GHOST [[ ONHO ]]

THE MIDDLE

For a few days, Onew couldn’t drag himself out of bed. The flu season had apparently decided to start with him. He was bed ridden and then toilet ridden as his body waged war on itself. His forehead was hot, his eyes were always watery and blurry, he was sure the aches in his bones were going to tear him apart any second. It wasn’t a fun period for him.

            At least he had Minho; it was honestly the only positive thing to his ordeal. He stopped feeling the need to hunch over a toilet bowl in a couple days, but the fever lingered and he found himself lethargic. The bed was becoming his best friend. Onew wished that Minho’s body was here next to him where he could see it so that he could at least cling on to him when his stomach clenched uncomfortably.

            He would have to ask him if this is how it felt to die the next time they reunited. Or maybe he shouldn’t… It wasn’t too polite a thing to ask… Even if the other person was already dead.

            What was he even thinking about?

            “Onew…”

            At first Onew thought that he was hearing things. His fever was high enough (he thought anyway) to distort his senses a bit. His desperate need to have Minho by his side might have created the whisper so that he could cling to that strand of hope till he recouped.

            His mind was set to ignore the wisp of a voice until it came again. It was just a little bit louder than the last time and he swore it was coming from right behind his head… Simultaneously he swore it was coming from all over the room. Minho was probably playing games to keep his spirits up.

            “I don’t feel like doing this, Minho…” he groaned, throwing an arm over his face weakly. As if he needed any more darkness, though, considering all his curtains were pulled shut and his lights were turned off. Everything save for the little lamp on his night table, but he very well had to see where he was going when he was heading to the bathroom.

            “Onew…” the voice came again.

            It seemed more insistent like there was something important meant to be draw from the two syllables of his name. Whatever the ghost was playing it was annoying Onew. He unleashed another groan and snapped at Minho to let him sleep. It was appearing to work but minutes later that dreaded voice came again, whispering something different, though.

            “Shhh… Listen.”

            Listen to what? To his organs flipping inside out? There was nothing to listen to except Minho’s stupid voice and his patience was wearing thin. He didn’t have time to waste on deciphering codes. As much as he wanted Minho, he didn’t want this. He wanted peace and quiet and his warm – well, cold – body at his side so he could tangle their limbs together and nap.

            “Onew… Listen.”

            “Go away, Minho. I’m trying to sleep.”

            “Listen! Shh! Go away!”

            “Minho, I mean it, stop!” he whispered hoarsely, his throat still aching from the many times he had retched. He had been aiming to go a little louder than a whisper, hoping the thick skulled ghost would surpass the air in his ghost brain and realize that Onew wasn’t up to solving puzzles. It was nap time.

            “Onew! Listen! Go away!”

            Who the hell did he think he was telling him to go away? If anything Onew should have been yelling that to Minho. The other wasn’t being quiet about this either. It seemed the only thing he wanted to do was drive him crazy and draw attention to his dorm. As if they needed that. Whoever discovered their relationship would probably – no, definitely – think them to be crazy. Or probably just him since Minho’s existence couldn’t exactly be proven on the spot.