Archive of Our Own

The house had finally gone back to normal.
Mostly.
The sound of laughter had returned.
Chris had stopped walking around with a thermometer every five minutes.
Felix had finally accepted that tea couldn't cure everything.
Even Changbin had declared himself "officially indestructible" after eating three bowls of ramen the night before.
Everyone else was getting better.
Everyone...
Except me.
"...You okay?"
I looked up.
Minho was standing in the kitchen doorway, already dressed for the day.
I hadn't even realized I'd been staring at my breakfast.
"...Yeah."
He looked at my plate.
I'd barely touched it.
"...You sure?"
I nodded.
"Mhm."
"...Just not that hungry."
That wasn't exactly a lie.
I wanted to eat.
I really did.
The thought of food just...
Made my stomach turn.
Minho walked over, sitting down beside me.
"You've been saying that a lot."
"I know."
"Still feeling sick?"
"...A little."
"A little?"
I thought about it.
"...Maybe a little more than a little."
He frowned.
"How long has it been now?"
"...Almost a week."
Saying it out loud made it sound...
Longer.
Long enough that maybe I shouldn't have been brushing it off anymore.
I quickly shook the thought away.
"It was probably just a bad case of food poisoning."
"Mhm."
He didn't sound convinced.
"I'll be fine."
"You've said that every day."
"...Because I will."
He stayed quiet.
That somehow worried me more than if he'd argued.
I picked up my fork again.
Managed one bite.
Two.
By the third...
I stopped.
"...I can't."
Minho reached over and gently moved the plate away before I could force myself to keep trying.
"You don't have to."
"I should."
"You don't."
"I've barely eaten anything."
"I know."
The concern in his voice was impossible to miss.
I looked down at the table.
"...I hate this."
"I know."
"I feel useless."
"You aren't."
"I can't even finish breakfast."
"You don't have to earn breakfast."
I let out a quiet sigh.
"...I know."
He reached over, brushing his thumb lightly across the back of my hand.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Mhm."
"If you still feel like this tomorrow..."
He hesitated just enough that I already knew where this was going.
"...Would you let me make you a doctor's appointment?"
I looked away.
The answer came immediately.
"...It's probably nothing."
"It probably is."
"But..."
He gave my hand a gentle squeeze.
"...Would you go anyway?"
I stared at the half-eaten toast sitting on my plate.
Part of me wanted to say no.
Doctors had always made me nervous.
Not because I hated hospitals.
Because...
Hospitals usually meant hearing something you didn't want to hear.
"...Just one appointment?"
He nodded.
"Just one."
I let out a slow breath.
"...Okay."
His shoulders relaxed ever so slightly.
"Okay."
Neither of us spoke after that.
The kitchen was quiet.
Outside, I could hear Felix laughing about something.
Changbin was arguing that cereal counted as a balanced breakfast.
Chris disagreed.
Loudly.
Life was...
Normal.
It almost made me feel guilty.
Because while everyone else had finally started feeling like themselves again...
I still didn't.
And no matter how many times I told myself it would be better tomorrow...
Tomorrow just kept becoming another today.
The rest of the morning passed quietly.
Too quietly.
Normally, I'd be downstairs annoying Felix while he tried to make coffee.
Or sitting beside Changbin while he insisted cereal counted as cooking.
Or listening to Chris complain about someone leaving dishes in the sink.
Today...
I just...
Didn't really feel like moving.
I wandered into the living room instead, curling up on one end of the couch with a blanket pulled over my legs.
The television was on.
I couldn't have told you what was playing.
"...Morning."
I looked up.
Hyunjin walked in carrying a sketchbook with one hand,
And a cup of coffee in the other
"Morning."
He paused beside the couch.
"...You feeling any better?"
I forced a small smile.
"A little."
It came out automatically.
The same answer I'd been giving everyone.
He looked at me for a second.
Then nodded.
"...Good."
I knew he didn't believe me.
He didn't say anything else.
Just sat down in the armchair across from me and started sketching.
The quiet wasn't awkward.
Just...
Comfortable.
A few minutes later, the front door opened.
Felix's voice echoed through the hallway before I even saw him.
"I GOT THE—"
He stopped the second he noticed me.
"...Why are you under a blanket?"
I blinked.
"...Because I'm cold?"
"...It's like seventy-eight degrees."
"I know."
"...That's suspicious."
Hyunjin didn't even look up from his sketchbook.
"You're loud."
"I like being loud."
I chuckled, trying to hide the fact that my stomach felt like it was trying to escape my body.
Felix walked over anyway, setting two shopping bags on the coffee table.
"I got snacks."
He looked at me.
"...Do you want anything?"
I glanced toward the bag.
Usually...
The answer would've been yes before he'd even finished asking.
Today...
Just looking at the brightly colored wrappers made my stomach twist.
"...I'm okay."
"You sure?"
"Mhm."
He frowned.
"...You always want snacks."
"I know."
He looked toward Hyunjin.
Then back at me.
"...That's suspicious."
"I think you've already said that."
"It still is."
Before I could answer, Chris walked into the room carrying his laptop.
He glanced between Felix and me.
"...What's going on?"
Felix pointed dramatically.
"He said no to snacks."
Chris looked at me.
"...Seriously?"
I sighed.
"...Can everyone stop looking at me like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like..."
I gestured vaguely toward myself.
"...Like I'm about to explode."
Changbin wandered into the room at exactly the wrong moment.
"...Who's exploding?"
"No one."
Chris answered immediately.
"...Good."
Changbin looked relieved.
"I just cleaned the kitchen."
Despite myself...
A laugh escaped me.
"...See?"
I looked at everyone.
"I'm fine."
Chris smiled.
"...There it is."
"There what is?"
"You laughed."
"...Okay?"
"I was starting to miss that."
Something about the way he said it made my smile soften.
"...Sorry."
"You don't have to apologize."
"I know."
"But..."
I looked down at the blanket gathered in my lap.
"...I feel like I've been kind of..."
I searched for the word.
"...Absent."
Chris closed his laptop.
"You've been sick."
"Yeah, but—"
"No 'but.'"
His voice stayed calm.
"You've been sick."
"Nobody's keeping score."
The room fell quiet again.
For a moment...
Nobody spoke.
Then Minho walked in.
He'd disappeared upstairs not long after breakfast.
His eyes found me almost immediately.
"...Hey."
"Hey."
He walked over and sat beside me on the couch.
Not close enough to crowd me.
Just...
Close.
His hand rested beside mine on top of the blanket.
A few seconds later...
Our fingers brushed.
Then quietly slipped together.
Nobody commented.
Nobody teased us.
It had become so normal that no one paid much attention anymore.
"...What're you all doing?" Minho asked.
Felix folded his arms.
