Chapter Text
The world faded in and out.
Minho was half dragged through the crowd, his arm slung over someone’s shoulder.
The crowd had become a riot – there were sirens in the distance, fast approaching.
Hyunjin, pale and bleeding, was forcing his way through the writhing mass of people. Someone grabbed him by the shoulder, but before they could do anything else Minho was dropped, his ass hitting the ground as Changbin’s fist connected with the man’s cheek.
Minho might have laughed if anything was registering as reality. He knew the force of that punch. The man hit the ground and didn’t twitch. Out cold. Someone stood on his leg. Someone else immediately started pulling his belongings out of his pockets.
Minho was picked up again.
He couldn’t feel much of anything past the blood dripping down his face, warm and ticklish. “My ass.”
“It’ll survive,” Changbin grunted. “Hyunjin, how much further?”
Hyunjin didn’t turn, still frantically pushing ahead. “I don’t know! Lix just said right!”
Minho’s head lolled, and for a wonderful moment he was looking up at the stars. The air was still full of smoke from grilled meat. Jisung was sitting in front of the campfire, his overcooked marshmallow dripping into the flames. He didn’t wake up screaming anymore, but sometimes Minho stayed awake anyway, just to make sure that if he did, he knew he wasn’t alone.
Minho closed his eyes.
He opened them. They were out of the crowd. Hyunjin was still bleeding.
The night had grown cold.
“I think we need to put pressure on his wound, stop – try to stop the bleeding, I’m worried about how much he-”
“There’s glass in his head.”
“It’s fine,” Minho mumbled. “Tweezers?”
He’d picked glass out of his head before. His face. Some pieces were so small that he hadn’t noticed them until the skin had healed over them, and suddenly he’d had a tiny spot that felt like a laceration but looked like normal skin. He’d had to cut those spots open again. How much of his face was scar tissue? Jisung didn’t care. That was the only thing that mattered.
“I’m not letting the concussed, heavily bleeding man tweeze glass out of his fucking skull,” Changbin spat.
“But you’ll argue with him?” Minho asked. He tried to focus on Changbin’s face, but it was difficult. His eyes weren’t cooperating – or maybe it was his brain. He knew what all of the head injuries would do later in life, he knew how bad it would be, how terrible the long-term prognosis for blunt force trauma to the head played out. When was his birthday? October.
October.
“Where’s Jisung?”
“He’s on his way, he’s – they went for the car so that we can get you to hospital.”
With Chan. That’d be okay, that’d be fine. Chan wouldn’t let anything happen to Jisung. “Hyunjin has a head injury too. Poor boy.”
Hyunjin laughed, but it sounded wet. Angry. A little heartbroken. “You took most of the blow.”
Some of the adrenaline was wearing off. Pain pinched at the edge of Minho’s vision, but it was still distant enough for him to ignore. His legs felt like jelly. His mind kept wandering.
He closed his eyes.
“What time do you leave tomorrow?” Star asked. He knew her voice well enough to recognise the fear that bled through the forced nonchalance.
He’d promised his mom that he’d take her to the shelter to pick out another cat. He’d already booked the day off. He couldn't go back on his promise now. “I’ll be leaving just after six. It’ll take me at least five hours to get home.”
“Hm.”
“Hm?” he teased. “It’s only one day. You’ll miss me that much?”
“Ew.” Star stuck out her tongue. “I wish you were going for longer.”
It was routine for them. Almost a ritual. He pulled Star into a hug that she pretended to resist for half a second, then melted against him. She barely reached his shoulders even in her chunky heels, and her bleached white hair smelled of almond oil. He knew that Star had realised her boyfriend wasn't a secret anymore, but neither of them knew how to bring it up. It’d have to wait for another day.
“You’ll miss me.”
“I will,” she admitted, so rarely honest about her emotions. “I never feel safe without you anymore. Hurry back, ‘kay? You have to take me for smoothies when you’re back home.”
He opened his eyes.
Someone was bending him into the back of a car.
Changbin’s car.
Jisung was crouching in front of him, buckling him in.
“Honey,” Minho mumbled. He clumsily rubbed at Jisung’s hand, smearing the red around. “You have blood on you.”
“It’s yours.”
Minho squeezed his eyes shut, but when he opened them Jisung was no clearer. Minho was nauseous again. The pain was stronger, something deep and throbbing that he couldn’t ignore. “October.”
