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If he had realised how much work went into an exchange, Johnny thinks drily to himself, he might not have been so enthusiastic. He's been filling out forms and information and signing documents for at least an hour, gathering all his identification and his details and triple checking he hasn't made any mistakes. It's so close to being official, though, his year in the States, and it makes his heart jump just to think about it. Going back to Chicago, seeing his old friends, going to his favourite food places.
(Johnny is working very hard to ensure he doesn't think about why he's hesitating. He knows why. But he refuses to think about it.)
He's there at his desk, cursor hovering over the 'submit' button, when his phone buzzes.
Mark: Hey are you busy
Johnny: Noo what’s up man?
Mark: Could you go see Haechan?
Mark: He isn’t well and he won’t talk to me.
Mark: Sorry if now is a bad time I’m just really fucking worried and annoyed.
Sighing, Johnny looks at his screen, cursor blinking at him, 'submit' button bright white and inviting and dangerous.
Johnny: Yeah of course, I'll head over right away… are you ok?
Mark: I’m fine. Thanks hyung.
Johnny greets Doyoung at the door - he’s been one of the floor staff at this residence hall since very early in his degree, and he and Johnny have bonded on Johnny’s many visits to see Taeyong before he moved in, and Haechan still.
“How’s it been?” he asks.
“Boring,” answers Doyoung, but he doesn’t sound annoyed about it. Rather, Johnny imagines that he’s studying behind the desk, where it can’t be seen from the front door. “Are you here to see Haechan?”
“Yeah, is that okay?”
Doyoung glances up at the sign by the door - the one that strictly outlines the need for a member of the hall to accompany guests at all times - and says, “Of course, go ahead.”
Johnny shoots him a grin. “Thanks, hyung,” he murmurs, and goes for the elevator. Haechan’s room is on the seventh floor and the elevator is empty, so Johnny has a brief and silent ride up. He wonders what’s going on with Haechan. He wonders what’s going on with Mark.
When he arrives, he knocks on Haechan’s door. At first there’s no response, so he knocks again and calls quietly through, “Haechan, it’s me.”
There are footsteps, and the door opens, only the tiniest bit. “What are you doing here?”
Johnny can tell Haechan doesn’t mean to be rude; his usually sharp voice is wobbly and tired. “You don’t sound good, Haechan-ah. Can I come in?”
“He sent you, didn’t he.” It’s dull, a tired accusation more than a genuine question.
Johnny rests his forehead against the door and takes a breath. “Haechan. Let me in.”
There’s another beat, and then Johnny pulls back as he feels the door open.
Haechan is a sight. He has dark bags under his eyes and his hair is all over the place. His lips are cracked and his eyes are watery and bagged. He smells like he’s sick. One look at Johnny is all it takes before his face crumples and he starts to cry, silent, hands coming up to hide himself.
“Shh,” says Johnny, slipping inside the door and closing it behind him before opening his arms to Haechan. “Shh, hey, come here.” He’s so hot to hold, Johnny immediately knows he has a fever. He wonders again, what Mark did to stop Haechan from wanting his help.
Haechan cries quietly for a few minutes, in which time Johnny guides them to sit on Haechan’s bed. “Have you taken anything for it?” he asks. “A painkiller, or…?”
Haechan shakes his head. Chokes out, “Don't have any.”
“You could have asked Doyoung,” Johnny points out. “Or Jungwoo. I'm sure they can get something for you.”
“I didn't want to see anyone,” Haechan snaps. “The only person who knew was-” and he cuts himself off with another sob.
Johnny sets his jaw. He loves Mark and Haechan both, and when they make each other happy, they make each other so happy. He's still not sure if that's worth all the pain they go through for it. He's never met two people less compatible and more determinedly in love.
“And why didn't you want Mark?”
“Because he’s an asshole,” Haechan mutters, sounding more sad than angry. He wipes his nose on his sleeve.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Johnny asks, and Haechan shakes his head.
Johnny feels his phone buzz in his pocket. Haechan gestures to it. “You should get that. ‘M gonna wash my face.”
“Okay,” Johnny agrees, letting him go so he can get up and go to the small bathroom adjoining his room. The name flashing across his screen is Ten.
“Hey,” Johnny answers.
“Hi, Johnny,” says Ten. “Are you busy? I'm near yours, I was thinking I could bring food over, we could take some photos...?”
If it was anyone else, Johnny would have laughed, told them that apparently everyone wants a piece of him tonight. For all their teasing, he knows Ten is wary of being overbearing and the last thing Johnny wants is to scare him away.
“I'm taking care of a friend who's sick,” he says, “otherwise I'd love to.”
“Oh,” says Ten, but he recovers quickly. “Are they okay?”
“It's Haechan,” Johnny murmurs, before he can help himself. “He's got the flu or something, I don't really know.”
Despite the fact that Ten and Haechan haven’t met, he's heard enough from Johnny to know how this is going. “Right, and he's being stubborn and you're out of your depth?”
Johnny laughs. The sheer relief of being understood. “I mean - yeah.”
“Send me his address. I'll bring a care package over, I used to do this for Tern.”
“I don't-” Johnny hears the tap turn off in the bathroom, “I don't know if he wants visitors.”
“Well that's fine,” says Ten, “I'm not visiting him. I'm visiting you. Plus, do you have any medicine? Anything to feed him?” Johnny's silence answers the question. “Right. Text me the address.”
“Bossy,” says Johnny, and Ten makes a kissy sound over the phone before he hangs up. Johnny breathes through the clench in his stomach and sends the address through.
Haechan reemerges and flops on the bed, putting his head in Johnny's lap. Even after being rinsed, his face is too warm, and Johnny can feel him shaking from the exertion. Johnny cards his fingers through Haechan's sweat-damp hair and presses a kiss to his clammy forehead. It says something that Haechan doesn't smile back at him.
