Chapter Text
Jeongin hated being sick more than anything else in the world. And yes, he knew that nobody liked being sick, but - It was more intense than that for him. The moment he came down with even the slightest cold, it felt like the entire world stopped. He had no choice but to curl up in bed, succumbed entirely by his symptoms, unable to do anything at all.
When he woke up in the middle of the night with a stomachache, he knew that it was game over. He clenched his eyes shut tight, curled his body into a ball, and hoped that he would be able to fall back asleep. That by some miracle, he would be able to drift back off and wake up in the morning completely healed, with the ache nothing more than a glitch in the system, nothing more serious than a night terror which was no longer quite so scary in the light of day.
But Jeongin wasn’t able to fall back asleep. His stomach hurt too much for that to happen. He was painfully aware of the hours passing by, each minute that much closer to bringing daylight along with it. He tried his best to hold himself as still as possible, not moving his hand from where he had it pressed against his belly, not shifting his legs even when he felt a cramp begin to form in them. He knew from past experiences that even the slightest shift had the potential to carry a wave of nausea alongside it.
The main reason why Jeongin hated being sick so much, why it so easily brought him to his knees? He was deathly afraid of throwing up. And yeah, once again, nobody likes throwing up. But for most people, it’s an unpleasant experience that they can move on from once it’s done. For Jeongin, the very idea of it felt like the end of the world. He would actually probably prefer to experience the apocalypse over having to vomit. He would quite literally choose death over puking. And any time he was put into a situation where it felt like it might be a possibility? His anxiety became debilitating.
Chan was asleep in the bed beside him, unaware that Jeongin was awake and losing his motherfucking mind. He could’ve said something, could’ve woken him up, but what would the point have been? Chan could care for, and care about him, but he couldn’t fix whatever was currently going wrong with Jeongin’s body, whether it was something he had eaten or a virus wreaking havoc or, who knows, an organ bursting or a gallstone making a slow and painful route around his gallbladder or bile ducts. (Yes, he had a bad habit of googling each and every one of his symptoms, as if that had ever given him a solid answer or done anything other than make his fear even worse.)
If Chan could’ve taken Jeongin’s pain and made it his own, Jeongin knew that he would. He would do it in an instant, wouldn’t need to think twice about it. Jeongin felt ashamed by the fact that, if it were a choice, he would probably let him do it. He hated it when Chan was unwell, when he suffered, but - At the end of the day, Jeongin had his weaknesses, and he was self-aware enough to admit them. He was selfish when it came to sickness, prayed for any sort of escape, for any possible way out. It didn’t matter what he would or wouldn’t do anyways, because it wasn’t an option.
Chan shifted in his sleep, brushed against Jeongin. Usually he loved this, how Chan always gravitated towards him, even in his dreams. When he felt like this, though, even the lightest skin contact felt like a jostle and set alarm bells ringing. He shifted just a fraction of an inch closer to the edge of the bed, away from him, away from him touch. He gritted his teeth against the way this made him feel, how his entire body, from head to toe, felt drenched in nausea, just for a second.
The smart thing to do would’ve been to go to the bathroom, just in case. It’s what almost anyone else would’ve done in his situation. Their bedroom had an adjoining bathroom, so it wasn’t even far. They kept the door open at night, had a little nightlight attached to the light switch so they could see in the dark. It was only four, maybe five feet away. Maybe what Jeongin really needed was a bowel movement, and that would cure all of his ills and he could continue throughout his day like normal, like nothing had ever happened. He remained rooted to the spot, though, filled with fear at the idea of getting out of bed, as if taking any potential precautions would guarantee his fate. He had this irrational idea that if he stood in front of a toilet when he felt unwell, that he would vomit for sure, like just the sight of it would give his body permission to let go. Jeongin would not give his body this permission. He clenched each of his muscles, felt his teeth begin to chatter together as he shook involuntarily, fear grabbing hold of his body and shaking him like a rag doll.
Chan was an early riser. He liked waking up before 6am. He would get in a quick workout before his day really started, wash off his sweat in the shower and put together a breakfast, typically all before Jeongin bothered to get out of bed himself. Jeongin was a big believer in beauty sleep, snagging every spare minute he possibly could. His own morning routine was much simpler, consisting of pulling on something to wear, brushing his teeth, and scarfing down whatever food Chan had made for him. Apart from the whole ‘chronic stomach issues and intense accompanying anxiety,’ he lived a pretty good life. On this particular morning, though, by the time Chan woke up, he had already been awake for hours. He was so alert, tuned in to every slight sensation in his body that he didn’t even feel tired.
