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Jeon Jeongguk has known loss before.
Like the time he’d got his bicycle stolen when he was six years old. He hadn’t locked it properly after he went out for a ride, and in the morning it was gone. He’d cried, then, cried so hard that he was inconsolable until he got a new one. Which is strange, because he seems to always cry for the wrong things, with the wrong reasons. Or rather, he doesn’t cry when he should. He seems to be incapable of computing the weight of loss.
An eight month old baby had passed away under his care from cardiac arrest, he hadn’t cried then, just told the parents calmly what had happened, your son has passed away after a serious cardiac arrest, we were unable to resuscitate him, I’m very sorry. He watched them as they clawed at each other, doubling over with grief. He left the room shortly afterwards to fetch the psychiatrist.
When his father passed away, he hadn’t cried, simply stood by his hospital bed and held his hand after the monitors around them went crazy. The nurses had looked at him wth compassion, and while he appreciated it, his eyes were dry. He should be crying, he knows he should be, but maybe he’s seen too much death to be sad. Besides, he had no connection with this man apart from biological.
So, he’s known loss. But never like this.
He watches Jimin disappear through the sliding glass doors of the departure hall — why did he refuse to walk to the boarding gate with him? —, and suddenly it hits him that in two hours, Jimin will be boarding a plane. Jimin will be boarding a plane that will take him to the United States, to achieve his dreams.
Jimin will be boarding a plane that takes him away from Jeongguk.
And it’s as if the weight of it all has finally hit him, slams directly into his stomach, the air rushing out of his lungs as he crumbles. He barely manages to catch the metal railing as he chokes, gasping desperately. He sees Jimin getting further and further, and it suddenly feels like he hasn’t been there at all for the past few weeks, floating in limbo between reality and dream. This is real; Jimin is going to leave. This is real.
Then he’s running through the glass doors at full speed, shoes slipping on the tiles like a madman. “Jimin! Jimin, wait!”
Jimin barely has any time to turn around before Jeongguk slams into him, clutching at Jimin desperately like a drowning man clinging to a straw. He doesn’t pull away, hugs Jimin tightly in the middle of the departure hall, his hands stroking along his back, chin on his shoulder.
“Jeongguk?” Jimin asks uncertainly. “Are you—”
“No. No, I’m not okay,” Jeongguk chokes out, his airways constricted. He doesn’t feel any calmer with Jimin in his embrace, feels like Jimin is sand in his palm, slowly seeping through the cracks. He vaguely registers Jimin hugging him back, letting go of his luggage to slip his hands under Jeongguk’s jacket, fingers cold. “It’s...okay.”
Jeongguk loosens his hold slightly to pull back and look at Jimin after feeling him shudder in his embrace. Tears are falling down his face, his cheeks all wet and his eyes red. “Hey, hey, don’t cry,” he says, his voice scratchy.
An announcement comes over the PA, reminding passengers that a flight to USA was open for boarding. “That’s... that’s my plane, Jeongguk.”
“I know.” Of course he knows. He hadn’t slept at all last night, reading and rereading the flight information that Jimin sent him, lying on his back in the dark, only the light from his phone screen illuminating the room. He’d read it like there was some mistake in the writing, something he had to warn Jimin about. He knew there wasn’t anything, but maybe all he wanted to warn Jimin about was the dangers of being away from him. From them.
—
“You can’t walk alone at night. It’s not safe, like here,” Jeongguk had told him in the empty consultation room, on an uncharacteristically peaceful night.
“I know, Dr Jeon,” Jimin said teasingly, “I’m aware of how scary the night will be without you beside me.” He presses “ok” on the coffee machine and watches the dark liquid spill into the cup.
“I’m serious,” Jeongguk says, his tone low and eyes downcast. “It can get really— I don’t know how I—”
“Hey, look at me.” Jimin grabs his hand, the other hand coming to prop his chin up. He locks eyes with Jeongguk, sees how his dark eye circles have gotten worse. He sighs. “Have you not been sleeping again?”
“Joseph makes so much noise in On-Call room Beta that none of us can sleep,” Jeongguk chuckles lowly.
