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Jisung wakes up when it’s dark out. He can’t find his phone, and the clocks are all gone. He doesn’t know what time it is, or why he feels so hot, or sick, or scared.
He needs to cool down, but he can’t get the window open.
When he stumbles through the apartment, the front door is bolted. He doesn’t know where his keys are.
It’s so hot.
He leaves damp handprints on the handle and turns back to the lounge to find Minho standing, rumpled and sleep mused. Confused.
“Why’re you up, baby? It’s the middle of the night.”
Baby is presumptuous. Jisung isn’t too hot to realise that much. One night together doesn’t typically lead to pet names - not for Jisung, anyway. He’s too flighty for that. He hadn’t minded last night, but he’d been distracted by Minho fucking him into another dimension. It had been really fucking good sex - maybe that’s why he doesn’t mind the pet name now, either.
“I’m too hot, hyung,” is all Jisung can say. Even that comes out wrong; his words are clumsy and slurred. He feels like he’s a couple of inches to the left of his body, like everything is out of sync.
Minho hums. He steps forward, into Jisung’s space, and puts his palm against Jisung’s forehead. His hand is icy and callused, and Jisung can’t hold back the moan of relief at how good it feels against his feverish skin.
“You’re burning up,” Minho says with a frown. “I told you last night that you looked like you were getting sick.”
Jisung can’t remember. He remembers Minho bending him in half, ramming into him so hard that Jisung had to brace both hands against the headboard. He remembers Minho savaging his neck, moaning into his skin, fucking into his throat even after they’d both come.
He doesn’t remember feeling unwell.
Jisung lets Minho guide him to the couch and sits where he’s deposited. The shirt he’s wearing isn’t his own - is it Minho’s? He fell asleep naked.
Minho leaves for the kitchen, then comes back with a tall glass of water. “Drink up,” he says. “Hydration is the best thing for a fever. I’ll get you a pillow.”
So Jisung drinks the water, but his mouth feels slimy and terrible anyway. Maybe he really is sick, even if this illness doesn’t feel like any he’s had before.
Minho brings a pillow from the bed, along with Jisung’s softest blanket.
“Get comfortable,” Minho murmurs, tucking Jisung in. “The sheets are covered in sweat; I’ll strip the bed and start the laundry in the morning.”
“You should go home.” Not that he isn’t appreciative, but this is way beyond the role of a one night stand. Minho is unfairly handsome, funny, and kind, and he really doesn’t deserve to be caring for Jisung in the middle of the night. He came for ass, and Jisung put out because who fucking wouldn’t – but Minho really doesn’t need to see this part, as mortifying as it's becoming. Who gets sick after sex? Only a loser like Jisung.
“I can’t leave you,” Minho says quietly. “You need me here.”
His eyes are dark and pretty – the one constant since the night before. Jisung had noticed Minho’s eyes first, before his lovely face, his broad shoulders, his thick thighs. The very first day Jisung had moved in, and his neighbour had brought over a delicious, cliché pie, Jisung had thought: these are the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen. Then, immediately after: this is the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.
Jisung has never felt unwell like this. Even through the heat and the fog, the thought of puking or shitting in front of Minho makes him want to curl up and die in a hole. “I’ll be fine, Minho-hyung, really.”
Minho is serious, gentle, and unrelenting. “I can’t leave you like this, Jisungie. Let me take care of you. Please.”
The please feels like an afterthought. It’s clear he’s intent on staying, and Jisung is running out of words. He doesn’t know how else to ask for isolation, or if he really wants it. Minho places his cold hand against Jisung’s cheek, and it’s the only relief he’s felt since waking. His vision is blurry like he’s wearing glasses covered in sticky fingerprints. Every time he blinks it feels like someone is putting their fingerprints on his eyes; everything stings faintly.
Jisung isn’t aware of falling asleep again, but he does, Minho’s hand dancing over the skin of his face and neck, soothing.
-
When he wakes again he’s still tucked up on the couch.
The sky is grey.
Minho is on Jisung’s phone, but the words are barely audible. It feels like someone has their fingers in Jisung’s ears.
“I’ll keep you updated. Of course. Yes. Yes, I’ll tell him you’re thinking of him. No, well, he can be reticent, can’t he?” Minho’s laugh doesn’t sound genuine, but Jisung doesn’t know him all that well. “Alright. Yes, you too. Thank you. Goodbye.”
