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Jisung’s eyes are fucking heavy, and even with all the energy he manages to gather, he fails to open them. His ears pick up some dull sounds he can’t place, and the more he tries to focus on it, the more it makes his head hurt and before he even notices, he falls back asleep.
The second time Jisung reaches consciousness, his eyes are more cooperative. He blinks slowly, the dim light falling through the closed curtains just enough to make out some blurry shapes around him. Jisung shifts his head, attempting to take in the room a little better and is immediately overcome with lightheadedness.
Fucking hell
His sight stays a little bleary. Jisung credits it to the anesthesia, but still he can make out a few shapes and colors. A yellow door, a tv on the wall, a clock beside it, the numbers obscured. His heart beats in sync with a faint beeping sound, filling the otherwise quiet room.
The more Jisung’s mind wakes, the more he also begins to feel his body. His right index finger is covered in what he remembers to be an oxygen and heart monitor, while the back of his hand is connected to a cannula. With great effort, Jisung stretches out his fingers before letting them curl back to rest. Everything, his whole entire body feels so incredibly heavy, it could’ve been made of lead and Jisung wouldn’t know the difference. And on top, as he comes to realize, does his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth.
Water. Jisung needs water.
He knows there has to be a button to call a nurse somewhere near him and he manages to turn his head to the side just enough to spot it. He also spots something, or rather someone, else.
At the end of Jisung’s bed, cushioned on a massive, scrunched up blanket, is Minho, soundly asleep. Jisung feels a smile trying to bloom on his face but his muscles still don’t fully cooperate yet. Minho stirs a little and Jisung sees an opportunity.
„-ng“, he mumbles, lips feeling like they’re glued together.
„yung“, he tries again. Why the fuck is this so difficult?
Jisung takes a breath. „Hyung“, he croaks, finally getting the word over his dry lips. And together with an uncoordinated jerk of Jisung’s leg, Minho finally raises his head.
The older winces, a hand quickly coming to his neck and he looks around a little confused before he realizes Jisung was the one to wake him. Minho quickly jumps on his feet, round eyes blinking rapidly. The cheek he slept on is covered in red uneven lines.
“Hey”, Minho breathes out and steps closer to lean over the bed and brush a strand of bleached hair off Jisung’s forehead.
“Hey”, Jisung murmurs back, voice hoarse and quiet.
“How long have you been awake”? Minho asks quietly and his eyes flit over to the various medical devices he can’t read, bottom lip worried between his teeth.
“Just...few minutes”, Jisung closes his eyes with a sigh. “Need water”.
“Ah, yeah sure”, Minho looks around and vanishes from Jisung’s view for a moment before coming back with a glass of water in his hand. He presses a button and crosses the room to the small table. He fills a glass with a bottle already prepared beforehand, quickly presses on the red button on the panel next to the door, before coming back to Jisung.
“I pressed the call button on the door”, he gestures over his shoulder. “Here, let me”.
Minho carefully brings the glass to Jisung’s lips and carefully tilts it upwards. Despite feeling so dehydrated, Jisung merely manages three tiny sips before a hint of nausea creeps into his tummy and he pulls away. A droplet escapes the corner of Jisung’s mouth but Minho is quick to catch it with his sleeve. He cracks a smile, which Jisung mirrors with some difficulty.
With a sigh, Jisung closes his eyes and settles back against the soft pillow. God, he’s tired. He knows it takes time to fully come back to oneself after general anesthesia but that makes the feeling no less strange and unsettling. He’s glad Minho is here. His presence is calming, grounding in the overwhelming unfamiliarity around him.
How do you feel”? Minho asks and takes Jisung’s hand in his own. His voice is quiet but Jisung can still pick up the concern laced through it.
Good question, how does Jisung feel?
Tired, first and foremost. His head still spins and his body feels like it weighs tons, and having his chest wrapped tightly in bandages and a post op binder makes breathing difficult.
Aside from that, he can’ feel much more. Jisung opens his mouth to answer but he gets cut off by the door swinging open. A nurse enters the room, greeting first Jisung and then Minho with a warm smile.
“Well, look who’s awake”. She takes an examining glance at the medical devices before turning her full attention towards Jisung.
“How do we feel, Mr Han?”, she repeats Minho’s earlier question.
Jisung sighs. “Run over by a truck”.
~~~
To Jisung’s surprise (and much to his relief), Minho was at last permitted to stay the night in the hospital with him. He drowsily watches the older set up an air mattress and a sleeping bag, and change into a set of well-worn pajamas and to Jisung, it’s somehow oddly comforting. Now that the narcotic is steadily wearing off, Jisung can think and feel much clearer.