“Are you sure that’s all?” Jimin’s worried eyes search his face, and like always, reveal the truth.
“No,” Jeongguk says, his mouth twisting sourly. “Did you know that even basic health insurance isn’t granted to citizens? Make sure to buy health insurance immediately.”
“Jeongguk, the hospital giving me the position is going to give me insurance, don’t worry.”
“Ah right,” Jeongguk mutters. “Um, what else—”
Jaeun throws open the door, startling the both of them. “Dr Park, sorry to disturb you, but you’re needed at Trauma 3. Baby’s not breathing. Dr Kim is already there but wants a second opinion.”
Jimin nods at her, throwing on his coat and looping his stethoscope around his neck again. He grabs his coffee and downs it, grimacing at how the heat burns the back of his throat.
“I’ll come with,” Jeongguk hurriedly says, reaching for his coat lying on the table.
“Sure, just hurry,” Jaeun leaves the room, the door swinging shut behind her.
“Jeongguk, I don’t want you to come,” Jimin says firmly. He heads towards the door with big strides.
“Why? I won’t get in your way—”
“I know you won’t, I’m not worried about that. It’s your rest time now, please go take a nap in the On-Call room, okay? Go to OC Alpha, use my bed. You look dead exhausted and I hate seeing you like this.”
“Jimin, I’m a cardiothoracic surgeon. A lack of sleep is basically in my job description.”
“I know, but I also know you’ve been getting even less lately. Because of me. And I fucking hate that, so will you please listen to me and get some sleep? Your patients need an alert and healthy doctor to perform surgery on their most important organ. Thanks.” Jimin wrenches the door open and runs out.
Jeongguk stares after him, watches him round the counter and rush into Trauma 3. He leans forward on the table and exhales slowly.
—
“That’s your plane. That’s your plane, right, you should go,” Jeongguk mutters, untangling himself from Jimin’s embrace. “You should um, you should go.”
But Jimin’s hands stay firm in his jacket, and it’s here in this airport terminal that Jeongguk sees how busy they’ve both been the whole time they were together, the way that a vast majority of their conversations consisted of “0.1 of epi” or “take over compressions”, and if they were lucky, “want to grab a snack with me?”
They were both in the prime of their careers, Jeongguk finally qualified to be an attending surgeon, and Jimin excelling in paediatric surgery. He was so good that he’d published a paper about a connection between ventricular fibrillation episodes that happened in babies and the chance of right side heart failure happening in them as adults. He’d gotten lots of attention for that, even invited to Philadelphia’s Paediatric research centre to oversee some proceduring.
Jimin had told him about what exactly he was going for, but nothing really retained in Jeongguk’s memory, his brain shutting down whenever he heard the word ‘Philadelphia’.
“Jeongguk. Jeongguk, you’ll come see me right?” Jimin’s words are small and scared. He’s anxious, Jeongguk can tell. Who wouldn’t be? “Five years away from home is a long time. I’ll miss you a lot,” he continues.
—
“Asystole. She’s gone. Time of death, 0241.”
He strips off his latex gloves, covered in blood, dropping them into the wastebasket, kicking it a little in frustration.
“You did your best, doctor,” the head nurse tells him, her voice comforting.
He almost had her, a few seconds more and he could have saved her, he could be going out to tell the parents that their daughter was safe and sound, made it through the surgery, might need to be hospitalised for a few more days before being discharged but eitherwise okay. “My best wasn’t enough.” She just places her hand on his back.
The doors open and they walk out together, the parents of the girl immediately rushing forward, their faces tight with anxiety. “Doctor, can I see my daughter? Is she okay?”
He looks at their pleading, hopeful faces, and musters up enough strength to say, “I’m so sorry. Your daughter... there were complications during the surgery. She lost too much blood and went into cardiac arrest. We couldn’t resuscitate her.”
“You mean... you mean she’s dead?” the mother whispers, her entire body weakening as she collapses onto her husband.
“The psychiatrist and a worker from Gift of Hope will be here to talk to you soon,” he says simply.
“I don’t want a shrink, I want my daughter!” the father shouts.
