Chapter Text
"Lilacs," Minho said. "I like lilacs."
The chill of the bitter wind had Seungmin drawing into his sweater—which was probably far too flimsy for autumn, but there was an embroidered flower just below the collar and Minho told Seungmin it fit him well.
"That's your favorite flower?" Seungmin asked, trying to ignore the nip of the night air by focusing on a flickering streetlamp across the rain-slicked street.
"Mm," Minho hummed. "I like sunflowers like the one on your sweater, too, but yellow can be a bit too bright sometimes."
"Too bright?"
Minho shrugged. "I think it's better to admire a quiet, calm sort of strength rather than one that vies for your attention."
Seungmin blinked. "Makes sense," he said quietly, overwhelmed with a sudden feeling of fatigue.
The two of them had been invited to another radio show together, this time a late-night episode. By the time their hour-and-a-half segment concluded, Seungmin's energy had been nearly completely drained, but Minho said he was craving a late-night snack, so Seungmin went with him to a small burger joint in the city.
When they were finished, stomachs full and faces stretched from smiling, it was nearly three a.m. and most of the taxis had blinked out of sight with the sun. The pair stood outside the restaurant, then, eyes drooping and breath fogging in the October night.
"Cold?" Minho asked, as he watched Seungmin shiver.
Seungmin nodded, biting into his lip to stop his teeth from chattering.
"Here," Minho said, shrugging off his coat.
"No, it's okay, hyung, I'm—"
The fuzzy jacket was wrapping around Seungmin's shoulders before he could continue to protest.
"You're not cold?" Seungmin asked, burying his hands in the pockets of Minho's coat.
"You're colder," was all Minho said, and by then a taxi had stopped in front of Minho's outstretched arm.
Seungmin watched the steadily blurring lights of the city go by with heavy eyes. There was a warmth in his side when Minho slumped over in his seat and his head fell on Seungmin's shoulder sometime during the drive. Seungmin didn't bother to shake him off—the warmth was welcome, and the butterflies that flurried in his stomach like snow being blown by the winter wind were just enough to keep him awake until he slipped under his sheets back at the dorm.
⬦⬦⬦
Seungmin had never really been in love.
He had crushes from time to time during school, but none of them stayed—none of them really developed to anything beyond a crush like he had seen with his other friends. Seungmin's closest friends thoughout those days had all found someone—and if they didn't, it was because they didn't care as much for a romantic relationship in the first place. Even Changbin and Felix started dating during their trainee days, and quickly became something much more (although they had to keep it secret for a while because of their dating ban).
Everything Seungmin felt for other people—or what other people felt for him—had eventually dissipated until it blew away in the autumn wind. That is, until he met Minho.
Minho quickly proved to be the most gentle person Seungmin had ever met. Underneath his practiced exterior, he genuinely cared for people in a way that continued to surprise and impress Seungmin.
It wasn't one big revelation for Seungmin. His feelings never hit him like a truck, never confronted him in the way he heard others had. It wasn't this big blow to him, or an entire shocking moment. It was small and steady. It would be the little things that Seungmin started to fall in love with, like the way Minho cared for strays or the way he would blink multiple times in a row when trying to learn something new. Or the way he would cook for the other members, or concentrate with furrowed brows when he studied, or smiled when no one was looking.
Seungmin fell in love with the other side of Minho, too—the one with cheeky humor who bantered back and forth with Seungmin and took every chance he could to tease the other. The one who leaned into their "divorced couple" concept as much as he could while still remaining intuitive to Seungmin's feelings.
Somehow, these two sides cohabited and mellowed each other out, and Seungmin was fascinated with the balance—with knowing that one person could be so loud and yet so quiet, so warm and cold, passionate and blunt.
"I don't know how Minho hasn't caught on yet," Felix said. He was trailing behind Seungmin, buried in an oversized hoodie fit for late autumn as the pair weaved through the city in search of a bakery.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Seungmin replied easily.
"Oh, you know what I'm talking about," Felix said. "You're in love with hyung. It's startlingly obvious to everyone except him, and I think it's about time you tell him."
"Who says I'm in love?"
Felix raised a dramatic eyebrow, now caught up to Seungmin and walking right beside him, arm linked in his. "Seungmin," he said bluntly, and Seungmin couldn't help but laugh.
