twenty four hours ☄ jeongchan

5 hours

"crying for an angel dying"
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"All good things must come to an end," as Geoffrey Chaucer once said, and that's exactly how Chan felt about the empty spaghetti plate in front of him. The white was stained with red from the tomato sauce that Jeongin had to admit did taste different.

"I'm so freaking full," Chan grumbled, slouching onto the couch and patting his stomach. "Do I look fat, I feel fat," he mumbled, lifting his shirt and exposing his abs that did not make him look fat.

"No, you look hot, you're fine," Jeongin reassured him, resting his hand over the one on Chan's stomach.

"God, you're so cute," Chan cooed, his face softening the more he stared at Jeongin. The boy's hair was a total wreck, the hoodie he was wearing was too big for him, and his mouth was tinted from the spaghetti sauce, but Chan wouldn't have him any other way. Perfect was a stupid word invented by egotistical people who thought that something perfect actually existed. But who determined what made something perfect? God himself wasn't perfect like the books said, for if he was Jeongin would never be sick, people would never get cancer or get shot. Perfect was a stupid term, yes, Chan thought to himself, but looking at Jeongin made him realize what he determined was perfect.

"Do I have something on my face?" Jeongin asked, already wiping at his face. Chan chuckled and sat up from his slouched position. He placed a hand on Jeongin's cheek, caressing the soft skin.

"Nothing besides perfection."

Jeongin blushed and shoved Chan's head away, not wanting the man to see how flustered his words made him and get teased for it.

"Oh, and pizza sauce," Chan added with a smirk. Jeongin's eyes widened from embarrassment, and he reflexively hit Chan on the thigh.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He scolded, burying his face into Chan's shoulder to hide. Chan carded his fingers through the sick boy's hair, feeling how soft and fluffy it was despite how violently he had been sweating earlier.

"That wouldn't have been any fun, now would it?" Chan asked with a cheeky smile on his face.

"Get it off!" Jeongin demanded when he finally felt courageous enough to overcome his embarrassment.

"Hmm, there's a lot," Chan lied, studying Jeongin's face playfully.

"Just get it," the boy huffed, crossing his arms for dramatic effect.

"There's some here," Chan pointed to Jeongin's nose and wiped the imaginary sauce with his thumb. "Here, too," he said again, wiping away the "sauce" on Jeongin's cheek.

"Channie, that doesn't even make sense," Jeongin reasoned, catching onto the man's little game. He swatted the hands that were touching his face. "Stop, I'll get pimples."

"Wait, there's one more," Chan pleaded. "Right here." His thumb came to rest on Jeongin's lips, gently gliding down the sweet skin. Instead of wiping it away with his thumb, Chan dove in, capturing Jeongin's lips in his own.

"There, all gone," Chan smiled when the two pulled away, breaths uneven and cheeks flushed. But what concerned Chan was that despite his multiple flustered faces throughout the day, he had never seen Jeongin so red.

"Hey, baby, let me take your temperature."

Jeongin nodded wearily, feeling like his head was spinning. The light was too bright in the room and spots danced before his eyes. Chan stood and ran to the bathroom, snatching the digital thermometer in his frantic hands. When he came back, he had just enough time to reach the couch before Jeongin blanked, eyes glazing over and head going limp.

"Jeongin!" Was the last thing the boy heard before he let the dancing spots take him away.