“I had the wildest dream”, Jisung begins and catches Minho’s attention.
“Yeah”? The smile in his boyfriend’s voice is audible.
Jisung hums. “I was…there was a building, I guess a school or something, and…The more he tries to remember, the more his dream fades into obscurity. Maybe dreams, especially the ones under anesthesia are not meant to be remembered.
“Ugh, I don’t know where I was or what happened, but it was weird as fuck. Not your level of weird though”.
“How would you know”?, the older quips.
Jisung shrugs minuscule. “You talk in your sleep. I, well, sleep in my sleep”.
Minho breaks into laughter and it’s the nicest thing Jisung heard all day.
“I brought you someone”, Minho suddenly changes the topic and pulls Jisung’s old teddy bear out of his backpack. “You forgot him at home”.
Oh
Yes, Jisung did forget him, could’ve slapped himself for letting his emotional support plushy sit at home instead of next to him during the most important surgery of his life. Minho places the teddy bear in Jisung’s heavy arms and if Jisung's eyes turn a little watery, it stays between himself and the plushy. Luckily, Minho is creating enough of a distraction by setting up the bed’s built-in table for dinner, to keep Jisung’s unstable emotions at bay.
The food doesn’t taste like much, but Jisung lets Minho feed him spoonfuls of soup anyways, until the dish turns cold.
~~~
Two days later, Minho takes them home. He drives carefully, exhilarates and slows down gradually, avoids fast or sharp turns, and hisses a “fuck you” to anyone getting too close for his liking. They fill the roughly two hours on the road with chatter about everything and nothing, like the anime they want to catch up on and the pros and cons of fully automatic coffee machines. And it feels so wonderfully normal Jisung almost forgets about the overall uncomfortableness that has taken hold of his entire body, almost drowns out the incredible tightess constricting his chest. Despite having detailed knowledge of the surgery beforehand, it’s still a whole different story actually going through it. There’s no denial that it’s uncomfortable, and if Jisung spent too much time thinking about it, he could feel the anxiousness crawling through his insides. Because since the initial medication has worn off, his inability to move and breathe properly makes him incredibly agitated. Jisung closes his eyes and takes the deepest breath possible. It’s nowhere near satisfying, but it has to suffice for now.
He must’ve fallen asleep regardless, because the next thing he realizes is Minho gently shaking his shoulder.
“Jisungie, we’re home”.
Nothing has ever sounded more amazing.
He’s slow to get out of Minho’s tiny, old hyundai and even slower climbing up the stairs to the fourth floor. This has only ever taken longer the day they moved in, and hauled up a chunky 60 kg washing machine. The apartment is a little cold, the air a bit stale but it’s home and Jisung sighs deeply. His own bed is waiting for him, so is his gaming setup, which will take up most of his time for the next few days, a set of fresh clothes and all the snacks he could wish for.
Minho helps him out of his shoes and jacket, assists him using the bathroom before guiding him to rest on the sofa. He wraps him in a warm, cozy blanket and opens the windows wide to air out the apartment. It’s a little cold but the chilly air makes it easier to breathe and feels wonderful for Jisung’s burning throat and chest. He shifts a little to retrieve his phone from his joggers and opens the messenger app. He types a quick text to his parents, letting them know he got discharged from the hospital and is now back home. He’s about to record a voice message to Hyunjin, his highschool best friend, answering his most recent questions on how he’s feeling and whether he or Minho need anything, when the latter steps back into the room.
“What do you want for dinner?” Minho asks closing the windows before turning on the heater.
“I was thinking of grilling some meat or making a stew but I didn’t know what you’d want so I didn’t buy everything beforehand because obviously ingredients go bad and I also don’t want to leave you alone so maybe we can decide and get the ingredients delivered or-”.
Minho is rambling, he rarely does. Jisung should’ve known that his boyfriend is only half as calm as he pretends to be and at least twice as concerned as Jisung himself. But what Jisung does know is that Minho would do whatever he asks him to.
Minho is a man of action. While he does talk quite a lot occasionally, he shows just how much he cares with what he does. Jisung has and still does experience it first hand, how Minho shows love. But the older man also tends to turn a blind side to himself to take care of the people he keeps close to his heart, especially Jisung, so sometimes Jisung needs to gently stop him in his tracks.
“Hyung”, he says warmly and immediately Minho’s attention focuses on him.
“Can we order pizza”?
Minho blinks once, twice before nodding in agreement. “Sure, sounds good”.
Jisung grins. “Great, now let's cuddle”.