“Yeah, that’s great,” Jisung croaked. “Can you remember the date?”
“May seventeenth.”
“What?”
“When we met.”
Jisung’s breath shuddered out of him. “Okay. Okay. We’re gonna go to the hospital, get you all stitched up.”
Minho nodded, but the movement jarred his neck. He let a noise escape, entirely unbidden, that belied his agony.
He closed his eyes.
He opened them. He was in a waiting room.
Jisung was arguing with a nurse.
“He looks cold,” Minho said to whoever was sitting next to him.
Changbin shook his head. He’d been given tissue for his nose, which was good. Was it broken? Minho couldn’t find the words to ask. “He’s not cold, I already offered my jacket. It’s shock, I think.”
Minho had just been looking at Jisung’s arms. He hadn’t noticed the trembling. “Why is he arguing?”
“They’ve stapled your wounds, but you need to go in for a scan. We’ve been waiting for over an hour now, but nothing moves quickly in public hospitals.” Changbin smiled with a surprising amount of fondness. “He’s never had to wait for an appointment. I doubt he’s ever known a real queue.”
Minho didn’t remember getting staples.
Did he? A faint tugging on his head. Light in his eyes. What’s your date of birth?
Confusion, because he couldn’t remember the date on his fake ID. His real birthday? October.
“I think I’m losing your mind.”
“It’s all there, just a little bruised,” Changbin said. “You’ve seen worse.”
Minho hummed, but the vibration hurt his neck. “I’m fucked up.”
“Yeah. You really are.”
“Where’s Hyunjin?”
“Getting his wounds looked at. He only wanted Felix in the room.”
Changbin didn’t sound bitter. Minho replied anyway. “That boy sees his own vulnerability as a failure. He doesn’t want to burden you.”
“You can remember that but not your birthday?”
“It’s just another day. He’s not just another boy.”
Changbin pressed his lips together. “No, he’s not.”
Minho looked down at his arms and realised only one was bare. His left arm was covered in gauze. No wonder it stung. “What happened here?”
“You must have tried to cover your head. You have stitches on the back of your forearm. Eleven, to be exact.”
“Oh.” So much he didn’t remember. It’d come back, he knew, but in time. Days from now, weeks, months. Some of it maybe even years.
He wasn’t sure how long he sat there. Chan walked over from a different room at some indefinite point, black coffee in one hand and a complexion that rivalled an old, decaying corpse.
“How’re you feeling?”
“Like someone smashed a bottle over my head,” Minho replied, even though it wasn’t quite true. Everything was soft at the edges. He hoped it was from drugs and not brain damage.
“What exactly happened?” Chan asked. “What can you remember?”
Minho grunted, annoyed, but he couldn’t blame them for asking. It just hurt to think. “Hyunjin went after Changbin. The guy that hit him…” Minho trailed off and tried to focus. The face in front of him was smeared. The bottle gleamed. He was pretty sure it was Heineken. “I didn’t have enough space to move Hyunjin out of the way. I didn’t have time. It was him or me.”
Changbin’s sigh gusted out of him. “Thank you. Thank you, Minho.”
Minho looked at Chan’s arm. They’d have matching scars now. “How could I ever look at you?” he asked. “If I hadn’t done it, how could I look you in the eye? I’d have done it for him anyway, but you both know exactly what it feels like to care for someone precious on behalf of someone you love.”
“Shut up,” Changbin said viciously. He wiped his eyes. “You fucking idiot.”
“I’m glad you’re okay,” Chan said, looking between them.
Jisung was no longer arguing. He stood at the edge of the waiting room, back to everyone else. His arms were crossed. His foot was tapping relentlessly. Minho missed his face. “Why is my Jisungie so far away?”
Chan glanced over at him then back to Minho. He shook his head minutely. “Let’s talk about it once you’ve had all your scans, yeah? If everything looks good you’ll be discharged by morning.”
“I can’t believe you don’t have a fucking bed yet,” Changbin said.
“A lot of people were here from the bar,” Chan replied, his tone forcibly light, clearly strained. “Some are in a way worse state than Minho.”
Minho kept his eyes on Jisung. “He got out okay?”
“Absolutely fine. There’s not a scratch on him.”