Jisung makes a noise low in his throat and tries to sit up, but Minho is by his side and pushes him back down before he can make it.
“What are you doing? You need to rest.”
“Who were you talking to?”
Minho frowns softly. “Your boss – Chan, is it? He called to ask where you were.”
Jisung rubs at his eyes. “What time is it?”
“Just after twelve. Honey, you’ve been in and out for a couple of days.”
Suddenly Jisung feels nauseous. It feels like hours have passed. It feels like no time at all. “I – days? I need to go to work.”
“Chan said to take as much time as you need.”
“That’s not Chan-hyung’s decision, it’s mine.” Jisung pushes Minho’s hands out of the way and stands. He immediately stumbles, catching himself on the corner of the coffee table and undoubtedly bruising his hip, but Minho doesn’t come near him.
With his hands raised, palms facing Jisung, Minho says, “No one is trying to make you do anything, Jisung-ah, but you’re sick. You’re really sick.”
“Then I need to see a doctor.”
Minho’s brows rise before his expression shutters into something cautious. “I took you yesterday. Where do you think the medication came from?”
“What medication?” Jisung shouts.
Slowly, Minho slides over an opened box of tablets. The prescription label has Jisung’s name on it and a date he doesn’t remember passing. He doesn’t recognise the name of the medication, but he’s half surprised he can read it at all.
“What are these for?”
“To keep your temperature down. You have a pretty bad infection.”
Jisung’s chest is tight, but Minho doesn’t move from his position next to the couch. Jisung doesn’t know where his phone went, and he’s starting to feel stupid. Really fucking stupid. “Why are you still here, hyung?”
Minho frowns. He looks hurt. “Where else would I be?”
“At your apartment. At your job. Anywhere else.”
Minho gets up, expression shuttering. “Okay. Since you’re standing on your own I assume you can bathe, so I’ll start a bath for you. Then I’ll go.”
Jisung nods. He watches Minho move around the apartment like he knows it intimately, like he knows Jisung in the same way.
Minho goes into the bedroom and returns with Jisung’s favourite shirt and sweatpants. He walks between rooms with towels and moisturiser. He knows where everything is. Jisung doesn’t know where he keeps everything.
“Hyung?”
Minho doesn’t hear him.
“Minho-hyung?”
Minho pokes his head out of the steaming bathroom. “Hm?”
He’s unfairly beautiful. He’s always been kind to Jisung, and fun to be around. Why is he being punished for caring for Jisung? “How long have you been here?”
“Since you started showing symptoms. It didn’t feel right to go home and leave you like this.” Minho steps fully from the bathroom and holds one hand out for Jisung. “My boss was pretty understanding when I asked for a couple of days; she knows how stressed I get when you’re sick.”
Jisung swallows heavily. When he reaches for Minho’s outstretched hand, his own is shaking.
Minho grabs him firmly and pulls him into the bathroom. He sits Jisung on the toilet seat lid and brushes through his matted hair, then washes his face and shaves him slowly, carefully.
No one has ever shaved Jisung.
“It’s been a while since we last did this,” Minho murmurs.
Jisung just closes his eyes and swallows again. He feels like he’s going to be sick, but when Minho opens his mouth and pokes around with a toothbrush, Jisung lets it happen. The toothpaste doesn’t taste right. Minho is careful not to prod too hard, all too aware of Jisung’s gag reflex.
When Jisung has rinsed his mouth, Minho kisses him chastely. Jisung lets it happen.
He climbs into the hot bath and lets the water burn away the ache, wondering when things will make sense again, when fingers will stop prodding at his eyes and his ears and his stomach and his brain.
Minho washes Jisung’s hair. He uses the right shampoo, despite Jisung having three bottles open. He uses the right conditioner. The right body wash.
“How do you know which one to use?” Jisung asks before he goes beneath the water.
Minho’s smile is tinged with hurt. “We bought them together.”
Jisung submerges his head, and it feels like drowning would make more sense than whatever is happening to him.
-
He returns to the couch clean, confused, and still so hot.
Minho passes him a glass of water and the box of tablets.
Jisung stares at the packet. “I don’t want to take these, hyung.”
