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San relaxes the tiniest bit when he hears the sound of Seonghwa’s key in the lock. He briefly manages to tear his gaze away from the game of Wii bowling he’s playing with Wooyoung, eyebrows raising when he sees what time it is.
2:30 is early for Seonghwa; San is much more used to him coming home around 3 or 4 in the morning during the week.
“Hey hyung,” he calls, carefully lining up his next move. “How was work?”
The familiar sounds of Seonghwa setting down his bag and taking off his coat reach the living room, followed by footsteps a few seconds later.
“It was fine.”
Wooyoung shifts beside San, reaching behind his back to adjust the pillow there.
“Good grief Hwa,” he says after a second, presumably having looked over at Seonghwa. “You look like shit.”
Seonghwa starts to make what is probably supposed to be an exaggerated huff, but he is interrupted by a fit of coughing.
San puts down his controller halfway through the coughing fit, now frowning. Seonghwa doesn’t stop coughing, each one sounding painful.
When he finally catches his breath, his face is red and San can hear the way his breathing is wheezing with each exhale.
“Rude,” Seonghwa manages to gasp.
“And you sound like you’re actively dying,” Wooyoung adds, pausing their game.
“How long have you been coughing like that?” San asks, getting up from the couch.
“It just now started,” Seonghwa says, waving a hand like it’s not a big deal.
“Like this was the first time?” San presses. “Or it’s only been a day or so?”
Seonghwa grimaces, and San knows he isn’t going to like this answer.
“A few days,” he admits. “But it’s nothing bad. Just a cold.”
He turns as he says that, and is halfway into the kitchen when San manages to speak.
“Hyung.”
Seonghwa immediately stops, but doesn’t turn around. San is left to stare at the back of his head, which he does with the best accusatory glance he can muster.
“You know it’s not just a cold,” he says firmly. “It’s flu season; we should go to the hospital before it gets any worse.”
“No,” Seonghwa says frantically, whipping around to face San. “I’m not going to the hospital. It’s not that bad, it’ll get better. I’m just tired and-”
He abruptly stops talking as another round of coughing hits him, leaving him doubled over with his face buried in his elbow. San can distinctly hear the wheeze of his breaths now, each one more labored than the last.
“Seonghwa, it’s not going to get better,” Wooyoung says gently, coming to stand beside San. “And the closest hospital is like twenty minutes away; what if it gets bad enough you can’t walk?”
“Well I would say we could call an ambulance, but someone refuses to allow that,” San tells him pointedly.
“They’re expensive,” Seonghwa wheezes. “We can’t afford that.”
“And we also can’t afford a prolonged hospital stay,” San points out. “Which is why we’re going now. Wooyoung, can you get his coat?”
Wooyoung immediately heads for the entryway, leaving San to step closer to Seonghwa.
“Is it just the cough?” San asks, carefully examining the older man.
Seonghwa shakes his head, but San could have guessed that just from looking at him. He is much paler than usual, with pronounced dark circles under his eyes.
“What else,” he prompts, reaching out to place a hand on Seonghwa’s shoulder.
“Chest hurts,” Seonghwa manages to say. He is already leaning against San’s hand, and he quickly steps closer to be able to support him better. “Arms and legs ache too.”
San makes a sympathetic noise at that, bringing a hand up to brush some of Seonghwa’s hair out of his face.
It only takes a slight touch to realize that Seonghwa has a very high fever.
“Hyung, you’re burning up,” San sighs. “We definitely need to go to the hospital.”
Seonghwa doesn’t protest this time, likely resigned to his fate. Wooyoung returns with his coat then, and the two of them help Seonghwa into it.
“Here,” Wooyoung says once the coat is on. “I’ll button him up. You put on yours.”
San does so as quickly as he can, fingers flying over the fasteners.
By the time he’s done, Wooyoung has finished Seonghwa’s as well, leaving them ready to go.
“My card,” Seonghwa rasps when the two begin to guide him towards the door. “Have to take the card.”
“It’ll be fine, hyung,” San tells him. “Wooyoung is with us; he can explain everything.”
Seonghwa relents quickly, clearly unable to prolong the argument at all. He ends up almost being carried by San, head drooping as they head down the hallway.
He is fully resting his head on San’s shoulder by the time they get to the elevator, and San is incredibly aware of just how hot his skin is against his neck. He coughs every once in a while, each one making his whole body shudder.