"It's not that easy, you know," he said, when the little bell on the door of the bakery tinkled. He let the warmth of the small building settle into his bones, shaking his head to fix his wind-blown hair. "You and Changbin just...you're different."
"Different," replied Felix.
"Different," Seungmin confirmed, and then he was ordering two hot chocolates and three croissants, one without butter because Minho hated pastries with too much salt.
"Don't tell me the third croissant is for Minho," Felix said, when they had taken their order in a paper brown bag and two plastic cups.
Seungmin had the decency to blush, at least.
Felix beamed. "You're smitten, that's what you are."
"He had a long night! He's exhausted," Seungmin explained in protest.
Felix just laughed. His breath vaporized into a small cloud of white in the air. "You've got to tell him, you know," he said. "It's about time."
Seungmin sipped his hot chocolate as they walked. "Not likely," he said, with a twist of his mouth. And then a little quieter: "It scares me, you know?"
"I know," came the easy, understanding reply.
"My whole life I've waited to feel like this for someone, and I don't want to just...ruin it all because I've gotten impatient."
"It's been nearly five years, I think, so that wouldn't be impatience," Felix said. "But I get what you mean; I know how you think. It's hard to believe that someone could like you back with the same extent as you do for them."
"I think it would actually be impossible, in my case," Seungmin mumbled in reply, staring down into his cup.
When they reached the dorm, it looked like Minho and Jeongin had just barely stumbled out of bed—both clad in old t-shirts and fuzzy pajama pants. Minho in particular sported some of the worst bedhead Seungmin had ever seen in his life.
Almost instinctively, Seungmin set down his things on the nearest table and puttered over to Minho, trying to flatten down his hair. As soon as he came to terms with the fact that his efforts were in vain (and as soon as Minho started pouting at the unexpected skinship), Seungmin reached for the croissant he'd ordered for Minho and shoved it into his hands.
"Eat," he said, too embarrassed to say the word as if it was anything more heartwarming than a simple instruction. "I got it without the butter, too, because I know you hate it."
Minho blinked. And then he smiled, and inch by inch, his tired face lit up. He didn't even need to say thank you—Seungmin could see the gratitude in his eyes. And Seungmin could also feel that his cheeks were on fire and he better run out of the kitchen before Minho noticed.
Seungmin heard Felix sigh as he fled from the room, hot chocolate in hand, but he couldn't be bothered to respond.
⬦⬦⬦
They were back at the radio.
Seungmin couldn't really remember how it happened, actually, but somehow the overwhelming support from listeners of previous radio episodes were enough for he and Minho to get their own show.
Seungmin remembered standing under the bright lights of the company building, mouth open wide, as their manager told them their new schedule. He was going to have his own show with Minho—his own show with his best friend, for whom he had overwhelming romantic feelings for and who his heart ached around every time they had even the shortest conversation.
Sure, that would end up running smoothly.
The two of them were sitting in their new studio, mics each in front of them with little nametags designating their speakers. The advertisements were running before the show began, ranging from bouncy songs to commercials for cleaning products to Seungmin and Minho's little greeting audio they recorded a few days earlier.
"...And as always, thank you to our devout listeners," Seungmin's own voice echoed in his ears. "We have a segment every show where we read your comments, so make sure you message us!"
Minho glanced over at Seungmin, and Seungmin expected him to tease him for the recording. But instead, Minho reached out a hand to fix Seungmin's bangs, brushing them out of his eyes. He gave him a once-over when he let his hand fall back down to his side, gave a small smile that had Seungmin glancing away so abruptly in fear of blushing that his neck strained.
The beginning of the show passed quickly, cycling through segments of small talk and little games the producers had prepared. Seungmin's phone blinked up at him from his palm as he read over comments for their Q&A session.
"What's Minho's favorite flower?" Seungmin read, blatantly ignoring the rest of the text that proudly said, "I need to know which one to get him for his birthday <3"
"Lilacs," Seungmin said, with a soft swell of pride. "He also like sunflowers, but not all the time or too much of them, because they can be a bit too bright sometimes."
Minho's head turned to face Seungmin, mouth open in surprise. "When did I tell you that?" he asked, clearly shocked that Seungmin had remembered such an insignificant detail of his life.