It was becoming difficult for Minho not to see Jisung fully. More difficult was understanding why his chest hurt so much, that he was in such a state and Jisung wasn’t next to him. He was so tired. Recent memories were coming back: Changbin prodding him awake every thirty minutes. The nurses said you can’t stay asleep for too long. Jisung wasn’t in those memories.
“When they put the staples in?”
Chan frowned, confused. After a moment the expression cleared into something carefully neutral. “He held your hand the entire time.”
“Was there a lot of glass?”
“Enough to make a window.”
Minho squeezed his eyes shut. He hoped time would skip again, but when he blinked Jisung was still facing the other way. His arms weren’t crossed, Minho realised. He was digging his nails into his wrist in a way he hadn’t in over a year.
“Jisung,” Minho called. “Stop that.”
Jisung’s shoulders tightened. Without turning around he walked off.
Minho knew he couldn’t stand properly. He couldn’t chase Jisung down if it came to that. The thought made his heart stutter, but before he could try to get off the awful plastic seat, Changbin heaved himself into a standing position.
“I’ll go.”
“Thank you,” Minho said. It didn’t ease the fear in his chest, but there was nothing he could do. If someone wanted Jisung, he had to trust that even with his broken, swollen face, Changbin wouldn’t let it happen.
Chan took Changbin’s vacated seat. “If you want to close your eyes and rest for a while, I’ll wake you up when it’s time for your scan.”
“I won’t sleep now.” Not now that he was conscious enough to know when Jisung was close by.
“He’s safe.”
“He’s sulking.”
Chan looked, for a horrible moment, utterly disappointed in Minho. “No, he isn’t.”
Minho had to blink hot tears away. How stupid he felt. His emotions didn’t want to regulate; he wanted to sob at the thought of Jisung being genuinely angry at him. “He won’t even look at me.”
“How did it feel to look at him when that bullet graze was healing?”
The noise that came out of Minho’s throat hurt more than the bottle.
“When Changbin pulled you out of that crowd your entire face and neck were red. You looked like – I’ve never seen anything like it. You looked like Carrie. You looked like you were about to die.”
“You know that head wounds-”
“Does Jisung know that?” Chan interrupted, hard. “Did you tell him that? You looked him in the eye and said, ‘I can see Star.’ What do you think that did to him? You’re dragged out of a crowd covered in the kind of blood I’ve only ever seen pouring out of a femoral artery and you tell him you can see a girl that has been dead for years.”
Minho shook his head. It made him nauseous again. Was he already nauseous? “Don’t talk about her.”
“You can’t bring her back,” Chan said ruthlessly. “How many times are you going to force Jisung to watch you martyr yourself?”
“Hyunjin-”
“No one here begrudges you saving Hyunjin except for Hyunjin. This isn’t about the bottle. If it was, Jisung wouldn’t be struggling to breathe. How many near misses has he watched? How many times have you barely escaped something while you forced him to stay back? Do you think that does nothing? Do you think he comes away unscathed? I thought he was going to pass out for a second there, once you were steady and your wounds had been closed. You talk about Hyunjin needing help – I’ve never seen someone shake the way Jisung shook, like he was about to come apart at the seams. He kept – fucking apologising, like he had anything to be sorry for, like he should be used to this now – he shouldn’t! Changbin was scared, I was scared – and you know better than anyone here just how little control Jisung has had over his own life. How was he meant to react? Sulking? If you weren’t already injured I’d smack you.”
Minho looked away and struggled to find his voice. He hadn’t meant it. Jisung only sulked over mundane things, like Minho eating the last cookie without realising, using the last of his favourite conditioner. Losing a bet, coming last playing a board game. He didn’t shake anymore. He didn’t hurt himself. Minho was awful. An awful, awful excuse for a person. He was glad Jisung hadn’t heard him.
Despite his harsh words, Chan wiped the tears from Minho’s cheeks. His hands were warm, but Minho felt hotter, almost feverish. “You’re not well enough for this, and I’m sorry for bringing it up now, but I’m starting to realise just how unwell you are all of the time.”
Minho laughed wetly. “Slow on the fucking uptake, aren’t you? Did you get glassed too?”
“You can’t devote yourself to building Jisung into his own person only to take away his choices when they matter.”
