JULY 11

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   Jisung refused to go back home to an empty house. 

   Not that anybody intended to force him. In fact, all the residents of Chan house were more than ready to offer up their last empty room and to go pick up his stuff for him. Upon receiving this offer, Jisung had simply said "Grab whatever you can." He was far too tired to think about what exactly he'd need.

   At the moment, all Minho was doing was standing around awkwardly while Jisung laid on the couch, blowing his nose, with his forearm draped over his wet eyes; feeling inadequate and incompetent after watching Chan and even Changbin comfort Jisung effortlessly through little actions and words here and there— gestures that seemed obvious only after Minho saw them happen, from Changbin's preparation of breakfast before anyone else was up, to Chan's calming shoulder-rubbing after he'd supported Jisung on his way downstairs to the couch. Felix had done his fair share of that as well before leaving to go make brownies— which was apparently the only thing Jisung was interested in eating at the moment.

   "Alright." Chan leaned over the back of the couch to pat Jisung's head gently, coaxing the boy to remove the hand from over his face and look at him for a moment. "We're heading over, mate. Be back in a few." His voice was so soft and perfectly soothing.

    Hearing those words, Minho started to slip his shoes on, and all of a sudden Chan left Jisung's side and walked over to him. As he approached, Chan reached out a cautious hand, slow as it came toward Minho's shoulder, as if he were checking whether or not Minho would be receptive of it before it made contact. 

   Minho remained still. It didn't feel great, but it was tolerable. The words Chan said to him after were slightly less tolerable.

   He lowered his tone to a whisper that Jisung wouldn't be able to hear. "How about you stay here? ...You don't look too good."

    As if he looked any fucking better. Yeah, maybe Minho had stayed up all night crying, but Chan had probably done the same, and there he was, still going. Minho was about to protest due to the sheer hypocrisy of it— paired, of course, with the fact that no matter how shit he felt, of course he could still put clothes and whatever else in boxes and carry them to a car— but Chan got his next words in faster.

   "Besides, someone needs to keep Jisung company."

   Immediately, as if he was spring-loaded, Minho fired back, as quietly as possible: "Not me! I can't—"

   The hand resting on Minho's shoulder (which was becoming less and less bearable by the second) lifted a for moment, then came back down to give him a quick, reassuring pat. "You'll be alright, Minho. Don't overthink it."

  But asking Minho not to overthink was like asking the sun not to rise; the earth not to spin. He was stiff yet fidgety, feeling somewhat betrayed as he watched Chan's car take off from the living room window. Now he was stuck alone again with the boy with the dead mother— the boy he couldn't comfort; could barely even say an encouraging word to. He felt that if he opened his mouth to attempt it, all that would come out would be clunky-sounding cliched nonsense that would only patronize him at best.

   The movie Changbin had turned on at a low volume before they left— what it was was, Minho didn't know; didn't care— eased the slightest bit of tension, relieving them of cold, lifeless silence that otherwise would have been there. Neither of them paid any attention to it, but the background noise was welcome. It felt like it gave Minho just a little more time to rack his brain.

   What on earth could he do? Minho kept wandering in and out of the living room, just pacing, unable to sit still as Jisung laid quietly, his tears having dried up by now— now he just stared listlessly at the ceiling through swollen eyes rubbed raw and red. And maybe that was more depressing than him sobbing his heart out. But still Minho had nothing to offer him.

where do i even start? how on earth do i make it better? i have no clue what this is like for him— losing a beloved family member. even if i imagine losing my mom, i know it's nowhere near the same. to be honest, i don't think i would feel much of anything if my mom died. or any of my family members. honestly, i'd only cry if my cats died.

...he's laying down, so i can't even hug him. even if i did, it'd be stiff and weird and he probably wouldn't find it comforting at all.

i'm so fucking useless.

  There was just one little thing Minho could think to do (besides replenishing his tissue supply).

   Minho cleared his throat as he came back into the living room for the umpteenth time, drawing Jisung's glossy gaze to himself. "Um... Jisung... water?" he offered, holding out a filled glass. So awkwardly. Hand shaking.

   Jisung sniffled with a slight smile spreading halfway across his puffy cheeks. "Thanks, Minho." He propped himself up on an elbow, accepting the glass; taking a sip. He handed the glass back a moment later, collapsing back into the couch, running a hand through his hair and leaving his hand to linger at the crown of his head, squeezing his eyes shut as if his head was aching. It probably was. 

   "Ugh, I feel awful," he griped, sighing.

   "...I'm sorry, Jisung," was all that Minho could manage to say.

    It's something that— weirdly— a lot of people say after a death, so it would've been perfectly typical; to have been expected. It was something that Jisung had heard at least a dozen times over the past twenty-four hours. But what came from Minho's mouth just now hadn't been said with that same, unmistakable 'my condolences' sort of a tone, so Jisung questioned it, genuinely confused.

   "For what?"

   It was as hard as ever to admit an insecurity. With a dry mouth and sweaty palms, Minho replied, "For not knowing how to help."

   With another sniffle, accompanied by a slight, sad smile, Jisung asked, "You wanna help?"

   Minho nodded without hesitation.

   "Okay. Well... come sit... right here." Jisung patted the couch next to him, so Minho sat, and waited expectantly for Jisung to tell him the next step. But he didn't. Jisung let out a fraction of a sigh, and then he was silent.

   "...That's it?"

   With his misty-eyed, blotchy face so genuine and serious, Jisung looked Minho in the eye and said, "I just want you to be here."

   And then they were both crying on the couch. For once, Minho found himself able to forget about the fact that (in his mind) it was indeed end of the world if someone saw him with water spilling over his eyelids. Today, or maybe just right now, it didn't matter. At some point, Jisung's head found its way to Minho's shoulder, and Minho didn't even think of pulling away as he felt its weight; felt Jisung's hair splay against his skin. 

