Archive of Our Own ^beta

Some patients can't be saved, but that burden's not on you
Don't ever let anyone tell you you deserve that.

— Wake (The Antlers)

Lee Seokmin tries to kill himself on a Thursday night.

Wonwoo finds out the next morning, when their team leader calls him into his office for an emergency meeting. He can’t actually make himself say the words, which Wonwoo might find funny if he weren’t so preoccupied trying not to be sick. He listens to the man mince around it, stressing the need for discretion and making a single halfhearted offer for Wonwoo to come talk to him any time if he’s feeling overwhelmed, right before he jumps straight into explaining that since Seokmin won’t be returning to the office for the foreseeable future, Wonwoo will be taking the lead on the project they were working on together.

“Take the lead” means “do it yourself,” obviously, but Wonwoo can’t do anything but nod his acknowledgment. It isn’t until he’s sitting back at his own desk that he realizes nodding was all he did, the whole time he was in there. He never actually said a single word.

His team leader warned him to be discreet, but of course everyone in the office knows by the end of the day. The whispers buzz around Wonwoo as he sits silently at his desk, painstakingly redoing all the timeline estimations for the project now that he’s the only one assigned to finish it. It’s the kind of task he’d usually be able to put his brain offline and finish quickly, but instead his thoughts all come out too slowly, glued together and impossible to untangle. When he stands to use the bathroom he stumbles, his limbs heavy and strange.

It’s past nine by the time he makes it out of the building, and nearly ten by the time he lets himself into his silent apartment. When he finally makes it inside he doesn’t turn on the lights or even change out of his suit, collapsing down onto the couch fully dressed instead.

He sits there like that for a long time.

When Wonwoo said goodbye to Seokmin on Thursday evening, Seokmin pointed a finger at him and told him to Rest well, hyung, putting on that funny solemn voice he’s always using. He’d broken into a smile as soon as he said it, never able to keep a straight face for long. Wonwoo had smiled in response, he thinks, or maybe he’d been too stressed to manage. He’s pretty sure he told Seokmin to go rest, too, though.

He’s pretty sure.

Their floor goes for drinks together every Friday night. Wonwoo waits all day for it to be cancelled, for someone to say something about Seokmin, but no one says anything at all until seven rolls around and the girls on either side of him start sliding their blazers on, chatting eagerly about meeting at the barbecue restaurant a few streets over.

Wonwoo doesn’t get up from his seat until his team leader grips his shoulder on his way past, a clear sign that it’s time to go, and then he reluctantly shrugs on his own jacket and follows.

At the restaurant he sits sandwiched in between Heeae and Seolbin, not speaking to anyone and counting down the minutes until he can excuse himself for the bathroom and just keep walking. He’s done it before. But barely an hour in Heeae turns to him, face flushed and too shiny, eyes at half mast, and grips his forearm so hard it hurts.

“Can I tell you something?” she asks. The words are messy and hard to understand — she’s already drunk. Wonwoo doesn’t really want to hear anything she has to say, but he nods politely anyway.

“I thought it would be you,” Heeae says, lurching forward, close like it’s a secret. Wonwoo can smell the soju on her breath. He has no idea what she’s talking about.

“You thought what would be me,” he says absently, turning to reach for the water to pour her a glass with his free hand. She won’t let go of his arm. Heeae takes the water with a bleary thank you and drinks it obediently enough, eyes still trained on him with the specific urgency unique to the very inebriated.

“What happened to Lee Seokmin,” she says once she’s swallowed, the glass set clumsily back down on the sticky table. “I was so surprised. I expected it to be you.”

Wonwoo’s stomach drops.

“I think you’ve had enough.”

His ears are ringing so loudly he can barely hear his own voice. He pulls his arm free from Heeae’s grip and lurches to his feet, leaving her sitting there as he walks towards the bathrooms and then out the back exit, down the alley and out to the main road. He doesn’t know if anyone else noticed, if Heeae will say anything about his sudden exit on Monday.

He doesn’t think he cares.

He decides to visit Seokmin in the hospital the next day.

He has to message his supervisor to ask what hospital Seokmin is staying at, an excruciatingly uncomfortable conversation over Kakaotalk at 9 A.M. — earlier than Wonwoo’s usually even conscious. It’s still closer to lunch by the time he makes it out there, for no reason other than he couldn’t quite make himself get up to go.

Wonwoo makes his uncomfortable way through the hospital floors until he finds the right unit, but when he makes it to Seokmin’s room the door is closed and there’s a man sitting outside.

Wonwoo pulls up short, floundering — he hadn’t really thought this far ahead, and now he isn’t sure he can bring himself to actually go and knock on the door. But before he has time to really get in his head about it the man looks up, his eyes catching on Wonwoo immediately. He doesn’t say anything at first — he just stares. He looks awful, mouth pulled tight. The circles under his eyes are purple-blue and sunken.

Wonwoo has no idea what to say to him.

After a long silence the other man finally clears his throat, straightening a bit in his seat.

“Are you here to see Lee Seokmin?”

Wonwoo startles at being addressed, then nods awkwardly.

“Yeah — um. Yes,” he manages, wincing at how unsure of himself he sounds. He tries to square up his posture, the way he does at work meetings when Seokmin needs him to chime in. When Seokmin needed? Wonwoo feels sick at the thought.

When Seokmin needs.

He shakes his head, trying to arrange his thoughts into something coherent, and realizes the other man is still staring at him, one expectant eyebrow raised.

“Jeon Wonwoo,” he clarifies. “We work together.”

“Right,” the man says, nodding like this makes perfect sense. A little weird, considering Wonwoo has no idea who he is. “He told me a lot about you,” he adds, and Wonwoo feels even worse. “I’m Xu Minghao.”

“I’m sorry,” Wonwoo says awkwardly. “I don’t — ”

“Of course you don’t,” Minghao says as he stands, the movement graceful even though he’s clearly exhausted. A horrible smile pulls the side of his mouth. “I’m his husband.”

In the hospital cafeteria Wonwoo insists on paying for Minghao’s coffee, like a three-thousand won drink will do absolutely anything to help — well. Anything.

Minghao smiles in thanks, though, even if it is a little weak. Wonwoo offers his own uncomfortable half smile in return as he settles into the seat across from him, sipping at his too-hot coffee as he tries to think of what to say.

“I’m sorry,” Minghao says before he’s managed. “I’m so sorry, but I have to — I have to ask. Did he say — anything?”

Wonwoo doesn't know which answer would hurt Minghao less — yes, or no. He blinks at him, swallowing hard as he tries to scour his brain. His throat is so dry — he coughs to clear it but it doesn’t really help. When he speaks his voice comes out hoarse.

“I don’t think so,” he says slowly, stopping to take another sip of coffee. Ever since yesterday he’s been trying to think of something — anything — that will make it make sense. His last girlfriend told him he was oblivious, once. That he didn’t understand people’s feelings. But with Seokmin it truly hadn’t seemed like there was much to understand — he greeted Wonwoo cheerfully every morning, always did cute aegyo to try to lift his spirits when they ended up trapped in the office late at night. Every Monday he asked how Wonwoo spent his weekend, even though Wonwoo only ever shrugged and said “nothing.”

“Maybe….” Wonwoo starts, thinking of a late night in the office earlier in the month. Seokmin had been a little quieter than usual — Wonwoo remembers, because he hadn’t been bugging him with his singing. It had been strange enough for Wonwoo to notice. “He seemed extra wiped a few weeks ago,” Wonwoo says. It sounds stupid out loud, so vague as to be completely useless. “I asked him if something was making him tired and he just said ‘everything.’”

Minghao inhales sharply, a hand coming up to cover his mouth as he nods. He isn’t crying — he’s too exhausted for that, Wonwoo’s pretty sure. He mostly just looks resigned.