“Why?”
He can’t voice his thoughts. I don’t think they’re real. I don’t think they’re mine. I don’t think they’re good for me.
“Jisung-ah, if you don’t take them you’ll feel worse.”
“I don’t want to take them.” He lifts his chin, feeling stupid again, and unkind. “You can’t make me.”
“I wouldn’t want to force you. You’re an adult, even if you’re acting like a child right now.” Minho looks hurt again. Jisung keeps hurting him. “Well, the decision is yours. Check in if you need me.”
Minho collects his things; a jacket by the door, his wallet, his keys, an overnight bag that was hiding away in the bedroom somewhere. Things Jisung hadn’t remembered being in his apartment.
The door closes quietly behind Minho and Jisung is finally alone.
He doesn’t know where his phone is, or what time it is. He can’t find his laptop. His TV isn’t working. He looks at the sky outside, and it’s still grey.
He sits back down on the couch and looks at the medication. He has no phone – he can’t Google it.
He pushes the box away and lies down, and after a moment reaches for the glass of water that Minho left out for him. Water, at least, he knows is meant to help when you have a fever.
-
When Jisung wakes again the sky is black. He feels like he’s dying, and he barely makes it to the bathroom before he pukes up stomach acid and what feels like his lungs into the toilet.
He’s not sure how long he stays there, curled up and puking until his chest is seizing. He vomits until it feels like there’s nothing left inside of him. Until his throat is raw and his entire face aches.
He doesn’t know where his phone is, he doesn’t know – he needs to call someone. He shouldn’t feel like this.
He can’t even reach for his toothbrush.
He leans his forehead against his arms and curls up into a ball on the floor. Even if he had his phone, who would he call? He can only picture faces as though through smoke. The names of his friends jumble together in his mind and make no sense.
He wonders if he’ll die on his bathroom floor. Not quite Elvis, but close enough that maybe one day someone that loves him will laugh about it.
Who loves him?
The only thing he can see when he closes his eyes is a hand tilting his chin, a razor scraping tenderly against the skin of his neck.
Who loves him?
His toothbrush rubbing the sickness from his tongue.
A palm on his neck, encouraging him to spit in the sink.
Lips against his throat.
Who loves him?
His eyes burn. They sting. The fingers are digging their nails in.
Who loves him?
-
“Jisungie, can you hear me? Come on, look at me.”
He can barely open his eyes, but he recognises the voice. He’s still on the bathroom floor. Minho is trying to drag his dead weight upright, but it’s a losing battle.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have left you alone like this, I shouldn’t have left at all.”
Jisung just sags against Minho’s chest and welcomes the warmth – for the first time in what feels like forever, he’s cold to the bone. Maybe he’s dead. He thinks that he should be.
Minho strokes a hand down Jisung’s cheek, the side of his neck, his flank. The hand is trembling; Minho’s expression is wild behind the blur. “I’m so sorry,” Minho whispers. He kisses the top of Jisung’s head and hauls him up in a bridal hold then carries him through to the bedroom, though to the bed that he must have made.
“What time is it?” Jisung forces out.
“I don’t know, baby, I’ll check once you’re settled.” Minho puts him on the bed, then returns with Jisung’s toothbrush and a glass of water. “Stomach acid will corrode your teeth. Open your mouth for me.”
Jisung opens his mouth.
Minho brushes Jisung’s teeth.
Jisung swills his mouth and spits out cloudy water.
Minho cleans everything up. By the time he joins Jisung on the bed and pulls him into an embrace, the smell of bleach is heavy in the air. It makes Jisung’s eyes sting. The hug is too tight. Jisung is too cold, he’s shivering. His teeth are chattering. He’s so scared.
Minho kisses the top of Jisung’s head again. “It’s okay,” he whispers. “I won’t leave you again.”
-
When Jisung wakes again the sky is grey. Has it always been grey?
Minho cooks Jisung some eggs.
Jisung chokes them down then pukes them back up. All he can stomach is water.
Minho passes his medication, and this time Jisung takes it.
He pukes the tablets up too.
Minho brushes his teeth for him.
“How long have I been sick?” Jisung asks.
“It’s starting to feel like forever.”
They’re so familiar. Why does Minho’s company feel so easy?
“How long have we known each other?”