   With his lips already close to Minho's ear, Jisung whispered, "I love you." 

   Minho couldn't even process one bit of the euphoria that should've been included in the mixed bag of feelings that receiving such a statement would have evoked in him. He was too caught up in the guilt. Minho fucking hated himself all over again for the way he didn't say it back— couldn't say it back— whatever it was, in the end, he had no reply for Jisung. And of all times, this would be the one in which Jisung needed to hear it back.

.

   Maybe Minho's perception of time had drastically slowed with Jisung pressed against his side... but it felt like Chan and Changbin were taking a very, very long time. That suspicion was confirmed when the movie (which he and Jisung had finally actually started watching) came to an end.

   By then, they had mostly stopped crying, but they'd barely moved a muscle (not including the point at which Minho got up to refill Jisung's empty water glass, just to come back and have Jisung resume his earlier position immediately after taking a long sip and offering the rest to Minho). Minho was starting to dread the quiet that would settle in as the credits came to a close.

   But lucky for him, his phone rang.

   "Changbin?" Minho began, perplexed, once he'd wiggled his phone out of his pocket and let it fall to his side on the couch, speaker on. Changbin had never once called Minho before. Probably hadn't even directly texted him.

   "Hey, you're with Jisung still, right?"

   "Yeah," Minho confirmed, trying not to let wariness distort his voice too much. "You're on speaker."

   "Okay, um..." Was that a hint of nervousness in Changbin's voice? Urgency? "Everything's alright, so I want you to be calm, Jisung especially." Minho felt Jisung stiffen against him, straightening up and slowly turning his head towards Minho with eyes wide.

    That did not sound good.

   In the most deliberately calm and careful voice Minho had perhaps ever heard, Changbin said, "You guys might wanna come to the hospital."

   Both of their hearts dropped. What on earth?

   "What? " Minho's voice, but both of their thoughts.

   "Like I said, everything is okay. He's alive... and stable."

   Jisung lost it. His freshly-dried eyes got flooded again and his voice shook from deep within his gut like an earthquake as he cried, "What!?"

   "...Chan hyung got into an accident."

   Minho didn't even think twice as he began to hear ragged, panicked breaths growing quick and heavy beside him— for once in his life his hands moved quicker than his brain: he turned off speaker, bringing the phone to his ear and firmly wrapping the other hand around Jisung's shoulder, pulling him back in towards his body.

   None of this felt fucking real. Minho tried to put all his focus into comprehending the words that Changbin said as he recounted the details. And to be honest, Minho probably only heard about half of it. The sounds of Jisung's hyperventilation were far more attention-captivating.

   "Okay, thanks, Changbin. I'll drive Jisung if he wants to go see him later, so don't worry." And that was it. They hung up.

    It may have been the hardest thing he'd ever done, to keep it together while there was someone (and not just someone— the person he cared the most about in this whole damn world) having a full-on panic attack in front of him, with absolutely no one else there to help. It was all on him to calm Jisung down, and he wasn't qualified for this... holy shit, he couldn't do this. Especially not when that news had shattered his world and made him want to curl up on the floor and scream.

   ...Actually, thinking back, no, telling Jisung about his feelings for the first time, long ago at college— and entirely flipping his way of thinking about life as a result—had been harder than this. Probably. After getting through that, he could probably do anything.

   With the tiniest boost of confidence from that thought, he chucked his phone away and at last turned his full attention to Jisung. "Sung... deep breaths, please." It was nothing more than a weak, unsure request. It wasn't good enough. It didn't work.

   Running low on oxygen, Jisung was locking up, his body rigid, his face turning a shade of ashy grey. But Minho could not panic.

   Minho grabbed him by the shoulders, and took some very loud, deep breaths (half to demonstrate and direct Jisung to do the same, and half to calm himself). It seemed to get through to Jisung a little; his shallow breaths became slightly deeper each time. 

   "Look at me." Minho's voice found a bit of that assured firmness he was looking for a moment ago. He didn't go on until Jisung dragged his drowning eyes up to meet his. "Chan hyung will be fine. He is okay. Just breathe."

   And ever so slowly he calmed down; his breathing falling back down to a normal rate. With one more gasping inhale and chest-deflating exhale, he fell into Minho's chest, exhausted (even more so than before). 

    Minho held him close. And it felt so right to wrap his arms around him for once; not a single thought of obligation entered his mind— there was no conflict, no 'does it feel right or not?'. No 'fuck, i'm so stiff and awkward'. He ran his fingers through Jisung's hair with the gentlest hands he'd ever used in his life; not a hint of sickness in his stomach or burning in his skin.

   After quite some time spent quietly like that, Minho began to ask, tentatively, "Are you... I mean... Is it okay if I tell you a little bit of what Changbin said?"

   He felt Jisung nod creakily against his chest.

   "Chan hyung's unconscious, but it seems like the worst he got is some bruising and whiplash. ...Would you like to go see him at some point?" 

   Minho knew the last place he had to want to be was in a hospital again. It was just too soon. And, I mean, no one ever wants to be in a hospital anyway. They're all too sterile and stuffy and they stink of chemicals in order to cover the rancid scent of disease and death, and each room is filled with an accumulated sense of dread which is added to by each set of occupants. Jisung shouldn't be there. Jisung should be under the sun, smiling and laughing and feeling the breeze; feeling alive and loved, surrounded by family.

   "...Yes." He answered, eventually. "But... can we just... stay here a while?" His voice trembled badly, as did his body.

   "Yeah... Yeah, we can stay here." Minho held Jisung a little tighter, leaning back into the couch in an effort to make them both more comfortable (something he knew he was terrible at). "As long as you want, Sung."

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surprise surprise! no one saw this coming!