“But he laughed right after,” Wonwoo says, like he has to defend himself, and then he just keeps going because he doesn’t know what else to do. “So I figured it was just — I don’t know. Everyone’s tired at work.”

Minghao nods again, his hand still pressed to his face.

“I didn't know it was different for him,” Wonwoo says weakly, hating how the words sound as they come out of his mouth. Minghao won’t want to hear this, he thinks. There’s no way he isn’t making it worse.

But there’s nothing accusatory in Minghao’s eyes, somehow, even though Wonwoo’s sure he’d deserve it if there was. Just — desperation, maybe. Like he’ll take whatever Wonwoo can give.

Like anything Wonwoo could give would ever be enough.

“I’m really sorry,” Wonwoo says again. “I wish — ”

His throat closes up before he can finish, sticky and clogged with nauseating guilt. Minghao’s hand moves away from his mouth, finally, drawing it back to rest it neatly in his lap instead. One corner of his mouth quirks up, just briefly — Wonwoo doesn’t think he’s ever seen such a humourless smile. It’s gone just as quickly as it had appeared.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, his face gone as solemn as before. “I wish too.”

“Did you — ” Wonwoo has no idea how to finish that sentence, he realizes. He probably shouldn’t even have started it. “Were there any signs?” he forces out, when Minghao levels him with a challenging gaze. “For you?”

Minghao’s throat works around a swallow.

“No,” he says, looking away, his gaze caught on something on the other side of the room. Wonwoo tries to follow it, to see where Minghao’s looking, but they’re in the hospital cafeteria — it’s only a plain white wall, peeling laminated posters about family support groups taped every few metres. He gives up and turns back to look at Minghao’s face instead. Watches as his mouth thins, lower lip caught by his teeth as his shoulders hunch inward, perfect posture gone as he wraps his arms around himself. “Yes,” he says, much quieter this time.

“Oh,” Wonwoo says uselessly, too much of a coward to push any further.

“He watched this documentary about the people who patrol the Han river once,” Minghao continues anyway, as though Wonwoo had been brave enough to ask. His voice is hoarse, scraped out and miserable. He still isn’t looking at Wonwoo. “He kept talking about how awful it would be to make some stranger search for your body.”

Wonwoo makes a quiet noise in the back of his throat, encouraging Minghao to continue. He doesn’t know what to say.

“I thought it was just — people watch things like that all the time,” Minghao continues. “I didn’t think about it. It doesn’t have to mean anything, right? If you watch a show about a murderer it doesn’t mean you’re going to kill someone.”

Wonwoo nods, swallowing hard to keep the simmering nausea in his stomach at bay.

“He wouldn’t let a stranger look for his body, but he’d let me be the one to find it.” Minghao keeps going, voice flat as though he’s in a trance, finally tearing his gaze away from the wall. It takes everything Wonwoo has not to flinch back from the expression on his face, so torn open with grief it hurts to look at it straight on. “What does that mean?”

Wonwoo wishes, more than anything, that he had an answer to give him. That he could do something more than shake his head, helpless.

They sit there like that in silence, the fluorescent lights flickering down on them as their drinks grow cold. It feels like an age passes before Minghao straightens in his seat, then pulls himself upright. He’s so skinny that it should be awkward, but instead there’s a smoothness to his movement, an awareness of his body that Wonwoo’s never once managed. Once he’s standing he holds out a hand to help Wonwoo up, his skin cool to the touch when Wonwoo takes it in his own. Minghao lets him go after Wonwoo’s fumbled gracelessly to his feet, another sad little smile on his face.

Wonwoo flexes his hand as they walk to the elevator, surprised to find he misses the touch.

The two of them wait for the elevator in silence, but when it arrives to take Wonwoo down to the parking garage first Minghao grabs his wrist again.

“Will you come again next week?” His face open and a little desperate, an urgency in his expression that makes Wonwoo feel uneasy.

He can’t do anything but nod.

When Wonwoo leaves Seokmin’s hospital room Minghao promises to keep in touch, but it’s not until he gets home that he realizes he has no idea how Minghao’s supposed to do that. Minghao messages him first, though, the next Monday, explaining that he got Wonwoo’s contact information from Seokmin’s phone and apologizing for it in the same sentence.

It’s fine. Wonwoo sends back immediately. How is he?

It’s a long time before Minghao responds.

He’s okay. They’re waking him up on Friday.

Someone’s calling for an impromptu meeting on the other side of the office, everyone shuffling to push back from their desks, the rustling sounds of dozens of people gathering up their notebooks and pens and coffee tumblers all at once.

Keep me updated, Wonwoo types hurriedly before he locks his phone and stands up.

He meant it, but he’s still surprised when Minghao actually does — no pictures, but he sends multiple messages a day. Some about Seokmin’s condition, some about the hospital in general. Wonwoo’s never been good at texting regularly but he does his best to respond to every one. He doesn’t quite understand why he’s the one Minghao’s talking to so much — surely he has other friends? At the hospital he was so stylish, so put-together even in his grief. There’s no way someone like that is completely alone, and even if he was — there’s no way Seokmin doesn’t have other friends who care about him enough to show up, right? He always seemed so full of love. He didn’t talk much about his personal life to Wonwoo, but Wonwoo had never doubted he had one — as warm and full of life as he was, surely he had to have so many friends he didn’t know what to do with them.

Maybe there are other people, Wonwoo thinks. Maybe Minghao’s just social, talking to all of them, letting everyone know all the important updates. Maybe he’s more like Seokmin was — is. Like Seokmin is. Other people can have multiple conversations at once, Wonwoo reminds himself. They don’t get exhausted from the effort of maintaining a single one.

Either way,Minghao keeps talking to him, and Wonwoo keeps talking back, until Friday comes and he’s silent all morning and Wonwoo finds himself, for the first time in a long time, wanting to send a message just to check in. He checks his phone compulsively all morning but there’s nothing, until finally on his lunch break Wonwoo tentatively takes his phone out and starts to type out a message of his own. But everything he can think of sounds stupid — Is everything okay? They both know it’s not. How are you doing? Badly, obviously. I’m thinking of you. Creepy as hell.

He’s still staring down at his phone, gnawing on a hangnail and ignoring the food in front of him entirely, when suddenly a message appears on the screen, like Minghao could tell somehow that Wonwoo was thinking about him.

Can I call you?

Wonwoo stares down at the words, flustered, before he comes back to himself and hastily types out a Yes. in response. The phone rings in his hand immediately.

“I’m sorry,” Minghao says as soon as Wonwoo answers the call. “I know you must be busy.”

He sounds even worse than Wonwoo remembers, voice hoarse and ragged. Wonwoo realizes belatedly that this probably won’t be a conversation he wants to have in a public area, casting a glance around the company cafeteria and then grabbing his tray to stand up, phone wedged between his shoulder and his ear.

“You’re fine,” he says to Minghao. “I’m on my lunch break.”

“Oh,” Minghao says. Wonwoo nods politely at the cafeteria employee as he hands her his tray and then ducks his head, grabbing the phone with his now-free hand and making his way towards the exit, ducking out to the courtyard. It's empty just like it almost always is — it's the only non-smoking area adjacent to the building, which makes it the least popular by far.

“Is everything okay?” Wonwoo asks, making a face at himself as soon as he’s said it. “Is Seokmin — ”

He trails off, unable to finish, but Minghao gets his meaning anyway.

“Yeah,” he croaks out. “Yeah, he’s — um. He woke up.”

Wonwoo’s stomach lurches.

“Oh,” he says. Somehow he wasn’t expecting — he doesn’t know. Isn’t that a good thing? Minghao isn't making it sound like a good thing.