“Don’t you remember?”
Jisung shakes his head weakly.
“Ah, well, the doctor did warn us that the infection could interfere with your memories a little.” Minho scrubs his hands down his face. He’s tired and he looks stressed, and why would he be caring for Jisung like this if he didn’t care? Deeply? Jisung couldn’t do this for someone he doesn’t love, he knows that much.
Who does he love?
“Do you love me?” Jisung asks.
“Very much.”
Jisung swallows. There’s grief in his throat, along with bile. “Do I love you?”
Minho looks like his throat is filled too. “I hope so, baby.”
-
“What time is it?”
“Half past eleven.”
“I need to go back to work.”
“Not yet. You’re still too sick.”
“Can I speak to Chan-hyung?”
“Jisungie, it’s almost midnight.”
The sky is grey. Has it always been grey at night? “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Why don’t you speak to him in the morning?”
When he wakes up an indefinite amount of time later, Minho tells him it’s midday.
“Can I speak to Chan-hyung?”
“I’ve already called him, baby, and he said he’ll be in meetings for the rest of the day. You’re welcome back as soon as you’re feeling better.”
“When will that be?”
Minho kisses Jisung’s forehead. “Soon, hopefully.”
-
His neighbour knocks during one of the many grey hours. Minho speaks to her at the door, and she returns a couple of hours later with a large tupperware bowl of stew. Jisung finds the strength to stumble to the door and bow to her. She’s a sweet older lady that’s always been kind to him.
When Minho walks into the kitchen to put the stew in the fridge, Jisung asks his neighbour, “Did you know Minho-hyung was here with me?”
“I could assume as much,” she said with a warm smile. “That boy’s always at your apartment; I don’t see the point in him having his own across the hall. How close you must be.”
“Jisung-ah,” Minho calls. “You need to rest, honey.”
Jisung thanks her again and closes the door. He doesn’t want to turn around. He doesn’t want to go inside. He wants to see Chan. Are they friends? He thinks so. “Minho-hyung?”
“What is it?”
“Am I friends with Chan-hyung?”
Minho comes to collect him from the doorway and guide him to the couch. “Friendly, I’d say. You didn’t tell him about me – that was a shock when I called to tell him you were sick.”
How horrible of Jisung. “I’m sorry, hyung.”
“It’s alright. You’ve always been skittish.”
“Skittish?”
Minho nods. “Nervous.”
Jisung doesn’t remember being skittish. He struggles socially sometimes, sure, but he doesn’t remember ever being particularly nervous. Just shy. If he’s friends with Chan, surely he isn’t nervous around him? Surely he’d tell Chan about Minho?
“I’m going to make you a little more to eat,” Minho says. “Why don’t you put on a movie?”
“The TV doesn’t work.”
Minho glances over at it. “You should have said something. I’ll fix it for you after you’ve eaten.”
“Thank you, hyung.”
By the time Minho brings out the reheated stew and another glass of water, Jisung almost feels lucid. He can picture Chan firmly in his mind. Goofy, neurotic, hot. Jisung had harboured a crush for a long time, until he’d heard about Chan’s partner Felix. They were happy together, and Jisung’s feelings had fizzled out after that. Then he’d met Minho – on Grindr, unfortunately. Then he’d realised that they were neighbours. That was awkward. How long ago was it? The embarrassment still feels a little fresh.
“I think I’m getting better,” Jisung says after finishing the stew.
“That’s great, baby, but don’t overdo it now or you’ll set yourself back again.”
Jisung nods resolutely, and after taking his medication and finishing his water he goes to shower.
He doesn’t remember falling, but Minho hears him land and sprints in, eyes wide and scared as he turns off the water and wraps Jisung in a towel, checking over his head for any bumps or cuts.
“It’s just my hip, hyung,” Jisung says. His words are difficult. It must be the shock.
He pukes.
“Adrenaline can sometimes make you vomit, it’s okay.” Minho strokes his hand down Jisung’s back. It hurts Jisung’s sensitive skin.
His eyes hurt.
He wishes he’d taken a bath and fallen into that instead. Minho wouldn’t have heard him.
He could have just drifted away.
-
“I want to speak to Chan-hyung.”
Minho passes over Jisung’s phone without argument.
It won’t turn on.
