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There’s not a lot of things Chan wouldn’t do for Seungmin. He can’t even think of one, even though there must be some, right? He wouldn’t kill if Seungmin asked him to, but Seungmin would never do that anyway. He would, however, kill if Seungmin was in danger.
He would do a lot of grand, heroic things. He would throw himself in a fire. He would throw himself in front of a car. He doesn’t even think it would be that hard. He would do it on instinct.
But there are things that are not instinctual for him. Because when he loves someone, and that someone is suffering, he wants to be with them. Wants to help, wants to comfort.
But Seungmin wants to be alone.
Whenever it happens, Chan feels like he’s going crazy. He knows that Seungmin can’t hear him from upstairs, yet he does everything very quietly, just in case. He can’t disturb. Can’t be loud. Everything has to be quiet, calm.
He’s going crazy wondering how Seungmin’s doing. If he’s feeling any better, even a little bit.
Half an hour till Chan is allowed to enter their bedroom.
He’s going insane.
*
He can come inside without knocking. He shouldn’t knock. They installed special lighting which provides the faintest of lights. A minimal amount required for Chan to not trip over the bed and to see what Seungmin’s doing.
He turns the lights on and he sees him—curled up, hands covering his forehead.
The room smells of vomit. Chan glances at the bowl by the bed, but there’s nothing in there.
He will deal with it later.
Only the minimal amount of spoken words is allowed. Chan has to be the most efficient. He can’t say Seungmin’s name out loud, because right now it’s not necessary. It would be hurtful; it would cause pain.
“Pill,” he whispers.
Seungmin doesn’t move. He told Chan once how hard it sometimes is to listen. When he finally finds a position which lessens the pain, he doesn’t want to change it.
But he won’t feel better without his medication.
“Pill,” Chan repeats. His heart is breaking, and he doesn’t know what else he can do other than stand and wait. Seungmin will get up eventually, Chan is certain.
Chan gives him time. He’s already getting nauseous from the smell, so he can’t imagine how Seungmin must feel.
He decides to try to locate the source in the meantime. Very quietly, he walks to the other side of the bed and sees the puddle there.
Chan sets down the pill and the glass of water on the bedside table and grabs a towel they have laid out just in case. He lays it on the floor, letting it soak up the liquid.
That’s when Seungmin moves. Slowly, and it must hurt because he lets out a high-pitched whine.
Chan quickly grabs the pill and hands it to him. Seungmin puts it into his mouth with a trembling hand. Then, he waits for Chan to bring the glass of water up to his lips, so that he can swallow it.
Once this is done, he lies down again but the previous curled up position must be causing him more pain now because he sits up again. He leans forward, grabs his hair and pulls. And then he leans backwards. And forward, and backwards. Fighting against the pain that can’t be stopped.
Chan brings himself to look away from him with difficulty. He knows that staring won’t help. There’s nothing he can do.
He crouches and grabs the towel from the floor. Takes another one and quickly wipes the same spot. He gets up and as quietly and as fast as he can, he walks up to the door, turns off the lights and leaves.
He stops when he’s in the hall, leans against the wall and breathes heavily.
The towels are soaked, and he feels his skin getting wet, but he can’t bring himself to go to the bathroom and wash them.
He’s frozen on the spot, staring at the door in front of him. Imagining what’s behind that door. Seungmin, still rocking back and forward, trying to bear indescribable pain.
*
Chan wants to cry himself to sleep. On a good day, Seungmin would already be up. Able to walk around a little. Go to the bathroom, eat something.
This is not a good day.
Chan counts the hours, but he wants to forget the number. It can’t be that high.
His eyes are burning from unshed tears and from drowsiness, but he can’t fall asleep.
Two more hours, and he can check on Seungmin again.
*
No pill this time. Just checking if he’s conscious. If he feels any better. If he’s sleeping. If he needs anything.
Chan opens the door to the familiar acidic scent and Seungmin lying down flat on his back. His eyes are open.
He knows not to ask any questions. Seungmin will tell him if he needs anything.
But today, Seungmin doesn’t say anything at first. He raises his hand a little, and Chan comes up to him, crouches next to him.
Only then he whispers, “Bathroom.”
If Seungmin was feeling better, he wouldn’t have to whisper.
Chan helps him sit up and then stand up, trying to offer as much support as he can. Seungmin can barely walk.
He once told Chan that walking sends waves of pain to his head, making him feel like it might explode. And Chan thinks about it as they walk. Step after step. Wave after wave.
Chan helps Seungmin sit down on the toilet.
Seungmin told him he feels no shame in moments like these. He only thinks about doing what’s necessary. He doesn’t care if anyone sees him pee or throw up. The only thing he can think of is pain.
Chan helps him stand up after he relieves himself and wants to lead him back to the bedroom, but Seungmin doesn’t move. He points in the direction of the sink.
He wants to brush his teeth. But his arms are too weak, and Chan has to do it for him. Delicately, because he doesn’t know if it worsens the pain, too. It probably does.
Seungmin’s eyes are shut close, his mouth open, full of foam. His hands on the sink. Chan is behind him, one hand holding the toothbrush and the other wrapped around Seungmin’s waist. When he’s done, he pours water into a cup and brings it up to Seungmin’s mouth so that he can rinse it.
And he thinks about all the things he’s doing wrong. The smallest of things that cause Seungmin pain. Every movement. Every step. They go back to the bedroom, and Chan both wants to let go of Seungmin as fast as he can—because he knows he hurts him—and stay with him, as if his pain could be shared.