“He was talking, earlier, but he kept acting like it was just a mistake,” Minghao continues into the silence. “Like there’s nothing wrong. It’s so strange, I don’t — The doctor mentioned psychiatric treatment but he said he didn’t want to do it. I don’t know what to do.”

Wonwoo doesn’t know what to do, either. This past weekend was the first time he’d been to a hospital in years — the last time was when he got tonsillitis his last year of university. He has no idea what you’re supposed to do when it’s something like this.

“Can the doctor — make him do it?” He winces as soon as he’s said it, the words clumsy and graceless. Minghao makes a hurt sound into the phone.

“I don’t know,” he says again. “I don’t really understand everything, sometimes it’s still hard — ”

For a moment Wonwoo doesn't get what he’s trying to say, and then —

Oh, he thinks stupidly, putting it together. The foreign lilt to Minghao's voice. The slight hesitation as he speaks sometimes, like he's searching for the right word. But when he and Wonwoo talked at the hospital he'd been fine, he'd understood everything Wonwoo said, so Wonwoo hadn't thought — he feels like an asshole, suddenly, for not considering it at all.

“I can come help you,” he blurts out without thinking, cheeks flushing as soon as he's gotten the words out. “Um. Probably. If that's not too — I can come. I can talk to the doctor with you.”

He falters as soon as he’s said it, incredibly aware of how weird and pathetic he must seem. A gust of wind picks up as he waits for Minghao’s response and he shifts uneasily on his feet, wrapping his coat around himself more tightly with his free hand. His other hand has started to go numb from the cold, fingers still clenched painfully around his phone.

“You don't have to do that,” Minghao says, sounding unsure. Weirdly, that’s what makes Wonwoo sure he's going to do it. “You're at work, I can't ask you to — ”

“I want to,” Wonwoo interrupts. “I can take a half day, it's fine.”

Minghao tries to protest more, but Wonwoo's made his decision. He stays firm, insisting until Minghao makes a choked sound, fuzzy through the phone speaker. He honestly isn't sure where the urgency is coming from — he’s met Minghao one time. He likes Seokmin as a coworker, and he’s worried about him now, but they’ve never once seen each other outside of work and work outings. Honestly, Wonwoo doesn’t actually know very much about Seokmin at all — mainly just that he smiles a lot, and that he likes to sing. He needs three pumps of syrup to get through an iced americano, and at company barbecues he always offers to grill the meat.

He wants to die, apparently. Wonwoo guesses now he knows that, too.

“Thank you,” Minghao says finally, the exhaustion from before creeping back into his voice, and Wonwoo hums his acknowledgment through the line.

“I'll message you when I leave,” he promises. “Soon.”

Wonwoo can tell his team leader is shocked when he stops into his office twenty minutes later to confirm the request — Wonwoo hasn't taken a single day of leave since his grandmother died three years ago. He doesn’t even offer an explanation, just ducks his head in thanks before he slips out of the room, powering off his computer and shoving his phone into his briefcase so he can make his way towards the elevator.

No one stops him on his way out.

The hospital Seokmin’s staying at is a thirty minute from from the office. The drive is long enough for Wonwoo’s heart rate to settle, theoretically, but instead he arrives even more wound up than he’d been when he left the office. His hands are shaking for the entire walk from the parking garage to the main building, his heart still pounding stubbornly in his chest.

He makes his way back to the same floor he’d gone to on Saturday, but Minghao isn’t waiting outside the way he was last time. He must be inside with Seokmin, Wonwoo realizes, his anxiety ramping up even further. He takes a few deep breaths for courage, discreetly wiping his sweaty palms on his slacks, before he pushes the door open and steps into the room.

“Oh,” Minghao says, startled, as soon as Wonwoo’s through the door. Wonwoo takes him in — one hand up by his mouth, like he’d been covering it, the other wrapped tightly around his own waist. He’s dressed as neatly as he was the last time Wonwoo saw him. The dark smudges under his eyes are still giving him away. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Wonwoo says quietly. He doesn’t mean to avoid looking at the bed, but when he tries to tear his gaze away from Minghao’s bitten cuticles he finds it’s harder than he expects.

“He’s sleeping,” Minghao says, voice soft and careful, and that’s enough to jolt Wonwoo into looking away for real, steeling himself in case it’s something awful, something —

There’s nothing awful at all.

It’s only Seokmin, lying very still, his face slack with sleep.

It’s strange to see him like this, but mainly only because Wonwoo’s never really seen him outside of work at all. He’s seen Seokmin upright and smiling, slumped over his desk and whining, eating samgyupsal and laughing, but he’s never seen him asleep.

He’s seen Seokmin buttoned up tightly and with his shirt sleeves rolled up, tie loosened and hair falling into his eyes, but he’s never seen him in a hospital gown.

Wonwoo swallows back his discomfort and forces himself to look closer.

Seokmin looks a little pale, lips chapped where they’ve been hanging open as he sleeps, but there’s nothing visibly wrong with him. Someone’s brushed his hair carefully out of his face — Minghao, Wonwoo assumes.

The blanket pulled up to his chest looks soft.

Wonwoo turns back to Minghao and finds him staring at Seokmin too, eyebrows pulled together in concern. He’s got his thumbnail between his teeth, but as soon as he notices Wonwoo looking he jerks it away.

“Let’s talk outside,” he murmurs, nodding his head towards the hallway. Wonwoo nods his agreement and follows him out. Seokmin doesn’t look as bad as he though the would, but he still doesn’t want to stay in the room any longer than he has to.

Minghao closes the door carefully behind them as they leave. He pauses afterward, like he’s waiting for Seokmin to call out for him, but there’s only silence on the other side.

“What did the doctor say?” Wonwoo asks quietly, and Minghao’s mouth pinches together. He runs a hand through his hair and takes a sharp breath in through his nose, gaze casting down the hallway before it settles back on Wonwoo’s face.

“I don’t really know,” he admits, looking like it pains him to say it. “He said he couldn’t make Seokmin do anything, not unless — I don’t know for sure. I didn’t know the word for it. If he can’t make decisions for himself, I guess.”

Wonwoo nods, frowning as he takes that in.

“Is the doctor still here?” he asks, finally. “I can talk to him with you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Minghao says, a deep crease forming between his eyebrows. Wonwoo wonders if he’s like this all the time, so worried about bothering others, or if it’s just the current circumstances.

He wonders if he’s like this when he’s with Seokmin.

Honestly, it’s hard to imagine someone as bright and cheerful as Seokmin with someone like Minghao, so serious and grave. Wonwoo must be missing something, he guesses. It’s not like he really knew Seokmin, after all.

Or, no —

Knows.

It’s not like he really knows him. He’s still there, isn’t he? Asleep on the other side of the door. Wonwoo clenches one hand into a fist, holding it as he feels his fingernails sink in deep.

“I want to,” he says. He does want to, even he still isn’t sure why. He wants to help Minghao any way he can.

Minghao gives in and nods, that tight expression still on his face, and Wonwoo feels a strange clench in his stomach. Something almost possessive, only that can’t be it. Minghao’s not someone Wonwoo can be possessive about.

Pride, maybe, that he’s the one who can help.

That must be it.

It’s almost an hour by the time the doctor can meet with them again. Seokmin stays silent in his hospital bed as they wait, his sleeping face giving nothing away.

In the doctor’s office Wonwoo sits next to Minghao and wonders, unable to help himself, what the doctor thinks is going on. If he knows what Minghao is to Seokmin, and if he does — does it change how he thinks of them? Does it change the way he does his job?

Seokmin’s an adult who can make his own medical decisions, the man explains, voice crisp and professional, oblivious to the twisting branches of Wonwoo’s thoughts. Next to him Minghao nods along, clearly getting the basics, but he falters a little when the doctor moves on to the process of declaring Seokmin unfit, outlining the basics of it using technical terms Wonwoo asks him to clarify, one by one, until he sees Minghao’s mouth tighten in understanding.