Seungmin blinked. "You told me this not even a week ago."
"Nonsense, you're obviously telepathic and using your powers for evil."
Seungmin scoffed. "You are ridiculo—"
"Does Seungminnie snore?" Minho interrupted, reading another comment. Seungmin was only able to make a short, spluttering sound of protest before Minho completely blew over him, faking a whisper as if he knew a secret: "He snores all the time. Completely through the night. It's insufferable."
"I do not," Seungmin refuted, blushing all the way down to his toes. "You know who has some strange sleeping habits? Minho-hyung—"
"What's your go-to late night snack?" Minho read, so abruptly it sounded like a blunt statement.
Seungmin sighed. "Bananas," he said.
Minho fixed him a glare. "Bananas."
"I don't like to eat late very often," Seungmin explained, "but this hyung—"
"Has a very refined palette he chooses not to share," Minho interrupted quickly.
Seungmin choked back a laugh. Minho glanced over at him and grinned.
⬦⬦⬦
Seungmin's throat was sore by the time the show ended. He thought it was from talking and laughing so much, at first, but then his head started to ache as he got into one of their company cars. Minho was looking over at him with careful eyes.
"Do you have any medicine?" Seungmin asked him. "Or, um...a cough drop or anything?"
Minho noticed the way Seungmin's shoulders slumped with every slow blink of his eyes and nodded. He reached into his backpack, the one with a plush cat keychain, and pulled out a container. He shook the container into his palm, then handed Seungmin two white pills and a bottle of water.
"Headache?" he guessed as Seungmin swallowed.
Seungmin nodded. "Overworked myself, maybe," he said. He wiped his lips with his sleeve. He let his head fall back to the seat, eyes closing. "Thank you," he added quietly, eyes still closed. "For the medicine."
"No problem," Minho murmured, and Seungmin knew he was looking over at him, watching him carefully.
"I'm not going to die, you know, it's just a headache," Seungmin told him softly. "You should stop thinking so hard; you'll get wrinkles."
Minho hummed. "You should rest when we get home."
Seungmin breathed it in for a moment. Imagined that "home" meant somewhere just for the two of them, somewhere safe and warm. And then he breathed out. Shifted in his seat. "Yeah," he said eventually. "I'll try."
But by the time he reached their dorm, Seungmin was wide awake. It was late by then, but Changbin was over at their dorm. He and Felix were on the couch, watching a drama on the living room TV. Seungmin noticed Felix's head fall to Changbin's shoulder and swallowed a lump in his throat. Ignored the settling ache in his stomach.
The door shut behind Minho, the last to come in, and the two on the couch turned to them.
"Wanna join us?" Felix asked.
Seungmin shrugged. "Sure," he said, and then he and Minho clambered onto the couch. It was a small couch—it probably was only meant to accommodate three people. But the four of them squished together, Seungmin in-between Changbin and Minho, Minho pressed against him so close it should've been uncomfortable, but it wasn't.
Seungmin couldn't pay much attention to the plot of whatever they were watching. Minho had fallen asleep at some point during the movie, colors from the television painting closed eyelids. His head had fallen to Seungmin's shoulder; his breath now ghosted Seungmin's neck. The warmth from his body was enough to seep into Seungmin so fully he felt snug all the way down to his bones.
When the movie finished, Seungmin had to muster up all his strength to try and lean Minho's body against his own as he walked them to his bedroom. By the time he had tucked Minho into his own bed, sweat prickled at Seungmin's scalp.
Before he left Minho's bedroom, he stood there for a moment. Watched the slow rise and fall of Minho's chest; imagined he was lying right next to him, listening to his heartbeat.
Seungmin shook the thought from his head and closed the door behind him as he left.
⬦⬦⬦
Seungmin started coughing.
It was more of an uncomfortable feeling at first, as if something was lodged in-between his ribs, pressing on his lungs. He swallowed, trying to rid himself of the discomfort, but as soon as he took a breath in his body forced the breath out, and then Seungmin was coughing.
It started slowly at first. Just a few coughs. Nothing too loud—nothing Seungmin couldn't hide in the pit of his elbow. And then he wouldn't stop coughing. Something was stuck in his throat, he knew, but it felt like more than just phlegm—something larger, something a little sharper.