"We're trying to convince Jisung to eat snacks."
Minho looked at me.
"...Did you say no?"
"...Maybe."
He didn't say anything.
Didn't tell me I should eat.
Didn't push.
He simply nodded once.
"...Okay."
I looked at him.
"...You're not going to lecture me?"
"No."
"...Why not?"
"Because..."
He gently squeezed my hand.
"...I know if you could, you would have a bag of chips in your lap right now."
A small laugh escaped me.
My chest tightened.
I looked away before anyone noticed.
"...Thanks."
He smiled.
Barely.
"...We'll figure it out."
I wanted to believe him.
I really did.
So...
I nodded.
"...Yeah."
Outside, the late summer sun spilled through the living room windows.
Everything looked exactly the same as it always had.
The laughter.
The conversations.
Felix arguing with Changbin over snacks.
Chris pretending not to listen while he absolutely listened to everything.
Nothing had changed.
At least...
That's what I kept telling myself.
Tomorrow.
I'd go to the doctor.
Tomorrow...
They'd probably tell me it was nothing.
I held onto that thought a little tighter than I wanted to admit.
The rest of the afternoon passed surprisingly...
Normally.
At least on the surface.
Felix somehow convinced Changbin to help him bake cookies.
Chris immediately regretted allowing that.
Hyunjin spent most of the afternoon sketching by the window while Seungmin quietly read beside him.
Jeongin and Élise had disappeared into town for a few hours before coming back with enough groceries to feed an army.
Life kept moving.
It always did.
I just...
Couldn't seem to catch up with it.
Every now and then someone would ask if I was feeling any better.
Every time...
I gave the same answer.
"A little."
Eventually, everyone stopped asking.
Not because they didn't care.
Because they already knew what I was going to say.
...
Dinner smelled incredible.
Chris had spent almost an hour making homemade pasta.
Normally...
I would've been the first person sitting at the table.
Instead, I found myself lingering in the hallway.
Just looking at it.
"...Sung?"
I turned around.
Minho was standing behind me.
"You coming?"
"...Yeah."
I followed him into the dining room.
Everyone was already helping themselves.
Changbin had somehow managed to fill his plate higher than I thought was physically possible.
Felix looked equally impressed and concerned.
"...Is that enough food?"
"For now."
Chris didn't even bother looking up.
"I'm making more tomorrow."
"I knew I liked you."
I smiled faintly as I sat down beside Minho.
Chris slid the serving bowl toward me.
"Go ahead."
I nodded.
"...Thanks."
I took a small spoonful.
Then another.
It looked...
Really good.
I picked up my fork.
Took one bite.
Chewed.
Swallowed.
Waited.
The knot in my stomach tightened almost immediately.
Not pain.
Just...
That same uncomfortable feeling.
Like my stomach had decided it was completely full after almost nothing.
I quietly set my fork back down.
"...Already?"
I hadn't realized Minho was watching.
I looked down at my plate.
"...Yeah."
"You only had two bites."
"I know."
He didn't say anything after that.
Neither did I.
Across the table, the conversation carried on.
Felix was passionately explaining why chocolate chips belonged in pancakes.
Chris strongly disagreed.
Changbin claimed he'd eat them anyway.
Hyunjin laughed.
Seungmin looked deeply unimpressed.
It was comforting.
Listening to everyone.
Even if I wasn't really joining in.
After a few more minutes, Chris looked over.
"...You done?"
I hated that question.
Not because he'd asked it.
Because I already knew the answer.
"...Yeah."
He glanced at my plate.
Almost untouched.
For just a second...
His expression changed.
Only for a second.
Then he smiled.
"I'll wrap it up."
"You can eat it later."
"...Thanks."
He knew I probably wouldn't.
But...
I appreciated that he didn't say it out loud.
...
Later that night, I stood in the bathroom brushing my teeth.
I caught my reflection in the mirror.
For a moment...
I just looked at myself.
I didn't look sick.
At least...
Not how I'd always imagined sick people looked.
I wasn't pale.
I wasn't covered in bandages.
I didn't have a fever anymore.
I just...
Didn't feel right.
Maybe Minho was right.
Maybe one appointment wouldn't hurt.
Maybe tomorrow...
They'd hand me some stronger medicine, tell me to eat bland food for another week, and I'd finally start feeling like myself again.
I rinsed my toothbrush.
Turned off the faucet.
And tried not to think about tomorrow.
It was just one appointment.
Nothing more.
At least...
That's what I kept telling myself.
The next morning arrived much sooner than I would've liked.
I barely slept.
Not because I was nervous.
At least...
That's what I kept telling myself.
It was probably just another appointment.
Another doctor.
Another reminder to eat bland food and drink more water.
Nothing I hadn't already heard before.
"...Morning."
I looked up from where I was tying my shoes.
Minho was leaning against the bedroom door, car keys spinning lazily around one finger.
"You ready?"
"As I'll ever be."
He smiled.
"...That's not very convincing."
"I know."
He walked over, gently straightening the hood of my sweatshirt.
"There."
"...Thanks."
We headed downstairs together.
The kitchen was already busy.
Chris stood over the stove making breakfast.
Felix was trying to steal toast.
Again.
"I saw that."
"I wasn't doing anything."
"You had bread in your hand."
"...Evidence is circumstantial."
Chris sighed.
"Sit down."
Felix sat.
"...Worth a try."
I smiled despite myself.
"Morning."
Everyone looked up.
"Morning," came a chorus of sleepy replies.
Chris glanced between me and Minho.
"...Appointment?"
"Mhm."
I nodded.
"Nine-thirty."
He checked the clock on the microwave.
"You've got time."
"I'm not really hungry."
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Chris looked at me for a second.
Then simply nodded.
"I'll pack you something."
"You don't have to."
"I know."
He wrapped a small sandwich anyway.
No lecture.
No comments.
Just quietly slid it across the counter.
"...In case you feel like eating later."
"...Thanks."
I slipped it into my backpack.
Maybe I'd eat it.
Maybe I wouldn't.
At least I'd have the option.
...
The drive was quiet.
Not awkward.
Just...
Quiet.
The radio played softly in the background while late summer sunlight filtered through the windshield.
Neither of us seemed particularly interested in talking.
About halfway there, Minho reached across the center console.
His hand found mine without him even looking.
I smiled faintly.
"...You don't have to hold my hand because I'm going to the doctor."
"I know."
"...Then why are you doing it?"
He kept his eyes on the road.
"...Because I wanted to."
"...Hm."
That answer somehow made me smile more than it probably should have.
The clinic wasn't very far away.
Small.
Plain.
One of those buildings you drove past a hundred times without really noticing.
Minho parked before turning off the engine.
"...Ready?"
I looked at the entrance.