Wooyoung glances over when Seonghwa finishes the latest round, concern easy to read on his face. They're inside the elevator now, which is good because Seonghwa is practically draped over San at this point.
“How bad is it?” he asks, gaze flickering between Seonghwa and San.
“I’m not sure,” San admits. “A doctor will know for sure, but I think he has pneumonia.”
“That sounds bad,” Wooyoung says, biting his lip. “He sounds like he’s going to cough up a lung or something.”
“Yeah,” San tells him. “I know.”
He reaches up to run a hand up and down Seonghwa’s back, trying to focus on the rough fibers of his coat.
The elevator shifts around them, and San desperately hopes everything will be okay.
-
He wasn’t excited to have to go to school at all, and had practically dragged at Haneul’s hand all the way to the bus stop.
“Stop,” she finally told him. “Or I’ll tell Eomma you got your shoes all dirty.”
San had immediately stopped.
“I didn’t mean to,” he pointed out.
Haneul didn’t reply to that, just continued to drag him forward.
The bus stop came into view much sooner than San would have liked, and they were soon sitting on the small bench as they waited.
Feeling desperate, San glanced up at his sister.
“We shouldn’t go to school,” he tried. “We should go get ice cream instead.”
She contemplated this for a second.
“We don’t have any money.”
“Not true,” San tells her. He digs in his pocket, finally pulling out a coin. “I have 100 won.”
Haneul is unimpressed.
“That won’t be enough,” she tells him. “And Eomma would know we didn’t go to school.”
San had kind of known it was a long shot.
They continue to sit there, waiting for the bus. It’s a nice day; much too nice to be going to school. San amuses himself with thinking of all the things he would rather be doing, which takes a fair amount of time.
The bus is appearing at the end of the lane when San notices a man and boy coming from the other direction. The man is clearly the boy’s father, and is holding his hand while telling him something.
San is just a bit too far away to be able to hear what he said, but the boy nods.
“Who is that?” San asks, elbowing Haneul.
She initially looks annoyed, but the expression soon melts into curiosity as she looks in the direction San is pointing.
“Don’t point,” she tells him, batting down his hand while still staring.
San drops his hand into his lap, frowning.
“Who is that?” he repeats.
“I don’t know,” Haneul admits. “But c’mon. The bus is here.”
Sure enough, the bus has pulled up to the stop. The door is already open, and San allows his sister to tug him upright and haul him onto the bus.
They sit in their usual seat, near the middle of the bus. Unlike usual, the bus doesn't begin to move the second they sit down, and they wait for several minutes before the boy San had seen earlier climbs the stairs slowly.
He sits down right behind the driver, and San can almost make out his father saying something to the bus driver.
Then the bus is moving, leaving San wishing he could move forward to talk to the new kid.
-
The walk to the bus stop seems to take forever.
San hugs Seonghwa close, not even sure if he’s conscious anymore. Wooyoung found a mask in the pocket of his coat, and they put it on him in a half-hearted attempt to keep him from catching any more germs than he already has.
“You really should have found an apartment closer to a hospital,” Wooyoung tells him. “Especially if this happens often.”
“It doesn’t, though,” San replies. “It’s twice a year at most.”
“That’s still a lot,” Wooyoung says, shoving his hands deeper in his pockets. “And having to walk this far doesn’t make it any better.”
San can’t argue with that, but he didn’t choose the apartment complex. That was Seonghwa, and San can almost hear how he would justify such a lapse of judgment.
“I don’t get that sick anymore,” he would say. “And rent is cheaper here.”
San rolls his eyes at just the voice in his head. You would think a chronic illness would make Seonghwa a bit smarter in some areas, but this was sadly not the case at all.
“Your dad would be so pissed,” he mutters under his breath, like Seonghwa can actually hear him. “I’m starting to think he had the right idea of not letting you leave the house during flu season.”
There is of course no actual response from Seonghwa, just a slightly muffled cough that sounds painful.
“Has he always been like this?” Wooyoung asks after a few more minutes. He glances over at Seonghwa periodically, not even trying to hide the worry in his gaze.
“It used to be worse,” San tells him. “He got sick all the time when we were kids. I think he had some kind of infection almost constantly. He’s a lot better now.”
Wooyoung’s frown only deepens at that, his gaze flicking ahead to measure how far it is to the bus stop.
“We’re almost there,” he says. “Then it’s just a short bus ride.”
San doesn’t bring up the fact that they’ll have to walk from the bus stop to the hospital. They’ll deal with that when they get there.