He could. He would. Safety came first, always. It was above love. If Jisung was safe and hated Minho for keeping him that way, then so be it. Would Minho’s heart break? Yes. He could deal with it for Jisung’s sake. He would deal with it when the time came.
Chan made a sad noise and cupped Minho’s face gently. “I never let myself worry too hard about you because I know if I did I’d lose the rest of my hair. That was a mistake, yeah? I’d rather be bald than see you do this to yourself.”
Minho saw his hand in Hyunjin’s hair. He saw the way Changbin had punched the man about to touch Hyunjin – the hit too hard, too accurate, to be anything other than a total lapse in control. Changbin had wanted to hurt that man.
If the bottle had hit Hyunjin, where would they all be now? Hyunjin had been much closer to the man wielding the bottle. It wouldn’t have hit him in the side of the head, it would have hit him in the face. He would have been torn to pieces. What would Changbin have done? And Felix? Jisung?
“You’re a hypocrite,” Minho said. “You’d have done the same thing every single time.”
“I know,” Chan agreed earnestly. “It’s in our nature to want better for our friends than for ourselves. You throw yourself into it though, Minho. Dying for Jisung won’t make up for what happened to Star.”
“I know I can’t bring her back,” Minho whispered. “Stop suggesting I’m trying to.”
“I don’t think you’re trying to bring her back; I think you’re treating Jisung like a second chance instead of the human he is. Sometimes he’ll hurt himself. Because of this life, there are times he’ll be hurt by other people. You can’t shield it from it all.”
“I can try.”
“You need to calm it down.”
“No.”
Chan looked away, torn. “He can’t see this happen again, Minho.”
“Cover his eyes.” Minho nudged their feet together. “I’ll do the same for you, even if Felix has a fascination with watching someone hurt on his behalf.”
“You don’t know him.”
Minho was weakened again like the head wounds were still bleeding. Their discussion had sapped the last of his strength, and though the pain was still foggy, it was constant, waiting at the edges of his vision. Before he could work up the energy to tease Chan for his automatic defence, a nurse approached.
“Mr Choi?”
Minho looked around, confused.
“Sorry, he’s still pretty out of it,” Chan said, patting Minho’s leg. “Is everything okay?”
The fucking ID. Had Chan mustered up a fake medical record? Scary.
“It’s time for your CT scan,” the nurse said to Minho, brisque but kind. “The results will indicate if an MRI and further testing is needed.”
He didn’t want to go without Jisung. “When he comes back,” Minho said to Chan, “get him some cheesecake, it doesn’t matter where from. He needs something sweet.”
Chan nodded. His coffee must have been cold, but he drank a heavy mouthful anyway. “He needs you to be okay more than anything else, but cheesecake is easier. I’ll start there.”
-
Minho was taken to a private room. He tried not to blush as the nurses helped him out of his clothes and into a gown – a process oddly painful because of the dried blood sticking to the hair on his body. Oddly more painful than the head wound he only caught a glance of as he passed by a mirror: horrifying, then, to see only the residuals of the scene and realise that he really had retraumatised Jisung.
Most of the blood had been wiped from his face, but his skin was an unnatural pink. It had dried, stained him in places. His hair was matted with it, lank and heavy. He had a black eye, his lower lip was torn, and some of the shallower cuts ran from his hair to towards his eye socket.
“It was kind of you to jump in the way of your friend,” one of the nurses said. “If one of you had taken the entire blow, you’d probably be in surgery right now.”
He could have lost his eye. If he’d been slightly closer, he could have lost it entirely. Jisung had – not seen the event, but he’d seen the aftermath. I can see Star. No wonder Jisung had been shaking. If Minho had found Jisung in this state he would have had a breakdown.
The setup for the scan took much longer than the scan itself.
Minho let himself be positioned and repositioned on the table, uncaring of whatever the doctors were murmuring above his head. I can see Star. That was true enough. He saw shadows of her in everything. His sister, his greatest failure. His family. Jisung, his love. His life.
The low whirring of the machine scared him. Encased in it – worse.
Minho didn’t feel like he could breathe until it was over. He was wheeled into his own room after that, his staples checked.
“Don’t worry, the worst is over now,” one of the older nurses soothed, patting his hand. “I’ll pop downstairs and let your friends know where your room is. If everything looks good, you’ll be discharged sometime tonight.”
