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Easter is Wonwoo’s busiest time of year. When young children or new families get ill-advised pets as Christmas presents, they tend to be abandoned in the spring, which puts him at max capacity around March time. Wonwoo’s pet shelter has also grown significantly in the past year or so, to the point he has over twenty dogs, nearly the same number of cats, several guinea pigs and rabbits, as well as a few rats and hamsters and mice. Thankfully, there are no horses at the minute, but a bearded dragon, a snake, and even a tank of fish decorate the inside of his hallway. His main money-maker, the pet hotel, also gets busy in spring, with local families going abroad for the Easter holiday passing their dogs off to him. Thankfully, Wonwoo doesn’t celebrate much himself—too agnostic these days, and too lactose intolerant for all the chocolate—and his family don’t visit him, which is a relief. He wouldn’t have a business if he didn’t work over Easter.
This year, however, he has a more human resident at home to think about. Chan had fallen down a flight of steps at work and hit his head so badly that he’d been unconscious for nearly two days earlier this week—and when the hospital had discharged him on the promise of bedrest and care, Chan had requested to come and stay with him rather than his parents. Much to Wonwoo’s surprise.
It’s not like he doesn’t get on with Chan—out of all his cousins, he might be the closest to him. They had similar interests as kids, and Chan’s easy to be around, friendly and funny. But with his parents living down the road, their grandparents with plenty of bedrooms to spare and their much more put-together cousin Seungcheol living on the nearby coast, he presumed he’d be last on the list to stay with. Not only because he’s the least predisposed to human care out of all of them.
The first night he stays over, he throws up into Wonwoo’s toilet no less than three times. Wonwoo finds himself hovering whenever Chan walks anywhere, because the head injury he’d suffered has made him lose vision in one eye, so his balance and peripheral vision have been completely thrown off. (It’s a delicate subject as to whether his eyesight will return or not—the doctors are hopeful it will, after some rest and recovery, but Chan doesn’t like talking about it.) He sleeps fitfully, and is so out of it he doesn’t seem to realise Wonwoo had given him his own bed and has been sleeping on the couch since he’d arrived.
Chan’s been to his place plenty—he knows the one-bedroom apartment over his shelter doesn’t have much space to spare. And it’s not like Wonwoo minds, particularly—he’s glad to be able to hear what’s going on in Chan’s room just down the hall, and the sofa is plenty comfortable enough to sleep well. But it still mystifies him, why this was his first choice. Must’ve been some concussion reasoning.
But for now, he helps Chan down the hallway in the morning, diligently cooks double helpings of all his meals, and checks into the apartment every hour to make sure Chan hasn’t fallen again or been sick. Chan is good at knowing his limits, so he mostly finds him napping on the sofa or sitting at the window.
He doesn’t show any sign of recklessness until Easter Sunday, one week after his accident.
Wonwoo is up early to feed the dogs, and when he comes back inside, Chan is up too, trying to get down the hallway on his own. He’s clutching the wall, blinking hard, one eye more dilated than the other—he’s pale, and Wonwoo nearly jumps at spotting him in the dark corridor.
“Hi,” he says, gripping Chan’s arm. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to get myself down the bloody corridor,” Chan says, gritting his teeth. “It really shouldn’t be this hard.”
“The doctor said it could be weeks before you feel like yourself again,” Wonwoo parrots, having been given a detailed rundown of Chan’s diagnosis by his Uncle Gikwang when Chan had first arrived. “No need to rush it.” He gently lowers Chan to the couch, and goes to pull the blind up.
“Don’t yet, please,” Chan grimaces. “My head is killing me.”
“Sorry,” he says, fisting his hands awkwardly and turning away from the window. “Were you coming in here for something?”
“No,” Chan breathes, ragged, slumping back into the chair. “Just didn’t sleep well. Didn’t want to be in bed still.”
Wonwoo hums agreeably. “Food?”
