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Jaemin's day had begun, to put it mildly, like shit. The catastrophe was preprogrammed, bound to happen. He’d been living too well for too long and neglected his health, taken it for granted.
The bill came today.
After four hours of fitful sleep, he awoke with a throbbing headache. It was late July, and even at night, the air inside his room was suffocatingly hot and stuffy. Jaemin was sweating profusely, turning in the sheets, and ultimately throwing off his shirt. But the heat clung to his bare skin, was everywhere, and it didn't make him feel any better.
Jaemin awoke tired and grumpy after hitting the snooze button on his alarm clock at least ten times. He had to get out of bed on time. Jisung had a doctor's appointment and didn't want to go alone, and Jaemin promised to keep him company.
He threw on random clothes, combed his fingers through his tangled, sweaty hair, and dashed into the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth in record time. Then he flopped down on the couch for another five minutes, waiting for Jisung to come and get him. Jeno was already in the kitchen, eating breakfast and doing his morning sudoku.
"Aren't you going to eat?" he called out to Jaemin in the living room, and Jaemin wondered why Jeno was even bothering him. Sure, he had a history of eating disorders, but he hadn't relapsed in over a year. His sour mood made him take Jeno's concern personally, and he replied, "I'll catch up on breakfast later."
Jeno said nothing else and seemed to accept Jaemin's response for now. At least that was a good thing. Shortly after, Jisung walked up to him.
"We have to leave, Hyung. Our manager is waiting for us, so hurry up," he said. "I thought you'd let me know when you were ready." His voice had a slightly accusatory tone to it.
"I've been ready and waiting for you for ten minutes."
"Whatever. Let's go."
The drive took less than fifteen minutes, but Jisung managed to explain everything about his knee surgery. He'd undergone surgery two weeks ago and needed to come in for a check-up. Even though Jisung appeared calm, it was a sensitive topic, and the young man was clearly nervous. He sat next to Jaemin, tense, fiddling with his bag while providing graphic medical detail. Jaemin, for one, was still in a strange mood. He knew Jisung needed someone to talk and listen to, but his own mind was strangely empty. Tunnel vision.
He tried to concentrate on Jisung's words while his stomach rumbled, and he felt a little shaky. Didn't let it show, but his answers were terse. Except for the occasional yes, and I can relate, he either remained silent or shook his head. Jisung was engrossed in his own world and didn't notice or completely ignored Jaemin’s strange behavior. In short, Jaemin was in a foul mood and thus a foul friend. It's a shame you don't notice this yourself at such times, and the guilt only comes over you like an avalanche at night, choking and fierce.
In the doctor's office, Jaemin passed the time in the most classic way by leafing through countless gossip magazines, flanked by two older ladies who scrutinized and judged him extensively until he couldn't take the stares any longer. He got up and walked to a nearby kiosk, where he bought a one-liter bottle of Coke and returned to the office. Jaemin had a habit of drinking beverages within a short time period. When Jisung returned half an hour later, the bottle was empty and Jaemin's mind numbed by all the artificial sweeteners his full stomach now had to digest.
"That was quick," he said, turning to Jisung.
"I can wait until you finish reading," Jisung said teasingly.
According to his good mood, everything was fine, so Jaemin didn't ask.
"No, we're going home."
On the way back tense silence prevailed at first, until another driver almost crashed into their car, providing them with enough material to argue about for the next few minutes.
The rest of the day was uneventful. Jaemin was irritated because Jeno was acting overly nice today. Was there something wrong?
Jeno would occasionally enter Jaemin's room and ask him questions like, "Do you have anything that needs to be washed?" Yes, Jaemin had. He gave Jeno three shirts and Jeno left. Then, again, "I'm going to do some shopping," Jeno said, "do you need anything?" No, Jaemin needed nothing and Jeno came back an hour later and put a peach next to his pillow. Jaemin thanked him, looked at Jeno suspiciously, and turned to his book to read page three for the fifth time, as he read without thinking. Then, "Didn't you say your new jeans were too loose? I want to take my own to the tailor tomorrow, should I take yours too?" And Jaemin gave Jeno the jeans, feeling bad because all he'd done all day was lying and staring at holes in the air.
Lunch time came around and Jaemin realized he forgot to eat breakfast. Except for the peach, that is. When Renjun engaged him in conversation, he plastered on his friendliest smile while preparing a half-hearted meal that didn't taste all that magnificent, but served its purpose.