Minho quickly grabs his phone from the counter before settling on the sofa next to Jisung, and putting his arm around the younger man’s shoulders, he carefully pulls him closer until they're pressed side to side. With his free hand, Minho opens the delivery app.
Once the order is placed, ham and double cheese for Jisung, and tuna and jalapeños for Minho, the latter kisses Jisung’s cheek with the promise to be right back. Jisung doesn’t question what he’s up to and takes out his phone again to finally record the voice message to Hyunjin. He comes online immediately, essentially screaming at Jisung by sending at least 10 of the same sticker. Hyunjin asks a bunch of questions, tells Jisung again and again how proud he is and if someone was to ask him, Jisung is the coolest guy to exist. Jisung snorts and threatens to tell Changbin, Hyunjin’s long term boyfriend. He’s so caught up teasing his best friend, he doesn’t notice the rich, delicious smell filling the living room until Minho places a mug with hot steaming liquid right in front of him.
“Made hot chocolate”, Minho states and cuddles back up to Jisung, carefully blowing over the edge of the mug in his hands.
A smile blooms on Jisung’s face, the brightest since waking up from anesthesia.
“You’re an angel”, he sighs lovingly.
“Bullshit”, Minho deflects, but Jisung catches the treacherous faint red coloring his ears.
Conversation flows easily while Minho mindlessly plays with Jisung’s hair, and Jisung with a loose thread on Minho’s sweater. The heater has turned the living room all warm and cozy enough for Jisung to lose the blanket. Naturally, Jisung still feels incredibly uncomfortable, but being at home, with Minho holding him close and pizza on the way, it’s bearable. His mind wanders off on how exactly he’s supposed to wash up later. He feels gross, but the shower needs to wait until the bandages are removed in about a week. So a washcloth and wipes will have to be enough for now.
A notification popping up signalizes the arrival of dinner and while Jisung’s stomach growls loudly, he only reluctantly lets Minho peel himself off his side to let him answer the door. The smell is mouth watering and Jisung can’t get his hands on his box fast enough. They put on Kiki’s delivery service and Minho makes a toast with their pizza slices before Jisung finally takes a bite. With the cheese melting right off his tongue and the crust perfectly crunchy, Jisung is in food heaven. Bite by bite, with his cheeks stuffed and eyes closed, it makes him forget the bland and overcooked hospital food. The movie plays in the background, adding just the right amount of simple familiarity as Jisung knows it inside out. He basks in the feeling of home, lets it wash away the stress and strain of the last three days and welcomes him with a warm embrace.
Later, after the movie ended and Jisung almost fell asleep on the sofa, Minho takes him to the bathroom. Just as Jisung knew he would, Minho helps him with washing up since the younger quite literally cannot lift his arms. It’s embarrassing, a little off putting to let Minho wash him with soap and a wash cloth but the older assures him again and again it’s no big deal, and that he’d stop any time if Jisung told him to. But this doesn’t make it less strange.
Just a few days, Jisung tells himself, when the swelling has reduced, everything will look much brighter already.
Minho stuffs a few pillows under Jisung’s mattress to elevate it like the bed did in the hospital and helps him change into soft flannel pajamas. He tucks him under his blanket and just before he can pull away, Jisung kisses him.
“I love you”, Jisung whispers. Minho blinks rapidly and his eyes say it back before the words leave his lips.
“I love you too”. He kisses Jisung’s lips, his nose, chin, his round cheeks, forehead and his lips again and again until Jisung is giggling against his own.
That night, Jisung’s dreams are filled with cats stealing pizza, himself who’s suddenly unlearned how to ride a bike and lots of silly little details he will have forgotten about in the morning.
~~~
Jisung wakes up extra groggy, with pain now not only in his entire torso, but also his neck and shoulders too. Normally, on every other day, Jisung would put on muscle warming balm and move as much as possible, whether that would be chores, going on a walk or even working out, but today is everything but a normal day. He's physically incapable of moving more than his legs. And perhaps his hands. Jisung huffs disgruntledly and forces himself out of bed.
He winces when gravity starts pulling on his wounded body and lets out a curse. With great effort, he puts on his slippers, a cute but worn out pair with an undefined rodent on top, and shuffles to the door. Grabbing and using the door handle is annoyingly difficult and Jisung groans. His surgeon and every nurse involved have told him to be as active as possible, to take care of himself as much as he can without assistance but the whole ordeal becomes more frustrating if he can't even open a fucking door! Of course, Jisung knew that recovery is going to be challenging for the time being, but telling himself to just take a deep breath (which borders on impossible) and listen to his body, is easier said than done. Especially if he feels more and more tense with every passing moment. His chest hurt, fucking hurts. The post op binder digs into the sensitive skin under his arms and cuts the muscles of his back, His ribs feel on the verge of breaking.