Jisung’s hands shake. He’s going to cry. “Hyung?”
The tremor in his voice alarms Minho, who looks over. “It’s just dead, baby. Give it to me, I’ll put it on charge for you.”
Jisung passes it back over.
The sky is grey.
“What time is it?”
“Ten past four. You should try to eat again, what would you like? I’ll make anything you want.”
Jisung feels angry all of a sudden. “Make my favourite food in the world.”
Minho’s smile is indulgent. “I’m not sure cheesecake will be good for you when your stomach is upset. Maybe pick something with slightly less dairy?”
Of course he knows it’s cheesecake. Why wouldn’t he know?
Jisung isn’t hungry.
Despite Minho’s words, there’s a knock at the door half an hour later. It’s a slice of cheesecake, clearly expensive, beautifully decorated.
Jisung eats it slowly, deliberately. It’s delicious. He doesn’t puke it up.
Minho strokes his back again and tells him he’s doing great.
He takes his medication.
He sleeps, and when he wakes again the sky is still grey.
-
Minho brushes Jisung’s teeth.
Jisung feels strong enough to do it himself, but he realised the last time, or maybe the time before, that Minho likes doing it for him.
“Why do you like it?”
Minho doesn’t feign confusion. “It feels intimate. I like taking care of you.”
“Why?”
“Because I love you.”
Jisung nods. He spits into the sink and watches Minho brush his own teeth. A minute in, Jisung takes the brush from Minho’s hand. Toothpaste is foamed at the corner of Minho’s mouth, but he’s malleable under Jisung’s confused lead.
Minho sits on the toilet lid and lets Jisung clumsily brush his teeth.
His mouth is pretty. His lips are lovely. His eyes, too. He loves Jisung so much.
Jisung steps back to let Minho rinse his mouth. He wonders when the love will come back. He wonders when the fear will leave. He’s holding Minho’s toothbrush so tightly that his hand cramps when he lets go.
-
He wakes up and the sky is grey.
-
He wakes up and the sky is black.
-
He wakes up and hears voices. When he manages to get himself off the couch, Minho is in the kitchen with a plate covered in foil. He’s scowling.
“What is it?” Jisung asks.
“Chan stopped by, but I told him you were sleeping.”
Jisung tries to mask his disappointment, but Minho’s scowl deepens. “What’s on the plate?”
“He said his partner made something for you.” Minho peels back the foil and reveals three lovely cupcakes, decorated in sprinkles and edible glitter.
Jisung isn’t hungry, but he’s heard a lot about Felix’s baking. He thinks. “That’s kind.”
Minho nods, his face like thunder. “Go back to sleep, baby.”
Jisung is still tired, so he does.
-
He wakes up and the sky is grey. He’s hungry. When he goes into the kitchen, he can’t find the cupcakes.
“Minho-hyung?”
Minho walks through from the bathroom. “What?”
“Where’re the cupcakes?”
“You ate them.”
Jisung doesn’t remember. “I ate them? All three?”
“You had two and gave me the last one.”
Jisung doesn’t remember. Felix baked for him, and he doesn’t even have the courtesy to remember the taste. “Were they good?” he croaks, trying not to cry.
Minho is expressionless. “You said that you’d tasted better.”
-
He wakes up and the sky is grey.
-
He wakes up and the sky is grey.
There’s no point in trying to count days. He counts his waking periods, instead. There have been three since he last vomited. He’s holding down food, but he’s still wracked by fever intermittently.
He has a stilted conversation on Minho’s phone with a doctor, describing his symptoms as best he can, and when he wakes again there’s a delivery of more medication he can’t Google.
“Where’s my phone?”
“It’s charging.”
“Shouldn’t it be charged already?”
Minho frowns, confused. “I only plugged it in a couple of minutes ago.”
-
Jisung wakes up and the sky is black. He’s hot again, burning up and sweating, and Minho is hot too, asleep on the bed beside him. Jisung watches him for a moment, something that feels like a rare opportunity.
In sleep Minho’s face is particularly soft. His beauty is almost alarming.
Jisung feels his breath quicken as he stares. He remembers – when was it? Minho pressing him into the sheets, fucking into him like he could engrain himself inside of Jisung, carving his name deep into stone.