They continue to trudge forward, not even getting weird looks from people. To be fair, it is almost three in the morning in New York. A guy practically passed out isn’t strange at all. San is almost confident he could haul a dead body through the streets and not be questioned at all.
He doesn’t want to try it though.
“Dying is not an option,” he hisses in Seonghwa’s ear. “Your dad would find some way to teleport and beat the shit out of me. That’s not how I want to go, hear me?”
There’s no response, but San hadn’t been expecting one.
-
The end of the school day couldn’t come fast enough. San was practically bouncing when his teacher finally told them to line up at the door to go to the buses, and was first in line.
His teacher eyed him, but didn’t say anything. He had been twitchy all day, and she wasn’t about to ask why he was so excited.
(She didn’t get paid enough to deal with an excited San ramble at the end of the day.)
San obediently followed her down the hall to wait for the bus, and practically flew up the steps the second it stopped. He quickly greeted the bus driver before hurrying down the aisle to sit in his usual seat.
Haneul climbed on board soon after, coming to join him.
“Did you see him?” San immediately asked, before she even sat down fully.
“See who?” she asks, giving him a weird look.
“The boy,” San told her hurriedly. “The one who got on at our stop.”
“Oh him,” Haneul says. “Yeah I saw him.”
San is about to ask her for more details when the boy himself climbs on board. He quickly sat in the same seat as before, only the very top of his head visible from where San is sitting.
“He’s in my year,” Haneul continues.
San immediately pivots to stare at her.
“What’s his name? Where is he from? Is he nice? He looks nice; I bet he is. Did you introduce yourself?”
“He’s in the other class,” his sister tells him with a huff. “I don’t know anything more than you do.”
Disappointed but not surprised by this turn of events, San slumps back in the seat. He manages to wait patiently for the duration of the bus ride, staring out the window while wondering frantically about the new kid.
The bus finally reaches their stop, and San immediately stands up. He has to wait for his sister to get up and head down the aisle, but he follows as closely as possible.
The boy is already a little ways down the road, walking with his hands swinging at his sides.
San is already impressed; he always gets scolded for walking with his hands in his pockets.
Unable to wait anymore, San sprints down the road as fast as his legs can carry him. He ignores the shout of surprise from his sister, and is soon skidding to a messy stop beside the boy.
“HimynameisSan,” he gasps. “What’syourname?”
The boy blinks at him, eyes wide in surprise. He just stares at San for a second, giving his sister time to catch up.
“San what’s wrong with you?” she demands. “Now your pants are dirty too.”
She falls silent, exchanging glances with the boy.
“Sorry about him,” she finally says, gesturing to San. “He’s been curious about you since this morning.”
San nods frantically when the boy looks back at him.
“What’s your name?” he asks when it appears the conversation is going nowhere. “I’m San.”
“I’m Seonghwa,” the boy offers. “Nice to meet you.”
“How old are you?” San immediately asks. “I’m six.”
“I’m nine,” Seonghwa answers.
“Haneul is nine too,” San tells him. “She's my sister.”
Seonghwa nods at this, looking between San and Haneul carefully.
“Are you new?” San continues, tilting his head. “We’re from Namhae but just moved here.”
“No, I’m not new,” Seonghwa replies. “I’m from here.”
“But we’ve never seen you before,” Haneul points out. She sounds vaguely accusatory, crossing her arms.
“I get sick a lot,” Seonghwa says.
San and Haneul are both satisfied with this answer, nodding.
All three of them begin walking down the road, kicking rocks and chatting. Well, San does most of the talking, but Seonghwa answers when he can. Haneul will contribute the occasional question, but mostly just listens.
“This is my house,” Seonghwa says when they reach the end of the lane.
“We’re neighbors then,” San grins. “We can come visit you and play together!”
Seonghwa smiles at that, making San’s own grin broaden.
“Do you want to come play now?” he offers. “Our eomma makes great snacks; you would like them.”
“No thank you,” Seonghwa says, sounding sorry. “My appa wants me home right away.”
“You can ask him then,” San tells him comfortingly. “Or I can.”
“You can’t ask his appa for him, Sannie,” Haneul says.
San takes the reprimand in stride, simply shrugging.
“Ask your eomma,” he tells the older boy. “Maybe we could try her snacks too.”
“My eomma is dead,” Seonghwa says, pushing open the gate in front of his house. “I’ll ask my appa though. His snacks aren’t very good.”
