The interviewer’s brows furrowed, having heard of the disease from a passing newscast but didn’t know what it was. “What does that entail…?” he asked cautiously, eyes on Jongin as he kept his head tilted back.

Jongin didn't answer for a very long while. It took him everything to centre himself and bow his head onto the table before he sat up straight, lifted his hips, reached into his pocket and pull out a small flat bottle. The interviewer was to stop him, but Jongin was already clearing his throat, unscrewing the top and taking a small sip. With a deep frown from one side, the other swallowed, eyes clenching shut before popping them open, blinking the tears away and sniffling once.

Jongin cleared his throat once more ||clearing away the remnants of the treatment that would be unproblematic for some – fatal for those rare others. He looked|| down at the small carving of Kyungsoo’s initials that stabbed him right in the heart. He lifted his hips once more and slipped the casing back into his jeans pocket.

The interviewer watched the entire thing, entirely disagreeing with him drinking, before Jongin spoke again, though he was commenting on the swig he’d just drawn,

“Still tastes like aspirin…”