Minho is muscular but not particularly showy about it. He has core strength, but his stomach is soft. He has thick thighs and biceps that sometimes made even the loosest shorts and shirt sleeves look taut. His brown hair falls in a boyish flop across his forehead.
Jisung’s want for him isn’t forced like everything else. Why not?
“Hyung?”
It’s barely audible to his own ears, but Minho’s eyes scrunch shut then blink open. “Hm?”
“You love me?”
Minho’s reply is just as quiet. “Yes.”
Jisung swallows dryly before asking, “You’re attracted to me?”
“Yes.”
This is awful. “Even now?”
“Yes.” Minho lifts a hand to cup Jisung’s face. “Even now. Especially now, if I’m being honest about my selfishness. It’s not often that you really let me take care of you, and I’m enjoying that part, as much as I wish you weren’t suffering.”
Jisung nods. “I’m… I’m attracted to you.”
“I know, baby. I haven’t forgotten how we met.”
Neither has Jisung, even if he can’t remember much of anything else. “You made me feel special.”
“You are special.”
Minho had truly lavished attention upon him though. Jisung can remember the strength of the infatuation, how flattered he’d felt, how mutually fascinated – his boyfriends before hadn’t come close to the way Minho had made him feel in just one night.
Jisung reaches over and gingerly touches Minho’s chest over his shirt. Minho’s heartbeat is a little uneven, as is his breathing. He watches Jisung with his lips slightly parted.
“Hyung, what time is it?”
Minho reaches behind him to check his phone. “Just after two.”
“What does the medication I’m taking do to me?”
“It’s anti-inflammatory, baby. I told you, it’s to fight your fever.”
Jisung’s stomach is tight. “Can you show me?”
“What?”
“Can I use your phone to check?”
Minho frowns. “Don’t you trust me?”
It feels like an apology when Jisung says, “Minho-hyung, I barely remember you.”
Minho stares at him for a moment before passing his phone over.
Jisung looks at the clock first.
Two a.m.
He Googles the medication, and the results make his heart drop. Anti-inflammatory. Reduces swelling, pain killer, anti-nausea.
He passes the phone back. “I’m sorry.”
Minho locks it then places it back on the nightstand at his side of the bed. “It’s fine, Jisung-ah. I know why you asked. I understand.”
Jisung-ah . He’s starting to realise the coldness in that name, the deliberate step back from Jisungie or baby .
Jisung reaches for Minho’s chest again, and his heart is faster this time. Almost rapid. “Hyung, I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright. Go back to sleep.”
Jisung can’t. Minho isn’t angry, but there’s something else. Jisung is scared. Jisung looks at Minho and wants him, and that feels better than the nausea or the fear or the visceral need to run.
He leans forward and Minho doesn’t push him away. Jisung breathes in the skin at the base of Minho’s throat, and he’s still too hot, his eyes still sting, but Minho is steady. He smells nice. He rubs the tip of his nose against Jisung’s cheek, and despite the something he’s clearly feeling about Jisung, he parts his lips when Jisung lifts his head to meet him in a clumsy kiss.
Jisung doesn’t know - he can’t understand his body’s reasoning, but Minho is the only thing that makes sense. His tongue is hot and wet in Jisung’s dry mouth, and he melts immediately, like he’s been waiting all along for Jisung to kiss him with depth.
This feels natural. The relief of that is almost painful. Jisung clings to Minho and kisses him, and kisses him, until their mouths are wet and Jisung’s lips are bitten and sore, until Minho is hard against him and Jisung is almost there too, despite his body’s protests. He feels faint again, but this is the hardest he’s focused for as long as he can really remember.
“You’re still sick,” Minho murmurs against Jisung’s mouth. “You still need to rest.”
“Please, hyung,” Jisung says. He doesn’t know what he’s asking for, only that he’s asking. It feels so good to want something that’s happening to him. He’s not passive with his mouth open as Minho brushes his teeth, he’s not choking down sour tasting water and food that he knows he’s going to puke up, he’s not wanting to slide down the shower drain.
He rubs his half hard cock against Minho’s, and even through their clothes it feels good. Jisung moans, the sound hitching in his throat, and Minho rolls him onto his back and hovers over him, eyes still so big and pretty. He cocks his head slowly and watches Jisung.
Jisung reaches up to touch Minho’s chest again, and his heart is beating so fast that it might as well stop.