San gapes at him, trying to wrap his mind around the idea of not having an eomma. No one to make snacks or tuck him into bed or give him kisses and bandaids when he trips and scrapes his knees?
“Sorry,” Haneul offers, more aware of what you’re supposed to say in these situations.
“It’s ok,” Seonghwa shrugs. “She died when I was a baby.”
Haneul nods at that, accepting it isn’t as bad.
“Well, goodbye,” Seonghwa tells them. “It was nice meeting you.”
San manages to rally well, giving him a broad smile.
“Bye Seonghwa,” he says with a wave. “We’ll see you tomorrow!”
Seonghwa waves back, then heads up the path to his house. San would have liked to watch until he was all the way inside, but Haneul is already walking away and he gets in trouble when he doesn’t stay with her.
He manages to catch up with his sister after a second, and they walk in silence for a moment.
“I like him,” San finally says definitively. “He’s nice.”
Haneul nods, glancing over at San.
“We should be his friends,” San continues.
“It doesn't work like that,” Haneul tells him. “He has to want to be friends with us too.”
“He does,” San says confidently. “I can tell.”
Haneul rolls her eyes, but doesn’t disagree.
-
The bus ride and subsequent walk to the hospital had been uneventful, and San is soon letting a nurse peel Seonghwa off of him. She asks Wooyoung a few questions, expression not shifting enough for San to get any sense of what she’s thinking.
I should have taken more english classes in school, San thinks. They would definitely come in handy right now and he would have at least half a clue about what’s happening.
“She’s going to take him to a room,” Wooyoung finally reports. “Could you help her carry him?”
San nods, not having fully let go of Seonghwa in the first place. Together with the nurse, they guide him out of the reception area and down a sterile hallway.
“Hey, pros of coming to a hospital at three in the morning,” Wooyoung points out from slightly behind San. “There’s almost no wait.”
San snorts slightly at that, earning a look from the nurse.
She had asked if they were related when they came in; San could understand at least that much. Wooyoung hadn’t even hesitated before saying they were brothers, all three of them.
They may not be by blood, but that’s the only thing separating them at this point. San has known Seonghwa since he was six years old; they grew up together in every way possible. Wooyoung may be a late addition to their makeshift family, but he’s no less a part of it.
“This room,” the nurse says in English, gesturing to the door up ahead with the arm she doesn’t have around Seonghwa’s waist.
San nods, adjusting his own hold to make sure Seonghwa doesn’t go crashing to the floor.
They reach the door, and Wooyoung holds it open for them. The nurse breathlessly thanks him as they guide Seonghwa into the room.
“Now onto the bed,” she says, making eye contact with San again.
“He’s got it,” Wooyoung tells her from the doorway. “Right San?”
His last question is in Korean, and San nods.
The nurse releases her hold on Seonghwa, stepping back a short distance. San is easily able to pick Seonghwa up, hooking one arm under his knees.
He’s light; too light in San’s opinion. He always teases Seonghwa for being built like a bird, and San makes a mental note to make sure he eats more frequently.
San lowers him onto the bed as gently as possible, having to reach up to pull Seonghwa’s arm off his shoulders. He looks smaller than he should on the bed, his hair and jacket a stark black against the white of the sheets.
“Thank you,” the nurse tells him, stepping up to the bed. “I’ve got it from here.”
San gives her a wordless nod, stepping backwards until he’s out of her way. Wooyoung comes to stand beside him, and the two watch as she begins taking vitals with a steady hand.
“He’s going to be okay,” Wooyoung whispers, reaching out the tiniest bit to brush his fingertips over the back of San’s hand.
“I know,” San says, still not looking away from the bed.
Wooyoung interlocks their fingers, leaning slightly against San’s side. The two of them continue to watch, and San does his best to fight down the growing feelings of worry and lack of control.
-
“Eomma, I’m going to visit,” San yelled over his shoulder, letting the screen door slam shut behind him.
“Be back in time for dinner,” his mother calls after him.
San doesn’t reply, already running down the porch steps. It’s hot and humid, in a way that leaves him immediately sticky and gross but he doesn't mind. Summer means no school, and plenty of time to play with Seonghwa and Haneul.
He is soon reaching the fence that borders the Park’s back yard, and San slips through the small gate easily. He makes sure to wipe his feet on the mat before knocking on the back door, practically vibrating with anticipation as he waits for someone to answer.