“We all did our best, sir.”
“Well, it wasn’t enough!”
I know.
—
All his life, Jeongguk has never known a situation so terrible he would want to cry. Exam failures were just small hurdles, his father’s death was a somewhat familiar stranger leaving his side. And he’d never known his mother.
When his father had to stay out late enough that it was past his bedtime, there were always gifts and toys that would supplement, his father desperately using his credit card to mend the holes in their relationship. Jeongguk understands why his mother left, what he doesn’t understand is why she didn’t take him with her. Evidently, losing Jeongguk wasn’t something that she would cry over.
All his father wanted was good grades, and otherwise pretty much ignored Jeongguk. He realised early on that Jeongguk had absolutely no interest in taking over his position in their company, and also a complete lack of skill in business. His scoldings only came when Jeongguk turned 15 and started getting piercings all along his ears, tattoos on his chest. Even then, it was just, “Jeongguk, that’s enough!”
He wonders if it’s because his father still felt guilt over how he’d almost killed Jeongguk as a toddler. They’d gone to the beach for a warped, twisted kind of family outing, which ended up with Jeongguk being secured on his neck, arms and waist with flotation devices, and his father, convinced that his four year old son would be safe alone in the ocean with all the safety precautions he’d taken, leaned back under the umbrella and checked his phone. Needless to say, it was a terrible idea, and if it wasn’t for a mother, going into the beach with her own children and had spotted him upside down gulping down water while trying to breathe, he would be dead.
He has some vague memory of how she yanked him out of the water by the waist, shaken him a little as he coughed. She shouted for help, and some kind of doctor had run over, leaving her own kids behind. He doesn’t remember much past that, just that she’d saved his life.
What Jeongguk had gotten out of that experience? His father evidently also didn’t give a shit whether he lived or died. And he thinks it’s pretty fair for him to reciprocate.
But then came Jimin, the small bundle of sunshine that tumbled into the E.R. one day and introduced himself as the new paediatric surgeon. He was the liveliest doctor Jeongguk knew, always with a smile on his face and a bounce in his step. The first time a patient under his care had died, a five year old girl, he’d wept bitterly in the consultation room, or otherwise known as the makeshift resting area for all the doctors.
Jeongguk had gone in for a coffee and a phone break, and had paused in the doorway when he saw Jimin clutching the counter and sobbing.
“Uh, Dr Park, may I come in?”
Jimin had jerked a little from surprise, then nodded his permission. Jeongguk stepped in and let the door swing shut behind him. He headed for the lockers, entering his password to get his phone out. He was clicking through a few emails and messages when Jimin started talking, albeit a little quietly.
“It was so sudden. No one— no child has ever died within a minute of treatment. There was barely anything I could do. Head trauma in three areas, bleeding out from a large wound in the chest, a gash in her lower abdomen.”
“Well, you already said it yourself. There was nothing you could do,” Jeongguk says, putting his phone back and closing his locker. He leans back on the table and studies Jimin.
“Yeah, but...”
“But nothing. Her older sister just died during surgery too. Cardiac arrest. She died on my operating table.”
“Isn’t it hard?” Jimin’s eyes drift up to meet his. His eyes are wet and red, whilst Jeongguk’s are dry and hard.
“Stuff like this happens all the time in the ER,” Jeongguk replies simply. “You’ll get used to it eventually.”
“I don’t think I ever will,” Jimin breathes out. “Every time I see a sick child, I think to myself, what if my younger brother were in that position? I don’t think I’d be able to continue living.”
“Oh. Well. I don’t know, I don’t have anyone in mind that would make me cry if they were in that position.”
“Really?” Jimin’s eyes are big and round, shocked. “Oh, I’m...”
“Yeah, no need to be sorry, okay? It’s just my life.” Jeongguk gives him a pained smile.
“Okay, no need to be that rude,” Jimin says, a little disgruntled.
“Right, sorry. Shouldn’t have said it that way.”
“It’s okay. I should probably get back to work.” Jimin wipes his eyes on his coat, straightens it out and shakes his head a little. He turns to leave. Jeongguk frowns a little at his image. There’s something missing.