They should stop. Jisung knows they should stop. He could make Minho sick.
He wants to.
He throws a leg around Minho’s back and grinds their hips together, leaning up until Minho succumbs and kisses him again, wet, biting, almost painful.
Jisung remembers this moment in its entirety.
The way Minho undresses Jisung, then himself. The way he reaches for the lube that Jisung always keeps tucked away in the third drawer down. No condom.
“We haven’t slept with anyone else in a long time, baby,” Minho says gently. “We’re both clean. Trust me.”
Jisung either has to trust Minho or no one. He kisses him again and closes his eyes, and when Minho presses slick fingers inside of him it feels good. Wrong in the way anal always does at first, and then right. He hears himself moaning as though from a great distance. His hands hurt where they fist in the sheets.
Minho sucks Jisung’s cock as he stretches him, and it’s perfect. Too hot. Jisung is melting; he’s surprised there’s any moisture left inside of him to escape as sweat. He flinches when Minho’s canine scrapes against the head of his cock, but Minho knows how to settle him. He digs his tongue into the slit and looks up at Jisung with his dark eyes and his unwavering focus.
When he finally sits back, mouth red, chin wet with spit, he’s almost unrecognisable.
It takes a moment for Jisung to realise that he’s terrified.
“I love you,” Minho says. He wipes his chin with his wrist.
“I know,” Jisung whispers.
Minho pushes inside, and it feels good. Jisung feels grounded. He feels buried.
“I love you,” Minho says again, and bites down at the base of Jisung’s throat. “So much.”
Jisung spreads his legs further and lets Minho build a hard, fast rhythm. The pleasure is taken from him and given in tandem. His ears are ringing. He feels like he might faint.
Minho wraps around him. He’s everywhere, inside of Jisung and outside. His clothes are in the closet, his toothbrush is next to the sink, his food is in the fridge, his sneakers are by the door. His tongue is in Jisung’s mouth again.
It feels good to be taken care of.
It feels bad.
Jisung comes with no warning, untouched but for the infrequent press of Minho’s stomach against his cock. He throbs. Maybe it’s just the heat of the fever.
Minho doesn’t pull out when he comes. He doesn’t move. Jisung feels buried. He feels like he’s drowning. He feels safe.
“I love you,” Minho says again.
“Are you going to hurt me?” Jisung asks.
Minho licks the marks he’s littered across Jisung’s skin. “Do you think I could?”
-
Jisung feels a little better the next time he wakes up. He aches, but his head is clearer. For the first time since he fell ill, he’s hungry.
The sky is grey.
Minho cooks for him, happy to see Jisung eat.
“I have to go to the store and pick up more groceries,” Minho says as he walks past Jisung and his toast, dropping a kiss on his head. “Is there anything in particular that you want?”
“I don’t mind,” Jisung says with his mouth full.
“Okay, I’ll surprise you. I won’t be long, so don’t go running off.”
Even with his head clearer, Jisung knows he wouldn’t make it far past the door. He’s considerably weaker than he used to be. “I won’t go anywhere.”
Minho comes back to kiss him again, this time on the mouth. He doesn’t seem to mind the crumbs. When he pulls back, he keeps Jisung’s bottom lip trapped between his teeth for a moment. “Promise me.”
It isn’t really a question. His tone is flat.
Jisung swallows. “I promise.”
Minho kissed him again, softer this time. A reward. “Good boy.”
-
Jisung brushes his own teeth.
He shaves.
Maybe it is nicer when Minho does it for him.
He stares at himself in the bathroom mirror and barely recognises the man that stares back.
He searches his apartment for a couple of minutes, but his phone isn’t where Minho left it.
He takes his medication.
-
Minho comes home as though in a hurry, his arms full of bags overflowing with ingredients. He dumps them in the kitchen before sweeping Jisung into a tight embrace, peppering kisses all over his face and neck.
It makes Jisung laugh. It makes him feel warm. “What are you doing?”
“I missed you. You’re standing up, you’re clean–” Minho takes a big, embarrassing sniff near Jisung’s mouth, “-You smell minty.”
“I brushed my teeth.”
Solemnly, Minho says, “I always knew you had it in you.”
Jisung laughs again.