“Then do you think he’ll need to be declared incapacitated?” Wonwoo asks, finally. Minghao is frozen next to him, arms crossed, hands white and bloodless where he’s been gripping his own waist again. The doctor’s gaze flits between the two of them and Wonwoo wonders, again, what he thinks of them.

“Severe depression can be a cause for clinical incapacity,” the doctor says slowly. “But he’s just woken up, so we still haven’t been able to run a full psychiatric evaluation. When we can get those results I’ll be able to advise you better.”

Wonwoo dips his head in thanks.

“I understand,” he says, as politely as he can manage. “Thank you for the explanation, we’ll — ”

“He tried to kill himself,” Minghao chimes in suddenly, cutting Wonwoo off before he can finish. His speech is clumsier than Wonwoo’s heard it since he met him. “Isn’t that enough?”

The doctor looks up at that, his expression clearing into something closer to sympathy than they’ve gotten the entire time they’ve been in his office.

“I understand this is very difficult for you, Mr. Xu,” he says. “Is there anyone else you can call to come help you with these decisions? Perhaps Mr. Lee’s family?”

Minghao stiffens, the shake of his head more a tremor than anything.

“They’re estranged,” he says flatly. He takes a deep breath and smoothes his expression out into something calmer, uncrossing his arms and resting his hands on his thighs as he visibly tries to calm his own nerves. Wonwoo watches him do it, feeling helpless, until he remembers the reason he offered to come in the first place.

“I’m helping Minghao-ssi,” he says, leaning in a little, interrupting before Minghao has to try and think of anything else.

The doctor turns to meet his gaze, question clear on his face.

“He’s Seokmin’s friend,” Minghao interrupts, the lack of honourifics around Seokmin’s name stark and noticeable. He’s foreign, though, Wonwoo supposes. Maybe that’s all the doctor will think of it. “They work together.”

“I see.”

“Please let us know the results of the evaluation as soon as they’re available,” Wonwoo says as he pushes himself to stand up, turning towards Minghao to make sure he follows. They both nod their heads one last time before they leave, neither of them any more reassured than they were when they entered the room.

As soon as they’re in the hallway Minghao lets out a deep breath, his whole body sagging against the wall as one hand comes up to massage in between his eyebrows.

“I don’t know what to do,” he admits. When he moves his hand Wonwoo can see his face more clearly — jaw set tight, lips pressed together, posture tense and miserable. He looks —

Afraid.

“I need a cigarette,” he adds on an exhale, something too weak to be called a laugh.

“I have — ” Wonwoo starts to offer, but Minghao waves his hand to cut him off.

“I quit.” His voice is flat. “For — ”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but Wonwoo nods in understanding anyway. Seokmin doesn’t smoke, he knows. He’s the only man on their floor who doesn’t, and almost the only person altogether — it’s just him, Ha Seoin the health nut, and Ju Hyein, who had to quit after she had a baby last year.

“I meant it,” Wonwoo adds awkwardly, when a minute’s passed and Minghao’s face has gone silent and still, his slumped posture not straightened any. “I’ll keep helping you. When they get the results just — call me. I’ll help you.”

“Thank you,” Minghao says, but he isn’t looking at Wonwoo as he says it. His voice sounds very far away. Wonwoo doesn’t know how to make him come back.

Seokmin is still sleeping when they get back to his room — Minghao says whatever drugs they have him on are basically tranquilizers, that he can't stay awake for very long at all.

“You can go, if you need to,” Minghao offers in a hushed voice, after the two of them have folded themselves into the chairs set by the bed. “If there’s somewhere you need to be.”

Wonwoo shrugs dismissively — where else would he need to go? Home to his empty apartment? Back to work? The idea of it is ridiculous. Wonwoo never used to begrudge the constant monotonous overwork of his job, taking the meetings and the competition and the overtime all in stride, but now the idea of returning to the office seems completely foreign, somehow. It’s nearly 6 P.M. now, anyway.

For a split-second he entertains the thought of never going back at all, of letting his alarm ring out on Monday instead of waking up and getting ready. The momentary fantasy is so appealing it staggers him.

He doesn’t say anything, though, just silently shakes his head again as he resettles himself in his seat.

A heavy quiet settles in the room but Minghao doesn’t seem to mind. He keeps his eyes on the silent TV in the corner, taking his phone every now and then to check his notifications. Wonwoo wonders who he needs to send updates to — he’d said Seokmin’s family was estranged, back in the doctor’s office. What about his own?

“Are your parents, um,” Wonwoo starts, stuttering to a halt with an awkward flush when Minghao jerks and turns towards him, clearly startled by the sound of his voice. “You said Seokmin’s family was estranged, before,” he tries again. “Is your family — ”

Minghao shakes his head.

“They love Seokmin,” he says hoarsely, a weak smile cracking onto his face. “I don’t know how they feel about,” he pauses to gesture between Seokmin and himself, mouth twisting in a little grimace, “but they do love him. They’re always saying they’re so glad I have him.”

“Oh,” Wonwoo says uselessly, voice heavy in the quiet of the room. “That’s — that’s good.”

He raises the end of it without meaning to and it comes out more like a question, like he needs to check with Minghao that it really is good. Minghao smiles again, a gentle fleeting thing, gone as soon as he’s nodded his head.

“It is good,” he agrees quietly. “But — I couldn't tell them. They’d worry, they’d want — they’d want to come see him.”

“They don’t live here?”

“They’re still back at home,” Minghao says tightly, jaw clenching as he looks away. “They’re getting older, travelling would be — I don't want them to have to do that.”

Wonwoo nods in understanding. He doesn’t think Minghao should be alone, but in his place Wonwoo’s sure he wouldn’t call his parents, either. Quiet spreads between them again as he struggles, once more, to think of something helpful to say.

“How late can we stay here?” is all he can come up with. Minghao shrugs one skinny shoulder. He’s picking at his hangnail again, Wonwoo notices, eyes catching on the ruthless, repetitive movement of his thumb against his index finger.

“There’s no specific hours for family,” Minghao says listlessly. “I can stay as late as I need.”

“Have you been going home at all?” Wonwoo asks, concerned. Has Minghao just been here by himself the whole time? Has anyone besides Wonwoo been coming to sit with him?

Minghao shrugs again.

“Sometimes,” he says. “When I need to shower I go back.”

“What about sleeping?”

“I can’t sleep anywhere,” Minghao laughs, dry and awful.

Wonwoo darts his tongue out to wet his lips, unsettled and unsure what to do about it.

What would Seokmin do?

The thought snakes into his brain unbidden, appearing so suddenly it takes Wonwoo by surprise. What would Seokmin do? He’s such a warm person, so conscientious towards others. Before Hyein at the office had her baby Seokmin used to fuss over her, bringing her tea during the day and checking that she wasn’t overtired. Does Seokmin fuss over Minghao, too? He seemed so self-contained at first but he’d let Wonwoo help him earlier, with the doctor.

Does he let Seokmin help him like that all the time?

Wonwoo clears his throat, uncomfortable, the persistent silence of the room closed and stifling.

“You need to sleep,” he says. “It’s important. He would — he would want you to sleep.”

It feels strange and a little stupid to say it with Seokmin right there, completely oblivious to what’s happening around him. Minghao chews at his bottom lip, eyes flicking to the hospital bed and then back to Wonwoo’s face.

“It’s not that simple,” he says on a sigh.

Wonwoo understands, he guesses, but it doesn’t settle his thoughts any.

“Are you going home tonight?” he asks, frowning when Minghao shakes his head immediately. “You should,” he says, insistent in a way he almost never is. “I’ll go with you.”