He looks at the counter, and sure enough, Jimin’s stethoscope is lying there. He quickly picks it up, “Hey, Dr Park!”
Jimin turns in surprise. “Yeah?”
“You forgot this,” Jeongguk says, holding his hand out.
“Oh, thanks.” Jimin comes back and takes it from Jeongguk, his warm hand closing around Jeongguk’s for a second. Their eyes meet, and Jeongguk’s heart does a weird thing.
Jimin blushes, for whatever reason, and takes the stethoscope, backing away quickly. He turns in a flurry, reaching for the door when he seems to remember something. He turns back to look at Jeongguk, his eyes shining with something different from tears, his apple cheeks a pretty pink.
“You can call me Jimin instead, you know,” he says, before hurrying out, the door closing behind him.
Jeongguk stays in the room for a while, staring blankly at the door. When he leaves, there’s a small smile on his face, and his world has shifted.
—
With Jimin like this, his tiny yet strong body folded into Jeongguk’s arms, he finally understands. It all clicks at once, and everything comes into place for the first time. He feels like he’s been blind this whole time, a whole spectrum of emotion cut off.
He pulls Jimin to him again, his lips pressing against his forehead.
“Jeongguk...”
“I’m so scared.” The words come out in a whisper, kissed into Jimin’s skin. “I’m so scared.”
“Baby, there’s nothing to be scared of,” Jimin replies, his fingers curling harder in his shirt, and it makes Jeongguk’s stomach clench, having never heard Jimin call him that apart from when they were intimate. “What are you scared of?”
“I don’t know.”
He sees Jimin ready to shake his head again, ready to reassure Jeongguk. But his heart is beating so fast, his body trembling slightly. Nothing Jimin says can reassure him now.
—
A little later, after most of the emergencies that came in have been settled, he catches Jimin while he’s doing his rounds around the wards, grabs him by the elbow and asks him, “By any chance, are you free on Wednesday?”
Jimin’s eyes dart left and right, his face bright pink. “Wednesday? This Wednesday? Well, I don’t know I’d have to check the roster. W-why?”
“Uh...” it’s Jeongguk’s turn to be embarrassed. “To go out with me?”
Jaeun walks by, not so subtly listening into their little private session in the middle of the ER. She wolf whistles, and Jeongguk hits her with his clipboard.
“So will you?” Jeongguk looks at Jimin hopefully, feeling so vulnerable. It would be so embarrassing if he said no.
But he didn’t have to worry about that at all. “I think I’d like that,” Jimin replies, his blush up to his ears.
Turns out, Jimin was free, and Jeongguk ended up bringing them to a nearby park to have a picnic. They sat there till the sun went down, and then proceeded to lie on the picnic mat to race each other in star counting. Jimin was simply counting up numbers at rapid-fire speed, and at some point Jeongguk stopped counting to just stare at him, a smile on his face. Then he leaned over Jimin and kissed him for the first time.
It was the first of many.
—
Jimin’s tears are distracting, pearly precious things glowing in his eyes. Jeongguk feels like his head is swimming, his mouth saying whatever it feels like saying, and so everything comes from his heart without a filter. He moves his hands through Jimin’s hair slowly.
“I’ve never felt like I have something to lose,” Jeongguk says quietly. “Never in my life. But now, it feels like I have everything to lose.”
Jimin’s eyes shine.
“What if I lose you?” Jeongguk rasps, and saying it out loud makes it seem so much more real, the words hanging between them, frozen in time. Jeongguk feels like he’s being dragged under by the tide, icy water up to his neck.
“You won’t,” Jimin says, laughing a little, the tears in his eyes rolling down his cheeks again.
Jeongguk isn’t listening. “What if I lose you?”
“I said, you won’t—”
“But what if?” Jeongguk holds Jimin’s face in his hands, his thumbs moving over Jimin’s cheeks over and over again. “What if something happens and I’m not there?”
Jimin’s hands come up to grab his wrists and he stares determined into Jeongguk’s eyes. “Then tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“Tell me not to go.”