Not particularly.
"...Yeah."
Inside, everything smelled faintly of disinfectant and coffee.
The receptionist smiled politely as she checked me in.
"Take a seat."
"We'll call you shortly."
The waiting room was quieter than I'd expected.
A little girl sat in the corner coloring.
An older man flipped through a magazine.
Someone's phone buzzed.
That was about it.
Minho sat beside me.
Neither of us spoke much.
Every now and then he'd glance over.
Probably checking if I was okay.
I was.
Mostly.
"...Han Jisung?"
I looked up.
A nurse stood in the doorway holding a clipboard.
"That's me."
She smiled.
"If you'll come with me."
I stood, instinctively looking toward Minho.
The nurse noticed.
"He can come too."
For some reason...
That made me relax.
Just a little.
The appointment itself was...
Unexpectedly ordinary.
The doctor asked questions.
How long had I been feeling sick?
About a week.
Had I been vomiting?
Not anymore.
Any fever?
No.
Could I point to where my stomach felt uncomfortable?
Mostly the upper part.
He listened carefully.
Took notes.
Pressed gently against different parts of my stomach.
Nothing hurt enough to make me flinch.
"Hm."
He leaned back slightly.
"It may simply be that your stomach is taking longer to recover than everyone else's."
I felt my shoulders loosen.
"So..."
I smiled a little.
"...Nothing serious?"
"At this point, I don't see anything particularly concerning."
The knot in my chest eased almost immediately.
"I'd like to prescribe something to help reduce the irritation in your stomach."
He clicked a few things on his computer.
"Stick to relatively plain foods for another week or so."
He looked back at me.
"If you're not improving..."
He paused.
"...Or if you begin feeling worse..."
"I'd like you to come back."
I nodded.
"Okay."
"We'll take it one step at a time."
"...Sounds good."
As we walked back toward the parking lot, I let out a long breath I hadn't even realized I'd been holding.
"...See?"
I looked over at Minho.
"I told you."
He smiled.
"...You did."
"I'll probably feel better in a few days."
"...Hopefully."
He unlocked the car.
His smile was there.
But...
Something about it looked different.
Smaller.
Like there was still a question sitting quietly in the back of his mind.
I pretended not to notice.
Instead...
I climbed into the passenger seat.
Already convincing myself that this would all be over soon.
The first few days passed...
Exactly the way the doctor had said they would.
At least...
That's what I kept trying to believe.
I took the medication.
Ate plain foods.
Drank more water than I thought was humanly possible.
And every morning...
I asked myself the same question.
"Do I feel any better?"
Every morning...
The answer was the same.
Not really.
I didn't feel worse.
But I definitely didn't feel better.
Which somehow felt even more frustrating.
...
By the fourth evening...
I'd had enough.
Chris had made chicken, rice, and vegetables.
Simple.
Exactly the kind of meal the doctor had recommended.
I looked at my plate.
Then at everyone else's.
Nobody was watching me.
Good.
I picked up my fork.
One bite.
Then another.
Then another.
I ignored the familiar feeling in my stomach.
Ignored how quickly I felt full.
Ignored the quiet voice in the back of my head telling me to stop.
No.
I was finishing dinner.
I was tired of feeling sick.
Tired of eating like a bird.
Tired of everyone quietly watching how much food I left behind.
By the time my plate was empty...
I leaned back in my chair.
"...There."
Felix looked over.
"You actually finished."
I smiled.
"...Guess the medicine's working."
Chris smiled too.
"I told you to give it a few days."
Maybe...
Maybe he was right.
For the first time in over a week...
I let myself believe this was finally over.
...
That night...
I fell asleep smiling.
I woke up with my stomach twisting so violently that I barely had time to sit up.
A sharp wave of nausea rolled through me.
My hand immediately covered my mouth.
No.
No, no.
I stumbled out of bed as quietly as I could.
Please don't wake Minho.
Please.
The bathroom door clicked shut behind me just as I dropped to my knees.
...
When it was finally over...
I rested both hands against the cool tile floor.
My breathing shook.
"...Okay."
I whispered to myself.
"...Okay."
Maybe it was just...
One time.
Maybe—
The nausea hit again.
Harder.
I barely made it back in time.
...
The second time left me trembling.
I flushed the toilet.
Turned on the sink.
Splashed cold water across my face.
Looked in the mirror.
I looked exhausted.
"...Get it together."
I whispered.
"...You're okay."
I wasn't.
...
By the third time...
My legs gave out completely.
I slid down until I was sitting on the floor beside the bathtub.
Everything hurt.
Not just my stomach.
Everything.
I closed my eyes.
Just for a second.
The bathroom door opened.
"...Sung?"
My heart sank.
I looked up.
Minho stood frozen in the doorway.
His eyes moved from me...
To the toilet.
To the sink.
Back to me.
"...How many times?"
I stared at the floor.
"...Three."
For a second...
He didn't say anything.
Then I heard him let out a slow breath.
"...Three?"
I nodded once.
"...Since when?"
"...About an hour ago."
Before I'd even finished answering, he was already kneeling beside me.
Close enough that our shoulders almost touched.
"...Why didn't you wake me?"
"I..."
I swallowed.
"...I thought it would stop."
"It didn't."
"...I know."
Silence settled between us.
The kind that felt heavier than words.
Then...
Without warning...
My stomach twisted again.
Hard.
I immediately leaned forward, grabbing the edge of the bathtub.
"...No..."
I whispered.
"...No, not again..."
Minho's head snapped toward me.
"...Sung?"
I squeezed my eyes shut.
Maybe I could fight it.
Maybe—
The nausea surged so violently that my entire body lurched forward.
"It's..."
I barely managed to get the words out.
"...It's about to be four..."
I didn't even finish the sentence before I had to turn back toward the toilet.
Behind me, I could hear Minho moving.
Not rushing.
Not panicking.
Just...
There.
One hand gently gathered the hair away from my face.
The other rested carefully between my shoulder blades.
Steady.
Grounding.
He didn't say a word.
He didn't need to.
By the time it was finally over...
I felt like I didn't have any strength left.
I stayed there, forehead resting against my folded arms.
Trying to catch my breath.
Trying to ignore how badly my throat burned.
My eyes stung.
I wasn't even sure if it was from being sick anymore.
A tear slipped down onto my sleeve before I could stop it.
Then another.
"...Hey."
Minho's voice was barely above a whisper.
I shook my head.
"...Don't."
"Sung—"
"I said don't."
The words came out sharper than I'd meant them to.
Immediately...
I regretted it.
"...Sorry."
My voice cracked.
"...I'm sorry."
"You don't have to apologize."
"I do."
I laughed once.
It sounded hollow.
"I keep saying I'm fine."