Chan slipped out of bed quietly like he usually did, letting Jeongin sleep. He mosied about their room in darkness, grabbing a change of clothes for his workout. It wasn’t until he leaned in to give his boyfriend a quick kiss on the forehead before he left that he realized he was awake.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” He murmured softly, assuming that Jeongin had woken up from his rustling, that he would greet him before slipping back to sleep. He had no reason to suspect that anything was wrong, had no reason to believe that this particular morning was any different from any other morning. For him, it wasn’t. For Jeongin, the world very well may have been ending.
“Chan,” he croaked out, before he had the opportunity to leave. He felt so hot, had wanted to kick the blankets away for ages but had been unable to bring himself to do it. He felt so useless when he was like this, so incapable. His hands were sticky with sweat, but was it fever, or anxiety?
“Hm? What is it?” Chan was still making his way around the room, probably looking for his shoes or something.
“I don’t feel well,” He confessed. “I think that maybe I’m sick.”
Chan was back beside him in an instant. “What is it? What hurts?” He laid his hand on Jeongin’s forehead. “You’re a little hot. But that could just be from the toasty blankets.”
“It’s my stomach.” The discomfort had never eased, but it hadn’t necessarily gotten worse, either. Jeongin’s anxiety most certainly had, though, and while he had passed the midnight hours somewhat peacefully - As peacefully as an anxiety attack could be, really - He could feel his fear ramping up a notch now, could feel it paralyzing him.
“Do you have to use the bathroom, or do you think you’re going to…” Chan let his sentence trail off without finishing it. He knew about Jeongin’s fears, and was understanding of and gentle towards them. He knew that even hearing the word spoken aloud could be a trigger for him.
“I don’t know.” Jeongin wanted to burst into tears. “I have to pee, but I’m afraid to move.”
“Why are you afraid, baby? What do you think is going to happen?” His words were gentle, the question posed a genuine one. He would help Jeongin in whatever way he could, but he needed to know what the problem was in order to be able to fix it.
“I’m worried that getting up will make it worse.” Along with a number of other irrational little aforementioned fears, but he didn’t need to go into it.
“What if I was with you? Would that make it better?”
“I don’t know. Probably not.” He hated to shoot Chan down, but his situation felt hopeless, impossible.
“Do you want me to go with you anyways?” He offered. So kind, so giving. Jeongin wanted to cry again, thinking about how lovely he was, thinking about how he didn’t deserve him.
“Yes,” He whispered, even though he was embarrassed to lean on him like this, to need his support for what should’ve been such a simple task.
Chan helped him get up slowly, slowly, and - Yes, the movement made it worse, but only for a moment. Nausea washed over him, but the tide swept out nearly as quickly as it had approached. He didn’t wait in the bathroom while Jeongin pissed, which he appreciated. Not that much was private between them at all anymore, but - Still. It was nice to have the line drawn, at least sometimes, in at least some places.
“Are you doing okay?”
Jeongin was shaky as hell, actually. He felt feverish, hardly in control of his own body. He could probably take a shit, but he was nervous to actually do it, for reasons he couldn’t articulate even to himself. The logic was likely so twisted that it wouldn’t even approach something resembling ‘sense,’ but when had that ever mattered when it came to anxiety?
He flushed, washed his hands, made his way back into bed. He struggled to find a position that didn’t make the feeling worse - He laid his pillows flat then propped them back up, curled and twisted, furled and unfurled himself, taking advantage of this range of motion while he still had it. Chan climbed back into bed beside him, abandoning his previous pursuits.
“I’ll stay with you today,” He said, not a question.
“I won’t be good company,” Jeongin warned, even though he wanted him to stay. Chan laid one hand on his arm, careful not to jostle him too much, careful not to make it worse.
“You don’t have to say or do anything to be good company. I prefer being beside you to being anywhere else in the world, no matter what.”
“Even when I’m sick and miserable?”
“Even then,” Chan reassured him.
Jeongin tried to sleep again, but it was as useless of a pursuit as it had been before. The sun was beginning to creep through their window blinds. It was a disorienting feeling, knowing that the day had begun when Jeongin was not ready to join it. He lay with his eyes open, watching Chan as he sat beside him. He’d taken his laptop out, and Jeongin found his rhythmic tapping of the keyboard soothing. His head had begun to ache as well, joining forces with his stomach to make even laying here, doing absolutely nothing, feel almost unbearable. He wanted to tear his skin off, wanted to press fast-forward on the day, wanted to actually fall asleep, to do anything that would make the time pass faster, to bring him closer to feeling alright again.
