Eunyong arrives that weekend, right around the halfway point of Johnny’s time abroad. She starts cleaning up the house the instant she sets down her bags, Taeyong following behind, happy to be chastised for the way he’s so clearly let the house fall into disrepair. For the first time in a while, their home is actually a little noisy, the joy of a reunion so palpable the house seems to stretch and grow with it. Taeyong is surprised no windows have shattered from the warm comfort emanating off of everyone under their roof the first few nights.

The siblings decide to give their parents some time off from the shop, falling into an easy rhythm each day, filling orders and chatting with customers. Eunyong has been away ever since Taeyong graduated college last spring, but within the first day, she already found ways to boss Taeyong around. It’s what she’s doing now, pointing out that the way he folds the butcher paper when he’s wrapping bouquets tends to lead to unwanted creasing. Taeyong doesn’t mind her nagging, though; she’s right, in any case, as usual , he thinks with a small smile as he corrects his technique.

“Is this better?” he asks.

She scrutinizes it, and then breaks out into a smile. “Much better,” she assures. “Hey,” she adds as he turns back around to grab some twine. “Are you, you know, okay here? Like, are you happy?”

She’s gesturing around the shop, concern in her eyes. Taeyong gives her a confused look. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” She glances at the clock, then goes to the door and locks it, turning their sign to “out for lunch!” before coming back and pulling a stool up to the counter in front of him. “I know the shop is important to Mom and Dad. And I know ever since you were little, you said you’d be happy to take over for them. But… I just worry about you, sometimes, that’s all. You could still—you could still choose something else. They’d understand.”

Taeyong laughs a little. “Eunyong,” he says. “I like it here. Sure, I could’ve pursued something else. I could have tried to become a singer or something, gone to the city like you. And I probably would have been quite successful. But… I don’t know. There’s something about this kind of life—it’s small, quiet. My world doesn’t need to be the size of the universe. My world is right here, and that’s plenty for me.”

Eunyong gives him a fond look. “You are so good,” she says. “You’re the poster child for filial piety.”

“I am not,” Taeyong protests. “I just… I’m content here. I don’t want anything else. The people I love are here, the work I love is here. I like the way the seasons shift, I like being near the ocean, I like that our buildings are only a couple of stories tall.” It feels hollow because of course he knows it won’t be like this for long, but it’s true all the same. He knows it’s a little hard for Eunyong to understand, with her ambition and her eyes full of stars. He can only hope she won’t give up her career to come pick up the pieces when he’s gone. “You wanted something else. And I’m so happy for you. I’m glad you didn’t have to push away that dream. I hope you never do.”

“That’s kind of you to say,” she says, slipping off the stool and going to unlock the door again. “Well, if you’re happy here, then I’m happy for you, too.” 

Taeyong’s phone buzzes in his pocket. As usual, it’s Johnny. The message, though, sends a shock of panic through Taeyong’s body, spearing him in place.

Hey are you busy today? Can I call you in a bit?

“What is it?” Eunyong asks.

“Just, um, just a text from Johnny,” Taeyong says, trying to sound normal. 

“Yeah?” Eunyong arches an eyebrow at him. “And?”

“He wants to call me in a little, but he didn’t say why.” Taeyong looks between his phone, limp in his hand, and his sister’s face. “Can I—Can I call him now? Is that okay?”

Eunyong motions around to the empty shop. “No, I’m obviously swamped,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Go, see what your boyfriend needs.”

“He’s not my—!”

“And tell him to hurry home! I won’t be here for long, and I want to see his .”

“‘Kay,” Taeyong says, too worried to laugh. He steps into the back room, shutting and locking the door behind him, dialing Johnny with the other hand.

He picks up on the first ring. “Oh, hey, Taeyong.” He sounds a little strange. “I didn’t mean now, not if you’re busy.”

“I’m not busy,” Taeyong says quickly. “Eunyong is here, she can stand to watch the shop on her own for a little while.”

“Oh, right! When did she get in? How long is she staying? How is she?”

