was bombarded with texts from Jisung. A flurry of excited emojis and all caps messages, each its own little message bubble. Minho laughed a little at the amount of times his phone dinged with Jisung’s texts in the span of ten seconds.
Minho gathered his few things. The pink beanie, which he put on and adjusted to sit properly. His cat paw print mask, chargers, clothes, toiletries, a few books. He put everything into the little duffel he had brought that first day he was admitted for treatment. But stopped when he grabbed the green hoodie, the one that still smelled faintly like Jisung’s warmth. He kept that out, wanting to wear it when he left.
When morning came, Nurse Kim disconnected him from all the machines, putting a cat bandaid on Minho’s IV poke, watching as Minho was vibrating with excitement like a kid. She gave him a hug before he left, gentle and warm.
“Take care of yourself, okay?” she said, smoothing his hair in such a motherly gesture like she had a hundred times before before she fixed Minho’s beanie. “And as much as I enjoy your personality, I hope you don’t end up back here to be treated.”
Minho laughed a little. “No promises.”
“Minho.” Nurse Kim gave him an amused but firm look, then lightly squeezed his shoulder with a knowing smile. “I heard someone’s waiting for you.”
Minho’s heart stuttered with anticipation. He stepped outside. The sunlight hit him first, bright and warm and not filtered through hospital windows. Then the breeze, a soft whisper against his skin that made him tug the zip up hoodie closer around him.
Then he saw him. Jisung stood by the entrance, hands shoved into the pockets of a leather jacket, the whole bad boy outfit softened by the green beanie he sported over his fluffy hair. The beanie looked like Minho’s pink one, like a matching pair. Jisung’s smile was immediate, bright in a way that made Minho’s chest ache.
“There’s my favorite pink boy.” Jisung said, walking over to give Minho a big hug, Minho laughing at the nickname.
“I like your beanie.” Minho complimented, tugging the green beanie to cover Jisung’s eyes. Jisung pulled it back, mock glaring at Minho’s antics.
“I figured I’d steal a bit of your style.” Jisung gestured to Minho wearing Jisung’s green zip up. “Seems you’re stealing my style too.”
“Mhm, sure. We’ll go with that.” Minho said, nodding and letting Jisung win this one. Minho nudged Jisung’s shoulder as they walked to the parking lot together. “So, what’s first on the list?” Minho asked, referring to the list that Jisung talked about months ago.
Jisung’s grin widened, bright and a little shy. “Coffee,” he said. “Then everything else.”
Minho’s heart fluttered. “Coffee like… a date?” he asked softly.
Jisung nodded, stealing little sideways glances at Minho to gauge his reaction while his cheeks bloomed with pink blush. “Yeah. Like a date.”
Minho nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. Jisung reached out, hand held out for Minho’s.
“Ready?” Jisung asked. Minho looked at him, really looked. At the green beanie, at the soft smile, at the adorable chocolate chip mole on Jisung’s cheek, at the boy who stayed through it all. Their fingers interlocked, Minho’s thumb brushing the back of Jisung’s hand.
“Yeah,” Minho said. “I’m ready.”
They walked together, pink and green side by side, stepping into a world that suddenly felt a little less scary, a little more theirs.