They took his temperature, which was only a low fever, nothing too dramatic. Jeongin would argue that he naturally had a low body temp, though, so anything higher than usual was more alarming than it seemed. That’s the way it felt, anyways. Chan convinced him to sit up a little bit, to take some aspirin and drink a bit of water. Jeongin hated how he struggled with that, with even the simplest task, with drinking water, for fuck’s sake. He took the world’s smallest sips, trying not to choke, trying to reassure himself that it would help him, not hurt him, that it would not come right back up.
Time passed. The sun rose higher in the sky. Chan lazily played with Jeongin’s hair, left soft little kisses on the top of his head and his shoulder, reminding him that he was here. He could not erase Jeongin’s pain, but he could at least assure that he did not have to face it alone.
“Do you want to try having something to eat?” He asked, returning from the kitchen after having a small breakfast of his own. Just the smell of food, the thought of it, turned Jeongin’s stomach, made his heart feel like it was trying to pound its way straight out of his chest.
“No. I’m not hungry.”
The truth was, he was afraid. He knew that his body likely needed fuel to fight through whatever this was, knew that eating almost always did more good than harm. But he had formed solid convictions and struggled to let go of them, of the fear that putting anything into his body made it all the more likely that it would come right back out later. You couldn’t throw up if you hadn’t eaten anything, hadn’t given your body anything to reject, right? (It probably didn’t work that way, but he had to take these small reassurances where he could. He was only barely clinging onto any sense of sanity as it was.)
As time passed, though, he also became paranoid. There had been a time, a few years back, when taking pills on an empty stomach had increased the pain tenfold, had made it so much worse. What if the same was true now? What if the only thing that stood between him and feeling better was a meal?
“I’m scared to eat, but I think that maybe I have to.” He was being the bravest little baby in the world, admitting that out loud, even considering actually doing it.
“What do you want to try? We can do something really bland and plain, something that won’t risk upsetting your stomach further. Do you want me to make you some toast, or grab crackers or applesauce or something?” None of those options particularly appealed to Jeongin. He couldn’t imagine forcing himself to eat any of them.
“I kind of want…Fresh fruits…Melon…” It was the only thing in the world that didn’t make him feel nauseated just to think of.
“I don’t think that we have any, aegi. Do you want me to go out to the store to buy you some?”
“No.” Jeongin’s hand shot out to grasp onto Chan’s. “I don’t want you to leave.”
“Okay, okay, I’m not going anywhere. Do you mind if I take a look at what we have in the kitchen? Maybe we have some sort of fruit in the freezer that might work.”
“Okay.” The bed felt like a boat on a turbulent ocean when Chan moved to leave it. Jeongin clutched onto the edge of the railing, tried to breathe through it, tried to fight against the motion sickness.
“화이팅!” Chan emerged triumphantly back into their bedroom, holding a small cup in his hand and a smile on his face. “I found an açaí bowl. Do you want that? Does that sound good?” And it did sound good, so Jeongin gave him the go-ahead to warm it up in the microwave. The fruit was hidden beneath a layer of ice from its time spent forgotten in the freezer.
Jeongin’s hand was trembling when he tentatively brought the first spoonful to his mouth. He was so anxious that it was physically difficult for him to swallow, his throat clenching against the intrusion. Chan grabbed his free hand and squeezed it, his silent way of cheering him on, of letting him know that he could do this. The microwave had melted the frost away, but the fruit remained cold and slushy. It tasted good, even if Jeongin wasn’t really in the proper frame of mind to appreciate it.
He ate slowly, one small spoonful at a time. Usually he took ginormous bites, shoved his entire mouth full of food until his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk’s. Now he carefully split fruit chunks into halves, into quarters, into something that he felt like he could manage.
Chan spoke to him as he ate, trying to distract him from the mountain he was climbing, from the impossible feat he was trying to accomplish. Jeongin did his best to listen, but it was hard to pay attention to anything other than the task at hand. Chan was telling him a story about something stupid Hyunjin had done, was reminiscing on their first date, was reciting the encyclopedia from memory, Jeongin wasn’t sure.
He made it through about half of the cup before he experienced a bit of acid reflux and had to push it aside, regretting every choice he had ever made. Chan happily finished the rest of it off for him, which Jeongin found appalling. He wasn’t sure what was wrong with him, but something was, and it might be contagious. His insidious little germs were probably crawling all over that fruit, putting Chan at risk with every bite that he took.