“She got in on Saturday, so… that’s four days ago now,” Taeyong lists off. “She leaves in early- to mid-August. And, um, she’s good. That’s not why I called though. What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“Oh, yes, yes,” Johnny says. “I’m fine. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. I just, um, didn’t want to be alone.”

“I—okay. What… what about Ten?” Taeyong forces the bitterness from his tone, ignoring the surge of jealousy.

“That’s kind of why I’m calling. Um, he and I broke up.”

“Oh.” Taeyong doesn’t know how to respond. He wants to scream. He wants to ask Johnny a million questions. But he’s a good friend, so he says, “I’m sorry, Johnny. That’s not fun.”

Johnny sighs. “I mean, it’s probably for the best. I… I asked Ten if he wouldn’t want to come back with me, to see my hometown and stuff, and I guess it was, like, way too fast for him. Which—I mean, it was. Really fast. I just wanted to give him a chance to like, book tickets. But he said he couldn’t really see himself in a small town anyway, and since I can’t really see myself anywhere else… I guess it’s good we didn’t waste more of our time.”

“It wasn’t a waste,” Taeyong soothes immediately. “You learned something, right? And you had fun.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Johnny says with another heavy sigh.

“There’s something else, though,” Taeyong guesses. “You sound like there’s something else.”

Johnny laughs a little, but it’s dark and humorless. “He said—he just said as much as I seemed to be interested in him, I was never fully invested. And I guess he was right. It’s just not a nice thing to hear, even if he said it politely.”

“Oh,” Taeyong says, lost. “I… I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Johnny says. “I mean, I kind of always knew my heart lives at home.” Taeyong hears rustling, and he imagines Johnny running a hand through his hair, brows furrowed in thought. “I guess I just feel bad for being so obvious about it. He didn’t deserve that.”

“Was he nice?” Taeyong asks, half just for something to say, half to hurt himself.

“Yeah.” Taeyong resents the wistful note in Johnny’s voice. “He’s a handful, for sure, but he’s really nice. I mean, he’s… He’s like the rest of us, I guess. Just doing the best with what he has.”

“Is that meant to be a positive or negative comment?” Taeyong asks.

“Oh, positive, positive.” Johnny laughs, boisterous and full. “That sounded really spiteful of me, didn’t it? I didn’t mean it that way.”

“So,” Taeyong ventures, evidently on a self-destructive streak, “when you say your heart lives at home, what does that mean?”

“It means I miss my friends and my family and my bakery.” Taeyong can hear the eye roll, and he deflates, relieved, though Johnny’s next words make him tense up all over again, for an entirely new reason. “It means I miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” Taeyong replies after a split second of panicked silence. “Oh, yeah, um, Eunyong says, and I quote, to ‘hurry home, I won’t be here long and I want to see his .’ So.”

Johnny laughs again. “Sounds like Eunyong. Well, tell her I’m training , and I’ll get home when I get home.”

“Train faster,” Taeyong complains, earning another round of laughter.

= = =

The week ends sweltering and humid. Taeyong’s flowers have changed to a white camellia. The petals are coming up in groups now, twos and threes still connected to each other. He knows it won’t be long until he’s producing whole flowers, damp and wilting but perfectly intact. He doesn’t want to think about what it’s going to do to his throat. 

He’s getting weaker, too; his ribs are more prominent than ever and his cheeks are a little sunken. There’s a grayish pallor to his face now, though it’s usually hidden by blotchy red from the heat. The tips of his fingers and his toes are always cold, though, even when he’s outside, and he feels brittle, like if he falls down the stairs he’ll just start to break apart. His breath doesn’t come easily at all anymore, and he feels guilty when his mother buys a few potions from Yuta’s mom for chest tightness. He has no choice but to drink them, though he knows they’re going completely to waste.

He avoids a lot of his friends now that these more visible symptoms have made themselves known. They all know what to look for, and he’s just not ready for everyone to know yet. Honestly, he’s shocked his family hasn’t said anything. He does his best to patch up his face with makeup, and wears baggy enough clothing that no one can tell how he’s slowly withering away. He stays home under the guise of family time, but he knows he can’t hide for very long. Mark’s birthday is coming up, and Johnny— Johnny will be home soon. It’s not like I’ll be able to ignore him. 

