overpopulated ▪︎ minsung

chapter 8; hurts

Jisung wasn't used to coming home after Minho, but his latest English assignment required some group time with the annoying people in his class. Nearly all of the lights in the house were off, except for Minho’s flashing phone: a call from Chan that didn't get answered. Minho, however, was nowhere to be seen. Jisung squinted in the dark to find his boyfriends silhouette, spotting his huddled body buried under the duvet usually hanging from the back of the couch.

“Minho?”

The lump groaned, and Jisug rushed over. He found Minho’s sweaty forehead in the pile of blankets and softly brushed his damps bangs away from his closed eyes. 

“What's wrong, Min?” He asked quietly. 

“Just don't feel so hot right now, Sungie. I'm pretty sure I overworked myself at dance class.” 

Jisung knew from previous experiences that this was not an overworked Minho. That Minho was much more irritable and clingy, demanding massages and food. Jisung accepted his boyfriend's lie with a simple hum.

“Are you sure?” Minho nodded against Jisung’s hand. “What's your temperature?” 

“I'm fine, my love, I promise.” Minho kissed his palm, and Jisung shuddered, feeling the unusually chapped skin. “Lay with me?”

Laying down with his feverish boyfriend was a one-way ticket to sickness, but staring at Minho’s sparkly eyes in the dark melted any of his complaints. He cuddled up to Minho’s shivering body, ignoring the perspiration, and closed his eyes. 

When he woke up two hours later, the lights were on and Minho was no longer curled around his body. Instead, Koda had made his way to the couch, nudging his furry body against Jisung’s outstretched hand. 

“Minho?” Jisung called out, patting Koda briefly and standing from the couch. He searched the kitchen and their bedroom, before hearing a heartbreaking sob echo in the bathroom. He rushed to the locked door and pounded on the wood, almost certain it would break under his fists any moment. “Open the door, Minho.” Jisung pleaded while still desperately wiggling the knob. The lock clicked and the door flew open.

Minho was sitting on the floor in front of the toilet with tears dripping down his cheeks and snot gracing his upper lip. When he looked into Jisung’s eyes, his lips quivered and his body slumped against the tub. The vulnerability in Minho’s defeated frown was unexpected, and the realization that something was seriously wrong startled Jisung. 

Minho coughed into his hand, a sound similar to an asthmatic wheeze. “Jisung," Minho croaked. “I lied. Something is wrong.” 

“What happened?” Jisung peered over the edge of the toilet and almost gagged at the amount of throwup. What alarmed him more than the combustion, however, was the red scattered across the toilet seat. “Is that blood?” Jisung asked, glancing between Minho and the toilet with a horrified gasp.

“Hurts," Minho whimpered, rubbing his chest. “Can't breathe.” He inhaled shakily, throat constricting at the burn. His weak attempts at retaining what escaped his dying lungs made him extremely lightheaded. Bracing himself against the tub, he laid down on the floor. Jisung rushed over and cradled Minho’s head in his lap. 

“Minho, Minho!” He screamed. “Hey, babe, stay with me, okay? I'll call for someone to help.” Jisung grabbed his phone from his hoodie pocket with shaking hands, dialing 911. “My boyfriend needs help. He can't breathe!” Any composure Jisung previously had flew out of the window as the operator tried to calm him down enough to extract an address. The operator forced Jisung to stay on the phone until help arrived, but hung up when he hopped into the ambulance, hand never leaving Minho’s. The EMT’s rushed Minho onto a stretcher and into the OR, leaving a wailing Jisung to pace the waiting room. Three hours later, after the sun had welcomed the moon, the doctor called him to the back.

“Just be careful of the IV drip, alright?” The doctor warned him. Jisung nodded and sped to the room, resisting the urge to jump into his boyfriend's arms (and consequently rip out his IV). 

“Hey, Sungie.” Minho smiled guiltily and opened his arms, accepting Jisung’s gentle cuddles. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you.”

“Don't care,” Jisung mumbled. The room was quiet, with the exception of Minho’s steady heart monitor. The sound was relaxing for Jisung, a reassurance that Minho was real and alive.

“I'm scared,” Jisung admitted quietly.

Minho cooed and kissed the top of Minho’s fluffy hair. “Of what, mi amor?”

“Losing you.” Jisung sat up, weight resting on Minho’s lean thighs. “What if this is it? What if this is where you die, where our story ends?”

Minho held Jisung’s hand and softly rubbed his thumb over the boy's knuckles. “Well, then I sure as hell won't die without a fight.”

Somebody knocked, and the door opened slowly. The doctor peeked her head in and smiled at the two politely. “I'm sorry to interrupt, but Jisung, may I speak with you outside?”

“Sure.” Jisung carefully climbed to the floor and kissed Minho’s pouty lips. “I'll be right back.” 

He followed the doctor into the hallway, mesmerized by the sway of her ponytail. She shut the door gently and gave her full attention to the teenager in front of her. 

“I'm so sorry Jisung. There's nothing we can do for him.” She broke the news gently; a mother soothing her frantic child. Regardless, the news devasted Jisung. She watched his hopeful smile crumble to ashes, as every other lovers had when they received the blow. It never got easier, as she had hoped. Her heart shriveled every time she watched hope die from her words. She knew what he would ask next, everyone always asked.

“Who can? Who do I have to talk too?” Jisung demanded. “I'll do anything.” And she knew he would; the fire in his eyes was a vengeful one. 

“I'm not sure it will help any, but maybe you could try talking to the Department of Colors. The head of the department makes the choices, and from what you've told me, he knows who Minho is.” She told him what she knew, bade him a pitiful goodbye, and took her news to another room, watched another person die with their love.

Jisung sighed and wiped the tears from his eyes vigorously. Minho didn't have to know. Jisung would fix his mistake, switch it back. Jisung would die for Minho.

The door shut softly behind him as he curled up under Minho’s stubbly chin.

“What’d she say, Ji? Any updates?” 

“Nothing new, she just told me to get out of the pregnant patient's parking spot.”

Jisung lied.

Minho laughed.

It was devastatingly beautiful.

Whatever it takes. 

| 48 : 23 : 43 |