Taeyong wakes up in his bed at home. He’s drenched in sweat and the blinds are closed. He’s alone, but he hears quiet shuffling and conversation downstairs. He groans softly, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. 

He definitely had some strange, scary dreams—the trembling and soreness isn’t just him recovering from the day before alone. It’s always been like that, though, recently, and the fading pieces of his dream quickly take the back burner as his memories catch up with his body. He tries a deep breath, and it’s smooth and whole. It almost makes him dizzy—he just keeps inhaling, and nothing’s in the way, and he doesn’t start coughing. It’s so strange, and so easy. He presses into his chest with the heel of his hand, but the ache is dull. 

He stretches, standing, and goes to open the blinds. Bright sunlight hits his face, but he smiles into it, letting his eyes flutter shut, and pads over to his dresser, pulling together an outfit. He’s fastening his belt when he hears feet on the stairs.

It’s Eunyong, mug of steaming lemon water clutched in her hands. “Taeyong,” she says, barely above a whisper, eyes wide. She hurries to put the cup down and shuffles over to him with her arms outstretched. “Oh, you’re awake! You’re okay! Oh my god,” she says into his shoulder. “How do you feel?”

“Like I can actually breathe,” Taeyong says, almost hesitantly. He doesn’t quite want to believe it—it feels too perfect. “I mean, it’s too early to tell, but I—I feel good. Or, I feel better, at least.”

“Good, that’s good.” She pulls back, brushing some of his hair from his eyes. “We’ll need to get you a haircut,” she says with a giggle.

“What’d you tell Mom and Dad?” he asks.

“Just that we went hiking, and you fell and hit your head. They’ll probably want you to go get checked that you don’t have a concussion.” Eunyong shrugs. “But we can always just not do it and say we did, you know?”

“You’re a bad influence,” Taeyong says, but he’s laughing. “So what—what happened after I passed out?”

The smile dies on Eunyong’s face. “I was so scared,” she says. “You were breathing, but you weren’t moving or responding. And we had to wait for the rope to finish burning before we closed the circle. Once it finally did, we closed it as fast as we could, and I called Doyoung. Luckily, he was still awake, and he drove to the edge of the woods to meet us. I told him not to come into the forest in case he got lost in the dark. Gyunghui helped me carry you down. She told me that if you ended up with a fever, to just let you sweat it out. Once Doyoung was there to meet me, she went back to her house. He drove us home and got you up into bed while I tried to calm Mom and Dad down. I told him not to tell anyone what happened. He said he’d tell a few of the others you got into a hiking accident, but that you’d probably be fine.”

“Oh, , my phone,” Taeyong says. “I bet he told Johnny, and I bet he’s worried.” He pauses, waiting for the telltale tightness, but nothing comes. 

Eunyong is watching him carefully. “Nothing?” she asks hopefully. 

“Not yet,” Taeyong says, unplugging his phone and clicking it on.

He’s got a few concerned texts from Johnny, Yuta, and a couple of the others, as well as a vaguely threatening one from Doyoung that makes him laugh. He types back a couple quick responses and then looks back up at his sister.

“You should probably come talk to Mom and Dad,” she says. “They’ve taken a half-day off at the shop and everything. Go on, so they can stop their worrying.”

Taeyong nods, pocketing his phone and leading the way back downstairs. Their parents are in the kitchen; his father is pushing food around on his plate, and his mother is cooking absently. They both drop everything and look up when he enters.

“Sorry for worrying you,” he says softly as his mother folds him into a hug. “I’m okay.”

“I can take him to the doctor tomorrow,” Eunyong pipes up. “Just to be sure. But he seems fine.”

“Johnny said he’d look after me for the day,” Taeyong says, gesturing to his phone with a light laugh. “So don’t worry. I’ll be in good hands. Please don’t miss work because of me.”

“You’re sure you’re alright?” His mom draws back but holds his hands, squeezing gently.

“Yes,” Taeyong says, hoping he’s telling the truth. “I’m okay.”

Eunyong walks him over to the bakery so she can go start opening the shop, and Taeyong makes his way up the stairs, waving a hello to the Seos when he passes by. He knocks on Johnny’s door, and after some shuffling, Johnny pulls it open.

“Taeyong,” he says. “I—you’re all right? Doyoung said you were out cold.”