"He didn't even wish me a happy birthday," Renjun grumbled about an old friend Jaemin only knew from infamous stories. "So I texted another person and asked if the guy had wished him a happy birthday."
"How did the story end?"
"He congratulated him. After two weeks." Renjun sighed and puffed a breath into his coffee. "Anyway, I don't like him these days."
Jaemin rested his chin on a hand. Actually, all he wanted to do was eat quickly and then crawl back into his room. He couldn't bring himself to make small talk about things that didn't interest him in the least. Still, he asked, "Did you ever like him at all?"
"Well, I didn't hate him."
Jaemin forced out a chuckle and stood up to put his plate away. "Well, good luck."
With these words, he returned to his room, pretending to do his duties but ultimately doing nothing. Being unproductive. He'd been having trouble sleeping for weeks because he procrastinated on too many small projects while the deadline was approaching. Jaemin told himself he worked most effectively and creatively under time constraints. Maybe that was true, but his body was dealing with a lot of stress right now, and this statement would be his downfall.
He didn't show his face again until the evening. Now and then he listened to the silly conversations of his friends as they walked through the dorm. Otherwise, he lost himself in an Instagram spiral, staring at the screen brainlessly, laying on his stomach in his bed, chin propped on the pillow, not moving an inch. The heat pressed down on his body and he sweated even after his short walk to the bathroom. The air conditioning worked poorly so no one would catch a cold, but it brought him no relief. Jaemin felt like a fucking prune.
Only after the others had finished dinner did he enter the kitchen to prepare a small snack, which he devoured within a matter of seconds while staring at his phone. He forgot to taste the food and couldn't tell afterwards whether it had been sweet or salty. Whatever. On such days, eating was a chore rather than a pleasure for him.
But something was wrong with his body. This something sat heavy in the pit of his stomach, like a stone of granite, and his stomach was slightly bloated. In addition, an inner rumbled stirred in his chest. It had to be the Coke. Too much caffeine and sugar flooding his blood. Plus he hadn't had coffee in a while. After being on the verge of a panic attack several times, management had placed him on withdrawal. He needed to stay calm. It was fine.
His father called and told him everything and nothing, but the most recent topic was a friend who had been cured of prostate cancer. Jaemin hadn’t asked for the details, but they were all served to him now, hot and scalding, and it shook his fears subliminally. But he didn't want to offend his father by interrupting him. It was rare for both of them to have time to talk, so he listened dutifully while becoming uncomfortable with the course of the conversation.
"The worst part is when you're waiting for the results, which could be your own death sentence. You can't even imagine that, right? Must be horrible."
Yeah, right. Great. That was exactly what Jaemin needed to hear at this precise moment.
After dinner, where thankfully none of his friends bothered him this time, after his monosyllabic answers, and after his father had gotten the baggage off his chest, Jaemin went to the living room with his book and sat down on the couch with Jeno, who was watching some schmaltzy love movie but was actually fiddling with his phone.
Jaemin tried to focus on his book, but after half an hour of being stuck on page five, he jumped up, dashed to his room, and exchanged the book for his phone. He didn't realize he'd gotten up too quickly until he returned to the living room. Jaemin's circulation couldn't compensate for the abrupt movement, and all strength drained from his legs. Normally, he would sit down and wait until his heart pumped enough blood back into his body, but there were only three meters between him and the couch. So he pushed his body forward with the sheer force of will. His legs would have buckled beneath him if he had taken just one more step. He collapsed onto the couch, exhaling a sigh of relief as his legs regained feeling, and appeared to return to normal.
But nothing returned to normal. This was only the beginning.
Jaemin was about to sink back into the pillows and check his phone when his throat tightened. Without warning. Panic shot through his veins as he jerked forward and straightened up. Immediately, a tingling sensation arose under his skin, and his heartbeat accelerated. He ran out of air. His lungs worked, but an invisible metal band constricted his throat. He rushed to check his pulse and pressed two fingers to his wrist. He didn’t feel the regular, strong throbbing he was used to, but a rapid fluttering, which he couldn't even count because it beat too fast. Shit. That could be anything. Despite still struggling for air, he forced himself to calm down. Forced himself to breathe. But then a series of terrifying scenarios flashed through his mind.