Now that Jisung’s vision is a little clearer, he can see just how pretty Minho is. Minho’s smile is so cute. Jisung likes Minho’s teeth, his plush upper lip. He’s imperfect and charming. Jisung really is lucky. Not many people would have taken care of him the way Minho had, and for so long.
Jisung kisses him. It’s slow, slightly hesitant, but that warm feeling doesn’t dissipate. I love you. He doesn’t want to say it until he means it, but it doesn’t seem so impossible at this moment.
Minho hums against his lips, eyes closing. His hands travel down to Jisung’s ass and squeeze, and it makes Jisung laugh again. Maybe this is nice. Even if they’ve been together for a long time, it feels new. It feels like a crush. It feels like he’s learning Minho all over again.
“You’re handsy?” he asks.
“Only for you. I can’t get enough of you.” Minho buries his face in Jisung’s neck and smiles against his bruised skin. “I’m obsessed.”
Jisung’s heart stutters slightly. He looks over the top of Minho’s head, through to his kitchen. “Hyung, where’s the clock?”
“Hm?” Minho lifts his head and follows Jisung’s gaze. “What clock?”
Jisung points. “There was a clock next to the fridge.”
Chan had bought it for him for his birthday. It was ugly and green and perfect, like a big blob of slime on the wall.
Minho looks back at Jisung. “I’ve never seen a clock there, baby. Did you throw it away before we met?”
“I can’t see why I would. I love it.”
“Maybe it was broken.”
“I don’t remember it breaking.”
“Ah, Jisungie,” Minho sighs. He cups Jisung’s cheek. “You said it yourself – you barely remember me.”
Minho isn’t wrong.
He goes back to the groceries and starts to unpack them, humming sweetly. He hums a lot. It should be annoying.
Minho isn’t wrong, but it doesn’t feel like he’s right, either.
-
The sun peeks out from behind the clouds. It’s brief, but lovely. It feels like years since Jisung has seen the sun.
Minho finally manages to fix the TV.
They curl up and watch a movie together, and halfway through Jisung loses focus. He strokes his fingers along Minho’s forearm, and realises after a couple of minutes that Minho was never focused on the movie in the first place.
They have sex on the couch, and Jisung feels like he’s melting again.
He feels almost like a person.
There are still fingers in his eyes, but it feels normal now.
-
“You’re sure you feel okay?”
Jisung nods. “Yeah, I feel okay. I feel pretty good.”
Minho kisses his cheek and passes over his bag. “Don’t work too hard. Call me if it’s too much, alright? I’ll come and pick you up, you know I will.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
“Promise you’ll call.”
“I promise.”
Minho only lets Jisung leave then.
Despite everything, Jisung can remember the way to his job. When he checks his phone, his background is a selfie from Minho. There are no notifications. He’s never been one for social media anyway.
The sky is grey.
Chan welcomes him into the office warmly, though his eyes are a little worried. “You look rough. I’m glad you’re feeling better, but wow! Jeez. Must have been some bug, huh?”
“Yeah, it was pretty bad.”
“Luckily you had someone there to look after you.” Chan’s wink is teasing. “How come you never told me about Minho? He sounded really worried about you.”
Jisung shrugs, uncomfortable. “I don’t know, really. I don’t know how… like, my memories are kind of messy right now.”
“Hey, it’s okay,” Chan says. He pulls up a chair next to Jisung’s desk and smiles kindly. “This must have made you closer, right? Illness will do that.”
“I think it did, yeah.”
“When Felix first – when he moved in with me, it was difficult. His mental health was really bad, every time I came home from work he was crying – it was hard. It was so hard, but in the end it brought us together. It really helped us realise how important our relationship was, you know?”
“Yeah,” Jisung murmurs. “I think I get it.”
Chan nudges him with a smile. “And he packed you lunch? You’re very lucky.”
Jisung nods, his cheeks warming. Minho had woken up first and made a meticulous feast for Jisung, making sure there was almost all of his favourite food in the lunch.
When Jisung's break finally arrives, he’s a little shaky from the effort of focusing after so long dazed. It had felt like a lifetime, but he’d only been off work for five days.
“What are you going to eat first?” his colleague jokes, looking at the food with envy.
Jisung opens his bottle and drinks the water first. He knows how important it is to stay hydrated.