“Tonight?” That was earlier than Minho had expected.
The nurse seemed to understand. “You were brought in at eleven p.m., Mr Choi. It’s almost five a.m. now.”
Minho stared at the ceiling and wondered where all of that time had gone. It was locked away somewhere in his bruised head.
He closed his eyes as the nurses bustled around.
He woke up to Jisung asleep at the side of the bed, face down on the sheets, body twisted up from the uncomfortable looking position on his plastic chair.
Behind him, Seungmin looked just as tired.
“I’m not dying,” Minho croaked. “This was hardly worth ruining your trip for.”
“I came for Jisung, not you,” Seungmin said.
Minho couldn’t argue against that kind of reasoning.
“Idiot.”
“Hey.”
“I hear you saved Hyunjin’s life.”
Minho forced back his urge to snort for fear of waking Jisung. “I wouldn’t be that dramatic about it.”
“Now Changbin just has to do something ridiculously risky for Felix and the three of you will be forever interlinked in a triangle of guilt and unpayable favours.”
“I think we’re already there. All eight of us.”
“It’s difficult seeing you like this,” Seungmin said. “Really difficult, Minho, and I’m not in love with you. You’re not the most important person in my life. I can’t begin to imagine what this is doing to him.”
“Stop,” Minho whispered. He looked to the window, but the blinds were closed. Shame was a rock on his chest. “Chan’s already given me the lecture.”
“I’m not saying it to make you feel bad, I’m saying it so that you prepare yourself for when he wakes up. I don’t know if it’s permanent, but right now it looks like a year or so of progress is gone.”
Minho let that sink in. After a moment he nodded.
Seungmin rubbed his eyes. “You’re one of the most important people to me, for what it’s worth. I love you. When Changbin called last night I really thought you were in a fucking coma or something. I had to drive to pick Jeongin up because he was wasted with his colleagues, and I didn’t even know what to tell him. He’s doing what he can to stop guilt from eating Hyunjin alive.”
“Bring Hyunjin in here, I’ll speak to him.”
“You’ll make it worse. You have no idea how terrible you look right now.”
“Thank you.”
“I mean it.” Seungmin shook his head. “This isn’t something you’ll walk away from with ease. You’re not driving home today. You can’t be left alone for at least a week. When you first came in, they sat Jisung down and prepared him for… for a fucking brain bleed, surgery, decompression – Changbin said Jisung started pacing, talking about his history tutor, about trepanning. I had to Google it. You know what trepanning is? An ancient technique for relieving pressure headaches, where people would use a circular saw and cut a hole in the skull. The nurses had to take him into a separate room and calm him down.”
If Minho weren’t so empty he’d have probably puked. If Jisung weren’t sleeping so soundly Minho would have hauled him up onto the bed and never let go of him again.
“You need to value yourself more,” Seungmin said softly. “You’re not being paid to be a human shield anymore. None of us want that.”
Minho couldn’t say how he felt: to protect someone he loved was the only acceptable way for him to die. He’d done too much so young. He wasn’t worthy of a peaceful death. He wasn’t worthy of the happiness he’d found with Jisung, the happiness he’d stolen. If he did one truly selfless thing, it would be to die in service of the gentle people that deserved such unwavering defence. Jisung. Changin. Felix. Jeongin. Seungmin. Chan. Hyunjin.
“You should sleep some more,” Seungmin said.
“You should too. We booked a hotel room, all of you should go sleep. Take Jisung with you.”
“Chan tried that already. Jisung was on the verge of biting before Chan finally backed off.”
Minho felt himself smile faintly, down at the back of Jisung’s head. “Sweet boy.”
“You made him feral. Be ashamed.”
“Never.”
Seungmin stood. He brushed down his suit and walked to the other side of the bed, then pressed a very brief kiss to Minho’s cheek. “You really are a fucking asshole. You’re not allowed to die when I’m not around to point and laugh.”
Minho reached for his hand and squeezed tight. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Seungminnie. Go rest now, hm? I’m going to be fine.”
Seungmin looked at the ceiling, his eyes shining. “You better be.”
Minho had made too many of his friends cry in one night. “Will you ask Jeonginnie to come in? Just so I can see him for a second.”