Another tear landed on the tile.
"...And I'm not."
I finally looked at him.
"I hate this."
The words spilled out before I could stop them.
"I hate that I feel like fucking shit."
"I hate that every time I eat..."
I wiped roughly at my face.
"...I get scared."
"...Because I don't know if it's going to stay down."
"I hate that every single day..."
I looked down at my trembling hands.
"...I keep telling everyone..."
"'I'm fine.'"
Even though...
I let out a shaky breath.
"...I'm obviously not."
The room blurred.
"I don't know why I keep pretending anymore."
More tears followed before I could stop them.
I wasn't sobbing.
I wasn't falling apart.
I was just...
Tired.
So tired.
I covered my eyes with one hand.
"...Why do I feel like this?"
My voice barely sounded like mine anymore.
"...Why does this keep happening to me?"
For a long moment...
Minho didn't answer.
Instead, he gently reached over and took my hand.
His thumb brushed across my knuckles.
"You know what I've noticed?"
I looked at him through blurred vision.
"You always try to protect everyone else."
I frowned slightly.
"What?"
"When you're hurting..."
"You hide it."
"When you're scared..."
"You smile."
"When you're exhausted..."
"You tell everyone you're just tired."
His grip tightened ever so slightly.
"You've been carrying this by yourself for weeks."
He shook his head.
"You don't have to keep pretending with me."
"You just have to speak what's on your mind."
Something inside me finally gave way.
I leaned forward before I even realized I was moving.
His arms wrapped around me almost immediately.
Firm.
Warm.
Safe.
I buried my face against his shoulder.
He held me without trying to fix it.
Without telling me everything would be okay.
He just...
Held me.
After a while, I felt him rest his chin lightly against the top of my head.
"...We're going back."
His voice was quiet.
Certain.
"...Tomorrow."
I closed my eyes.
For the first time since all of this had started...
I didn't argue.
I simply nodded.
"...Okay."
The next week passed...
Slowly.
Painfully slowly.
Every morning started the same way.
I woke up.
I asked myself if I felt any different.
Then sighed when the answer was still...
No.
I took the medication exactly the way the doctor had told me to.
I forced myself to eat when I could.
Drank enough water that Felix jokingly asked if I was trying to become a fish.
I laughed.
Mostly because it was easier than explaining why I hadn't finished lunch.
Again.
Life around me refused to stop.
Chris still complained about dishes.
Changbin still insisted he'd invented the perfect ramen recipe.
Hyunjin somehow managed to convince Felix to stop buying unnecessary decorations.
For almost two whole days.
Seungmin claimed it was a new record.
Jeongin and Élise spent more and more time together, usually disappearing into town before lunch and coming back with groceries or books neither of them technically needed.
Everything was...
Normal.
Except me.
I was tired.
All the time.
Food still made me nervous.
Every meal felt like a gamble.
Sometimes...
It stayed down.
Sometimes...
It didn't.
I got better at hiding it.
Or at least...
I thought I did.
...
By the end of the week, even I had stopped pretending the medicine was helping.
The follow-up appointment had already been scheduled before we'd left the clinic.
"Just to make sure everything's improving."
The doctor had smiled when he'd said it.
I remembered smiling back.
Now...
I couldn't help wondering if he'd noticed something I hadn't.
...
The morning of the appointment felt strangely ordinary.
Sunlight streamed through the bedroom window.
Somewhere downstairs, Felix was arguing with Chris about something I can't remember.
I smiled to myself.
Somehow...
They were still having this argument.
Minho looked up from tying his shoes.
"What time is your appointment again?"
"Ten."
He nodded.
"I'll drive you."
I shook my head.
"You don't have to."
"I don't mind."
"I know."
I walked over, picking up my hoodie from the chair.
"But..."
I forced a small smile.
"It's just a follow-up."
He looked at me for a long moment.
"You sure?"
"Mhm."
"They're probably just going to switch my medication or something."
I tried to sound more confident than I felt.
"I'll text you when I'm done."
He hesitated.
Just enough that I almost changed my mind.
Then...
"Okay."
He stood, walking over until we were only a few inches apart.
"If anything changes..."
"I'll call."
"If it takes longer than expected..."
"I'll call."
"If you need me,"
"I'll call."
That finally earned a small smile.
"Okay."
I reached up and adjusted the collar of his hoodie.
"You worry too much."
"I know,"
"It's one of my hobbies."
I laughed quietly.
"I've noticed."
He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss against my forehead.
"Be careful."
"I will."
...
The drive to the clinic felt shorter this time.
Maybe because I already knew where I was going.
Maybe because I spent most of it trying not to think.
The receptionist recognized me almost immediately.
"Good morning, Jisung."
"Morning."
She smiled politely.
"Go ahead and have a seat."
"We'll call you shortly."
The waiting room looked exactly the same.
The same magazines.
The same potted plant in the corner.
Even the little girl coloring by the window seemed familiar.
I wondered if she'd been here last time too.
Or if my brain was just trying to convince itself that everything was normal.
"...Han Jisung?"
I stood.
The same nurse smiled at me from the doorway.
"This way."
I followed her down the hallway.
She stopped outside one of the consultation rooms before opening the door.
"The doctor will be with you shortly."
"...Thank you."
The room fell quiet again.
I sat on the edge of the examination table, absentmindedly swinging one foot.
I checked my phone.
9:58 a.m.
One unread message.
Minho:
Text me when you're done. ❤️
I smiled despite myself.
Me:
Will do.
I slipped my phone back into my pocket.
The door opened.
The doctor stepped inside carrying a folder.
Not a tablet this time.
A folder.
For some reason...
That was the first thing I noticed.
"Good morning, Jisung."
"Morning."
He offered me a kind smile before taking the chair across from me.
"I know we've seen each other a few times over the past couple of weeks."
He rested the folder on the desk.
"So..."
"Let's talk about your results."
I nodded.
"...Okay."
The doctor opened the folder.
For a few seconds...
The only sound in the room was the quiet turning of paper.
Then he looked back up at me.
"I know this isn't the outcome either of us was hoping for."
Something inside my stomach tightened.
"...What do you mean?"
He folded his hands together.
"The biopsy results came back."
I waited.
"...And they showed something we weren't expecting."
My heart started beating a little faster.
"...Is it serious?"
He didn't answer right away.
Not because he didn't want to.
Because...
He was choosing his words carefully.
"The biopsy confirmed that you have..."
He glanced down at the report one last time.
"...Gastric adenocarcinoma."
I blinked.
"...I'm sorry?"
"It's a type of gastric cancer."
I frowned.
"Gastric..."
The word sounded familiar.
I just...
Couldn't place it.
The doctor noticed.
His voice became even gentler.
"...Stomach cancer."