He hadn't moved much lately. He'd only eaten junk food. A stylist had told him a few weeks ago about her brother's pulmonary embolism. It appeared out of nowhere. The brother was Jaemin's age, a competitive athlete, and followed a healthy diet.
As he googled symptoms, Jaemin's hands shook and his heart raced against his ribs. Only half applied, and he wasn't in any pain. But one didn't always have to be in pain. That he would experience the same disease as the brother right now was unlikely, but possible.
He tossed his phone next to him and leaned forward, massaging his hands and waiting for the shaking to stop. It didn't. His throat constricted repeatedly, and when he felt serious fear, he broke free from his scared stupor.
"Jeno?"
"Hmmm?" Jeno didn't look up from his phone. He was so invested in his game that he hadn't noticed Jaemin's panic.
"My heart is racing suddely. And I feel dizzy."
Jeno was quick to respond. "I'll get you a glass of water. Try to stay calm, I'll be right back." He jumped up and sprinted to the kitchen. But Jaemin only took it in passing, too preoccupied with not becoming trapped in his growing panic. It worked moderately. More horrifying thoughts formed.
What if it was something else, he wondered, as the trembling reached his heart and nothing calmed. Again he reached for his phone and googled symptoms of a heart attack and again half the symptoms applied as now he also felt pressure in his abdomen.
Jeno returned, knelt in front of him, and handed him a glass of water. Jaemin accepted it tensely, his fingers clenched around it.
"Take small sips. Try to concentrate on each sip," Jeno said calmly.
"I’m having trouble breathing," Jaemin said, drinking as instructed while Jeno pressed the cool water bottle against his temples.
"It's because of the heat. You were in your room for far too long and it was too hot."
It sounded logical, coming from Jeno's mouth. But did shortness of breath result from circulatory problems?
"Jaemin, take a deep breath. You can breathe just fine. Little sips." Jeno's concern was written all over his face, but Jaemin just stared at an invisible spot in front of him. For a brief moment, his body fooled him into thinking it was getting better. Then the racing heart and tightness of breath returned.
Jeno had taken a seat next to him and was watching him with a frown. Jaemin realized Jeno had turned off the TV, but he couldn't remember when.
Numbness spread through his arms. Jaemin, alarmed by this strange sensation, set his glass aside and began rubbing them.
"My arms feel numb," he breathed out, his fear seeping through his voice. Jeno wound an arm around his waist.
"Calm down, Jaemin," Jeno said. "It will be better in a minute. You’re not alone." Then he refilled the empty glass while Jaemin continued to rub his arms obsessively, and the third bad inkling struck him. Paralysis. Wasn't that the usual symptom of a stroke? His fingers twitched to his phone without thinking, and he turned away from Jeno so he wouldn't see what Jaemin was doing. Despite his panic, he felt ashamed, because fuck, he knew he was most likely having a panic attack. But the last one happened four years ago, and it felt completely different. It's a little like dying.
The others had found him curled up on his doorstep and, in their panic, called an ambulance. The doctors thoroughly examined Jaemin's heart, found nothing, and discharged him with a diagnosis of palpitations caused by potassium deficiency. Jaemin had been left with a mildly traumatized state. Became so preoccupied with his health he developed an eating disorder. But he was fine today, which was why he didn't understand what his body was doing.
In seconds he scanned the symptoms and again half applied. His inner turmoil tore at him, tightening his throat more and more.
"This isn't fucking funny anymore," he whispered, eyes wide.
"Shall we check your blood pressure?" Jeno asked. "Renjun has a monitoring device in his room."
Renjun frequently suffered from low blood pressure in the morning, so his doctor had advised him to check it on a regular basis. Jaemin despised the procedure, but the piercing fear overcame his aversions. He nodded, and Jeno stood up. Then he heard an indistict murmur, and Jeno reappeared with Renjun in tow.
"What's wrong, Jaeminie?" Renjun asked softly, holding the device in one hand. He sat down next to Jaemin, with Jeno standing in front of him, as if on guard.
"I'm not feeling too well."
Renjun unrolled the blood pressure cuff. "Right or left arm?"
"I don't care," Jaemin said harshly, but he couldn't stand the pressure in his stomach, his numb skin, or his choppy breaths any longer.
"Okay. Just a minute." With quick, deft moves, Renjun fastened the cuff on him and pushed the start button. It immediately inflated, gradually cutting off Jaemin's blood supply. Transfixed, Jaemin stared at the digital count display, watching it count up to 190.