As he helps Seungmin lay back down, he prays that Seungmin tells him to stay. That he grabs his wrist, letting him know he doesn’t have to go.
But it doesn’t happen.
And Chan leaves, again.
*
It’s three in the morning when Chan can see Seungmin again.
He’s on the floor, and Chan’s first instinct is to panic. But Seungmin didn’t faint. He’s sitting on the floor, his forehead resting against the bed. His eyes slowly open, but he doesn’t look at Chan.
Chan comes up closer, his socked feet barely making noise against the floorboards.
He crouches next to Seungmin, waiting. Will Seungmin ask for anything?
Nothing happens. Chan can only hear Seungmin’s breathing. Even his breathing sounds exhausted. He must be so tired, and he can’t even sleep.
Chan doesn’t question why he’s on the floor. Maybe it helps. Seungmin knows what’s best for him; Chan has to trust him.
He’s about to get up and leave when Seungmin’s hand touches his thigh. Other than that, Seungmin doesn’t move. He doesn’t say anything either. A moment, and the touch is gone. Seungmin is back to his previous position.
Chan doesn’t know what to make out of it.
“Do you need me?” he whispers.
He didn’t mean to ask it like that. He should have said—do you need anything?
Seungmin raises two fingers. Their sign for ‘no’.
*
Six in the morning. Chan decides to eat.
He feels guilty about it—Seungmin hasn’t eaten anything for many hours—but he decides to do it because his stomach starts rumbling. And rumbling is noise, and any kind of noise causes Seungmin pain.
He eats and waits till seven, patiently. The rules exist for a reason. Chan can’t disturb Seungmin every other hour. It will only prolong his suffering.
When he enters their bedroom, he finds Seungmin back on the bed, curled up only slightly.
Chan walks up to him and looks into his eyes.
It’s the first time in hours when they both look at each other like that. Seungmin looks like he went through hell. His face looks somehow hollow, his lips downturned. Eyes red and swollen, dark circles underneath them.
“Stay,” he whispers.
A stone falls off of Chan’s chest. If Seungmin wants him to stay, that means that he’s feeling better.
He takes off his clothes till he’s only in his underwear, turns off the lights and lays down behind Seungmin, careful not to touch him.
Even that causes pain, makes Seungmin nauseous; he knows that. For a moment, he lays still, listening. Seungmin’s breathing is quieter. That’s a good sign.
Then, Seungmin turns around. Chan can’t see him in the complete darkness of the room, but he feels his arm landing on Chan’s chest.
Chan knows he can’t touch him. He knows he can’t move. He closes his eyes and breathes in deeply, trying to appreciate what he has.
*
He doesn’t mean to fall asleep. When he wakes up, Seungmin’s arm is no longer on his chest.
Chan listens closely. Seungmin must be here, must be next to him.
“Chan?”
Chan’s heartbeat slows down immediately. Hearing Seungmin brings him relief. He’s here. He’s safe. “Yes?”
“Is it day?” Seungmin asks.
“I think so.”
“I want some daylight.”
Chan gets up, trying not to trip over anything, and raises the blinds the tiniest bit, so that only a sliver of light falls inside the room.
He looks back. Seungmin’s half-sitting up, his back and head against the pillow.
“Are you hungry?” Chan asks.
“A little.”
“I’ll bring you something.”
A part of Chan doesn’t want to leave, even for a moment, but he knows that he has to, that he should. Seungmin doesn’t just need his presence. Right now he needs nutrition. Something that will allow his body to go back into normal.
He prepares the food as fast as he can. They have emergency meals in their fridge, so he just needs to heat one up, but it feels like forever.
When he’s upstairs and hands the bowl to Seungmin, Seungmin asks, “Aren’t you hungry?”
Chan stays quiet.
“Go eat something.”
But how could Chan go eat something when he sees Seungmin struggling with holding up the spoon?
“Let me help.”
Seungmin shakes his head. He’s determined to eat by himself, even though his hand is shaking.
Chan turns away. He doesn’t want to stare, doesn’t want Seungmin to feel embarrassed. No longer overcome by excruciating pain, Seungmin cares about stuff like independence and dignity; Chan knows that.
“Should I open the window?” Chan asks, trying to find some other way to be of help.
Seungmin hums.
Chan can’t see the world through the tiny sliver, but when he opens the window, he smells rain.
*
They spend almost the entire day in bed. Seungmin tells Chan that he can go and do his things, but Chan refuses.
There’s nothing more important than Seungmin. No other place he’d rather be in. Even when Seungmin doesn’t speak, only lies next to him, Chan would rather be with him than anywhere else.
Seungmin doesn’t have to know how much Chan wanted to be with him when he was hurting, but he should know how much Chan wants to be with him now.
At some point, Seungmin lets Chan embrace him. Chan doesn’t ask him if he feels better, because he knows that this question annoys Seungmin, plus he can tell that he’s in much less pain anyway.
He can’t get the sight of him rocking back and forward out of his mind, but he could never tell him that. He doesn’t want Seungmin to feel guilty, and he couldn’t forgive himself if that made Seungmin reject his future help.
Seungmin knows how hard it is for Chan to watch him suffer already. He told him that. I know it’s not easy for you. And Chan couldn’t understand why Seungmin thought about him at all.
They’ve tried so many things to stop the migraines, but they still happen. The only thing they can do is to deal with them the best they can. And Chan will be there for Seungmin, always.
No matter how much it hurts.