Silence.
Complete silence.
The room disappeared.
The walls.
The desk.
The clock.
Everything.
Gastric adenocarcinoma.
Gastric cancer.
Stomach cancer.
...
I had stomach cancer.
"No..."
The word escaped before I could stop it.
"There has to be..."
I swallowed hard.
"...Some kind of mistake."
"I understand why you'd think that."
His voice stayed calm.
"The biopsy was reviewed very carefully."
"I wish I were telling you something different."
I stared at the folder sitting on his desk.
It looked...
So ordinary.
A plain manila folder.
A few sheets of paper.
How could something that looked so...
Normal...
Completely change my life?
"I..."
I couldn't seem to get enough air.
"I don't..."
Another breath.
"...I don't understand."
"You don't have to understand everything today."
He slid a tissue box a little closer across the desk.
I hadn't even realized tears had started running down my face.
"This is a lot to take in."
I wiped at them quickly.
Embarrassed.
"...Am I..."
The question caught in my throat.
I forced myself to finish it.
"...Am I going to die?"
The room fell quiet again.
The doctor shook his head.
"From everything we've seen so far..."
He leaned forward slightly.
"Our goal is to treat this."
"We're going to move quickly."
"We'll arrange appointments with an oncology team, discuss treatment options, and make sure you have the support you need."
His words continued.
I knew they did.
I could see his lips moving.
But after that...
I wasn't really hearing them anymore.
Treatment.
Appointments.
Chemotherapy.
More tests.
The words blurred together.
All I could think was...
I had stomach cancer.
Eventually...
The doctor stopped talking.
Not because he'd finished.
Because he'd noticed I wasn't really there anymore.
He quietly closed the folder.
"I don't want you driving today."
I blinked.
"Oh."
"I wasn't."
"My boyfriend's picking me up."
He nodded once.
"Good."
He reached into the folder again before handing me a smaller envelope.
"There are appointment dates in here."
"And information I'd like you to read."
"You don't have to look at it today."
I stared at it.
For a moment...
I couldn't bring myself to take it.
Then...
Slowly...
I reached out.
It felt heavier than paper should have.
"I'll step outside for a few minutes."
His chair scraped softly against the floor.
"If you have questions..."
He gave me a small, reassuring smile.
"...We'll answer every single one."
The door clicked shut behind him.
I was alone.
The room was exactly the same as it had been ten minutes ago.
The same desk.
The same clock.
The same chair.
Nothing had changed.
Except...
Everything had.
I don't remember walking out of the clinic.
I don't remember thanking the receptionist.
I just remember standing there.
Holding the envelope.
Holding the words that somehow felt heavier than the paper they were printed on.
Minho was waiting in the car.
The second he saw me, his expression softened.
"There you are."
He smiled.
A small, familiar smile.
The kind that usually made everything feel okay.
"...How'd it go?"
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
The smile slowly faded from his face.
"...Sung?"
I couldn't say it.
I physically couldn't.
My throat felt like it had closed completely.
So instead...
I held out the paper.
His eyebrows pulled together.
He took it carefully.
At first, he just scanned the page.
Then...
He stopped.
I watched the exact moment he saw it.
The way his expression changed.
The way the color seemed to disappear from his face.
He looked back down.
Read it again.
Slower this time.
Like maybe he had missed something.
Like maybe the words would change if he looked hard enough.
They didn't.
His fingers tightened slightly around the paper.
"...No."
It was barely a whisper.
Not denial.
Not anger.
Just...
Disbelief.
He looked up at me.
"...No."
I couldn't answer.
Because I knew.
He knew.
We both knew.
Minho folded the paper carefully.
Almost too carefully.
Like if he treated it gently enough...
It wouldn't hurt as much.
Then he opened his car door
I expected him to just stand outside.
Instead...
He walked around to my side.
Opened my door.
And climbed into the backseat beside me.
For a second...
Neither of us moved.
The car was silent.
The outside world kept going.
People walking past.
Cars pulling out of parking spaces.
Someone laughing somewhere nearby.
And inside the car...
Everything felt frozen.
Minho reached for my hand.
I stared down at our fingers.
I think that was what broke me.
Not the diagnosis.
Not the doctor's voice.
Not the paper.
Just...
His hand.
Because it reminded me that this was real.
That I wasn't alone.
But I was also not dreaming.
My breathing shook.
"I..."
The first word barely came out.
Then suddenly...
Everything did.
I leaned forward, and the next thing I knew, I was in his arms.
His arms wrapped around me immediately.
Like he had been waiting for me to let him.
I buried my face against his shoulder.
And I broke.
Not a few tears.
Not quietly.
I sobbed.
The kind of crying that hurt.
The kind where my chest tightened and I couldn't catch my breath.
The kind I hadn't let myself do in years.
Minho held me tighter.
One hand rested against the back of my head.
The other rubbed slow circles against my back.
He didn't tell me to stop.
He didn't tell me to calm down.
He just stayed.
"I asked..."
My voice cracked.
"I asked him if I was going to die."
Minho's hand stilled for a second.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
"And..."
I swallowed.
"...All he said was that they were going to try to treat it."
The words sounded worse out loud.
Hearing myself say them made everything feel more real.
"Somehow..."
My voice shook.
"Somehow that makes me feel worse."
Minho didn't interrupt.
He just held me.
"I was right."
The words came out quietly.
"I was so right."
I pulled back just enough to look at him.
"It is always me."
His expression immediately changed.
"No."
The answer came instantly.
"No, Sung."
I looked away.
"Why?"
My voice broke.
"Why does this keep happening?"
I wiped at my face.
"I finally got away."
"I finally started getting better."
"I finally had something good."
My breathing became uneven again.
"And then this happens."
Minho reached up, gently holding my face.
"You don't deserve this."
I laughed weakly.
"Then why me?"
He didn't answer.
Because there wasn't an answer.
And somehow...
That hurt more.
"I asked him how."
My voice became quieter.
"I asked how I even got it."
Minho listened.
"What did he say?"
I looked down.
"That sometimes they don't know."
I shook my head.
"Sometimes."
A bitter laugh escaped me.
"That's supposed to make me feel better?"
"No."
His voice was soft.
"It isn't."
I looked at him.
He squeezed my hand.
"But not having an answer doesn't mean you did something wrong."
I stayed quiet.
"You didn't cause this."
"You didn't deserve this."
"And you don't have to figure everything out today."
My eyes burned again.
"I don't know what to do."
"I know."
"I don't know how to do this."
"I know."
He pulled me back into his arms.
"And you don't have to do it alone."
That was the sentence that finally made me stop fighting.
I stayed there.
Holding onto him.
Letting him hold onto me.
For a while...
We didn't talk.
Eventually, my breathing slowed.