Jeongin did not play around when it came to germs. He was extremely cautious to avoid getting sick. He wore a mask when he had to go to a crowded place. He washed his hands so often, particularly in the winter when it was cold and flu season, that they were perpetually cracked and dry and bleeding. He ate oranges and broccoli and cabbage to boost his body’s immune system. He never left the house without a packet of antibacterial hand wipes somewhere on him. When he heard that someone had recently caught an illness, he put as much space between himself and them as he possibly could. And then he panicked about the potential exposure risk anyways.
Chan had caught the stomach bug earlier in the year, which was virtually Jeongin’s worst nightmare. It was made even worse by the fact that they lived together, and while he could do his best to put distance between the two of them, the chances of catching it as well were extremely high. Not to mention that getting sick himself wasn’t Jeongin’s only emetophobia trigger. Hearing or seeing anyone else throw up, or even hearing stories about it happening to someone else, could send him into just as much of a spiral. He couldn’t stand seeing even fictionalized versions of it on TV. He became paranoid after reading about someone else’s experience on the internet, like maybe he could catch a germ from someone who was currently 3,000 miles away. Sometimes he felt like slapping himself in the head as a reality check.
Chan was the world’s perfect partner, though. The moment things had started to go downhill for him, he’d texted Jeongin - “Don’t panic, but I haven’t been feeling too well today.” “It’s probably better if you stay with Seungmin & Felix for the night, okay?” “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine ❤️”
Jeongin was possibly the world’s worst partner, because he had taken Chan’s advice and gone for his prescribed sleepover instead of coming home to him. It made him feel awful, knowing that Chan was unwell and he wasn’t there to take care of him, to return the favor, to reciprocate the way Chan had always treated him. He knew that even if he had been there, though, he wouldn’t have been any use. He would’ve kept twenty feet between them at all times, and found a small corner to hide in with his knees drawn up and his hands over his ears whenever Chan threw up, and suffered a never ending panic attack. As it was, he was still anxious, just imagining what was happening in their home, worrying about the fact that he had kissed him goodbye before he’d left that morning.
Chan had reassured him time and time again that he was fine, that he wasn’t mad at him, that that was why he’d texted him in the first place. He said that he preferred to be alone when he was sick, although Jeongin couldn’t see how that could possibly be true. Even when being touched bothered him, he was still a clingy barnacle when he was unwell. Despite these reassurances, Jeongin had still cried about it, had still hated that he wasn’t there when Chan had needed him. He wished that he was a different person, that he wasn’t so afraid all the time. That he was braver, more capable, less likely to fall victim to his own fears.
He often wondered why Chan stayed with him, why he had chosen him and continued to do so. He felt like an unsuitable partner in so many ways - More than just his suitcase of anxiety and assorted phobias.
One of his biggest insecurities was his asexuality. It wasn’t like he didn’t know that Chan was hot, that he was attractive. He was the most beautiful man Jeongin had ever seen, he just…Didn’t feel sexual attraction. He didn’t feel it towards anyone, and he never had. This had always made him feel broken, but with time, he had reached somewhat of an acceptance with it. Once he realized that he was not the only one, that there was a word for it and a community of people who shared his experiences, he even began to feel a sort of pride for his sexuality.
Chan was most definitely not on the asexual spectrum, though. Jeongin knew that he enjoyed sex, that he had enjoyed it with multiple other partners before they had found each other. And why shouldn’t he? He was a work of art. His physicality was pristine, was perfection. Having a sex drive was normal. Jeongin hated that he couldn’t satisfy him that way, that he couldn’t fulfill all of his needs. Sometimes it felt like he couldn’t fulfill any of them.
These insecure thoughts were borne entirely of Jeongin’s own tendency to overthink. Chan had never done anything to suggest that he might not be happy, that he might wish for more. They had, in fact, found several creative workarounds to assure they both felt pleasure. Chan had a drawer full of sex toys that Jeongin didn’t dare root around in.
Jeongin explored the boundaries of his own feelings, testing what he was and wasn’t comfortable with. While he wasn’t interested in sex or sexual acts, he had discovered that he wasn’t opposed to the act of masturbating. The first time he had experienced an orgasm, he’d mistaken his racing heart for anxiety, a sensation that he was much more familiar with. He’d walked away from the experience thinking that it was overrated, and yet he remained curious, his mind looping back to it until he was compelled to try again. On his second attempt, the warm pleasure of peaking had filled his system and he thought: Oh.