Seungmin sent Jeongin in, who was a pasty and panicked and somewhere delicate between drunk and hungover. He sat holding Minho’s hand with a quiet sadness, and when it was time to leave just said, “I love you a lot. Please be careful.”
-
Jisung remained. He slept and slept, and Minho watched him. No one had the heart to wake him. No one wanted to force him to leave.
Hyunjin had his own room on another floor, and because of that Changbin decided to stay. Chan herded everyone else back to the hotel and arranged to extend the stay for a couple of nights to make sure that everyone was as well as possible when they were finally ready to make the long trip home.
A nurse brought in a blanket and draped it over Jisung’s shoulders. She checked Minho over and advised that he should sleep more, that she’d wake him periodically, but he looked to be out of the danger zone.
He did his best to rest, but the moment his eyes seemed willing to close a knock at the door startled Jisung so hard that he flew out of his chair and stumbled back into a dresser hard enough that Minho knew his entire hip would be bruised.
Minho held his hand out automatically. “Ji-”
“Mr Choi? Some officers are here to take a statement on the violence last night, is that alright?”
Jisung looked at Minho with wide, unseeing eyes, breathing rapidly. Startled deer. Cornered mouse. Beaten dog.
“Sit down,” Minho said quietly. “Honey, come and sit down with me.”
“No, no – I’ll – I’ll go to the cafeteria, you can talk-” Jisung looked for a moment like he’d faint. “It’s fine. You talk to them. I’ll be right back.”
Minho tried to catch him, but Jisung was slipping out of the room before Minho could wrestle himself off the bed, and by that time the nurse was pushing him back down. He had to use his smashed-up phone to demand Changbin catch Jisung, wherever he was, and make sure he didn’t do anything stupid.
The officers were fine. Largely disinterested in Minho other than his murky recollection of what had caused the violence, why he’d been so injured, etcetera. He felt tense being in their presence, naturally, but they barely confirmed his fake name. They just wanted descriptions of the men that were actually fighting.
“If we watch the CCTV, are you saying we’ll find you defending your friend and nothing else?”
“That’s it,” Minho said honestly. “I just wanted him to get out unhurt.”
“That came at a cost, didn’t it?”
“Sure did,” Minho agreed, and waited for it to be over.
-
Hyunjin came to see Minho before Jisung returned.
He had stitches instead of staples, dark and ugly against his unusually pale skin. Like Minho, they seemed to drop from his hairline down the side of his face, close to his left temple. Not too many stitches, not too big. Not too close to his eye. He was still searingly beautiful. Still Hyunjin.
“Hi, sweet thing.”
“Jisung will never forgive me if you come out of this ugly.”
Minho laughed, even as Hyunjin’s bravado wavered and he started to cry. “Hyunjinnie, come on. Come here.”
Hyunjin folded into Minho’s side. His shoulders shook, His hair smelled of blood and antiseptic, and it looked like the wounds in his scalp had been glued instead of stitched or stapled. “I’m so sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for and you know that. I’d have done this for Felix. I’d have done it for Changbin and Chan.”
“But if I’d just stayed back things wouldn’t have-“
“You were trying to defend my best friend. How could I be angry at you for that? Changbin deserves that kind of care, even if he’d rather you stayed sitting next time.”
There was a lot left for both of them to say, but Minho didn’t have the words and Hyunjin didn’t look like he could take much more. Minho let Hyunjin cry it out. It was all he could do.
-
Changbin exchanged Hyunjin for Jisung in the doorway of Minho’s room. Every time Minho saw Changbin the bruising seemed worse. It had spread from his nose to his undereye on both sides of his face, purple and yellow. “We’re leaving in an hour, the nurse said you’re good to go. I have firm instructions to bring you back if you feel any pressure or if your nose starts bleeding.”
“Okay, thank you.” Minho kept his eyes on Jisung, who had his head down, a scratchy looking hospital towel in his hands.
“Seungmin is coming back with some clean clothes. In the meantime, maybe try to wash yourself down a little.”
Minho nodded. “Is your nose broken?”
“What gave it away? The shit plugged up my nostrils or the bruising?”
“Your stinky attitude, actually.”
Changbin waved Minho off and closed the door behind Hyunjin.
Minho and Jisung were left in an awkward silence, which was difficult to swallow. They’d never truly been awkward with each other. Had Minho done this? Had it been building over time – had he failed to notice?