The offer spills out of him so easily. Minghao’s eyes widen just a fraction, a delicate expression of surprise on his face that makes him look much younger than he is. It’s cute, Wonwoo thinks, surprised. He didn’t realize Minghao could be cute.

“You don’t have to — ” Minghao tries, but Wonwoo shakes his head before he can finish.

“I want to,” he insists, and then, “please.”

Minghao puts his address into the GPS in Wonwoo’s car and lets him drive, silently resting his head against the window for the whole ride home. Wonwoo takes every turn as carefully as he can when he notices.

If he couldn't picture what Minghao and Seokmin were like before, their apartment is all he needs to put the image together. There are pictures everywhere: the two of them in matching graduation gowns, Minghao pressing a kiss to Seokmin's cheek as he beams. Seokmin asleep in the grass, peaceful, the sun shining brightly down on the sharp lines of his face. Minghao at a café in the afternoon setting sun, taken so lovingly it had to have been Seokmin.

“Oh,” Minghao says after he's hung up their coats, coming up behind Wonwoo where he's staring at a framed photo of the two of them on the beach, tanned and smiling. In the picture Seokmin’s hand rests easily on Minghao's waist, Minghao’s head tilted on his shoulder. The Minghao in the picture looks like a totally different person. “That was right after our wedding,” Minghao — the real Minghao, reserved and severe — says quietly, arms wrapped tightly around his own waist. “We went to California.”

“It looks nice,” Wonwoo says honestly. “You guys looked happy.”

He cringes as soon as he's said it, the words landing heavily in the silence between them.

“We were,” Minghao tries to answer, but his voice cracks the last word in two. Wonwoo doesn’t acknowledge it. It’s the only kindness he has to offer.

“You must have known each other for a long time,” he says instead, a little desperately, nodding at the graduation photo set on the other end table. Minghao nods.

“We met in high school,” he says. "I came for an exchange year, that's when I met Seokmin. Mingyu, too, but — Well.”

He ends the thought abruptly before he can explain who Mingyu is. Wonwoo nods interestedly for Minghao to keep going anyway, half out of politeness and half genuine curiosity.
“After I went back home I only kept in contact with Seokmin,” Minghao continues, his face screwed up as he remembers. “I wanted to make sure — I don't know. It was a weird year. I didn’t mean to choose sides.”

Wonwoo has the distinct feeling that he's missing something but it seems rude to ask, so he nods again instead. Minghao shakes his head, like he’s only just realized what he said, his mouth twisting into an apologetic little grimace.

“Sorry,” he says. “This doesn’t mean anything to you, I know. You probably don’t want to hear it.”

“I mean,” Wonwoo says, forcing himself to meet Minghao’s eyes. “If you need to talk about it….”

Minghao looks at him for a long time, eyes flat and assessing, before he shakes head.

“I shouldn’t,” he says, a decisive note to his voice that makes Wonwoo frown.

“What does that mean?”

Minghao tears his gaze away, chewing at his bottom lip.

“I’m sorry,” he says to the neat white wall, shifting the subject from whatever it was he hinting at before for good. “I just feel like I’m taking advantage.”

“Of — ?”

Minghao hesitates before he answers, just long enough that Wonwoo thinks maybe he won’t say anything at all.

“I haven’t told anyone else,” Minghao says finally. He won’t meet Wonwoo’s eyes as he says it. “About Seokmin, I mean. I didn’t know how to say it.”

“Ah.”

“I’m not ashamed,” Minghao insists. The way his gaze is still fixed on the floor says otherwise, but Wonwoo doesn’t call him on it.

“It’s okay,” he says instead. Minghao makes a face in response — that’s fair, Wonwoo guesses. Obviously it’s not really okay. But Wonwoo doesn’t think it’s a big deal if Minghao doesn't want to talk to anyone about Seokmin. He wouldn’t want to, either. He wouldn’t know how to tell someone something like that. “It’s Seokmin’s business,” Wonwoo adds, trying to make Minghao feel better. “He can tell people if he wants. If — when he wakes up again.”

Minghao bites his lip and nods.

“You’re the only one I have, though,” he says. “Until then. You’re the only person who’s here. I’ve already burdened you so much.”

Wonwoo swallows hard. The way Minghao says it is so direct, no mincing around. It is a burden, maybe, but it also makes Wonwoo feel weirdly proud. He wants to be the one to help Minghao, he realizes. He wants to protect him.

Is that a bad thing?

What would Seokmin think?

What will he think, when he finally wakes up? Will he be relieved, that someone was making sure Minghao was alright? Or will he think Wonwoo overstepped?

“You’re not a burden,” he says, cutting off the strange train of thought, so quietly the words are barely audible. He clears his throat, forcing himself to look right at Minghao as he says it. “I want to be here.”

Minghao nods, eyebrows still knit together.

“You don’t have to do all this,” he says quietly. “Thank you.”

Wonwoo doesn’t know how to explain that he does have to.

“What do you need?” he asks instead. “Right now?”

Minghao breathes out a tired sigh, rubbing at his forehead for a moment before he deliberately straightens his posture.

“I think I need a shower,” he admits with an embarrassed little laugh, the lines of his face relaxing with it. It makes Wonwoo smile too, quiet but real.

“Sure,” he says. “Do you want me to — ”

He gestures towards the door but Minghao shakes his head right away.

“You can wait out here,” he says, then falters as he seems to realize what that sounds like. “Or — ”

“No,” Wonwoo says, smiling reassuringly at him before he can take it back. It’s obvious Minghao doesn't want to be alone. Wonwoo doesn’t want him to be alone either. “I’ll wait.”

It’s weird to just hover there, he decides, moving to sit on the couch while Minghao gets ready to go in the bathroom. Turning on the TV feels overly familiar so he pulls out his phone instead, scrolling mindlessly without really looking at any of it.

There’s a message from his manager, too. Wonwoo leaves it unread.

It’s going to come up on his monthly evaluation that he took the half day, probably, even though he has nearly a month of leave built up. There are so many rules about actually taking it — you’re supposed to notify at least two weeks in advance. You can’t take leave if someone else on the same team is already taking it. You can’t take leave if there are any major deadlines or commitments coming up. You can’t take leave within five business days of a company-wide holiday.

Effectively, Wonwoo’s found, you basically can’t take leave at all without repercussions, which is why he never bothered to ask before. Seokmin tried a few times, he remembers. He looked so crestfallen every time he got denied, but Wonwoo had never even bothered to ask why he needed it. He wonders if Minghao would remember. Maybe they had wanted to do something special together.

Wonwoo has always prided himself on his ability to endure — what he wants for himself doesn’t matter, not while he’s at work. It’s better not to think about it at all, like he’s switching a part of himself off. Seokmin used to comment on it, sometimes.

“Hyung, it really doesn’t bother you?”

Wonwoo feels horrible, thinking about it. He hadn’t ever wondered whether it was bothering Seokmin.

Now it’s bothering Wonwoo too, like all the little things that were wrong have suddenly grown too large to ignore. It is hopeless, he realizes, thinking about the drawn, miserable faces of his coworkers. How Seoin’s always laughing at the other end of the office, but he knows she ends up crying in the women’s bathroom at least three times a week. It isn’t something he would have noticed on his own — Seokmin confessed it to him once, voice full of sympathy. Wonwoo had only grunted in response, distracted by whatever was on the screen in front of him. Seokmin was so much better than Wonwoo, so much warmer. Maybe that’s why it all weighed on him more.

Wonwoo thinks about what Heeae said at the barbecue restaurant the week before. I thought it would be you.

Was she right? Wonwoo never let himself think about it before. Was he happy? He didn’t think it mattered. Everyone was tired, everyone was stressed. Post-work dinners had a manic edge to the laughter, a desperation Wonwoo never wanted to acknowledge.