The tears stopped coming so violently.
I was exhausted.
Completely exhausted.
Minho brushed his thumb across my cheek.
"...Do you want to go home?"
I immediately shook my head.
"No."
He looked surprised.
"...No?"
I looked out the window.
The thought of walking into the villa right now...
Of seeing everyone's faces...
Of saying the words out loud...
I couldn't.
Not yet.
"Can we..."
I hesitated.
"...Can we go somewhere else?"
Minho didn't question it.
Not even for a second.
"Where?"
I shrugged.
"Anywhere."
He nodded.
"Okay."
He squeezed my hand.
"Anywhere."
A few minutes later, he started the car.
Neither of us talked much.
The paper sat folded carefully on the passenger seat.
A reminder.
A reality.
Something neither of us was ready to look at again.
The road passed by quietly.
Eventually...
The familiar signs of the shopping district came into view.
The mall.
Bright lights.
People walking around.
Families laughing.
Everyone living their normal lives.
I stared out the window.
It felt strange.
The world looked exactly the same.
Even though mine wasn't.
Minho parked the car.
Then looked over at me.
"You don't have to pretend in there."
I nodded.
"I know."
A pause.
"...Thank you."
He smiled softly.
"For what?"
I looked down at our hands.
"For staying."
His fingers tightened around mine.
"Always."
And together...
We walked toward the mall.
The air inside the mall felt cooler than outside.
The familiar mix of perfume, coffee, and pretzels drifted through the wide hallway while people wandered from store to store carrying shopping bags.
Everything looked...
Normal.
I hated how normal it looked.
We walked without much of a destination.
Neither of us seemed interested in talking.
Minho never let go of my hand.
Not once.
Like he was quietly reminding both of us that I wasn't walking through this place alone.
We passed clothing stores.
Shoe stores.
A place selling candles that somehow smelled like cinnamon rolls.
I wasn't really paying attention.
Until...
I stopped walking.
Minho looked back.
"...Sung?"
I was staring into the window of a toy store.
More specifically...
At a giant ferret plush.
It had tiny little paws.
A ridiculously long body.
Round black eyes.
And somehow looked permanently confused.
"...It's huge."
Minho followed my gaze.
"...It is."
I looked at him.
Then back at the plush.
"...I kind of want it."
He didn't even hesitate.
"Then let's get it."
I blinked.
"...Really?"
"Mhm."
"...Minho."
"What?"
"It's enormous."
"I have eyes."
"...Where am I even going to put it?"
"We'll figure that out after we rescue it."
I couldn't help it.
A tiny laugh escaped me.
"...Rescue it?"
"It looks lonely."
I looked back at the plush.
"...It does look a little lonely."
"There you go."
A few minutes later...
I walked out of the store carrying what was quite possibly the biggest plush I'd ever owned.
It was almost as long as my torso.
I hugged it against my chest.
"...I think I made an excellent financial decision."
Minho smiled.
"I agree."
"...You're encouraging me."
"I know."
"...Dangerous."
"Probably."
For the first time all afternoon...
The weight in my chest felt...
Just a little lighter.
...
We kept walking.
Eventually I noticed a bookstore tucked away near the end of one hallway.
Without thinking...
My feet changed direction.
Minho laughed quietly behind me.
"I knew this was going to happen."
"What?"
"You disappeared."
"I did not."
"You changed direction without saying a word."
"...I was following my instincts."
"You were following books."
"...Same thing."
He laughed.
Inside...
I immediately wandered toward the fiction section.
Then...
Stopped.
An entire shelf.
Filled with BL novels.
I stared.
"...Minho."
"Hm?"
I held one up.
"...Look."
He walked over beside me.
"...Well."
"There are a lot."
"I wasn't expecting this many."
Neither was I.
I picked one up.
Read the back.
Put it down.
Picked up another.
Then another.
Minho watched me with a smile that only grew the longer I looked around.
"...What?"
"You've smiled more in the last five minutes than you have all day."
I froze.
Had I?
I looked down at the book in my hands.
"...I guess I have."
"You don't have to stop."
I smiled again.
"...I'm not trying to."
He quietly bought two of the books before I could argue.
"...Minho."
"What?"
"I was going to buy those."
"I know."
"...You don't have to keep buying me things."
"I know."
"...Then why?"
He looked at me for a second.
"Because today has been really unfair."
The smile disappeared from my face.
He gently tucked the books into the shopping bag with the giant ferret.
"I can't fix today."
His fingers brushed mine.
"But maybe..."
"...I can make it a little less awful."
I didn't know what to say.
So instead...
I reached over and hugged him.
Right there in the middle of the bookstore.
Only for a second.
But...
Long enough.
...
Later, we wandered past the center of the mall.
The carousel was already spinning.
Children laughed as painted horses moved slowly beneath strings of warm lights.
I watched it for a second.
"...I've never actually been on one."
Minho turned toward me.
"...Seriously?"
I nodded.
"Mhm."
He looked at the carousel.
Then back at me.
"...Want to?"
I laughed.
"...We're twenty-one and twenty-three."
"So?"
"...People are going to stare."
"They probably will."
I looked around.
Families.
Teenagers.
Little kids waving at their parents.
"...That's embarrassing."
Minho gently bumped my shoulder.
"Only if we let it be."
I looked back at the carousel.
Then at him.
"...Fine."
Five minutes later...
We were sitting on two painted horses that were definitely designed for children.
Mine had tiny blue flowers painted along the saddle.
Minho's looked suspiciously like a unicorn.
"...Don't laugh."
"I'm trying really hard not to."
The carousel began moving.
Slowly.
Music drifted through the air.
I caught a few people smiling as they walked past.
One little girl pointed at us before proudly announcing to her dad,
"They're too big!"
Her dad looked absolutely horrified.
"...I'm so sorry."
I laughed.
"...She's not wrong."
Minho laughed too.
"No..."
"...She's really not."
By the time the ride stopped...
My cheeks actually hurt.
Not from crying.
From smiling.
It wasn't a big smile.
Not the kind I'd had before.
But...
It was real.
As we stepped off the carousel,
I looked down at the giant ferret tucked under one arm and the bookstore bag swinging gently from my other hand.
Then I looked at Minho.
"...Thanks."
He smiled.
"You've already thanked me today."
"I know."
"...I'm going to keep saying it."
"I had a feeling."
He reached for my hand again.
Our fingers slipped together naturally.
The smile on my face faded just a little as I remembered the folded envelope still sitting in the car.
Reality hadn't disappeared.
It was still waiting for us.
But for one hour...
I'd managed to forget it.
Just for a little while.
And somehow...
That hour felt priceless.
The drive back to the villa felt much shorter than the drive to the mall.
Maybe because neither of us had much left to say.