Seonghwa’s father appears after a second, smiling at the sight of San through the door’s window.
“Hi Mr. Park,” San says with a bow when he pulls the door open. “Can I play with Seonghwa?”
“Hello San,” Mr. Park tells him. “Sure you can. Come in.”
He holds the door open further, and San steps inside. He immediately begins to take his shoes off, leaving them in a neat row by the door.
“Seonghwa is in his room,” Mr. Park says. “There’s juice in the fridge if you want it.”
San thanks him, and Mr. Park is soon disappearing back into his office, leaving the door cracked just the tiniest bit.
Not needing any directions at this point, San heads right to Seonghwa’s room. He knocks briefly on the door, barely waiting for any acknowledgement before shoving it open.
Seonghwa is sitting on the floor, surrounded by a jumble of lego pieces. He must have just opened the set; San knows by now that Seonghwa likes to organize all his pieces before he starts building anything.
“Sannie,” Seonghwa says, smiling at the sight of him. “Wanna help me build this?”
San is already plopping down on the floor across from him, reaching for the box.
“Ooh, this one is cool,” he exclaims. “When did you get it?”
“A while ago,” Seonghwa tells him. “I’ve been saving it.”
San makes a vague noise at that. He could never wait to build something as exciting as a lego set, especially when he already has it.
“I can find the pieces for you,” he offers. “Just tell me what you need.”
Seonghwa easily agrees, and they begin to assemble the set. They don’t talk when it’s not necessary, and San can almost feel the time stretching out around them.
Summer passes just like that, in a kind of golden haze. They climb trees, catch frogs, and invent fantastic worlds. Seonghwa has a seemingly endless supply of figurines and lego sets, providing entertainment on the rainy afternoons when they can’t go outside. San will haul all of his plushies over sometimes, allowing them to create some of the most ambitious crossover episodes in history.
The two spend so much time at each other’s houses that San sometimes forgets which one he is supposed to sleep at. Seonghwa and Mr. Park regularly come over for dinner, and San’s mom keeps their fridge as well stocked with side dishes as she does their own.
They’re playing tag in the Choi’s yard one day when San’s mom comes out on the porch.
“San,” she calls. “Come here.”
San immediately obeys, shooting Seonghwa an apologetic glance. He crosses the yard at a jog, trying to remember if he did anything wrong recently.
“Yes Eomma?” he asks, thumping up the steps.
“You need to be gentle with Seonghwa,” she tells him, reaching out to fix his hair. “Don’t play as hard with him, okay?”
San nods confusedly.
“Is because he doesn’t have an eomma?” he asks, squinting up at his mom.
She laughs slightly at that.
“No,” she tells him. “It’s because he gets sick easily, and we don’t want him to get sick. So don’t tire him out too much, and try not to push him around either.”
“Yes Eomma,” San replies. “Can I go back now?”
She nods, and in the time it takes for San to jump down the porch steps and rush back to where Seonghwa is standing, she’s back inside.
“What was that?” Seonghwa asks when he gets closer. “Are you in trouble?”
“No,” San tells him. “It wasn’t anything. Were you it?”
They quickly fall back into arguing over who was it, eventually deciding it should be San because he was the one who got called away.
San does his best to be careful, definitely not wanting to hurt his friend. It’s only when they’re a bit older that he realizes just what his mom meant.
“Eomma, I’m going to visit,” he calls out. “Can I bring Hwa over for dinner?”
“About that,” his mom says, stepping into the doorway. “Mr. Park called this morning. Seonghwa is sick; you’re not going to be able to visit him for a while.”
San blinks uncomprehendingly at her.
“What do you mean he’s sick?” he asks. “He was fine yesterday.”
“I know,” his mom tells him. “It happened really fast.”
There’s a serious look on her face, enough to give San a long moment of pause.
“Is it bad?” he asks, watching his mom carefully.
She softens when she sees the look on his face, automatically opening her arms. San crosses the distance between them as quickly as possible, pressing his face into her shirt.
“Aww, Sannie,” she coos, stroking his hair. “It’s not that bad. Seonghwa will be fine; you’ll just have to wait a while to see him.”
San nods, hugging her tighter.
-
They put Seonghwa on an IV almost immediately. San had figured that would be what happened, but he was still subconsciously hoping for some kind of miracle drug they could give him.
No such thing exists, of course. But he couldn’t stop from hoping.