Breathe in, hold one, two, three, four, breathe out, repeat . The door finally opens.
When the door finally opens, the hallway smells rich of fried eggs and doenjjang and Jisung’s mouth waters. Stomach growling, he takes on the seemingly endless way to the kitchen on the other side of the apartment.
“Hyung”?
“Hm”? Minho's head whips around, leaving breakfast sizzling in the pan.
Jisung stands in the doorframe and surely looks as awful as he feels.
“Sung-ah, bug, why didn't you call me”? Minho's voice is filled with so much concern, Jisung can't decide whether to find it endearing or awful. He hates making Minho worry.
“I don't want to call you for every fucking thing”, Jisung clicks his tongue and sighs heavily. He looks anywhere but Minho's face and immediate guilt makes his mouth taste bitter. The sudden silence is broken by the beeping of the rice cooker. Jisung’s stomach rumbles louder.
In his periphery he catches Minho freezing for a second before turning off the stove and approaching him slowly. frozen on the spot, eyes blinking rapidly and mouth slightly open, unsure how to proceed.
Jisung wants to say something, fuck, anything but his throat feels like closing up.
“Hey”, Minho says quietly and hesitantly reaches for Jisung’s hand. “What- can you please tell me…”
“I feel gross and can hardly breathe”. Jisung croaks and his eyes become watery in a single second. “Sorry”, he trails off.
“Don’t apologize”, Minho says simply and carefully wipes away the wetness collecting under Jisung’s eyes with his thumb.
“What do you need”?
Jisung sighs. “Can we try washing my hair”?
“Sure”, Minho brushes a loose strand away from Jisung's forehead and tucks it behind his ear. It doesn’t stay there. “Now or after breakfast”?
Jisung might feel dirty but breakfast sounds great, especially when Minho cooks.
“After, but first I need a painkiller”.
Minho jumps into action immediately, guides Jisung to sit at the table before grabbing the painkillers from the counter and a glass from the cupboard he quickly fills with water.
He also provides Jisung with a fresh, large iced Americano, and Jisung immediately feels a tad bit better.
“Don't worry, food is almost done”. Minho kisses the crown of his head, unimpressed by Jisung whining about it being gross. The older only shrugs and goes back to the stove.
To be fair, Jisung wouldn't care to kiss Minho’s dirty hair as well, or any other body part of him. They're way past that in their relationship.
It doesn't take Minho long to finish making breakfast and soon the table is set with steaming bowls of rice, soup and a few side dishes. Usually, neither of them has the time or energy to prepare a full korean breakfast, opting for simpler and faster dishes most of the time.
“Let’s eat well”, Minho says with a smile and scoots a little closer to Jisung’s side.
The older takes his chopsticks, picks up a piece of egg roll and holds the first piece right in front of Jisung’s mouth, eyes blinking with expectation. Jisung’s vision blurs again and he swallows the lump in his throat. Why, the fuck, is he so emotional today?
The smell is heavenly, and the taste even better. They say love goes through the stomach and if Jisung wasn’t already over the moon and back for Minho, he would definitely crush on him head over heels now. Jisung lets Minho feed him more egg roll, rice, kimchi and soup and with every bite Jisung feels warmer. The food comforts him like only a home cooked meal can.
He’s still chewing when he rests his head on Minho’s shoulder and gestures his boyfriend to take the next bite for himself. Minho still continues to feed him one or two especially good bites in between. They finish breakfast with the older explaining vividly how in his dream, a bunch of cockroaches rode a bike and chased him through the neighborhood.
“You know, some people can control their dreams while sleeping, right? Wish I could do that, so I wouldn’t have to run from oversized insects on bikes”!
Jisung winces with laughter, until he winces in pain and Minho panics.
“I'm okay, I'm okay”, Jisung assures him, a crooked smile already back on his face.
Minho never looked more sceptical.
“I'm serious”, Jisung insists. “It’s fine”. And to underline his claim, he lightly punches Minho's shoulder.
And immediately regrets it.
“Ugh, okay that was stupid”, Jisung groans and his eyebrows furrow. Minho stares, eyes rapidly switching between concern and absolute bewilderment.
~~~
“Not gonna lie, I feel like shaving it off would be easier”, Jisung jokes dryly.
He has some serious doubts, not just about the construction of stool and towels Minho made, but also about the fact that, whatever happens, he cannot use his arms to save himself, from water or shampoo or whatever else could possibly happen.