He can’t stop thinking about the photos all around him. How happy the both of them looked, how full of life.

Have they lost that completely? Will the two of them ever look like that again?

In the bathroom the shower is still running — it’s been going for a while, Wonwoo realizes suddenly. He checks his phone and frowns, barely hesitating before he sits up from the couch and walks down the hall to approach the bathroom door, knocking on it and calling softly through the wood.

“Minghao?”

There’s no response. Wonwoo hovers there for another long few minutes, trying to decide whether he’s worried enough to go in and check on him. It’ll be humiliating if Wonwoo bursts through the door to find Minghao perfectly fine on the other side, but —

Wonwoo thinks of Seokmin for a brief horrible moment, and then he very purposefully does not let himself think about it anymore.

He twists the doorknob to check — it’s not locked. Wonwoo pushes the door the rest of the way open. He didn’t notice his heart rate speeding up but now there’s no way to ignore the rapid throbbing of his pulse, the unevenness of his breath.

The shower is still running, filling the bathroom with steam. There’s a towel set neatly on the toilet, folded and waiting for Minghao to finish. Wonwoo steps past it towards the shower curtain that separates the shower head from the rest of the bathroom, reaching for it with shaking hands.

“Minghao?”

He calls Minghao’s name one more time, just to be sure, but all he can hear is the sound of running water.

Wonwoo pulls the shower curtain aside to find Minghao crouched on the floor, still fully dressed, and the wave of panic that hits him is so sharp that for a split-second Wonwoo thinks he might actually pass out.

But Minghao’s eyes snap up to meet his before Wonwoo can lose it completely, and there’s a hurt expression on his face but it looks like he’s breathing normally. His skin is the colour it’s supposed to be. There isn’t any blood.

Wonwoo gasps out his relief, trying to catch his own breath.

Minghao’s fine. He didn’t —

He’s fine.

Wonwoo’s not under the spray but the water’s hitting him, slowly dampening his work shirt and pants. Minghao’s still staring up at him, that horrible grief from earlier written all over his face. Wonwoo doesn’t step back. He doesn’t turn the water off, either.

He moves forward instead, flinching when the water catches him for real. It soaks his shirt instantly, the material sticking to the skin underneath, but Wonwoo ignores it, drawing the shower curtain closed behind him and then turning towards where Minghao’s still sitting. He squats first, then gives up and slides down to sit right next to Minghao on the tile, his legs splayed out in front of him.

What does it matter? He’s already wet.

After a moment Wonwoo stretches one arm to wrap around Minghao’s shoulders, tugging until Minghao tilts over towards him. When Minghao’s head comes to rest on Wonwoo’s shoulder with a dull thump it’s heavy, like someone cut all his strings at once.

Wonwoo carries the weight silently, unable to think of a single thing to say.

When the water sputters and starts to run lukewarm he reaches up to switch it off, struggling back to his feet and holding out both hands until Minghao reaches for them. It takes hardly any effort at all to help him up, and even then Wonwoo’s pretty sure most of the weight is from his clothes — dripping wet, sopping and uncomfortable just like his own. His arms seem strong but his frame is so narrow. Wonwoo’s always been skinny, even now that he started going to the gym before work in the morning, but Minghao’s skinnier by far.

“Are you okay by yourself?” Wonwoo murmurs, nodding towards the towel. Minghao nods, dazed, but he doesn’t make any moves to let go of where he’s still clinging to Wonwoo’s forearms. He says something but it’s too low to hear — Wonwoo leans in to catch it, so close their noses almost brush.

“You need one too,” Minghao whispers.

“You use it first,” Wonwoo says immediately, not even pausing to think about it. “I’ll go after.”

Minghao stares at him, only the sound of the dripping water filling the room as his eyes flicker over Wonwoo’s face like he’s searching for something, silent urgency in his expression. It feels hard to breathe, suddenly — the bathroom doesn’t have a window, all the trapped humidity pressing down on them. They’re standing so close Wonwoo can hear Minghao breathe.

“Okay,” Minghao says, finally, breaking the moment as he frees one hand to reach for the towel, the other keeping its grasp on Wonwoo’s arm. Wonwoo doesn’t move at first, only reaches with his spare hand to help Minghao steady the towel as he tries to run it through his hair one-handed.

“Here,” he murmurs, reluctantly pulling free so he can get the towel with both hands, rubbing Minghao’s head carefully with it before he wraps it around his shoulders.

Minghao murmurs his thanks, taking it and doing his best to rub his clothes, laughing helplessly at how ineffectual it is — there’s no way for him to get dry while he’s still wearing his soaking wet shirt and pants, clinging to him and weighing him down.

Wonwoo silently reaches for the towel again, roughly rubbing at his own head before he leans over to open the bathroom door, letting in a cool rush of air that makes them both shiver. He bends with the towel to wipe his feet, uselessly trying to minimize the damage before he steps out onto the bathmat, still dripping, and holds his hand back out.

“Let’s go find you something dry,” he says to Minghao. “Okay?”

“I can — ” Minghao starts to protest, but he’s reaching for Wonwoo even as he says it. The two of them leave wet footprints in the tiny hallway as they make their way gingerly back to the bedroom. Wonwoo waits for Minghao to pick something out for himself but he only stands in the doorway, that dazed expression still on his face, until Wonwoo lets go of his hand to do it himself.

He tries not to linger, moving straight towards the dresser and briskly opening drawers until he finds the basics — sweatpants, plain t-shirt, boxers and socks. Minghao’s a much more organized person than Seokmin, clearly. In the moment Wonwoo’s grateful for it.

“Here,” he says quietly, setting him on the bed. He clears his throat into the silence — the quiet feels heavier out here, no sound of water in the background to help hide it. “Can you — ?”

Minghao blinks like he’s coming back to himself, flushing when he catches Wonwoo’s meaning.

“Yeah — yes,” he says firmly, nodding his head.

Wonwoo promises to wait outside, then, feeling strangely hesitant as he closes the door between them. He’s still damp, wet and uncomfortable and cold — he should look for another towel and dry himself off, probably.

He doesn’t move. He wants to be there when Minghao opens the door.

It takes a little longer than he expects, but when Minghao lets him back into the bedroom he looks like he’s pulled himself together — soft and warm and dry in sweatpants and a t-shirt. The shirt must be Seokmin’s, Wonwoo realizes. The edges of the sleeves are almost at his elbows.

“I found something for you,” Minghao says, nodding towards a new pile of clothes on the bed. “Until yours are dry.”

Wonwoo murmurs his thanks as Minghao slips out to give him privacy and changes quickly, realizing afterward he has nowhere to put his wet clothes. He opens the door again and creeps back out to find Minghao in the kitchen, filling a stovetop kettle. When Wonwoo holds up his wet shirt and pants he frowns, considering.

“They can’t go in the dryer,” he says. “Is it — ”

“It’s fine,” Wonwoo assures him. “Just give me a plastic bag, I’ll deal with it later.”

Minghao’s swaying on his feet by the time they’ve gotten Wonwoo’s clothes sorted, the water boiled, and two warm cups of water poured — Wonwoo had thought he’d been boiling it for tea but he’d poured it as-is, murmuring something about it being good for them.

“You should get sleep,” Wonwoo says, placing a hesitant hand on Minghao’s shoulder. He can feel how tightly Minghao’s holding himself, the muscle straining under the effort. Wonwoo finds it hard to make himself pull away.

“I told you,” Minghao whispers, shaking his head. “I can’t.”

“I’ll stay with you, then,” Wonwoo says, leaning in a little, desperation welling up inside him. He doesn’t want to leave Minghao here alone. He’s too afraid of what will happen. It feels like what Seokmin did is catching, somehow. Like now it could be either of them next. What Heeae said at the restaurant feels like an omen, or maybe a threat. I thought it would be you. “Can you try like that? If I stay with you?”