He knew that Chan masturbated to the thought of him. On very rare occasions, they did so together. It made him feel somewhat uncomfortable, but Chan made it very clear that he would respect any boundaries that Jeongin set, that they could always stop, that there would never be any shame in doing so. They set a safe word, as if they were engaging in BDSM, when it was virtually the farthest thing from that. When he was in just the right mood, though, he enjoyed it - Seeing how much he turned Chan on, witnessing evidence of his boyfriend’s desire for him.
It scared him, early on in their relationship, that Chan would get antsy, that being horny without a release would drive him crazy, would drive him away from Jeongin. He worried that he would leave him, or cheat on him, even if just to have emotionless sex with somebody else. It had taken a lot of reassurance on Chan’s behalf for him to reluctantly let go of these fears. He told him, time and time again, that while, yes, he loved having sex, what he loved even more than that was Jeongin. Yeah, orgasms felt good, but what felt even better was having someone to come home to, someone who made him laugh, somebody who he could share his hopes and dreams with, someone he could build a future with.
“I know what you mean. But couldn’t you find all of that with someone who you could also have sex with?”
“Does it matter? I don’t want anyone else, Jeongin. I don’t want to look for somebody else who I might find all of those things with. I’ve already found someone, and that’s you. I want you.” Chan was stunningly romantic at times.
If Chan were the one to tell their story, he would spin a much different tale from Jeongin. He would recount his own point of view - How Jeongin saw beneath his cold exterior to the sensitive boy hiding underneath. How he carefully turned all of his walls into open doors, how he saw Chan for who he really was, and how he loved him anyways, appreciated every part of him. How he forced Chan to take breaks when he worked too hard, how he prevented him from being too hard on himself. How he saw each and every one of his own insecurities, and worked to dissuade him. When he was with Jeongin, he could relax. He’d never been able to say that about anyone else.
It’s a shame, how when you love somebody so much, your greatest fear becomes losing them. But it is also precious, to treasure something so much. They both suffered for their inability to truly encapsulate the other’s point of view, to believe that they could possibly be loved as much as they loved the other, that they could deserve such devotion.
There were many ways to say I love you, and even more actions that you could take to make it known. After Chan had survived his stomach bug, he’d cleaned the entire apartment from head to foot. He doused the bathroom in bleach, washed the blankets and pillowcases and comforter on their bed. He vacuumed, wiped every hard surface with antibacterial wipes, and sprayed thick layers of Lysol over the rest. He still understood when Jeongin stayed away from home for just a little while longer, just to be sure, just to be safe. He still understood when Jeongin wouldn’t kiss him for at least a week afterwards, God forbid such an act might infect him.
Now that Jeongin was the one who was unwell, Chan stayed in bed beside him, despite being the sort of person who measured his self-worth on how productive he was on any given day. It was for this reason that he agreed to watch a movie with him, despite being uncertain if he actually felt well enough to do so. (And yes, he felt ridiculous for thinking that, for being scared that doing literally anything at all might make it worse.) (He had tried to read, but it had given him a headache, and the gore of the action scene had been too much to handle.)
For the first hour, it worked as a suitable distraction. For the first time all day, the clock moved at something more than an unbearably slow crawl. Jeongin allowed himself to believe that he might just make it through this, that he might just be okay. He was, of course, faced with immediate regret for ever daring to hold hope in such a ludicrous idea. Seemingly out of nowhere, he was washed in a wave of nausea, accompanied by an uncomfortable excess of saliva filling his mouth, a red flag that seemed to holler: It’s happening. You are going to throw up, and there is nothing that you can do about it.
Jeongin felt doused in sweat, in a sense of fear and doom. He wanted to stay exactly where he was, like maybe if he was still enough it would just go away, like his own body might forget about him and leave him alone. But he also didn’t want to risk getting sick all over Chan’s laptop, so he forced himself to tumble out of bed, to make his way to the dreaded bathroom, to flip open the toilet lid and lean over it.
Chan had immediately noticed when Jeongin had gone rigid, when his skin had adopted an unnatural pallor, and followed closely behind him. When the worst did not happen the moment Jeongin saw the clear toilet water, he allowed himself to sit down in front of it. Close enough to make a move if need be, but not in active-vomiting position, either. He felt lightheaded, every inch of his body doused in panic, in desperation to find a way out of this situation, to avoid the inevitable.