“Pft, sure. Let me get the razor”. Minho deadpans and makes no move to get the device.
“Here, sit down”, he leads him to the edge of the bathtub and makes sure the younger man doesn't fall. Jisung groans. He really doesn’t trust this.
“Don’t get soap in my eyes”.
In the end, Jisung’s blonde hair actually comes out washed and conditioned, however so do his pajamas, Minho and the bathroom. Minho complains loudly, how wet his clothes are, how the floor became a lake, how his back hurts. He groans and whines until it gets drowned out by the hair dryer. Jisung knows he doesn't mean it, at least not entirely, but he feels a sting of something akin to guilt when Minho helps him into a dry zipper sweatshirt and sweatpants and wraps him in a blanket before going back to wipe down the bathroom. Jisung silently vows to make it up to him. He knows Minho would never in his life accept any form of reward for his efforts and Jisung knows he doesn’t have to pay his boyfriend back in any way. That doesn’t change the fact that he wants to treat him with equal care and consideration. And he might already have an idea on how to spoil him.
With a groan, Jisung leaves the sofa behind and heads towards his room. Unlike the morning, the hallway doesn’t seem as long and now that his hair smells freshly of something minty, Jisung feels significantly better. The painkiller blocks out the majority of ache and discomfort. With the rest, i.e the suffocating tightness around his entire upper body, Jisung can live, has lived for the bigger part of his life since puberty. It’s so familiar in its pressure, it blends almost unnoticed into the blur of things going through Jisung’s head.
He kicks the door to his room open and is quick to locate his phone where he left it this morning on the nightstand. It’s dead.
He curses under his breath and starts looking for his portable charger. He knows Minho unpacked his luggage for him at some point, and Minho being Minho, meaning being very tidy and having a designated place for everything he owns, it has to be somewhere logical. Normally that would be a good thing, however, it clashes badly with Jisung’s coordinated chaos.
The device is not on the desk, not under the desk, not in his backpack, not in any of the drawers or even the boxes under Jisung’s bed, and not in his pockets.
He gives up.
Maybe he can steal (read: borrow) Minho’s. In slow motion, alongside lots of groans, he manages to get up from the floor and back to his feet. The phone in his hand, Jisung turns to the door- and stops in his tracks.
The fuck?
There's the charger, plugged into the socket next to the door. If Jisung could, he would facepalm, or pinch the bridge of his nose. He settles on putting his forehead against the door frame instead.
Phone finally coming back to life, Jisung shuffles into the kitchen where he places it on the counter before slowly, very carefully crouching down in front of the freezer. It takes a bit of effort to open the door and for the moment Jisung is very glad that Minho is occupied in the bathroom. Otherwise he would probably panic again. Or try to ban him from the kitchen, who knows. But if Jisung is one thing, it would have to be determined. If he sets his head to something, there’s no way to stop him. He might be only a few days past surgery, but he can absolutely get an ice pack by himself.
He’s about to get back on his feet and scurry away to the sofa when he hears the soft padding of feet on the tiles grow louder.
“You know, Sung-ah? I just realized that if-”, Minho freezes mid sentence.
“Han Jisung, what the fuck are you doing”?
“I’m getting an ice pack, just like the surgeon recommended. Relax, Hyung”. In fact, Jisung bites back a groan. His knees hurt, his shoulders too because he can’t fully lower his arms due to the swelling, and the ice pack starts to freeze his right hand to death.
“Relax? Relax my ass”!
“Hyung, I can do this”. Jisung stuffs the ice pack into the pockets of his sweat jacket, grabs his phone and makes his way to the living room.
“It’s actually encouraged to move around as much as possible”.
“I know”, Minho admits. “I just…”. He doesn’t have to say it out loud for Jisung to know how he feels, what he thinks.
“I’m careful”.
“I know”, Minho sighs in defeat.
“And you’re still wearing wet clothes”. Jisung notes. Except for socks, Minho must’ve lost them somewhere.
“And you’re still standing in the kitchen instead of resting”.
“Hyung, if you get sick, who will take care of me”?
That seems to take the cake. Minho sends him a glare that ends in a half hearted eye roll.
“Just, please sit down, bug”.
“I will”. Jisung presses a kiss to his shoulder as he walked past him. Jisung knows, feels Minho’s eyes following him until he finally sits down on the old sofa. It has definitely seen better days. The color has faded, it's clearly visible where people put their butts and there's an unidentifiable stain right next to Jisung that neither of them remembers appearing.
Jisung does his best to wrap himself in a blanket and puts the ice pack inside, before turning on his phone and immediately being bombarded with what seems to be a never-ending string of messages, all from Hyunjin.