The giant ferret sat buckled into the back seat beside me.
The bookstore bag rested at my feet.
For a second...
It almost looked like any other shopping trip.
Until I glanced at the folded envelope sitting quietly in the center console.
Reality returned all at once.
By the time Minho turned into the driveway...
My stomach had tied itself into knots.
The familiar brick walls of the villa came into view.
Cars were already parked outside.
Everyone was home.
Minho put the car into park.
The engine fell silent.
Neither of us moved.
"...We're here."
I nodded.
"...Yeah."
I reached for the door handle.
Stopped.
My hand wouldn't move.
I stared at it.
Come on.
Just open the door.
I couldn't.
My breathing became uneven.
Minho noticed almost immediately.
"...Sung?"
I shook my head.
"I..."
The words caught somewhere in my throat.
"I don't..."
Another shaky breath.
"...I don't know if I can do this."
He turned in his seat to face me completely.
"You don't have to do it alone."
"I'm scared."
The confession came out so quietly I almost didn't hear it myself.
"What if they look at me differently?"
"They won't."
"What if..."
I swallowed hard.
"...What if they don't know what to say?"
"They probably won't."
I looked at him.
"...Really?"
He nodded once.
"And that's okay."
"They don't have to have the right words."
"They just have to know."
I felt my breathing getting faster.
"I can't."
"You can."
"I don't think I—"
"You don't have to tell them perfectly."
His voice stayed gentle.
"You don't have to explain everything."
"You don't even have to answer every question tonight."
He reached across the center console, taking both of my hands in his.
"I'll be right there."
I squeezed my eyes shut.
"I'm really scared."
"I know."
"I don't want to say it out loud."
"I know."
"...Because then..."
I laughed weakly.
"...Then it becomes real."
Minho was quiet for a second.
Then he gave my hands the smallest squeeze.
"Sung."
"It became real the moment you heard it."
His voice never wavered.
"Saying it out loud doesn't make it any more real."
"It just means you don't have to carry it by yourself anymore."
I could feel tears threatening again.
I blinked them back.
"I don't think I can get through this."
"You don't have to."
He smiled softly.
"We will."
The word settled somewhere deep in my chest.
We.
Not me.
We.
He leaned forward just enough to press a gentle kiss against my forehead.
Then another.
This time against the bridge of my nose.
Then one more against my cheek.
Small.
Unhurried.
The kind of kisses that always seemed to quiet the noise in my head.
He rested his forehead against mine.
"I'm not leaving your side."
I nodded slowly.
"...Promise?"
"I promise."
For a long moment...
Neither of us moved.
I listened to my breathing.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
Eventually...
It steadied.
Not completely.
Just enough.
I let out one long breath before wiping my face with the sleeve of my hoodie.
"...Okay."
Minho smiled.
"Okay?"
"...Okay."
He climbed out first.
Walked around the front of the car.
Opened my door.
Then held out his hand.
Not because I needed help standing.
Because he knew I'd take it.
I slipped my hand into his.
He intertwined our fingers without saying a word.
Together...
We walked toward the front door.
Every step felt heavier than the last.
I could already hear voices inside.
Felix laughing.
Changbin arguing about something.
Chris telling someone to stop stealing food before dinner.
Life.
Just, life.
For one impossible second...
I wished I could freeze time.
Stand outside forever.
Because the moment I opened that door...
Everything was going to change.
I tightened my grip on Minho's hand.
He tightened his back immediately.
Not enough to hurt.
Just enough to remind me,
He was still there.
And this time,
I didn't have to walk in alone.
The moment we stepped inside...
The familiar smell of dinner filled the hallway.
Something with garlic.
And tomatoes.
Felix's laugh echoed from the kitchen.
"...I'm telling you, that's not how measuring cups work!"
"They absolutely do," Changbin argued.
"No."
"That's called guessing."
"It's called experience."
"Never mind, it's called a health code violation."
I almost smiled.
Almost.
Chris looked up first.
"There you guys are."
He glanced at the shopping bags in my hands.
"...Successful trip?"
I looked down at the giant ferret tucked awkwardly under one arm.
"...Apparently."
Felix immediately abandoned whatever argument he'd been having and hurried over.
His eyes landed on the plush.
"...Oh my god."
He gasped dramatically.
"It's gigantic."
I looked down at it.
"...Yeah."
"...What's its name?"
"I..."
I blinked.
"I haven't named her yet."
"You have to."
"I know."
He gently poked one of the plush's little paws.
"...She's adorable."
For just a second...
Everything almost felt normal again.
Almost.
Chris closed the oven before looking back at us.
"Dinner's almost ready."
"Go put your stuff upstairs."
"We'll eat in about ten."
"...Okay."
I nodded.
Minho looked at me.
Just once.
Silent.
Checking.
I nodded again.
Barely.
He understood immediately.
...
I set the ferret down on my bed.
She looked completely out of place among the pillows.
For some reason...
That made my chest hurt.
She was supposed to remind me of today.
Instead...
Every time I looked at her...
I remembered why we'd bought her.
Minho quietly set the bookstore bag beside my desk.
Neither of us said anything.
There wasn't anything left to say.
A knock sounded against the open bedroom door.
Felix peeked his head inside.
"...Dinner."
I forced the smallest smile I could manage.
"We'll be right there."
"Okay."
He disappeared just as quickly as he'd arrived.
The silence returned.
I stared at the floor.
"...I can't."
Minho stepped closer.
"You can."
"I don't think I can say it."
"You don't have to say everything."
I looked at him.
"...Then what do I say?"
He thought for a second.
"...Just tell them the truth."
"...That's the part I'm scared of."
"I know."
He reached for my hand.
Our fingers slipped together automatically.
"I'll help."
I nodded slowly.
"...Okay."
...
Dinner had already been served by the time we came downstairs.
Everyone was finding their usual seats.
Chris at one end.
Changbin beside him.
Hyunjin and Felix across from each other.
Seungmin already eating.
Jeongin and Élise sitting together.
The only empty chairs...
Were ours.
I sat down.
My appetite had completely disappeared.
Chris noticed first.
"...Everything okay?"
I looked up.
Seven pairs of eyes slowly turned toward me.
My throat immediately tightened.
I opened my mouth.
Nothing.
Not a single word.
Minho quietly reached beneath the table.
His hand found mine.
He squeezed once.
Not hard.
Just enough.
I took one slow breath.
Then another.
"...The appointment..."
Every conversation stopped.
"...Didn't go..."
I swallowed.
"...The way we thought it would."
Silence.
Complete silence.
Nobody interrupted.
Nobody rushed me.
I looked down at my untouched plate.
Then...
As quietly as I could...
I said the words I'd been trying not to think about all afternoon.