Chan hums back, a more downward sound. “Maybe soon.”
Wonwoo nods. He can hear the distant sound of the bell downstairs ringing to say someone has arrived in the centre—it’s hopefully Rocky, his part-timer, but on the off-chance it could be a customer hoping to get a last minute pet hotel room, he should really go and check.
“Wait for me if you need anything,” he says, and leaves the apartment to go downstairs.
Thankfully, it is Rocky, which makes everything easier. He offers to take the first batch of dogs for a walk—they usually split them evenly, but with Wonwoo anxious not to go too far from Chan, Rocky and Haknyeon have been taking all the walks this week between them—which makes the downstairs significantly quieter. Wonwoo does another round to feed the cats, then lets them out to wander his fenced field of land, dotted with trees and little houses for them to slink around in. The weather looks like it’s going to be nice today, and the families out on Sunday walks in this area sometimes like to stop and look in on the cats in the field.
He heads back upstairs again, and Chan isn’t sat on the couch anymore, but just on the floor in front of it. He’s watching the fish swim around and around, tank bubbling faintly. It’s the only noise in the room, and one of the only pastimes he can stand at the minute.
Wonwoo walks over to the fridge without a word, comfortable in navigating the dim room. He fetches out a bag of carrots, along with lettuce, parsley, apples, broccoli and pears. He chops these into rough pieces, and heaves it all into a big bowl.
The bearded dragon and the snake are the most difficult to feed. The earthworms and insects he’s had to start keeping for them are his least favourite meals to deliver, and he’s sure to do it quickly to make sure Chan doesn’t catch a glimpse of them and get squeamish. He didn’t like that sort of thing even pre-concussion.
Chan doesn’t say anything as he leaves again. That’s perhaps the toughest part of watching Chan recover—he’s simply not himself. He’s frustrated or upset most of the time, struggling with doing the basics. He’s too much of an independent person to cope with relying on others.
Perhaps that’s why he’d wanted to come here, rather than be coddled by his parents at home. Wonwoo is like that, too—he values his independence too much. He can empathise.
He feeds the rats, hamsters, guinea pigs and rabbits, and brings each out to run around in their pens, each with a good amount of hay to eat or hide in. Each has its own roof and little houses inside too, just in case the cats get any ideas. The bearded dragon eyes him from the tank—John Jeon, as Wonwoo affectionately calls him—and the snake is so happy to see him that Wonwoo sits with her for a little while. The snake is too new to have a name, because he’s too afraid to name the ones that won’t stay and get too attached, but she’s quickly becoming one of Wonwoo’s favourites in the shelter.
Rocky arrives back, and Wonwoo helps him swap the dogs for the second walking batch. He then spends the next half an hour methodically washing each of the muddy dogs clean again before putting them back in their pens. They’re excitable today, like they know it’s a holiday too. Wonwoo fields a fair few muddy dog hugs before he’s satisfied with his work.
He goes up to the apartment again. Chan is sat in the same place.
“I realised I’m probably a real pain to be looking after right now,” he says. Wonwoo is surprised to see him still awake—he’s been napping pretty regularly each day so far instead of sleeping a full night. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Wonwoo tells him. “I’m in the business of looking after things.”
“Right, but you have so many other patients,” Chan says, still watching the fish. “And I’m probably the most miserable.”
“The others don’t have a significant brain injury. You up for food yet?”
“I just fed the fish, so at least some of us have eaten. But I could stand for some toast?”
“Nice,” Wonwoo agrees. “I even have hot cross buns if you feel like pushing the boat out. It’s Easter, you know.”
“Is it? Easter Sunday?”
“Yup.”
“Oh.”
Wonwoo quietly opens the packet and sticks a hot cross bun and a slice of toast into the toaster, so Chan can choose between them. “Are you surprised?”
“I don’t know. Time is meaningless to me right now.”
“Then what are you thinking so hard about?”
“How much work I’ve missed.”