"We'll measure several times to be sure, yes?"
Jaemin gave a nod. Knowing Jeno in front of him and Renjun beside him, something inside him inevitably seemed to relax as the pressure dropped and the numbers sank. He forced himself to take another deep breath. The device beeped and counted down. Then it showed the result.
"150 over 85."
"That's normal given my stress level right now," Jaemin said. His body responded allergically to doctors and such procedures. Jeno just nodded. It wasn't alarmingly high.
Renjun pressed the button again, and the cuff inflated once more. This time Jaemin was calmer. 130 over 80. The third and last time, finally 124 over 74.
He said nothing as he ripped the cuff off his arm. Jeno had sat down on his other side, one hand massaging Jaemin’s neck.
"You haven't moved enough today," he said. "At this hour, it's cooler outside than inside. Let's take a few steps."
Jaemin nodded and stood up slowly. His jaw muscles tightened as he felt a strange pressure behind his right temple. Briefly, he felt ashamed of his old clothes and greasy hair as he walked to the door as if on autopilot, Jeno close behind him. But the prospect of feeling better with fresh air was motivation enough. Renjun called out to him, but Jaemin didn't hear his words. The stale air in the house was clogging his windpipe, so he had to get out of here.
He hurried out of the building, not even checking to see if Jeno was still following him and placing his trust in his best friend.
The summer night was soothing for his soul. Though the tar of the streets was still warm, the air felt cool, and a gentle breeze passed across his arms. The numbness had worn off by now, but the panic came in waves, rising and falling and disappearing only when he distracted himself.
Jaemin looked up at the cloudless night sky and regarded the moon, and life seemed to become more intense to him. He stilled and made resolutions; he needed to take better care of himself.
Jaemin leaned forward as he and Jeno settled on a low wall. Counted the stains on his sneakers and tugged on his fingers.
"Is it the stress?" Jeno finally asked.
"I'm not sure." Jaemin had calmed down enough to reflect on his day. He wasn't likely to be ill. He wasn't in pain, and the symptoms went away as soon as he stopped worrying about them. So the origin of this episode had to lie in his psyche. And the liter of Coke. And his out-of-character behavior toward Jisung. And his father’s unsettling story. "Too many unfortunate factors added up today."
Jeno hummed and nodded. "You shouldn't sit in your room all day. And today felt like the hottest day of the year."
"I know."
"Are you feeling better?"
"I'm getting there," Jaemin lied as he sensed a new wave of panic approaching. But it wasn’t too bad anymore. He had it under control.
They sat there for a few more minutes until Jaemin's anxiety gripped him again.
"Let's go inside. I just need to distract myself."
Jeno eyed him before standing up, and they slowly walked back.
"Let's take the stairs," Jeno suggested. "To get your circulation going."
Jaemin agreed, and the physical activity drove the tremors from his fingers.
Once back at the dorm, they sat down on the couch, and Jeno placed a hand on Jaemin's thigh. With his thumb, he drew soothing circles. They talked about trivial matters some more, and Jeno offered to help Jaemin with his projects tomorrow, which he gladly accepted.
They decided to continue watching the romance movie. When Jeno's movements came to a halt, Jaemin looked to the side. Ironically, his friend had fallen asleep first, his eyes closed and his face relaxed.
Jeno didn't stir when the couch dipped to one side. In the bathroom, Jaemin went through his usual routine before going into his room, where the heat was still unbearable. He tore open a window, turned off the light, and sank into the sheets, which were far too warm. He hugged them like a side-sleeper pillow. Exhaustion weighed him down, and the waves of restlessness had become very small and faint, but his heart was still pounding in his ears.
Losing all track of time, he tossed and turned in the sheets, struggling to calm his heart. Jaemin's body didn't relax until Jeno quietly slipped into the room, sat next to him on the floor, and ran his cool fingers over Jaemin's forehead, temples, and cheeks.
He lay motionless, waiting for the last of the electrical tremors beneath his skin to fade. Jeno finally pillowed his head on Jaemin's bed and Jaemin opened his eyes. He smiled reassuringly at Jaemin, brushed sweaty strands from his eyes, and murmured soothing words.
It didn't take long for Jaemin to fall into a deep, exhausted sleep, and Jeno stayed by his side all night, watching over him.