Before he knew it, Seungmin was doubled over, his fist clenched in the fabric of his hoodie. His heart hammered in his ribs, trying desperately to keep up with Seungmin's labored breathing. Tears kissed his eyes—stinging, burning. And then, when Seungmin thought the worst of it was over—
A petal caught between his teeth.
Shock fell over Seungmin to such a degree that he froze. The coughing stopped. Seungmin swiped a shaking thumb across his cheek, and when he pulled it out of his mouth, there was a pretty little lilac petal right in his quivering grip.
It was a tiny little thing—too small to be the catalyst of wracking, full-bodied coughs. But there it was, sitting right there in Seungmin's upturned palm.
Seungmin stared. He stared for thirty seconds, and then a full minute, and then maybe two. By then, the shock had dissolved into something cold, something devastating and bone-chilling.
Seungmin knew what the petal meant. He couldn't doubt that it didn't just come up from his lungs. He just knelt there on the floor of his bedroom, staring at the petal that had somehow grown inside his body and come up through his throat.
There was a knock at the door.
Seungmin startled. It took him a second to snap out of his stupor, and then his fist closed around the petal in his hand and he raised his head to the door.
It opened. Light spilled through.
Minho stood there. Head turned to the side in question, lips parted just slightly. "Are you...alright? I heard you coughing. Why are you—Kim Seungmin, why are you kneeling on the ground?"
Seungmin blinked. "I didn't mean to," he said, brushing off his pants as he stood.
Minho stepped forward, scrutinizing Seungmin's face. His hair nearly tickled Seungmin's nose. "You look pale," he observed, eyes wide. "Are you sick?"
Seungmin shrugged. "I don't know," he murmured, too shocked to muster up anything else to say. "Did I wake you? I didn't mean to."
Minho's palm came up to fit against Seungmin's forehead, his hand just long enough so that his fingers slipped into Seungmin's hair. The warmth from his hand bled into Seungmin. He breathed.
"You feel feverish," Minho said, with a little pout that tugged at Seungmin's heart.
"I'm probably fine," Seungmin said, very much aware that Minho's hand was still on his skin, soft and warm.
"If you're sick, you need to stay home tomorrow," Minho said, finally dropping his hand back to his side. "I'll cancel our schedules and stay with you."
Seungmin shook his head before he could think. "I don't—you don't...I'm probably fine. Just...tired, most likely."
Minho raised an eyebrow. "I don't think people get fevers from being tired, Seungmin-ah."
"They probably do," Seungmin said, though less sure of his response.
Minho shook his head. "Then sleep," he said, "and if you still have a fever in the morning, I'm making you stay home."
"You're not my mom," Seungmin grumbled, but he let Minho walk him over to his bed, anyway, lifting his chin as Minho tucked in his blanket.
"Sleep," Minho told him sternly. And then a little softer: "Don't die, please."
Seungmin almost laughed. "I'm not gonna die, hyung," he said, but something in him nudged at the back of his head, melting his smile down to pooling wax.
"Sleep," Minho said again, and then he was gone, the only evidence that he was ever really there being the light that came through the crack between the hinges of the door and the wall. But then it turned off with a small click, and the sound of Minho's footsteps faded as he turned down the hall and back to his own bedroom.
Seungmin sighed into the dark. When he blinked, a lilac shade of purple blinked with him. A familiar heavy weight fell on Seungmin's shoulders, and the bone-deep chill of reluctant acceptance finally rolled him over.
Seungmin had hanahaki. It was the only explanation for the coughing, the only explanation for the petal, the only explanation for a phenomena Seungmin had only rarely heard of. But now it was his.
The consequences flashed behind his eyes, red red red. And then he realized the one cause of the disease.
Unrequited love.
...Which meant that the only person he had ever truly loved didn't love him back; at least, not in the way Seungmin loved him—not in the way that tugged at his lips and warmed his heart and settled deep into his bones, pulling at Seungmin's every inhale, pushing at his every exhale.
That was what hurt him the most. Not that this disease festering inside him could rid him of his breath and tear open his lungs and choke him as he slept, dragging him down to a bittersweet death. But that the one person Seungmin loved with every fiber of his being couldn't ever love him back.