Heyyy
HEYY
Jisung-ah
Dude
asnwer plz
You good??
minho Hyung also doesn’t answerr ㅜㅜㅜㅜㅜㅜ
Did you both lose your ohones?
Be so fr rn
Are u ok??????????
Yeah sry im good
Phone was dead
Oh look whos here
You didn’t chekc your phone since the moring?
Morning?
Hard to believe but yes
Was busy not dying
???????
That was obv a joke -.-
So funny lmao hahahahah
But srsly
Are you alright?
I am, Hyung is taking car of me
Car lol
Good im glad, lmk if you need anyhting <3
To sum it up, Hyunjin is great. He and Jisung have been inseparable since they settled their incredibly pointless fight (over something neither of them remembers) in 7th grade and then went through the infamous 8th grade phase together. Hyunjin has been the first to know that Jisung was a boy and has been his number one supporter ever since.
Where his best friend is amazing, highschool was the entire opposite. Jisung shudders at the memories he keeps tucked away in a safe in the back of his head. He doesn’t want to open that can of worms today. He’s about to randomly open twitter to distract himself, when Minho enters the room and besides Minho not being small, the hoodie he wears drowns him. Jisung is about to coo at him when a sudden yawn leaves his mouth instead.
“Someone’s tired”? Minho now coos at him. He sits down next to Jisung and kisses the crown of his head.
“How’re you feeling? You need more ice? Something to drink”?
“I’m okay”, Jisung says and immediately yawns again. Perhaps it's the painkiller’s side effect. Surely not the fact that he has two large cuts on his body that need to heal.
“Some water would be great. And maybe a snack”?
“Sure, what do you want”?
Good question, what does he want? His tongue craves something salty, chips or… or whatever else. But for his own post op well-being, he shouldn't consume too much sodium.
“Ugh I don't know”, he groans, his head rolling onto the back rest of the sofa. He turns just enough to let his eyes find Minho's, a certain glint in them telling him the older already knows what he's about to say.
“You're a great snack though”. Jisung grins and has the audacity to wiggle his eyebrows.
Minho blinks, blinks again and scoffs in disbelief before a crooked smile lights up his features.
“You're insane. And cheesy”, he laughs, shaking his head. “I'm here, all worried about you, trying to care for my wounded boyfriend and he throws cheesy fucking pickup lines at me”.
Cheesy, yeah Jisung is definitely cheesy.
“Cheese sounds great”, Jisung yawns without thinking but the moment the words leave his mouth, he knows what he wants.
“You're serious”?
Jisung can quite literally feel Minho's incredulous stare on him.
“Yep, cheese sounds great. Oh and a kiss please”.
Minho scoffs again and Jisung’s grin turns pouty. It's really not necessary to coax Minho into doing anything for him because he does it anyway. For Jisung, Minho does anything.
Nonetheless, Jisung sighs in relief when soft lips meet his own, warming him to his core, like a hot cup of coffee on a cold winter morning.
“Jisung-ah”, Minho murmurs against his mouth, breath fanning over his skin. “I’m afraid I have bad news”.
“What is it?” Jisung pecks Minho’s lips, missing how soft the older’s face feels cradled in his hand.
“We don’t have any cheese”.
Jisung wants to cry.
Instead, he lets himself get convinced to lay down for a while, to maybe take a nap, until Minho comes back from grocery shopping. And if he’s honest, napping doesn’t sound too bad. His bed is comfy, the painkillers work fantastically and for some reason, he just can’t stop yawning. He’s out before he can hear the front door close behind Minho.
~~~
Jisung wakes up rather disoriented and at first he doesn’t understand what woke him. With great effort, he sits up and this time, he reaches for his phone on the nightstand. The screen displays 5:37 pm and renders Jisung speechless. How on earth did he sleep so long? He overslept lunch and-
Oh shit, he needs to pee, right now. Jisung almost falls out of bed and stumbles out the door towards the bathroom. He makes it just in time. Thankfully, his pajama pants come with an elastic waistband. The soft, fluffy material pools at his ankles, doing very little to keep his feet warm against the cold tiles because in his haste, he forgot his house slippers. He groans and curls his toes into the colorful fabric.
It takes quite an annoying and patience demanding amount of time to clean himself up, pull his pants back on and wash his hands. With a wet patch in the middle of his pajama shirt, Jisung wanders back to his room, fights with a pair of socks that refuses to get on his feet, before putting on his slippers and making his way to the kitchen. His stomach is hurting with hunger by now and his mouth is dry like a desert.