Jeongguk looks at him, aghast. “Are you crazy? You’ve always wanted to do paediatric medicine research, and this is the perfect chance.”
“But I’ve also always wanted to know what it feels like to be loved by someone. And you love me, don’t you?”
Of course he does. Every action, every word, every small gesture is perfect to Jeongguk. He sees the whole world in his eyes, his heart in his hands. He’s addicted to the feeling of when Jimin looks at him and smiles, be it in the operating theatre, over coffee, panting and breathless under him, under an old tree. It was so easy to fall for Jimin, all it took was a smile and a brush of their hands; and suddenly Jimin was his everything.
“I love you.” Jeongguk brushes a stray strand of hair out of Jimin’s eyes, knows faintly in the back of his mind that this is the wrong time but doesn’t care. “I love you so much, God knows I love you more than anything else. You know what you make me feel?”
“What?” Jimin replies, almost dreamy.
“For the first time in my life, I don’t have to try to be happy. When I’m with you, it naturally happens,” Jeongguk chokes out, pressing each phrase into Jimin’s forehead, down his cheeks, across his eyelids, on the tip of his nose. He wants Jimin to know he means it. He hopes Jimin knows he means it, because he’s never been so honest about anything else.
“Then do it,” Jimin says, his eyes large and imploring. “Ask me. Ask me to stay.”
Jeonggu looks at him uncertainly, his hands still resting on Jimin’s cheeks.
“Ask me to stay. Do it for me. For us. Ask me to stay. You know I would.”
Another announcement comes over the PA, now even including Jimin’s name in the announcement for passengers who have yet to board the plane.
“Do it, come on,” Jimin says urgently.
Jeongguk pulls Jimin tightly to him, his cheek pressed against his, breathing in the scent of his lavender shampoo deeply. “Are you sure? You’ve always wanted this. It’s so wrong of me to stop you.”
“No it’s not,” Jimin breathes. “It’s not.”
Jeongguk leans back and watches Jimin’s expression, his eyes locked on his. There isn’t a single ounce of uncertainty in Jimin’s eyes. And so Jeongguk makes the most selfish decision he’s ever made in his life, one that will haunt him until he dies — but also one that would kill him if he didn’t do this.
Please stay with me. “I don’t want you to go,” he manages to say, before the first tear finally drops from his eye.
—
So this is what it feels like to be constantly afraid of losing someone.
Jeongguk comes into work with Jimin the next morning, Jimin’s arms looped around his elbow. “Be careful with work today, baby,” Jeongguk presses a smile onto Jimin’s lips, making Jaeun pull a face, before letting out a shocked gasp. “Jimin?”
“Oh, Maewon didn’t tell you?” Jimin sets his shoulder bag down on the counter, pulling out his laptop. “I pulled out of the research thing. Guess I’m back here now.”
“Ah please,” Jaeun groans, “it’s because of me, isn’t it? You couldn’t bear to leave me.”
“Well, you’re... part of it, I guess.” Jimin looks up and sees Jeongguk smiling at him from a few tables down. He smiles back.
Last night was amazing. Jeongguk hired a taxi back to their place together, and the rest of the night was spent curled up together under a blanket watching Me before You. Jimin constantly cried and Jeongguk wiped his tears away with surgical gauze — the most absorbent shit to ever be invented, Jeongguk swore — and then more words of love until Jimin finally fell asleep with his arms curled up between their bodies, his head on Jeongguk’s arm as a pillow, and Jeongguk’s warm breath on his forehead.
He was woken up by a kiss too, and in Jimin’s opinion, if you have to wake up at 5am, being woken up by a kiss is definitely one of his top favourite ways.
“Hey, you.” Jeongguk comes up behind him to envelop him in a hug.
“Hey,” Jimin replies, a big smile on his face. “You’re so clingy today.”
“I’m so glad you stayed,” Jeongguk mutters. “Although I still feel guilty.”
“Don’t feel guilty,” Jimin reassures him. “And don’t worry. You won’t ever have to lose me again.”
“I would hope not,” Jeongguk laughs, his lips finding the back of Jimin’s neck and planting a kiss there.
And then it was perfect.