Eunyong seems to be catching on that something is wrong, but she hasn’t mentioned it outright, likely because she’s not quite sure what she should be asking about. Taeyong tries his best not to give her an opening, and does everything he can to muffle the sounds of his coughing fits when they come. Under her watchful eye, though, he doubts he’ll manage the facade for long. 

Doyoung comes by a couple times, and even though he knows already, Taeyong can’t help but try to act like nothing’s wrong when he’s with him, too. He doesn’t want him to worry, even though he knows this wish is futile. How can he not?

“Eunyong is gonna kick your when she finds out,” Doyoung mentions offhand one day when he’s driving Taeyong back home. “You know that, right?”

“Well, it’s not like it’ll help to tell her now,” Taeyong says. “She’ll just… find out whenever she finds out, and be mad. She wouldn’t be any less mad if I told her tonight, you know?”

“I hope she beats you up,” Doyoung says, and Taeyong laughs, gingerly. The sound is a little raspy, and Doyoung gives him a look out of the corner of his eyes. “You haven’t, uh, you haven’t started coughing up blood yet, have you?” he asks.

“No,” Taeyong assures him. “Not yet. I’d tell you if I did.”

“Would you?” Doyoung asks, voice pitched unbelievably high with his skepticism.

“Okay, point taken,” Taeyong says. “But I would, I swear.”

“Forgive me if I don’t believe you.” Doyoung’s tone is wry, as always.

“You’re forgiven,” Taeyong says, singsongy and overly sweet.

“I will leave you stranded on the side of the road, so help me God. You can walk home.”

Taeyong spends some time mulling over his calendar before he sleeps that night. He’s got a little over a week now before Johnny comes home. Mark’s birthday is a couple days after he returns. Assuming he progresses along steadily the way he has been, the blood shouldn’t start until the week Eunyong is set to leave. From there, he probably won’t have much longer until he’ll be too weak to leave his room. Jaemin’s birthday is the 13th, just days after Eunyong’s departure, and he wonders if he’d even be able to make it to the celebration. He scans down the page, and places his finger on the last week of August. He doubts he’ll see the fall.

He allows himself a moment of melancholy. He had no idea last autumn, when he’d gone to a pumpkin patch with all his friends, would be the last time he saw bright orange and red leaves. He blinks, realizing he’ll never see snow again. He’ll never see the sea turn grey and violent with the cold winter wind. He won’t huddle around the fireplace, cradling a mug of hot cocoa to keep his hands warm. He won’t celebrate another Halloween, another Christmas. He certainly won’t be around for the new year. 

He puts his phone down, looking around his room, confronted suddenly by his tenuous mortality. Any given experience could be the last of its kind. It’s always been true in a way, of course, but now it’s all he can think. He’ll only see one more full moon, only have a few more cups of Kun’s excellent coffee, only see Jaehyun’s stupid horses a handful more times. Sometime soon, he’ll wrap his last bouquet.

It should terrify him, really. It should make him sob until he wakes the whole neighborhood up, make him want to get out and do as much as possible, make him want to never sleep again. But he’s so tired that the finality of it is almost soothing, somehow. It’s been hard , he acknowledges. At least there’s an end coming. At least I’ll be able to rest. He’s so exhausted with the secrecy, with the way his body rattles and shakes, that the peace he imagines comes with death is a relief. I hope it’s gentle, he thinks. I hope it’s like falling asleep. I imagine it dark and warm and quiet. And then—absolutely nothing. 

Wouldn’t that be nice?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(A/N): thank u for reading! tumblr here; once I finish up a couple of things i may or may not be putting up some polls (new nct chaptered fic? kinktober???) which ofc i'll link here, but i'll be more vocal and active about it on tumblr so that's the best place to be if you want ur voice heard! ofc, you can also always drop me a comment or an ask anytime ^^