Jisung finds his boyfriend hunched over the kitchen sink, washing the dishes. His hands clad in painfully bright pink rubber gloves. Behind him, something simmers on the stove, filling the air with a mouthwatering smell.
“Hyung”?
The hyung makes a startled noise and whips around fast enough for his spine to crack. He winces.
“Shit, that was loud”, Jisung hisses through his teeth.
“I checked on you like five minutes ago”. Minho blinks at him, the water from the dish sponge in his hand dripping to the floor.
“Is your back okay”?
“Why are you sneaking up on me”?
“I didn’t sneak, you’re just easily startled”, Jisung retorts and Minho cannot argue with that. He glares a little reproachfully until it melts into something softer.
“I bought you cheese sticks”, Minho declares and gestures to the fridge instead.
Whatever next reply lies on Jisung’s tongue becomes irrelevant. His face lights up and the urge to throw himself at Minho for a hug is suddenly almost unbearable. He grabs the fridge’s handle and…nothing happens. The door doesn't budge.
Jisung whines in despair. “Why can I not even open the fucking fridge”.
Minho has the audacity to laugh, “Well, I guess that means you still need hyung’s help after all”.
He takes off those hideous gloves, opens that damned fridge and takes out four entire packages, holding them out for Jisung to choose.
“I didn’t know which ones you’d want, so yeah…”, he trails off and Jisung wants to kiss him. He does, pecks him on the cheek before taking the one with smoke and pepper from Minho’s hands.
Jisung challenges all his patience nibbling on one single cheese stick, but he wants to leave some space in his stomach for whatever Minho is making for dinner. Because no matter what it is, Jisung knows for certain it’s going to be delicious. By the time the alarm on Minho’s phone goes off, he’s also finished doing the dishes. With a quiet sigh, he gets rid of the gloves, turns off the alarm and takes the pot off the stove. A cloud of steam emerges when he removes the lid, only intensifying the rich smell filling the kitchen.
Unlike breakfast, this time Jisung eats by himself. To be fair, using a spoon requires less precision than chopsticks, or fork and knife for that matter. They eat mostly in silence, only interrupted by Minho telling a few things about his day. What he bought in the store, that one old lady mistook him for her neighbor, that his card got declined at first and how his face felt like it was on fire. Jisung smiles, chuckles, stuffs his cheeks with meat stew and bread. It feels so normal, so relaxed and it fills Jisung with a type of happiness and belonging, it has the ground under his feet shaking and the heart in his chest thundering.
Later, they put on an action movie that neither of them ends up paying attention to. Jisung is cuddled up to Minho’s side, a new ice pack cooling his chest and a large fluffy blanket wrapped around both of them. Instead of the TV, he catches Minho’s gaze lingering on him. Even in the dim light, he can tell he’s tired, eyes a little reddened and droopy, but so full of fondness.
Jisung shifts until he sits more upright, patting his thigh with a silent invitation.
Wanna lie down?
MInho looks skeptical.
And Jisung nods.
Minho doesn’t hesitate. He curls himself into a ball and carefully lies down, resting his head on Jisung’s thigh. And finally, finally Jisung can brush his fingers through his long, dark hair. Can trace his beautiful features and finally cradle his cheek in his hand. Minho’s eyes flutter shut and open again, a tiny bit less with every passing minute.
“Punch me or something if I fall asleep”, he murmurs, his hand long curled into light patterned pajama pants.
Jisung hums. He will do no such thing, not until the movie ends, not until he is on the brink of sleep himself.
It doesn’t take long until all the tension leaves Minho’s body and his breathing turns slow and deep. Jisung reaches for the remote and lowers the volume of the movie to a minimum. He tucks a stray strand of hair behind his boyfriend’s ear and suddenly the post surgical binder feels suffocatingly tight.
“I love you”. The words come over Jisung’s lips so easily. Light, casual, simple. But Jisung means, feels them, in the deepest and most raw way humanly possible. And yet, nothing has ever been easier than loving Minho.
~~~
Five days later, Jisung walks through the doors of the hospital again, entire body trembling with nerves. He might even feel a little nauseous. A hand sneaks into his own, intertwining their fingers and squeezing with encouragement. Jisung shakingly exhales. He can do this.
It doesn't take long until a familiar nurse greets the two of them. She guides them to a small room with plain white walls and a full length mirror, an examination chair, a sink and a few small closets.
“You can undress your upper body already. I’ll be right back”.
When the door closes behind her, silence falls over the two and all of a sudden, Jisung realizes just how tight he's been gripping Minho’s hand.
“Sorry”, he whispers but the older only shakes his head.