Taeyong sweeps a hand up and down the length of his body. “I’m all in one piece, aren’t I? I was already tired from hiking, and I hit my head,” he explains. “So I think my body just decided to shut down for a little. But I’m good.”

“Well, good.”

There’s a beat.

“Uh, thanks for inviting me over,” Taeyong says awkwardly. “Puts my parents’ minds at ease.”

“Yeah,” Johnny says. “No, I don’t mind. You’re always welcome here.”

There’s another beat, and Taeyong feels his skin prickle. When did we get so unfamiliar? he wonders as he drops down on the couch, Johnny still hovering in the middle of the room.

“Did you—” he begins, but Johnny starts talking at the same time.

“I was really scared last night,” he says, voice small. “I didn’t sleep well. Doyoung told me not to worry but—how could I not?”

“I’m sorry,” Taeyong replies, at a loss.

“It’s not your fault.” Johnny sits down next to him, his eyes far away. “I just couldn’t stop catastrophizing.”

“Well, I’m alright.” Taeyong looks over at him, trying to read his mood, but Johnny is inscrutable. “So what do you want to do today, then?”

Johnny blinks, thinking for a moment, and then just shrugs. “Why don’t we play games or something? Is that okay? I just want to escape reality for a second.”

“Okay,” Taeyong agrees, settling back into the couch as Johnny goes to set up and fetch the controllers. He doesn’t ask why. He already knows.

= = =

He stays until evening. It’s strange; he feels fine, but he also feels like he’s tiptoeing around himself—like at any moment, he could collapse. But so far, nothing’s happened. They play games, and chat, and after the initial layer of awkwardness goes away, things feel normal. Like Johnny had never been gone. Like none of this had ever happened. Like they were both healthy, like they were both fine, like they had all the time in the world.

Johnny even says he looks a little better—“It’s weird, considering last night, but you seem, like, healthier than before,”—and Taeyong just nods and shrugs and mutters something about maybe having come down with a cold. 

And Taeyong finds himself watching him out of the corner of his eye, and he’s still just as alluring as ever. He still loves him; there’s no doubt about that. It’s a relief—sweet and whole in his stomach; whatever happens, at least he has that. But the tightness isn’t really there anymore, so maybe he really is fine?

The sky is growing dark now. They lay sprawled sideways across Johnny’s bed, music blaring over Johnny’s little speaker. Johnny is humming along, engrossed in something on his phone, and Taeyong watches him, the crease of his brow, the working of his throat. 

Johnny turns his head and catches him looking, but he just gives him a blinding smile, the kind that nearly hides his eyes, and Taeyong feels his breath catch in his throat. He’s so beautiful, and Taeyong is so in love—

Taeyong feels coughs threatening as Johnny looks away and his heart sinks, all the way down to the basement floor. As subtly and calmly as he can, he peels himself up off the bed and shuffles into the bathroom.

And god—that’s what he gets for hoping, right? He wheezes in and tries to let it come up gently but he knows the deep thrumming of his coughing can be heard even over the music. He doesn’t have space to worry about it, though, clutching the seat of the toilet and convulsing so hard he almost smacks his head on it. 

When he opens his eyes, he sees the deep purple of chocolate lilies, covered in thick, sticky blood. He heaves again, vaguely aware that the music has stopped, and more blood and leaves and stems come out, with violent force Taeyong hasn’t ever felt before. 

Taeyong registers the bathroom door being flung open as he sits back, exhausted, clumsily swiping the back of his hand across his mouth in an attempt to clean off the blood. He drops to his back, and sees Johnny standing over him. There’s fear and confusion on his face, but there’s also some kind of hollow grief that overshadows it all. Taeyong’s too tired to react. He lets Johnny drop to his knees, lets him cradle his head in his lap. Through it all, all he can feel is the pads of Johnny’s fingers against his scalp, brushing rhythmically.

“Taeyong,” Johnny murmurs, voice thick with hurt. 

“I know you have it, too,” Taeyong rasps softly. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Johnny replies, brows pinched, and then he’s crying. “I wish I could tell you who—”

“It’s okay if you can’t,” Taeyong says. “I can’t, either.”

Johnny’s shaking from how hard he’s crying. “There’s so much blood,” he says. “How long do you have?”

