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“why are stars aligned the way they are?” he asks.
“you’re trying to get me into that rabbit hole of yours again. i already told you: i’m not gonna willingly dive in.”
he hears a light chuckle as a response, “and i told you: it’s a sworn interest. i’m sure you’d have the same sentiments if you would just listen!”
“mingyu,” jeonghan scoffs.
“jeonghan.” the other immediately retorts, fluttering his eyelids open. mingyu stares directly at the boy laying down beside him on the beat up mattress some hospital personnel just left for dead. it had two or three broken springs (jeonghan swore it only had two before mingyu started frequenting the spot), and miraculously did not have a stench.
neither of them know if a dead body once laid on top of it, and neither of them wanted to find out anyway. yet, jeonghan theorizes that that would be unlikely because it doesn’t smell, while mingyu would argue that maybe it just went through some deep cleaning.
then why wasn’t it reused?
well, why was it left here?
for us to find. jeonghan would have stated — no. the correct phrase would be: for me to find, and for you to find me.
but he dismissed it. he’s sure mingyu already had a faint idea. with all his reasons and everything.
he simply hums, fixating his gaze on the vast sky towering over them as if it’s his first time witnessing a blank atmosphere. no moon in sight, much less stars that mingyu wouldn’t shut up about. he’s lead to wonder why their conversations always end up being about those that don’t matter.
but they did matter. especially when it was mingyu who was telling those stories. stories that jeonghan swore he’s memorized, like how he’s memorized mingyu’s body language and tone of voice when he’s happy or just not in the mood for long talks.
and jeonghan swears, mingyu’s stories would be his favorite if the owner of those wasn’t already occupying the spot.
“fine, let me hear it,” jeonghan surrenders. he wasn’t looking at mingyu (a rare occurrence, at the very least), but he was fully aware that a shit-eating grin was already gracing the guy’s face.
mingyu inhales, holds it for a moment, then speaks, “i don’t know.”
jeonghan turns his head towards the guy as if on cue, “what?”
“for once, i don’t know.”
jeonghan smiles at him. “well, just make something up. you know i’d still believe you.”
mingyu smiles, nonetheless. jeonghan knows better than to keep staring, lest he’d have a harder time getting out of the things he’s already so used to.
mingyu shuts his eyes slowly and shuffles to lay on his side, turning away from jeonghan.
“how long ‘til they start a search and rescue for us again?” mingyu mumbles, mid-yawn.
jeonghan shrugs, “probably around fifteen minutes tops,” he props himself up on his elbows to get a glimpse of the other. he can never look away, even for just a moment. he’s scared that if he does, he’d forget.
but he knows he won’t. he never will. why would he? mingyu’s too beautiful.
“jeonghan,” jeong-han. the way mingyu says it will always be jeonghan’s favorite sound. jeong-han. it’s a bit too narcissistic to admit that his favorite word would be his name because mingyu says it with utmost care — as if it was the most fragile thing in the universe. but jeonghan knows it isn’t.
“how long do we plan to remain here this time, then?” mingyu asks.
“for as long as you’ll let me.” he replied silently.
“hm?”
jeonghan smiles as he slowly creeps his hand to lay softly on top of mingyu’s waist. the latter immediately holding it with his own. “i said for a few more minutes. it’s warm here.”
mingyu laughs weakly, “you always say that as if our ward doesn’t have a heating system.”
“you’re warm.” jeonghan says softly — just enough for mingyu to hear.
it was quiet on the other’s end. all that jeonghan could hear then was mingyu’s steady breathing. “mingyu…” a hum emits from the guy. “tell me more… of your stories.”
he lets out another laugh. a weaker one this time. “you’ve already heard them all.”
“i want to hear them again.”
it was silent again for a moment. jeonghan’s elbow started feeling numb so he decided to lay back down, eyes meeting the vast blackness, yet his touch never leaving mingyu’s.
“it would be unfair, don’t you think?” jeonghan said.
“what is?”
“to leave the other, all alone.”
mingyu finally turns to face him. jeonghan shuffles so they have their foreheads pressing against one another. mingyu takes his hand in his again after departing briefly. warmth enveloping even the tips of their fingers amidst the cold breeze the november night was giving.
“you’d rather not say goodbye.”
jeonghan exhales, closing his eyes. “i’d rather not say goodbye. because i never had to do that, i never had someone to say it to.”
“then i’m lucky.” jeonghan opens his eyes to see a still smiling mingyu.
“how so?”
“because i have someone to say goodbye to,” he pauses. “because it’s hard for me to say it, too.”
mingyu goes silent again as he shuts his eyes, tightening his grip on jeonghan’s hand.
it’s time to get back inside. jeonghan thinks. not because he’s had enough of this — no, he’ll never have enough of all of this. but because mingyu’s palms started to feel colder. and he figured they’d get their asses dragged back inside shortly anyway.
so he gets off the old mattress they now think as home, and pulls mingyu up after.
they then proceeded back to their familiar busy floor, to their familiar busy ward, with the familiar feeling as they walked side by side, like they always did.
the old mattress was left there in the cold like how it was when jeonghan first found it. the beddings they’ve taken from the supply closet without their attending nurses noticing was tidied up for the first time since they were used.
jeonghan would return there after a while and stay for hours on end. he knows he can never let the mattress be abandoned again.
he’d lay on it, still, staring at the vast sky. but now with only the cold as his companion.
as a gust of wind would breeze through where he’d lay, he’d hope that that familiar warmth, too, would find its way back to him again.
but for now, he swears, he’ll wait.