He let the tears fall, then. Bit into his fist to quiet the sounds of his crying, dampen the noise of a grief that wasn't ever supposed to be his.
The comfort that came from the blanket tucked underneath his chin soon became drenched as it soaked up all his tears. He ended up tucking his legs underneath his knees, instead, pulling his weight into a small ball.
Seungmin knew he should see a doctor. Logically, realistically, at least, he should seek medical attention to cut down the lilac bushes winding around his lungs and to strengthen his heartbeat, but Seungmin didn't want to tell anyone. Didn't want anyone to know, because he was so utterly embarrassed that he was dying because he loved someone and he didn't even have the strength to confess to the person who inadvertently planted the flowers in his body.
So Seungmin closed his eyes after a while. Wiped away the traces of tears left on his cheeks after a while. Shook his head and buried his face in his pillow, because if one thing could save him from his mind, it would be a loss of it.
Seungmin slept.
⬦⬦⬦
With morning, the sun rose and peeked through the blinds of his window. The soft, warm glow came through and fell over Seungmin's eyes—it took him a minute to realize that a shadow came over the light and crossed over his face.
A hand came to rest on Seungmin's forehead, and the gentle, soothing pressure of the unexpected touch was enough for Seungmin to forget about trying to argue. The hand slipped to Seungmin's neck as he stirred, two fingers diligently checking for a pulse.
"You're still feverish," Minho whispered, and then Seungmin opened his eyes.
"'M fine," he mumbled, lips still strung together from sleep.
Minho shook his head. "You were coughing all through last night."
Seungmin jolted. Sat up straight in bed. Panic gripped his chest, building and building because Minho couldn't know, Minho wasn't supposed to know, no one was, and if someone saw the petals—
He stilled as soon as he found an unmistakable, sad little stack of lilac petals strewn about his bed near his pillow. He swept them aside quickly, looked away before he could watch them fall over his bedframe and disappear, and pulled his covers back over his head.
"Seungmin-ah."
"Hmm?" Seungmin answered, nonchalant as if he hadn't just frantically searched his sheets for something that shouldn't be there.
"Something's wrong," Minho said.
"How astute of an observation," Seungmin mumbled, his brain far too scrambled to come up with a better response.
Minho made a sound of indignation. Silence. And then: "I'll tell Chan."
Seungmin lowered his covers, then. Peered over at Minho with squinted eyes because oh, was that an evil threat. If Minho told Chan, Seungmin would never be able to lie. Chan was so mothering to the extent that it was endearingly overbearing, and he couldn't stand letting Chan worry.
"Don't tell him," Seungmin begged. "Please."
"Then tell me," Minho bargained. "Please."
Seungmin sighed. "Maybe I'm sick, I don't know," he said, trying to pull excuses out of thin air, "but it'll probably blow over eventually."
Minho looked him over with careful, wide eyes, and then finally said, "Fine. I've already cancelled all your schedules and I'll stay with you until your fever breaks—but only because someone has to make sure you don't die and all the others are busy."
Seungmin faked a pout. "You're only staying with me because you have to?"
Minho rolled his eyes. "I take it back," he said, even though both of them knew he never would. He moved to walk away, but Seungmin reached out and caught Minho's arm before he could even think.
Minho blinked. Waited for Seungmin to say something.
"Don't leave," was all he could tell him.
Something in Minho's face changed, then. Softened, maybe. Then Minho crawled onto the bed, waiting for Seungmin to move closer to the wall so they could squish together and breathe the same air.
Seungmin clearly underestimated the empty space in his bed: as soon as Minho laid down, his nose brushed against his and their legs tangled together. But it felt natural. Easy.
It was this exact sentiment that had tears springing to Seungmin's eyes once again—because he felt so warm, so loved, and he knew it wasn't true.
Seungmin buried his head into his pillow before Minho could see the welling tears. Feigned fatigue instead of telling Minho a word, because coming clean to him would mean that everything was real and everything Seungmin tried so desperately to ignore had been the inevitable, aching truth.
So he let Minho believe he was asleep. Felt Minho's hand come up to stroke his hair, his fingers brush Seungmin's cheek. Breathed something shaky, petals caught in the back of his throat, and wished for a world in which he wasn't a liar.