“You know Ten?” Johnny says. “My friend?”
“Yeah?” Haechan croaks.
“He's bringing some medicine and food over, okay? I know you didn't want to see anyone you know, but… you don't know him. So I thought maybe it was okay.”
Haechan frowns, but when he sneezes and gets snot on Johnny’s pant leg, he admits, “Yeah, I'd rather a stranger.” Johnny just laughs and helps him clean up.
Ten phones Johnny when he’s outside, and Johnny gently eases Haechan off his lap so he can go escort him up. “I'll just be a sec,” he promises, to which Haechan grumbles, “You better be.”
In the lobby, Johnny finds Ten animatedly chatting to Jungwoo, who has taken over from Doyoung since Johnny was here. He always thought Ten would be too much for Jungwoo, but Ten seems to know how to balance himself, how to curb his sharp edges a little so Jungwoo doesn't get poked.
Ten is carrying three full shopping bags, a comical sight against his tiny frame, but he's dressed pretty as always, a blue linen button-down paired with tight jeans and boots with a small heel. Johnny never notices what anyone else wears, but Ten makes his own clothes seem special and unique.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Johnny finds his voice and, casually as he can, calls out, “He's with me, Jungwoo.”
“Hi, Johnny,” says Jungwoo quietly. Ten turns around and beams, momentarily blinding Johnny and making him want to lie down on the ground, never to get up again. He hopes it doesn't show.
“It was nice to see you again,” Ten says sweetly to Jungwoo, and then gestures the bags to Johnny. “Okay! Let’s go.”
Barging through the door upstairs, Ten plonks his bags down on Haechan’s desk and says, “Hi, I’m Johnny’s friend Ten.”
Wary, Haechan squints his watery eyes and says, “‘M Haechan.”
“Well, Haechan,” says Ten, “I’m going to get you fixed up. Sorry you’ve been stuck with this oaf.”
Ten shoots Johnny a grin, almost as if to let him know he’s joking, and Haechan laughs despite himself.
Within ten minutes, Ten has Haechan lying propped up on a few pillows on his bed, holding a warm mug of lemon and honey tea and with a platter of fruit Johnny had cut up on the coffee table. Handing Johnny a towelette, Ten orders, “Go wet this,” and not one to disobey direct orders, Johnny does as he’s told.
When he returns, Ten is counting pills out of a few bottles and packets into the palm of his hand, crouched by Haechan’s side. “One’s to help with the nausea, one will help bring your fever and your aches down and should send you to sleep, and one’s to get your sinuses to clear,” Ten says, taking Haechan’s hand and pouring them into his palm. Grumbling, Haechan downs them with some of the tea and a snide comment Ten pretends not to hear.
“Put something on,” Ten says, clapping his hands. “John, put something on to watch. Haechan, finish that cup of tea and orange and then let yourself go to sleep. The cold and flu stuff will have set in by then.”
“Yes, Mom, ” Haechan sighs, but there’s barely any feeling in it. His face is a little less pale and his eyelids are starting to droop.
Johnny and Ten end up sitting on the floor by the bed, with Johnny’s laptop sitting up on the desk, some animal documentary that Haechan chose streaming from Netflix.
Haechan, resistant to strangers and being told what to do, behaves perfectly in-character with Ten, as they bicker the whole evening. The difference is that Ten isn’t affected by his attitude. Haechan’s whinging and jabbing bounces right off Ten, who is just as quick-witted and whose retaliations more often than not cause Haechan to giggle. Ten will preen, then, and glance at Johnny to subtly roll his eyes. Johnny’s in awe.
(“I’m just really tired of him changing his mind,” is all Haechan will tell them, when Ten presses for details about Mark. Nodding, almost as if he understands, Ten drops the topic.)
The night wears on, and eventually things quieten down. Haechan, properly dopey now that the medication has taken effect, is on his way to sleep, with Johnny and Ten each on their phones, about a foot away from each other.
“Johnny?” mumbles Haechan, just near Johnny’s ear where he lies on the bed. “Thanks. I love you.”
“I love you too,” Johnny says, reaching back to pet Haechan’s hair and exchanging a private smile with Ten. “Always.”
Very soon after, Haechan is asleep, some of the creases eased out of his brow. Johnny’s not really paying attention to the documentary any more; he keeps glancing over at Ten, wishing they were sitting closer together.
Mark: Is he ok?
Johnny: Yeah, I got it. He’s alright. Go to sleep.
Mark: I owe you one, bro.
Johnny: You owe Ten, actually. But all good. :)
“You didn’t need to do this,” Johnny finally says, softly so he doesn’t stir Haechan. “I know it’s not exactly, like... hanging out.”
Ten blinks at him with his pretty eyes. “I know,” he replies, “but you would have been lost without me.” He smiles. “Besides, I’ve had a nice evening with you. And he’s a good kid. I’m surprised we haven’t met before, if he’s so close to you.”
“Yeah,” says Johnny slowly, trying to get his head around the fact that this is Ten’s idea of a nice evening . “A lot of the time, he and Mark won’t go to stuff in case they run into each other. Or they’ll be too busy hanging out with each other to go. Either way, they don’t go.”
Ten laughs and shakes his head, leaning over so he can put his head on Johnny’s shoulder. “Boys in love,” he sighs, “they can be so silly.”
Johnny caves, and allows his body to relax, allows his face to rest in Ten’s hair, allows himself to inhale Ten’s shea butter shampoo, and for the briefest moment, allows himself to feel that terrible, treacherous emotion in his stomach and chest, the one that’s always there, the static underpinning everything he does, every second they spend together. He wonders when he’s going to tell Ten that he’s leaving. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Sure can.”