Minghao blinks at him. He looks lost again — his eyes are huge in his face, the skin underneath them bruised and thin.

“Please,” Wonwoo croaks out. When Minghao nods he lets out a long breath, relieved.

It should be weird — it is weird, following Minghao into his bedroom like a silent ghost. Minghao switches on the overhead light just long enough to find the lamp switch then doubles back to turn it back off, plunging the room into semi-darkness.

“Do you need an extra blanket?” he asks quietly, turning back the covers on both sides of the bed. “A glass of water?”

Wonwoo shakes his head silently, his sleeves pulled down to cover his hands as he hovers in the doorway. Minghao stands there on the other side of the bed, face shadowed in the dim light of the bedroom, still nearly a stranger. Wonwoo hardly knows him at all.

Wonwoo moves closer anyway. Keeps moving, until his knees hit the edge of the bed and he crawls in.

His phone is still in his pants pocket, he remembers as he stretches out. He wriggles to pull it out and drops it onto the carpeted floor by the bed, not bothering with a charger. Who’s going to call him? The only person who would be giving him urgent news is right here next to him.

Minghao plugs his own phone in carefully before switching off the lamp and settling on his back, and even in the darkness that settles over them Wonwoo can tell his eyes are still open.

“Seokmin wanted to be a singer, you know,” Minghao says into the darkness, barely more than a whisper. “Have you ever heard him sing?”

“A little bit,” Wonwoo answers, voice just as quiet. “Sometimes he sings at work.”

“It’s beautiful, right?”

“It is.”

“Maybe he would be happier, if he could have — if he hadn’t stopped.” It sounds more like Minghao’s speaking to himself than to Wonwoo, tone quietly contemplative. “If Mingyu didn’t tell.”

Wonwoo still doesn’t really know what he’s talking about. He doesn't know what happened, but he wants so desperately to comfort Minghao anyway. He wants Seokmin to be here instead of him, but at the same time he doesn’t want that at all. At the same time he wants to be the one who helps Minghao. There’s something selfish and horrible inside of him, snaking through his thoughts. Wonwoo wants to be the one to say something that will help.

“I don’t — ” he starts, but Minghao shakes his head against the pillow.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “You don’t know what I’m talking about. It’s been so long — I don’t know why I’m bringing it up.”

“It sounds important,” Wonwoo says. Minghao laughs, scraped out and humourless.

“Maybe it was,” he says. “Maybe it did ruin everything.”

Wonwoo wonders if he’s supposed to ask Minghao what happened. It seems so invasive, when Minghao’s already so vulnerable. He’s already let Wonwoo see so much of him. He’s let Wonwoo into his home.

Into his bed.

“I’m sorry,” he says, instead of asking.

“Why would you need to be sorry,” Minghao murmurs, turning to look at him. In the dark all Wonwoo can see is the glint in his eyes.

“I don’t know,” Wonwoo confesses quietly. Shamefully. “I feel like I should have known.”

“You should have known?” Minghao asks, the edge of a humourless laugh in his voice. “What about me? I lived — live with him.”

“He didn’t want you to know,” Wonwoo says, sure it’s the truth even with no real proof. It’s not like Seokmin ever could have told him — Seokmin never even told him Minghao existed. No photos on his desk, nothing on his Kakao profile. Wonwoo wonders if it hurts, having to keep such a big secret. It must — when Seokmin’s happy he always wants to share it.

It must hurt even more, that the secret is someone as special as Minghao. Wonwoo would want to show him off to everyone, if he were Seokmin.

“Still,” Minghao says carefully, drawing Wonwoo back out of his thoughts. “Shouldn’t I have been able to tell?”

“Maybe you were just too close to see it,” Wonwoo offers. “Something that unexpected — of course you couldn’t tell.”

The sound of Minghao’s breathing has gone a little ragged. Wonwoo’s eyes have adjusted to the darkness well enough when one of Minghao’s hands comes up to rub at his eye he can see it.

“Thank you,” Minghao says, voice thick. “You’ve been so kind. Kinder than — than what I deserve.”

“That’s not true,” Wonwoo says immediately, raw and honest and nowhere near enough. “You deserve more.”

Minghao doesn’t say anything more but he nods, rubbing at his nose and sniffing a little. The space between them feels too wide and too close all at once, Wonwoo overly aware of the sound of his own breath even as he selfishly wishes Minghao were closer.

He forces his eyes open as he stares up at the ceiling, waiting for Minghao’s breaths to even out before he lets himself fall asleep too.

In the morning Minghao lends Wonwoo a sweater to wear to the hospital, a dark green knit that’s probably too nice to wear with the pair of sweatpants he slept in. Wonwoo pulls his dark peacoat over the ensemble anyway, mismatched and ridiculous next to Minghao once he’s dressed and ready, looking just as put-together as he did the day before.

Minghao says he’s got a car but Wonwoo drives them back in anyway. Minghao must be tired, he insists when Minghao tries to fight him on it. He had a hard night.

When Wonwoo mentions the night before Minghao goes quiet and relents.

Wonwoo wonders again if he’s always like this. If he gives in as easily with Seokmin, too. If he lets Seokmin take care of him for real.

Seokmin seems like the type who would like that.

“Seokmin’s music teacher was hurting him,” Minghao says suddenly, shocking Wonwoo so badly his hands nearly slip on the wheel. He fights to keep his expression even as he nods carefully, eyes sliding over to Minghao and then back to the road in front of him. “Our friend told. That’s why he stopped singing for real. I keep thinking — if he hadn’t stopped back then, would he be happier now? He hates this job. I know he does.”

It all comes out in a rush, like Minghao had been holding it all in until he couldn’t anymore, like he was holding tight to an untied balloon until his fingers slipped.

“Oh,” Wonwoo says. There’s gravel in his voice — he coughs to clear it, uncomfortably aware of the sound in the car. Uncomfortably aware of everything, suddenly. His posture. The placement of his hands. The set of his mouth. “That was — you were in high school, right?”

Minghao doesn’t say anything but in his peripheral Wonwoo can see him nod, still looking resolutely out the window.

There weren’t any old photos of Minghao or Seokmin in their apartment, but Wonwoo can picture it if he tries — Minghao somehow even ganglier, Seokmin even more awkward. He remembers himself back then, skinny and insecure and cruel. Cruel towards others and cruel to himself. It always makes him cringe to remember it.

He wonders if Minghao was ever cruel. It seems impossible.

“You were in high school,” Wonwoo repeats, meaningfully. “There’s no use — you were in high school. You did your best. You’re doing your best.”

It feels so inadequate but Minghao nods anyway, still looking listless and miserable. Wonwoo scrapes his brain desperately as he drives, but he can’t find anything more to say. What else is there? Seokmin does hate his job — Wonwoo’s sure, now, that Minghao’s right. Wonwoo can’t say anything to make that better.

He stays still and quiet all the way until they’re in the parking garage, reaching out to grab Wonwoo’s wrist as soon as the car’s in park. Wonwoo looks over at him, startled, his heart lurching at the sight of Minghao’s pale, trembling lips.

“You’re doing fine,” Wonwoo promises, the useless comfort slipping out of him as he twists his wrist in Minghao’s grip, rearranging their hands so he can squeeze Minghao’s palm for real. His heart slams in his chest, unsteady, but when his voice comes out it’s stable. “You’re doing your best.”

Minghao nods slowly, eyes wide and focused on Wonwoo’s face. Wonwoo gives his palm one last squeeze before he turns off the car and comes around, opening his door to help him out without a second thought.

The hospital hasn’t changed any since the day before, but it still feels different than the last time Wonwoo walked in. Maybe it’s because Minghao’s beside him, close but not touching as Wonwoo pushes the button in the elevator to take them to Seokmin’s floor.