Wonwoo scoffs a laugh. “That’s the last thing you should be thinking about.”
“Wouldn’t you worry about the animals if you were in my place?”
“Yes, but my business relies on me. I’m sure the hospital is covering your shift while you’re on sick leave. Your patients are still getting treated.”
“You have a lot of faith in the NHS,” Chan breathes a laugh. “But you’re right. You’re a one-man band around here.”
“Haknyeon is too afraid to feed John, and I’m not sure I trust Rocky not to take him and run,” Wonwoo says, and Chan smiles in a vague way that tells Wonwoo he doesn’t remember who John is. They’d talked about him yesterday, but he’s had a bit more trouble remembering things since the accident.
“Thank you, though,” he says after a pause. “I know your work is only down the stairs, but you’ve been doing a lot for me, I can tell. Even if I’m grouchy most of the time, I really do appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome,” Wonwoo says evenly. The toaster pops, and he puts both slices on a plate and begins to spread marge on them. “Can I ask you a question, though?”
“Course.”
“Why didn’t you want to go back home to rest?” He brings the plate over and places it on the floor in front of Chan, sitting beside him up against the sofa. “I could tell your parents wanted you to.”
Chan reaches for the plate with both hands, missing it at first, depth perception not quite right yet. “It’s—you know. A bit suffocating.”
Wonwoo nods. “I thought so. But why me? Cheol would look after you, too. And he lives closer. And he doesn’t run a zoo on the ground floor of his home.”
That makes Chan crack a smile. “Cheol is great, don’t get me wrong. But we’re pretty different. He’s never even lived alone, you know, because he moved in with Jieqiong straight out of school. So he doesn’t get it when I say I couldn’t imagine moving in with someone right now. I knew you wouldn’t coddle me just because I’ve hurt myself. Most of our family would, and it’s because they care, but it’s… overbearing, sometimes.”
“And the animals? I thought that environment would be the least comfortable for you.”
“I’m okay with animals when you’re around. I trust your judgement. You’re great with them.”
Wonwoo shoots him a look, and Chan shoots him one back that tells him the compliment was sincere. “Huh. Thanks.”
There’s a long, comfortable pause between them as they watch the fish together. It’s broken by the distant bell of the shelter door again—probably Rocky returning, but…
“Go,” Chan says. “I’ll eat the toast, okay?”
“I didn’t say anything?”
“I know.”
Wonwoo heads downstairs. It’s Rocky. They swap dogs for the third and final time, and Wonwoo spends another half an hour washing the second batch of dogs, making sure not to rush himself. Chan is particularly cognisant today, which is a good sign, but his dogs still need his attention, too. After they’re all clean and back in the pens, Wonwoo does another round, making sure everyone’s okay outside. There are two young children just beyond the far end of the fence, sat trying to coax the cats over, and he watches them for a few minutes to make sure they’re harmless.
When he returns to the apartment, the slice of toast and half of the hot cross bun have been eaten, and Chan is back on the couch. “I think you could open the blind a little bit now,” he says when Wonwoo enters the room. Wonwoo crosses the room to do just that, then goes to fix himself a bowl of Cheerios.
“I had plans to go out with someone today,” Chan says after a while. “Easter Sunday. Some event at the art gallery. But I can’t even look at my screen to cancel it without throwing up.”
Wonwoo comes to sit beside him again. “I’ll text them. Let me get your phone.”
Chan presses his thumb to unlock the screen without looking at it, and Wonwoo follows his verbal guidance to the messages with Yeri. He reports that Chan has received messages from her anyway, that Yeri had heard somewhere down the grapevine about Chan’s injury and wishes him well, and Chan dictates a message in return for her. By the time he puts Chan’s phone down, his cereal is soggy, but he doesn’t mind it.
“Was she a date?” he asks, voicing the unspoken question between them.
“No. I don’t think so, anyway.”
Wonwoo nods. “She seems nice.”
