Best of You [ChanCheol] ✔

02

He gets home from his last class, muscles aching. He's a dance major. A dance major who somehow forgot to stretch before his choreography class. At least he had been prepared unlike one of his class-friends, Jimin, who forgot to bring the correct attire. He hated not being allowed to participate in any dances so he borrowed a t-shirt from Chan and a pair of pants from Hyunjin (though he was the oldest, he was the shortest and managed to make it fit.)

He slumps onto the couch as his hand stretches out for the phone. Speed dial 1. The nurse answers and few words are exchanged before his call is redirected to one of the rooms. It rings a few times. When Chan is almost ready to hang up and try again later in the hopes of finding being redirected to someone who will pick up, the ringing stops and he can hear the soft sound of breathing on the other line. He doesn't say anything. From past experiences, he's learned to wait until the person on the other line has spoken first. It used to freak out some patients when he spoke first and they had no idea who he was, but if you let them speak first, it creates the imagery that they were the ones who started this.

"Hello?" Surprise twists through him at the sound of the voice. A male (though he wouldn't just assume), who sounded older than he had been expecting. Given the last calls he's had with kids, he had been expecting another kid. Another dad joke prepared for it. He wasn't sure that would suffice for this person who sounded serious.

"Hello," Chan greets cheerily for lack of better words. Not wanting the silence to seize them up, he doesn't stop there. "How are you today?" (He asked this sometimes. When the patients were reluctant to talk. They would tell him they felt crappy and Chan would tell them he could change that with a little joke. It usually went well. Hardly ever did the routine change.)

"I'm doing alright, thank you for asking," the person says politely. His voice is soft. Warm and honey dripped. If Chan were asked to describe it, that was what he would say. Hold a gun to his head and he'd still say warm, honey dripped. To his surprise, the person continues. "And how are you?"

How was he? How was he?

He stammers for a response. The moment the question was asked, his mind went blank. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't think. Hell, he didn't know the answer to that. How could he answer that when he didn't even know how to answer it?

"Fine," he says after a passing moment. He swallows the lump and clears his throat. "I'm doing just fine."

"Well, that is good to hear," the person replies. Chan's gaze flickers up to the bedroom door as it creaks open and Minghao steps out. Their gazes lock and Minghao smiles apologetically before tiptoeing over to the bathroom. He almost forgets that he's on the phone as he listens quietly to the other person's breathing. Then, realizing himself, he sits up as if the patient could see him.

"Yeah," he murmurs. "So, do you think–"

"I should go."

His eyebrows lift in surprise. Then, he composes himself. "Right. Yes, of course."

Before anything else can be said, the call ends and Chan is left listening to the beep tone. He only thinks to put down the phone when Minghao walks back in and takes a seat beside him.

"I didn't know you were still here," he says when Minghao stays silent. He tugs at a strand of his hair, lips curving into a sheepish smile.

"I don't have a shift today," he explains. "I was going to cover Seokmin's shift but they called this morning to say I didn't have to." He leans back, eyes flickering over Chan's face. "So, who was it today?" As long as he's known, Minghao would ask who the caller was. Every day that he could, he made sure to ask. While he never understood why, he never tried to ask.