He quickly found one of the room’s chairs, and pulled it right up to the bed. He figured it wouldn’t hurt anything to hold the hand that isn’t hooked up to the IV, and the nurse hasn’t said anything so far.
Wooyoung sits beside him until he can’t anymore. Then he gets up to pace, walking the length of the room with his arms tightly folded.
He’s pacing now, and San counts each step. It keeps the reality of the situation a little further away. It lingers on the edges, always there.
Nurses come in periodically, changing out the IV every once in a while. Seonghwa seems to be asleep now, his chest rising and falling peacefully when he’s not coughing.
He coughs more than San would like.
“What time is it?” Wooyoung mutters, digging his phone out of his pocket.
San doesn’t look away from Seonghwa’s face, distantly wondering if the room is too cold for him. He still has his coat, but it’s serving double duty as a blanket right now.
“Shit,” Wooyoung says. “It’s already seven am, San.”
San hums wordlessly at that.
“I’m going to go get food or something.” Wooyoung steps closer to the bed. “I can’t stay in this room any longer. Do you want something?”
“Just whatever,” San tells him.
The hand Wooyoung puts on his shoulder is warm, making San realize just how cold his own fingers are.
“Take care of him, yeah?”
San nods the tiniest bit as Wooyoung leans close enough for his breath to ghost across his temple. His lips are warm, and the kiss on his forehead seems to linger despite how brief it actually is.
Wooyoung slips out of the room seconds later, leaving San and Seonghwa alone.
San only lasts a few moments before his vision blurs.
The tears are hot on his cheeks, and he lowers his head to rest his forehead on their combined hands.
“Please, hyung,” he whispers. “Please be okay. I don’t know how to do this without you-”
He abruptly stops talking, choking on a sudden sob. He’s crying harder now, and he’s very glad Wooyoung isn’t here.
“I’m so scared, Hwa,” he continues. “What if you die like this? What then? I wouldn’t even know how to tell your dad, hyung, that’s how pathetic I am.”
San doesn’t realize Seonghwa started moving until a hand is resting on his head, stroking his hair with the smallest of movements.
Something about the simplest of motions makes San feel like something breaks in his chest. He buries his head in the mattress, trying in vain to muffle the sobs that he just can’t stop from coming. It’s all too much; he’s tired and scared out of his mind and so relieved that he can’t even think straight.
“You’re not pathetic,” Seonghwa whispers. “You always take such good care of me, Sannie.”
“It was easier when we were kids,” San says, sob turning into a laugh halfway through. “Remember when I yelled at the entire playground?”
Seonghwa’s laugh is soft, like he’s trying to keep from coughing again.
“I thought you were going to explode,” he says, continuing to stroke San’s hair. “Your face was so red.”
“I was scared,” San tells him. “And I’m still so fucking scared, Hwa.”
Seonghwa doesn’t reply immediately, but the hand in his hair doesn’t stop moving.
“Thank you,” he finally says. “For being scared for me.”
San looks up at that, temporarily dislodging Seonghwa’s hand.
He has been crying too, and as San watches another tear slips down the curve of his cheek. But he’s smiling, eyes infinitely soft.
“What do you mean?” San asks, finding himself talking in a lower voice than normal.
Seonghwa hums at that, eyes fluttering closed for a second.
“You’ve always been scared for me,” he says when he opens them. “I never felt like I had to worry. You, and my appa, and your family made it so I didn’t have to.”
San stares at him for a second, trying to wrap his head around everything Seonghwa just said.
“Thank you for that,” Seonghwa murmurs. He reaches out to wipe away some of San’s tears, fingers gentle. “I wish I could show you how grateful I am.”
“You do,” San gasps, not even trying to blink back the fresh tears.
He isn’t able to keep talking, but if he could he would tell Seonghwa about all the things he does for them, the thousands of tiny ways he shows his gratitude and love.
It’s everything Seonghwa does, San realizes. He has built a life out of gratitude, and San has never doubted for a second Seonghwa’s love for him.
Through the tears, San can barely make out the concern on Seonghwa’s face. It almost makes him laugh; Seonghwa is the one hooked up to an IV in a hospital but he’s worried about San crying.
“I love you,” he manages to say wetly. “So much, Hwa.”
Seonghwa’s smile is bright enough to burn through the tears.
“I love you too, Sannie.”
-
“So, why do you get sick so much?”
Seonghwa doesn’t look away from the ancient video game console hooked up to the tv in the Choi’s living room, biting down on his lower lip in concentration.