“Are you okay, aegi? Is that anything that I can do for you? Do you want me to rub your back?” Chan’s voice was full of concern. Jeongin’s eyes filled with tears. Typically he hated having his back rubbed, because it reminded him of moments like this, but right now -
“Please.” He was almost too afraid to speak at all, like more than just words would come flying out of his mouth.
Chan kneeled beside him, rubbing comforting circles on his back through his shirt. A wet burp escaped him, and he jolted, his heart racing. In a book he had read once, a character had said that burping was the next-closest thing to throwing up, and it had stuck with him ever since. They stressed him out just the slightest bit even in normal contexts, where he felt fine. Now, it felt like a death sentence.
“I’m scared,” He said needlessly. Chan knew him, knew this about him, and everything about Jeongin painted a picture of agitation.
“I know you are, my love. If it has to happen - I promise that you’ll be okay. I know that you don’t want it to, but I’ll be here the entire time. It it happens, it’ll be over really quickly - Just a few seconds out of your life, and then it’ll be over, and you’ll feel better. I promise.”
Jeongin knew that Chan was right. He’d wondered, at times, if it would be easier to just give into the feeling someday, to let himself throw up and see what happened. Maybe he would realize that the build-up of anxiety and nausea beforehand was worse than the experience itself could ever actually be. Maybe it would cure him of the fear that had taken a chokehold over so much of his life. Or maybe it would be a completely awful experience, and he would become terrified of a repeat occurrence, and his fear would get worse, and he would never be able to live life as a normal human being ever again. Either way, he couldn’t seem to allow himself to relax enough to let it happen, to find out what the result might be, one way or another.
This experience wasn’t an exception. For a few minutes, he sat there, eyes closed, hands trembling, doing his best to take deep breaths in and out. He tried to tell himself that he would be okay if it happened, that his body was only trying to protect him, as ironic as that felt to him. If it happened, he would survive it, because there would be no other choice. Thankfully, the feeling passed. His stomach stopped its nervous churning, and he felt confident that he was safe, at least for the time being.
“I think I’m going to be okay.” He let Chan help him stand back up on shaky legs.
He felt exhausted once he had made it back into bed, as if he had run a marathon, instead of suffering a panic attack over something that hadn’t even happened. He was, at last, tired enough to be granted the sweet release of sleep once he closed his eyes and put his mind to it. It still wasn’t instantaneous - It required a good hour’s worth of trying to calm himself down, of laying still and sinking into the comfort of Chan’s body beside him, not quite holding him but still letting him know that he was there - Gently playing with his hair, or rubbing his hand across his arm. He was a little surprised that it had actually worked when he blinked awake a few hours later and realized that he had successfully taken a nap.
“Hi, baby.” Chan was there to greet him as he slowly rejoined the land of the living. “How are doing? Feeling any better?”
Jeongin took a moment to orient himself, to wake up enough to take stock of his body and how it felt. When he did, he realized that he felt…surprisingly alright. Not perfectly well, but a hell of a lot better than he had earlier. He felt like maybe the worst of it was over now, like he was going to be okay after all.
“Yeah,” He answered. His stomach still hurt a little bit, but at least it wasn’t setting off twenty-seven alarm bells this time.
“I’m happy to hear that. I hate it when you’re sick. I hate it when you’re in pain and there’s nothing that I can do about it.”
“I’m sorry if it doesn’t seem like it, but - It does help when you’re here. It does make me feel better, at least a little bit. I love you.”
“I love you too. I always will.”
It wouldn’t be the last time Jeongin found himself in such a situation, where his fear crippled him, where he almost wished to no longer be alive, because getting through it was so arduous. He would still feel a bit shaky, a bit cautious, over the next few days, paranoid over what freak event had turned his stomach inside out, afraid that it would overtake him once again. He’d nibble on plain rice and cut fruit that Chan bought him, never quite trusting that he’d made it all the way through.
But no matter how many times Jeongin fell down, he would get back up. Sometimes with Chan offering a helping hand, and sometimes through his own tenacity. It was hard for him to hold faith in himself, to give himself credit for working through his fears when he discredited his anxiety in the first place, but he was stronger than he knew. He survived every one of his worst days, found the light after each of his darkest moments. No matter how dark the night was, how unending it appeared to be, there would always be another day, another sunrise, another chance to try again.
After every stomachache, there would probably be another one. But there would be moments of rest, of peace, as well. Jeongin would try his very best to make the most of them.