“She is. But we’re not like that. She’s a nurse too, so we’re too busy to even try, I guess.”
“You don’t sound so sure about that.”
“I’m sure,” Chan says, but his voice still sounds quiet, wistful. “I wish I had more brainspace for that sort of thing, actually. I just don’t feel ready to date. But that sounds stupid whenever I say it. Most people in their twenties are leaping to date.”
“It’s not stupid. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
Chan half-shrugs. “I suppose you’d know.”
Wonwoo stays passive, focusing on his cereal. His mum never mentions it, but his aunties and uncles always ask hopefully for new dating news whenever he sees them. Never having a different answer doesn’t seem to deter them, but he’s always found it difficult to explain why he’s never been interested in anyone, doesn’t feel like he’s missing anything in life, and would be perfectly happy to stretch that out as long as he can. Dating, as a concept, is wholly uncomfortable to him—sex, even more so. His animals keep him company, keep him happy, and don’t come with anything more complicated than fleas. It’s not a difficult choice to make.
“It’s like you said. It’s not a crazy concept, but we seem to be the only members of the family who like independence this much.”
Chan rests his head back against his arm. He’s got his head tilted so he can see Wonwoo with his seeing eye, but his eyelids are drooping, Chan suddenly getting tired again. “I want to fall in love one day. I just don’t see the rush. But you?”
Wonwoo just shakes his head. “Too much effort.”
Chan laughs, and it’s a little, breathy thing, a far cry from his usual life and vigour. But it’s something. He hasn’t seen Chan happy in too long. “Yeah. The animals of our community need you more.”
The bell rings downstairs. Wonwoo places his bowl on the table. “Don’t I know it.”
He goes downstairs, and he and Rocky wash the last of the dogs together before putting them back home. Rocky is only working for the morning, headed back home to be with family this afternoon, but Wonwoo pays him a day’s wage anyway. Rocky’s smile when he does so makes him feel a little lighter, and they wish each other a Happy Easter.
Chan’s mum, his Auntie Areum, calls at lunchtime. He stands outside and tells her how Chan is doing better today, still sensitive to noise and light, but managed to eat a little bit without being ill. He’s communicating better than ever, and didn’t make any serious lapses in memory today—he’s still dizzy, still lacking vision in his left eye, and still frustrated. But overall, better. He promises to pass on her Happy Easter wishes for the weekend, and texts Seokmin the same update, because he’s also been anxiously checking in on his brother every day or so.
Chan sleeps for most of the afternoon after that, and stirs from his nap confused and drowsy. Wonwoo makes them both some more food—tomato soup is about all Chan can manage most days, but he can only be glad it goes down well—and then goes back out to round up the animals for the evening. This can be a long job, mostly thanks to the cats—though plenty are docile and agreeable, there are a choice few who refuse to be cornered by him to go back into their cages overnight.
As he’s latching the last few in, he has half an idea. It could be a terrible one, but Chan did say he trusts Wonwoo’s judgement. He picks up one of the smaller cats, barely grown out of being a sweet little kitten, and takes her up the stairs into the apartment, talking to her gently all the way.
“Hey,” Wonwoo says when he comes in. Chan is sat on the floor again, casually painting on the low table, one of the few activities he finds he can focus on without making his head hurt worse. “Tell me if this is a bad idea, but I thought of something new to keep you occupied.”
Chan turns his head, but Wonwoo is stood in his blind spot, so his face doesn’t change. “What is it?”
Wonwoo comes closer, kneeling beside Chan so he’s sure the cat is in view. “You want to pet her?”
Chan looks down, blinking a few times and carefully putting his paintbrush aside. “Is it okay?”
“Sure. She’s lovely.”
He swallows, then slowly raises a hand, focused on the cat like she’ll leap at him the moment he blinks. She doesn’t move at all when Chan strokes her, staying calm and relaxed in Wonwoo’s arms.