"...They found something."
I felt Minho's fingers tighten around mine.
"...It's..."
The word refused to come out.
I closed my eyes for a second.
Then forced myself to say it.
"...Stomach cancer."
Nobody moved.
Nobody spoke.
The room became so quiet I could hear the refrigerator humming behind me.
I couldn't bring myself to look up.
I just...
Waited.
For something.
Anything.
The first voice I heard wasn't loud.
It was Chris.
Calm.
Steady.
"...What happens now?"
I finally looked up.
He wasn't panicking.
He wasn't crying.
He wasn't staring.
He just...
Looked concerned.
Like he was already trying to figure out what came next.
I took a shaky breath.
"...They want me to start treatment."
Changbin leaned forward slightly.
"...Can they treat it?"
"...Yeah."
My voice was barely above a whisper.
"They said..."
I looked down again.
"...That's the plan."
Seungmin spoke next.
"...Do they know what stage it is?"
I nodded slowly.
"They do."
"I..."
I swallowed.
"I don't really remember everything they said."
"I kind of..."
I laughed weakly.
"...Stopped listening."
Nobody judged me.
Nobody told me I should've paid more attention.
Hyunjin quietly reached across the table and slid the basket of bread away from the middle.
Not because anyone needed it.
Just...
To give everyone somewhere else to look for a second.
Élise's voice was soft.
"...When does treatment start?"
"...Soon."
Jeongin nodded once.
"...Okay."
That was all.
Just...
Okay.
Like he was accepting the information before figuring out how to help.
Felix had been unusually quiet.
He looked at me for a long moment before finally speaking.
"...Are you..."
He hesitated.
"...Are you going to be okay?"
I wanted to say yes.
I really did.
Instead...
I answered honestly.
"...I don't know."
The silence returned.
Not awkward.
Not empty.
Just...
Heavy.
Chris looked around the table once.
Then back at me.
"...We'll figure it out."
Nobody argued.
Nobody questioned it.
One by one...
Everyone nodded.
And somehow...
Those three words made the room feel just a little less frightening.
That night...
The villa was quieter than usual.
Not silent.
Just...
Gentler.
Nobody tried forcing conversations.
Nobody hovered outside our bedroom door.
Everyone seemed to understand that sometimes...
The best thing they could do was give us space.
I changed into one of Minho's hoodies before climbing into bed.
The giant ferret now occupied an alarming amount of space between the wall and my pillow.
"...She's bigger than I remembered."
Minho looked over from the other side of the room.
"I told you."
"...I think she grew."
"I think that's denial."
"...Probably."
A tiny smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.
He climbed into bed beside me a minute later.
Without really thinking about it...
I rolled onto my side and tucked myself against his chest.
He wrapped one arm loosely around my waist.
His other hand absentmindedly found my hair.
His fingers slowly combed through it before absentmindedly twirling a few strands around them.
It wasn't something he'd ever consciously decided to do.
He just...
Always did.
The room settled into a comfortable silence.
The ceiling fan hummed quietly overhead.
Outside, a car drove past before disappearing into the distance.
After a while...
Minho spoke.
"...I was thinking about getting my hair dyed."
I looked up at him.
"...Really?"
"Mhm."
"Nothing too crazy."
He twirled another strand of my hair between his fingers.
"...Just dyed ends."
I smiled faintly.
"What color?"
"I can't decide."
"I'm between blue..."
He paused.
"...Or bleaching the ends."
I thought about it.
"...Blue."
"That was quick."
"I like blue."
He laughed quietly.
"I noticed."
"...You own, like, six blue hoodies."
"I do not."
"You absolutely do."
"I own..."
He frowned thoughtfully.
"...Maybe four."
I raised an eyebrow.
"Maybe?"
"I stopped counting."
"I can tell."
His fingers continued lazily playing with my hair.
"...What about purple?"
I immediately made a face.
"No."
He looked offended.
"That was rude."
"You asked."
"I expected support."
"You expected the wrong answer."
He sighed dramatically.
"I thought this relationship was built on trust."
"It is."
"Then trust me."
"...No."
He laughed.
"Wow."
"I'm protecting you."
"From what?"
"Questionable decisions."
"I think blue would look nice."
"I just said blue."
"I know."
"I wanted to hear you say it again."
I rolled my eyes.
"...You're impossible."
"I like being impossible."
For another minute, neither of us said anything.
His fingers never stopped absentmindedly playing with my hair.
Eventually...
"...Do you think I'd look weird blond?"
I looked up again.
"Completely blond?"
"Mhm."
I pretended to think.
"...A little."
He gasped.
"A little?"
"I'm trying to picture it."
"And?"
"I can't."
"So I'd look weird."
"You'd look..."
I smiled.
"...Different."
"I'll take different."
"I still vote blue."
"Blue it is."
He nodded once, like the decision had officially been made.
"...Good."
A comfortable silence settled over the room again.
I found myself watching the ceiling.
"...You know..."
"What?"
"I've never dyed my hair."
"You've never wanted to?"
I shrugged against his chest.
"I don't know."
"I've just..."
"...Never thought about it."
He smiled.
"We could dye it together someday."
I laughed quietly.
"...Can you imagine?"
"I can."
"You'd probably panic halfway through."
"I absolutely would."
"I'd have to stop you from washing it out."
"...You know me too well."
"I do."
He gently tugged one loose strand of my hair before letting it fall again.
"...Maybe we should wait until it grows out a little more."
"Mhm."
"I think so too."
Another pause.
Then...
"...You know what else?"
"What?"
"I think the ferret needs a name."
I turned my head toward the enormous plush taking up half the bed.
"...She does."
"You've had her for..."
He glanced at the clock.
"...Almost five hours."
"And you're already judging me."
"I am."
"...Okay."
I stared at the plush.
"Hazel?"
He tilted his head.
"...Not bad."
"...Mocha?"
"I like that one."
"...Cookie?"
"I think we're getting worse."
I laughed softly.
"...Yeah."
He smiled.
"I vote Mocha."
I looked back at the plush.
"...Hi, Mocha."
Minho nodded approvingly.
"I think she likes it."
"You can tell?"
"Mhm."
"She has a very expressive face."
I snorted.
"...You're ridiculous."
"It's my thing."
I let my eyes drift closed again.
The conversation faded naturally after that.
Neither of us had run out of things to say.
We'd just...
Said enough.
His fingers were still absentmindedly playing with my hair.
Slowly.
Rhythmically.
The kind of little habit I'd probably never noticed if someone else hadn't pointed it out months ago.
Now...
I couldn't imagine falling asleep without it.
And for just a little while...
Neither of us thought about hospitals.
Or treatment.
Or tomorrow.
We just lay there.
Talking.
Like we always would.