A bottle of stardust (SVT)

Ethereal

Jihao

Minghao takes a long drag of his cigarette and sighs. The hazy smoke swirled around the room, making mocking faces at Minghao. Jihoon squeezes his shoulders, making Minghao smile despite the pain. It had gotten worse, his bipolar. Raging headaches on one day, heavy sleepiness the next. He lost his job at the nearby convenience store, after being caught taking money from the cashier. And all his family and friends had abandoned him. All he had left was Jihoon. Jihoon. Dear, sweet Jihoon. Everyone has a secret keeper, Jihoon had told him. Everyone should have a secret keeper. To tell each other stories, hold each other while the other one cried, rub his back when he was throwing up on the sidewalk. Run from the police together when they finished spray painting a wall illegally. Steal chips from the supermarket with. To be his friend. And there he was. Minghao's secret keeper. Minghao could tell Jihoon anything. About the cutting, about the drugs, about the manic days and the low days. And Jihoon wouldn't judge. He'd lean against the wall with the younger and nod, just listen, won't talk. Minghao could cry and cry and choke on his tears and cough out bile and Jihoon would stay by his side, offering him a stained old cloth to wipe his mouth or another cigarette to ease the pain, or just sit and stroke Minghao's hair until Minghao's body stopped quivering. It didn't matter that they had to steal to survive, or that the house they were in was an illegal grimy drug house, or that they both were in horrible need of medical care. Because they couldn't leave each other. Not until they were okay. Okay means to be safe, and secure, with enough food and money to last them and a stable job, maybe. But okay doesn't come overnight.

There was one thing that made them almost okay, though. And that was music. Jihoon absolutely loved music, he would tell Minghao when he came back, "Oh, Hao, I heard the most ethereal music today," or, "Hao, there was a man playing this fucking ethereal music on the piano today,". Ethereal. That was Jihoon's favourite word.

At night, as the chilly evening breeze billowed through the dusty room, Jihoon would whisper as he lay by Minghao's side, "Hao, you're the bravest, most ethereal person I've ever met. Don't ever forget that."

Minghao wished he was ethereal. Ethereal for Jihoon.