He pulls away, but Minho only holds him tighter, grounding him. A silent reminder that everything is going to be okay. Jisung forces himself to take the deepest breath possible. The air smells of disinfectant and he wrinkles his nose.
His hands feel a little clammy and shaky as he pulls down the zipper of his hoodie. Minho helps him out of the sleeves and throws the hoodie on a small chair behind him, his hand never leaving Jisung.
“Sung-ah”, MInho starts quietly. “Everything will be o-”.
Minho gets cut off and the warmth of his hands vanishes when the door opens again and the nurse steps into the room. Jisung’s heart is back in his throat.
“Alright, Mr. Han, are we ready”?
Jisung smiles weakly and nods. He's absolutely not ready. Don't get him wrong, he wants to get rid of the binder and all the bandaging and finally take a shower, but he doesn't feel prepared to face himself. He's scared, fucking terrified to be exact. It's not like he has regrets, he's rarely been more sure about anything, but…He's scared to look at himself, scared to see something different that he has imagined for so many years, scared of disappointment.
“I assume you want him to stay”?
Jisung nods, not trusting his voice to come out stable. He needs Minho to stay, there’s quite literally no other option.
“Alright, then”, she smiles. “Shall we”?
It’s pretty ugly. A massive dark, blotchy bruise spreads all over his chest, framing two long cuts, covered by white surgical tape, stretching from his sternum to his sides. Of course, Jisung knew the result wouldn’t immediately look like he envisioned it. After such a drastic change, his body will need time to heal, to settle into its new shape. And Jisung will have to get used to seeing a slightly different Jisung in the mirror.
The longer he takes in his reflection, the less extreme it looks. For the most part, it's unfamiliar, strange, even though he’s dreamed about this surgery for so long. Has imagined how he would feel, finally taking the last measure to shape his body to match who he is.
And match it does. They’re gone.
Jisung lets his eyes map out the new shape of his torso. It’s so…flat, so even. No useless lumps, no curves where none belong.
He turns a little to the side, eyes glued to the mirror, until he can be sure. It’s flat. His chest is flat.
A tremor runs through his entire body, from the top of his head all the way to his toes. It’s hard to trust his own eyes, what he sees doesn’t feel entirely real yet.
His chest is flat. Jisung doesn’t know what he’s doing when he brushes his fingertips over the oddly even skin. It shouldn’t surprise him to feel no sensation of touch. It still does. The dip over his sternum is so subtle that soon he’ll feel every scratchy and silky smooth fabric right over his heart. His nipples look strange too. Remains of dried blood frame dark red cuts. They’re small, tiny even. Jisung doesn’t dare to touch them.
Instead, he carefully, almost hesitantly, presses into the purple-ish skin over his pec. His finger meets sore muscle. No useless tissue, no ill-fitting shape…no anything. Just everything he ever wanted.
Jisung sees the tears before he feels them. Quietly, they fall from his lashes and roll down his cheeks. He’s not even sure where, out of the unidentifiable cocktail of emotions, they’re coming from. Maybe all of them. For the most part however, it's relief, deep and all-encompassing.
“Sung-ah”
A small voice breaks through the silence and Jisung’s head snaps up to find Minho over the mirror.
“Is…are you okay”?
Jisung nods before he can form an answer in his head. He’s crying, overwhelmed and vulnerable, but he’s okay. He knows it deep inside his heart, everything will be alright.
Jisung tears his eyes from the mirror and manages a wet chuckle. God, even laughing feels weird. He sniffs and squeezes his eyes shut in an attempt to stop the tears from falling. It doesn’t exactly work. He’s about to clear his throat to ask for a tissue when a small, warm hand cups his cheek and gently, like a butterfly kiss, wipes the tear tracks away.
Yeah, Jisung is going to be okay. He’s not alone, he’s strong, and he’s sure about himself. A couple of things his younger self never imagined to be.
It’ll take time for his body to adjust to the change. For the nerves to connect, the tissue to settle and for the skin to heal in its new shape. But some day in the near future, he’s going to finally and entirely feel at home in his body, Jisung is sure of that. And it’ll be worth not just every penny, but also all the pain he willingly put up with, all the anxiety and doubts and tears he shed, all the arguments he fought with himself, all the weeks, months, years he waited. It’ll all be worth it.
When Jisung looks closely, he can still see the scared little kid inside him. His reflection has changed drastically, in every sense and interpretation possible. And yet, he’s still Jisung.
The child that knew something was wrong, the confused, scared and insecure teenager that saw his true self for the first time in the mirror of his best friend’s bedroom, and the adult that can reach out to his younger self and promise him that everything is going to be alright.