He audibly hisses when his character on the screen dies a pixelated death, glancing over at San.
“Do you want the simple or complicated explanation?” he asks, tilting his head.
San just shrugs, unsure but down to listen either way.
“I have a primary immunodeficiency disorder,” Seonghwa tells him evenly, in the same way San would say he has a purple tshirt.
“What’s that?” San asks, frowning.
“I was getting there,” Seonghwa says, reaching out to smack San’s shoulder. “It basically means my immune system doesn’t work right. That’s why I always get sick super easy.”
“Why doesn’t your immune system work?” San asks. “Can’t the doctors fix it?”
“It’s genetic,” Seonghwa tells him. “They can’t fix it.”
San thinks about that for a minute, trying to remember a few key terms from his science class.
“Wait, it can’t be genetic,” he finally says. “Your appa doesn’t get sick like, at all.”
Seonghwa gives him a look.
“No, but my eomma did. Why do you think she died?”
San blinks at him, flushing red just from embarrassment.
“I’m so sorry,” he finally manages to stammer. “I didn’t mean to-”
“To what?” Seonghwa asks, raising an eyebrow. “Remind me Eomma is dead? It’s not like I’d forget or something. But it’s fine; I don’t even remember her.”
San considers that, eventually nodding. He’s distantly sure Seonghwa isn’t fine, but he has certainly never seemed to be sad about not having a mom.
“Huh,” he finally says. “That’s weird.”
Seonghwa shrugs, already looking back at the tv.
“Do you wanna play another level?” he asks. “I think we can beat it this time.”
“You always say that,” San groans. “But yeah.”
They quickly get lost in the game, all thoughts of disorders or commas fading eventually.
-
The hospital officially discharges Seonghwa around noon, two days after they arrived.
San makes sure to grab all the paperwork and stuff it as deep in his coat pocket as possible. Seonghwa isn't going to see any of it for at least a week.
“-the doctor said you should take it easy,” Wooyoung is telling him. “Ain’t no way he secretly meant you should go back to work immediately.”
“We can’t be closed for this long,” Seonghwa protests. “Hongjoong will be by and-”
“Hongjoong can kiss my ass,” Wooyoung says firmly. “He will wait, whether he wants to or not.”
Seonghwa starts to argue again, but San reaches out to thread his arm through the older man’s, pulling him closer as they walk.
“Let’s not worry about that now,” he says when Seonghwa looks over at him. “We’ll have plenty of time to deal with that.”
“But I need to go to work,” Seonghwa tries. “There’s still time to open, and it’s a fight night-”
“Nope,” San says cheerfully, cutting him off. “We’re going to go home, get into pajamas, and watch whatever you want, hyung.”
“Whatever I want?” Seonghwa asks, eyeing him suspiciously.
“Whatever you want,” San repeats.
“And you won’t laugh at the romantic lines?” Seonghwa presses. “Or make gross noises during the kissing scenes?”
“We won’t,” Wooyoung promises. “Even if it’ll physically pain us.”
Seonghwa considers that, looking between the two of them like he’s waiting for them to crack.
“Fine,” he sighs when neither of them do. “Just this once.”
Not an hour later, they’re all on the couch, Seonghwa’s latest drama playing on the tv. San is feeling warmer and happier than he has in the last few days; the cold sterility of the hospital is already a distant memory.
The fear isn’t, however, and he glances over to check on Seonghwa.
He smiles when he realizes the older man’s eyes are closed, hair falling across his face as his head rests on top of Wooyoung’s.
Wooyoung glances over at San without moving his head. He is practically in Seonghwa’s lap, head comfortably pillowed by his shoulder.
“Is he asleep?” he whispers.
San just nods, not willing to disturb Seonghwa.
“Good,” Wooyoung mutters. “Could we turn this shit off then?”
San has to stifle a laugh at that, shaking his head.
“He would wake up,” he murmurs, grin widening when Wooyoung scowls.
He does turn the volume down slightly, leaning back further against the cushions.
A few minutes later, San feels something shift under the blankets. He is about to give Wooyoung an evil look for moving, but abruptly stops when a hand slips into his.
He would know Seonghwa’s hand anywhere, and he lifts his head carefully.
Seonghwa slowly opens one eye, clearly almost asleep. As San watches, his lips stretch into a peaceful smile.
“Love you,” San murmurs, squeezing his hand. “Sleep well, Hwa.”
He drifts off to sleep soon after, worries eased for the time being.