“Is that towel for me?”
Jisung looked surprised to be spoken to. He blinked down at the towel in his hands, eyes wide. “Um, yeah. Do you want to shower? You can wait if you don’t want to. Whatever you want.”
“I want you to look at me,” Minho murmured. “Jisungie.”
“Um,” Jisung said again, weaker. Watery. “I’ll set the shower up for you, okay? Maybe it… I think it’s a good idea for you to get clean now so that when you get back to the hotel you can just rest.” He skittered into the adjoining bathroom before Minho could answer.
When Jisung returned, he slid himself under Minho’s left arm and helped him into the bathroom, slow and steady. He sat Minho on a stool in the shower then helped him remove the papery gown. There was a cord to pull that would set off an alarm for the nurses right next to Minho’s seat.
The shower was detachable, and Jisung ran it against his own skin until he felt the temperature was suitable for Minho. “The nurses said you can’t get your head wet yet, so I’ll have to wash your face with the towel or something.”
“You don’t have to bathe me.”
“I know.”
The water started at Minho’s neck. Immediately his muscles started to relax; Jisung knew the exact temperature Minho liked, just hot enough to be slightly uncomfortable. “Thank you, honey.”
“Yeah, of course,” Jisung mumbled. “You’d do it for me.”
“Without hesitation. Why won’t you look at me?”
Jisung laughed without any humour. “You’re hurt. This isn’t about me, you really – you don’t need me crying right now.”
“I need you to look at me,” Minho said honestly. “If you’re going to cry, that’s fine. Just look at me.”
“After you’re clean.”
It’d have to do. Minho sat obediently as Jisung helped Minho scrub his body down, careful of the stitches on his left arm, which he held above his head as the rest of his body was rinsed. The water that circled the drain was faintly murky. Minho hadn’t realised how much he’d been yearning for a shower until he saw the state of the water.
Jisung dried Minho brusquely, then dampened the corner of the towel and gently washed away the dried blood from the edges of Minho’s face. The towel came away almost brown, and that made Minho grimace hard enough that Jisung laughed, this time with a faint trace of real amusement.
Brushing his teeth sucked because his jaw hurt. When Minho finally looked at himself in the mirror for long enough to truly examine himself, he decided against it. He didn’t like what he saw. “I look like shit.”
“You look injured.”
“Hyunjin said if I came out of this ugly that you’d never forgive him.”
Jisung helped Minho back to the bed, where a clean pair of sweatpants and a familiar black shirt were folded neatly. Seungmin was around then. Somewhere.
Dressing wasn’t easy, but Jisung helped.
Minho had never let anyone else apply his deodorant for him before. He didn’t like it. His head was starting to pulse hotly, not exactly a pain, but so unpleasant that he felt a deep frown settle into the grooves of his face. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been so exhausted. His hands were shaking by the time he’d finally put his stupid fucking socks on.
Jisung took the seat next to the bed again. He pulled Minho’s shaking hands into his lap and rubbed them until they were warmer, some of the tremble calming.
“I don’t know if I can keep watching you do this,” Jisung said.
Alarm spiked. Minho turned his hands over and curled their fingers together. “This is the first time I’ve been glassed.”
“I can’t keep watching as you treat yourself like something disposable.”
“Jisungie…”
“I’m grateful you saved Hyunjin, so so grateful. It’s not that.” Jisung blinked and a fat tear rolled down his cheek. He still hadn’t looked at Minho, not really. Minho’s heart felt like it was splintering in his chest. “When I was thirteen my mom found out I had a crush, and she didn’t even know it was Hyunjin, but she was so angry. She said I was too young, that I had to focus on school. She made me stand in the garden for an hour after dinner – I wasn’t allowed to sit down, or move. I just had to stand there and think. After a while it started to rain, and I remember the way I… I was shaking. I was so cold. I knew not to move, not to come inside. She said I had to wait until she told me I could come back. It got dark. She’d fallen asleep watching TV. She forgot I was out there. I felt stuck, because if I came inside early she’d be so angry at me for ruining her punishment, but I knew if I stayed outside I’d catch a fever, and she’d be angry at me for letting it happen. I used to think that no matter what happened, I’d never feel that helpless again. I didn’t think it was possible.”
“I’m sorry,” Minho whispered roughly. “Baby, I’m so sorry.”
