m e d i c i n e

(even the sun can fall sick)

Donghae’s head feels like someone shook it around hard enough that his whole brain ended up thoroughly bruised. It’s like something sharp keeps on pounding and hammering against the insides of his skull, pulling weak groans out of him. There’s a horrible ringing in his ears, which doesn’t help to soothe his headache at all, while shooting pains stab chaotically through all his muscles. It aches everywhere and the slightest movement feels like he’s been trying to heave up thousands of kilos around.

Gingerly, Donghae reaches over for the iced water Hyukjae left for him on their bedside table, but recoils quickly at its coldness. He his parched and cracked lips, wincing almost physically at the thickness of his saliva. His stomach has settled at last, but likely because he hasn’t eaten a bite in over thirty hours—not since the vomiting. As much as he knows that Hyukjae doesn’t mind, he’d like to stay somewhat dignified even in his weakness. Then, as he starts daydreaming of his boyfriend and his warm hands, he suddenly feels cold again and pulls the blankets in closer around his neck.

Donghae is sick—he knows he is and has admitted it a long while ago already, although after a long denial. He only wishes he didn’t share his nasty germs with Hyukjae.

In the bathroom, Hyukjae blows his nose and coughs painfully.

*

Donghae peers up tiredly at his boyfriend from beneath their thick blankets, which Hyukjae has firmly pulled up over the top of his head earlier. He snuggles into them and breathes out in slight relief, before going through a short fit of coughing that leaves his throat burning. Whining, he tries to gulp the soreness away and grimaces a little.

“You could stay home,” he tells Hyukjae. His heartbeat speeds up a little in his chest, like it does every time he remembers they’ve been living together for almost a year now. Home.

About a month or two after Donghae got his bachelor’s degree, and upon a natural decision that could have seemed disconcerting, the two of them decided to move in together and started to look for an apartment in the center of Seoul. They found a nice one with the help of their parents, which isn’t too far away from the older adult’s workplace and from his own university, where he’s still busy taking his master’s degree. The bathroom is admittedly a bit on the small side, and Donghae is not even sure he knows how to use the kitchen—he’s never been good at cooking—, but it’s their home and he loves it more than anything.

Their parents often show up for dinner and would spend half their time there commenting the décor, even though it hasn’t changed in months. Sometimes, Hyukjae would add a small something on a random piece of furniture and they’d bet how long it’d take their parents to notice it and start rambling about its interesting design. While in truth, Hyukjae usually buys those trinkets in the shady sections of their supermarket, and that only when there are buy-one-get-one-free promotions.

Not that they need to know that.

“You’re sick, too,” Donghae continues. “You need to rest, Hyukjae. I’m sure the financial markets can go on fine without you for a day or two.”

Buttoning up his neat white shirt, Hyukjae gives him a glance and a weary smile. “It’s okay,” he says as he reaches over for his tie. “I’m not as sick as you are; no offense, kiddo, but you look kind of terrible.”

Donghae makes a grimace and rol