Warning! Character death

Prompt #6

“Dad?”

Minseok didn’t answer right away, which meant he had five seconds before he was inundated with “Dad, Dad, Dad! Dad, are you listening? DAD! DAD?”

“Yes. What?” Minseok turned the steering wheel of his Chrysler minivan, trying to take the turn slow. The roads were icy and the snowfall the night before hadn’t been fully cleaned up, making the morning commute treacherous.

“Dad, why do they say dead wrong when people don’t die when they are wrong?” Sehun kicked his legs, hitting the back of the driver’s seat. “Why is that?”

“It’s just a saying.”

“Dad, what’s a saying?” Sehun kicked harder.

Minseok griped the steering wheel and resolved to not scold the boy. It was a good thing he was so curious, just sometimes his curiosity came at really bad times. Like when Minseok had a forty five minute drive on ice and snow covered roads.

“Something people, um, say. That means something that it doesn’t sound like?” Minseok phrased it more like a question, he was pretty sure he had just delivered the worst explanation ever. Thankfully it seemed to satisfy the four year old in the back seat.

Minseok had watched the weather throughout the night plus checked it half a dozen times that morning. It wasn’t like it was going to change, so it was a fruitless task. He was just so nervous already, so afraid he would be late for something he absolutely could not be late for.

He had gotten Sehun dressed early that morning and set out a half an hour before he needed to. So far he was making good time, thank god.

“Dad?”

“Yes?”

“Why does it snow?”

“It is like rain, but when it is too cold the rain freezes.”

“Why does it rain?” Sehun started shifting in his seat, bouncing up and down.

“Evaporation. The air-“

“Dad, what is evaporation?”

“It snows because god is cold and he is crying,” Minseok blurted out, instantly regretting it.

“Dad, why is god sad?”

“Because he doesn’t like to be cold.”

“Oh.” Sehun accepted it. Another win.

They arrived at the hospital ten minutes early, after Sehun had been given the definition of frost, the reason tires are round, the reason he had to sit in a car seat, and if his Dad ever thought it would be better to be small like Sehun (being small is nice, but it is nice to be big too).

Minseok had his son halfway out of the car seat when his mother appeared. “Sehun, have you been good for your Dad?”

Sehun nodded vigorously, struggling to get down and run to his grandparents. Minseok was thankful they had agreed to watch the boy for the next week, even if it wasn’t a surprise they said yes. They adored their only grandchild. It was also a benefit they lived so near the hospital and offered to meet Minseok in the parking lot so he wouldn’t need to make an extra stop.

“Thanks mom.” Minseok received a half hug from his mother, he waved at his father who was busy being accosted by his grandson.

“No problem. Just please call. And good luck, I know everything will work out.”

“I hope so.” Minseok wished he could be as confident as his mother but after so much bad news in the last year it was hard to stay positive. Yet he never showed his doubt, not in front of Luhan. In front of his husband he stayed positive.

“Sehun, be good.” Minseok held his arms out wide, kneeling down he waited for his son to run into them. He hugged Sehun to him and peppered his face with kisses until he started to squirm to get away.

“Dad, tell Papa I love him too.”

“I will.” Minseok let the child go, one last ruffle of his hair before saying goodbye.

Minseok knew the steps to Luhan’s hospital room, the exact count it took to get from the main entrance up to room 502. He had counted them when he needed something to occupy him, some inane task for his tired mind.

1,647 steps.

He took 1,647 steps and was at Luhan’s bedside.

“Hey.” Luhan smiled up at him, reaching for his husband. No matter how sick Luhan was, how much the rest of him grew thin, pale, different – his smile never faded.

Minseok leaned down and kissed his forehead, his cheeks, and his mouth. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Luhan’s grip was weak, a soft pressure on Minseok’s hand.

“Sehun says he loves you too.” Sehun had been in the room two days before, a day worked out carefully based on Luhan’s wishes. The surgery was a risky one and any goodbye could be the last. Luhan didn’t want Sehun to see him the day of.

Luhan let a tear fall and Minseok brushed it away. “Babe, it will work this time, I believe it.”

Luhan nodded, the tears continuing to fall.

They sat that way for an hour, tears, and small declarations to each other. Whispers and prayers. It wasn’t the first time Luhan had been wheeled into the operating room with an uncertain outcome but it never got easier.

Nurses came in and added medication to Luhan’s IV. The anesthesiologist visited for a quick rundown before the surgery. Finally the nurses were there to take Luhan to the operating room.

“I love you so, so much.” Minseok kissed his husband again, and again until he had to stop.

Three hours later a nurse appeared in the waiting room, asking for Minseok. He followed her back to a family waiting room. When he saw the doctor he knew the news wasn’t good, not when the surgery was supposed to take six hours. Not when he hadn’t been told of the results in the waiting room like he had every other time.

“I’m sorry, his heart stopped. We made every effort to resuscitate-“

Minseok didn’t hear the rest of what the doctor said. The speech about doing all they could, about being so sorry for his loss. Minseok had no idea how he could keep on going without Luhan, how he would explain it to Sehun, or how it was reality – he would never see Luhan alive again.

Minseok told his son the next day. He asked him to sit on the couch at Minseok’s parent’s house, while Minseok kneeled in front of him. Sehun knew something was wrong, he was observant, he knew Minseok’s moods - he knew when his father was upset.

He explained it as best he could, having already looked at the pamphlet the hospital gave him describing how best to tell a child their parent had passed away.

Sehun remained silent while Minseok slowly explained. Minseok tried not to cry but it was impossible.

“Dad?” Sehun’s voice was missing its boisterous quality, its energy. They had warned that the child might not understand, probably wouldn’t understand what death meant. He was too young to fully grasp the concept. He wasn’t crying but he wasn’t his usual hyper self.

“Yeah?” Minseok wiped his tears.

“It isn’t because he is cold.”

“What?” Minseok was confused.

“God isn’t sad because he is cold.” Sehun pointed towards the large bay window. Minseok hadn’t even realized it had started snowing. “He is sad because Papa was sick and now he is never going to wake up.”

Minseok was unable to say anything, to refute it or confirm it or provide some explanation that made sense. He hugged his son to him, shutting his eyes tightly. Shutting out the sight of snow and everything Sehun thought it meant.