After he’s petted her a few times, smooth and gentle down her back, Wonwoo sees the tension leaving his body. “She is gentle,” he remarks.
“Isn’t she?”
“Does she have a name?”
“Not yet. You want to give her one?”
Chan’s hand slows, and he thumbs behind the cat’s ear. Her ear twitches in response, and it makes him smile. “She seems like a Selene, to me.”
“I see it.”
“Is she in the hotel or the shelter?”
“Shelter. She was abandoned in a box along the road here with three kitten siblings. Probably deliberately, for me to find.”
Chan tuts and pouts. “Imagine that. Idiots. They’ve missed out on such a lovely cat.”
“You want to hold her?”
Chan retracts his hand warily . “Just for a minute? Then you’ll take her back?”
“If you want.”
He nods, so Wonwoo slowly places her down on Chan’s legs. He giggles at the feel of her little weight on his thighs, and goes back to stroking her as she settles her head down, mewling slightly.
“Thank you,” he says quietly. “Really.”
“You’ve already thanked me once today. Let’s not go overboard.” Truthfully, he’s slightly abashed by it—this is the closest they’ll get to saying I love you. “Your mum wanted me to pass on a Happy Easter from her, by the way.”
Chan’s smile dims slightly. “I usually go and have dinner with her and Dad on Easter Sunday. With Jihoon in Korea and Seokmin in Brighton, they’ll be on their own this year.”
“It’s not your fault. She’s just glad you’re doing better.”
“Am I? Doing better?”
“You haven’t thrown up today. You’ve been awake a lot more, too. You’re even coddling animals with me. You must be feeling better.”
Chan looks at him, long and hard. “It doesn’t feel much better.”
“It’s slow progress,” he agrees. “But trust me. You are. I have an eye for these things.”
“I barely even have an eye.” Chan sits back and gestures to the cat. “How ironic is it that I’m the nurse, and you’re the cat dad, but you’re the one looking after me right now?”
“Irony indeed.” Wonwoo takes back the cat, feeling Chan has had enough of her but is too nervous to say. “But I can manage it. And you’re going to feel better before you know it.”
“I hope so. You’re going to get tired of me being in your apartment within the week, I just know it.”
Wonwoo shakes his head. “You’re welcome anytime, Chan. Even if you are throwing up in my plants.”
Chan smiles at him, closing his eyes. “You don’t want to get married, but you do want me, out of my mind, stumbling around your apartment at all hours of the night?”
Wonwoo grins. “If you can learn to live with the animals, you can move in permanently, if you want.”
Chan really laughs at that.
Wonwoo leaves again to do a second round of food for the animals that need it, and by the time he locks up and finishes for the night, it’s getting dark outside. Since Chan has kept down two meals already, they dare to eat a little bit more—jacket potatoes with baked beans—before he helps Chan back to the bathroom and then the bedroom. He’s steadier on his feet than this morning.
“Hey,” he says as he lies back on the bed, catching his breath and letting the nausea pass before he goes to take off any clothes. “I just realised I’m in your bed, aren’t I?”
Wonwoo grins. “Yup.”
“You git,” he breathes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“The sofa is fine. It’s a good thing you didn’t take up my offer to move in permanently before realising that.”
“Stupid,” he mutters, rolling over slowly until he’s got his head on the pillow. “Just share, tonight. Your bed is big enough.”
“As long as you promise not to be sick on me.”
“I can’t promise that. But I’ll do my best.”
“Then I’ll take my chances with the sofa,” Wonwoo says, standing.
“Don’t be like that. What happened to me getting better?”
“Recovery isn’t linear, and I’d rather not face the trauma of being sicked on.”
Chan grumbles at him. “We’re talking about this in the morning.”
Wonwoo laughs at him. “Goodnight, Chan.”
In the morning, Chan remembers his gripe, and grills Wonwoo about it over breakfast. Wonwoo can’t bring himself to argue back much, too busy smiling at him, this glimpse of the Chan he knows.