“I stayed outside,” Jisung said to their entwined hands. “It was almost midnight when she woke up and realised I was out there. She was furious. I caught a chest infection, and the antibiotics made me sicker, but she didn’t hit me. If I’d come inside early, she would have hit me.”
Minho released one of Jisung’s hands and tipped his head up by the chin. Jisung’s eyes were flooded. “Jisung, I’m sorry.”
“It wasn’t so bad when it was me.” Jisung’s mouth trembled. “I’d stand outside in the rain again. I’d come inside just to be hit. I’d do it over and over again, every single night. Anything to stop this, to stop you from doing this. I can’t watch you get hurt like this, Minho. It feels worse than when you’d left. At least then I knew you were safe.”
“Come here, baby come – please, let me-”
Jisung folded himself into the circle of Minho’s arms and cried. Minho curled around him and forced himself to breathe.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
“Please stop,” Jisung wept. “I love you too much. I’d rather be dead than see you hurt like this anymore.”
“You’re not going anywhere, you’re not – I’ll stop, I’ll do whatever I can to – I won’t let you-“
“I want to go home,” Jisung interrupted. He lifted his beautiful face, wet with tears, red and heartbreaking. “I want to go back to the cabin with you. I want you to heal, I want you to, to – plant your fucking potatoes, your tomatoes, I want you to relax, to be okay, I want you to go to therapy. I want to meet your mom, and I want it to be with you, not at your funeral.”
“Okay,” Minho forced out, smoothing his hand down Jisung’s face. “Okay, honey, whatever you want. I’ll make it happen, you know I will. I’ll fix it.”
“I don’t know how to make you listen to me,” Jisung said, almost unhearing. “You don’t listen to me. You’d do anything to yourself to make sure I’m unhurt. Do you know how that feels?”
“Jisung-”
“Maybe there’s only one thing you’ll listen to,” Jisung murmured. He wiped his eyes. “If you hurt yourself like this again to save me from something, I’ll go back to my mom.”
The bottom fell out of Minho’s stomach. “No.”
“Yeah,” Jisung said softly. “I will. If threats are all you’ll focus on, then that’s fine. If you’re going to make me watch this, then you need to know your actions have consequences too. I’ll go back, and if you get your way, if you end up like this again – you’ll be too injured to stop me.”
“She’ll kill you.”
“This is killing me.”
Minho sat back and tried not to hyperventilate. “No. No, I won’t let you-”
Another abrupt knock on the door that sent Jisung hurting out of his seat. “Mr Choi, are you ready to go through your aftercare pack?”
“What have I done to you, honey?” Minho croaked, staring at Jisung pressed against the wall.
Jisung didn’t have an answer. Minho didn’t either.
-
Seungmin drove them back to the hotel.
In their absence the room had been tidied, the bed made.
Jisung toed off his sneakers and climbed straight into it, face down on the pillow.
Minho sat at the edge and combed his hand through Jisung’s hair. “I’m sorry.”
“I know,” Jisung said. He turned his face to the side so that he could look at Minho. “Me too.”
“You have nothing to apologise for.” You never do. It’s all me.
“I’m sorry that I meant it,” Jisung said.
Minho’s heartbeat spiked. He tried to keep his hand steady in Jisung’s hair. “Let’s talk about this when we’ve both calmed down.”
“You’re going to have scars.”
“Not many that’ll be visible. I’d do it again for Hyunjin.”
“You have other scars that are more visible, that’s true. How many?”
Minho had lost count.
Jisung watched him with an almost blank expression. Resigned. “How many of them are because of me?”
“None. They were all because of me.”
“How many are because you were protecting me from something?”
All of them. Minho struggled to find his words.
“You love me,” Jisung said.
“Yes.”
“You’d do anything for me.”
Minho swallowed. “Yes.”
“It goes both ways. I’m sorry that I haven’t been making that clear.” Jisung rolled onto his back and sat up, level with Minho. He cupped Minho’s face, stroking his thumb over the bruising around Minho’s eye. There was something Minho had never seen before in Jisung’s expression. “I’ll make it more obvious from now on. I’ll keep you safe.”
“Jisung-”
“Whatever the cost.” Jisung patted Minho’s cheek and smiled without mirth. “Remember that, okay, babe?”