“It’ll be okay,” Wonwoo reminds him in a hushed voice as they walk down the corridor. Minghao nods again, the movement tight and controlled, before they push open the door.

Seokmin’s eyes are open.

“Seokmin-ssi,” Wonwoo croaks out, shocked, but it sounds wrong coming out of his mouth — too formal, none of the warmth Seokmin deserves. None of the care. “Seokmin-ah,” he tries.

Next to him Minghao makes a desperate sound, muffled by the hand he’s got clapped over his mouth. Seokmin’s gaze lands on Wonwoo, a furrow of confusion between his brows as he blinks slowly, before the glazed look in his eyes starts to fade and his gaze finds its way to Minghao’s face.

“Myungho-yah,” Seokmin says, eyes wide, the confusion cleared from his face completely. “Myungho-yah,” he says again, and his whole face crumples as he bursts into tears.

Minghao lets out a wordless despairing gasp, rushing forward to pull Seokmin into his arms as Seokmin starts heaving out horrible choked sobs.

“I’m sorry,” he keeps repeating, the edge desperation in his voice nearly unbearable to hear. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so — ”

The words slur into something unintelligible as Minghao shushes him, pulling Seokmin’s head to his chest and rocking him slowly back and forth.

“You’re fine,” he whispers into the top of Seokmin’s head. “It’s fine, you’re fine. You’re okay.”

Wonwoo doesn’t belong here, he realizes. No matter how horrible the past week has been, suddenly looking at the two of them he can barely remember it. They’re fine how they are, he tells himself. How could they not be? They love each other so much. No one’s ever held Wonwoo the way Minghao’s holding Seokmin now. He’s never looked at anybody a tenderly as Seokmin looks at Minghao.

Without even really deciding to do it Wonwoo feels himself drifting backwards, slowly distancing himself from the two of them on the bed. He’s nearly out the door by the time Minghao looks up, a wild look on his face until he finds where Wonwoo’s standing and lets out a breath of — relief? Wonwoo doesn’t understand it but there’s no mistaking the looking on Minghao’s face, the warmth in his gaze.

“I’m okay too, okay?” His eyes stay steady on Wonwoo as he whispers the words into Seokmin’s ear, hands smoothing down his tousled hair. “Hyung was here with me. I’m okay.”

Wonwoo can only stare at him, speechless, but Minghao’s gaze still doesn’t budge, not even when Seokmin looks up between them, his red face damp with tears. He’s still handsome, somehow, even like this. He looks surprised too, at first, but then his mouth tightens and he nods.

Wonwoo wonders what he’s thinking — what pieces he put together for himself that made it make sense, when Wonwoo still doesn’t even understand it himself.

“Why are you just standing there?” Seokmin whispers, oblivious, motioning weakly to Wonwoo to come inside. “Come back inside.”

Wonwoo flushes, shoulders hunching in with embarrassment, but obeys, coming back inside the room to sit in the chair Seokmin's gesturing towards. Minghao’s edged so far onto the bed he’s almost just lying there with Seokmin, Seokmin pulled comfortably into his side, and Wonwoo doesn’t know where he’s supposed to fit.

“Wonwoo-hyung took care of me,” Minghao whispers again and Seokmin nods, eyes big and sad and — grateful, Wonwoo thinks.

How strange.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

“There’s nothing to thank me for,” Wonwoo says honestly.

Tears are still leaking from Seokmin’s eyes but he laughs a little, too, like his face doesn't quite know how to stop smiling. Minghao only wipes his tears, shushing him quietly. 

A nurse bustles in, then, and Minghao pushes himself to stand upright like he’s been burned. She doesn’t say anything, brisk and professional as she checks Seokmin’s vitals and adjusts his IV, asking him questions too quietly for Wonwoo to hear.

Wonwoo wonders how long it’s okay for him to stay. Should he leave soon? Will the two of them want to be alone? He drove Minghao here but he can come back for him, if he needs it, or pay for the fare for him to take a cab home.

Or maybe Minghao won’t want to go home at all. Maybe he’ll just sleep here, now. Maybe he won’t want to leave Seokmin’s side.

Minghao doesn’t say anything, though. He moves back to sit in the same chair he was in yesterday, next to Wonwoo just the way they sat when Seokmin was still asleep. Seokmin dozes and wakes and dozes again and still they sit there, checking their phones and watching the TV above Seokmin’s bed and standing up to walk to the vending machine in turns.

The sun starts to set and Minghao says nothing, still, coming back from the gift shop with a pack of cards and pulling the two of them into a game. Seokmin’s horrible at it but Wonwoo’s nearly as bad, at first, struggling to follow the rules until he starts to pick it up.

“Had you been thinking about it for a long time?” Minghao asks suddenly during the third round, eyes on the cards on his hand and trepidation clear in his tone, his voice very quiet.

Seokmin's face crumbles immediately, the change in the mood so sharp that Minghao’s forced to look up at him. His own face falls, dropping his cards so he can climb on the bed the same way he did before. Wonwoo scoops his cards up before they can fall to the floor and then Seokmin’s, too, sliding them neatly back into the box and then just sitting there, not sure what to do with his hands.

On the bed Seokmin squirms against Minghao, like a child who's done something wrong and doesn't want to answer for it, but Minghao only presses a kiss against the top of his head and says nothing as he waits.

Wonwoo sits in his chair — pulled closer than it feels like it should be, suddenly — and watches the two of them, his breath caught in his throat.

“I'm sorry,” is all Seokmin manages, finally, the words strangled and barely audible. 

Minghao’s mouth presses together as he tightens his hold.

“It’s okay,” he repeats, just like he did earlier. His voice has gone hushed and eerie, almost like he’s in a trance. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“I was going to leave you alone,” Seokmin whispers, almost to himself. “How could I do that to you?”

His face creases again into that same laugh as before, even though the room is still so somber. His eyes are red and there’s nothing really funny but he’s smiling anyway. Wonwoo wonders how many of his laughs at work were like this — thinly masking the tears underneath, seeming so real despite the misery behind it.

It’s an unsettling thought.

“You didn't, though,” Minghao murmurs into the space between the three of them. “You're still here.”

Seokmin takes a deep shaky breath.

“I'll do the inpatient program,” he says quietly, closing his eyes like he’s ashamed. “I know I — I was just confused, before. I'll go.”

Minghao breathes in once, sharp, and his arms tighten around Seokmin before he pulls back a little. 

“I'm proud of you.” He waits for Seokmin to open his eyes so he can look right at him as he says it. His hands rub briskly at his shoulders, a practiced movement, and Seokmin nods up at him with eyes still wet with tears. “Don't worry about me,” Minghao adds quietly, low like a secret but with enough volume that Wonwoo can hear him just fine. “I have hyung here with me. We'll wait for you, okay? We'll wait for you to get better.”

Wonwoo’s mouth drops open, taken aback, but when Minghao looks over at him he looks so sure. Seokmin’s eyes follow to meet Wonwoo’s, expression split-open and vulnerable. Wonwoo wants to be careful with him, just like he was with Minghao.

He wants to be careful with both of them, for as long as they’ll let him.

“I will,” he tells Seokmin, his voice hoarse but steady. “I’ll wait here with him. For you.”

Wonwoo doesn’t know what will happen when Seokmin comes back. He doesn’t even know if he believes that Seokmin will get better, if whatever’s inside him can be fixed. Can you really get it out, once the misery sinks in that deep? Can you live a normal life again, knowing how close you came to snuffing it out?

Maybe, maybe not.

Either way, Wonwoo means it. He really does.

He’ll wait.

And while you sleep,
I'll be scared,
So by the time you wake,
I'll be brave.

— I Will (Mitski)