“Probably a couple weeks,” Taeyong admits. Johnny hiccups in a gasp of shock. “If that.” He finds a stray blossom on the floor beside him and holds it up to the light. “Chocolate lilies,” he says, half under his breath, pinching the bloody petals between his fingers. “Rice root flower.”

“What does it mean?” Johnny asks softly. He barely spares the flower a glance, eyes glued to Taeyong’s.

Taeyong’s eyelids feel heavy, though. He’s drifting in and out; so, so tired, and sad, and weak from the blood loss. “It has to do with love and curses,” he says, words blurring together a little. “Isn’t it interesting? For the same flower. It could mean either. It could mean both.”

“You’d never consider the surgery, would you?” Johnny asks, brushing some hair off his forehead.

“Would you?” Taeyong challenges, and Johnny just nods to say fair point. “Does anybody know about you?”

Johnny shakes his head. “I don’t know how to bring that up,” he says. “I mean, really, how do you?” He sighs. “What about you?”

“Just Doyoung and Eunyong,” Taeyong tells him. Johnny nudges him up into a sitting position. “I’ll tell everyone soon. I mean, I don’t have much of a choice.”

Johnny makes a soft pained noise in the back of his throat, tugging Taeyong to his feet, bracing him against the side of his body, and taking him to the sink so he can rinse off his face and swish the blood from his mouth. “What really happened yesterday?” he asks.

Taeyong can hardly think, the fatigue and strong grip Johnny has on his waist mixing to make him a little delirious. He laughs, but even to him it sounds wild and unsteady. “I went to a witch in the woods to see if she could fix it,” he says. “To kill the flowers without taking my love away. She warned me it might accelerate it instead. Clearly…” he gestures to the mess. “I wish I could recommend her services.”

Johnny gives a disbelieving snort, like he’s shocked Taeyong is still trying to be funny. “Should I call Eunyong, have her pick you up?”

Taeyong thinks about having to go back to his big, empty bedroom, dark and alone, with Eunyong trying discreetly to care for him without his parents knowing, and shakes his head. “Can I stay?” he whispers. “I don’t have the energy to pretend around my parents right now, and I want to tell them when I feel a little better, so it isn’t as scary.”

“Sure,” Johnny agrees, half-carrying him out of the bathroom and to the bed. “You can borrow a couple of my things.”

“Thank you,” Taeyong murmurs. “I’m sorry to impose.”

“You’re not,” Johnny says quickly. “Especially now—I want to spend as much time as possible together.”

“Think you might have to get in line for that one in a couple days,” Taeyong says softly with a smile.

“You’re not that popular,” Johnny shoots back and Taeyong’s smile grows to a grin. “Besides, I’m the one that’s been away. I get dibs.” He sticks his tongue out at Taeyong as he hands him a big t-shirt and a pair of old shorts. “I’ll go clean up the bathroom while you change.”

Taeyong winces as he accepts the clothes. “Sorry about that.”

Johnny rolls his eyes. “It’s not like I’m going to make you do it,” he says as he disappears into the bathroom, door clicking shut behind him. 

As terrible as it all is—the crushing realization that there’s nothing he can do now, the new blood, the reality that he will soon have to say goodbye—at least the awkward space between him and Johnny is gone now. At least they can go through it together, another shared experience, another common thread, another thing that keeps them bound to each other. Best friends , he thinks, both fond and bitter, as Johnny reemerges from the bathroom and goes to turn out the lights. 

“It’s not late,” Taeyong protests. “We don’t have to go to bed yet.”

“You’re tired,” Johnny says. “And so am I.” The bed dips under his weight as he slides in beside Taeyong, pulling the covers up over both of them. “I know, we don’t have much time left. But we do still have tomorrow. And that’s good enough, I suppose, right?”

Taeyong blinks, nodding, and settles into the pillow. He can barely make out Johnny’s features, but he traces them diligently anyway, even if he has to strain his eyes. Even if he’s already done it a hundred thousand times. Even if he already has him memorized.

The silence between them is comfortable, and Taeyong relaxes into it, listening to Johnny’s soft, steady breathing. 

“We should go to the beach again tomorrow,” Johnny suggests after many minutes have passed. “You know, they used to just like, take people down to the sea to make them better when they were sick. I’m not saying it’ll help, but it might.”

Taeyong scoffs. “That worked because in the olden times, people were holed up in weird houses with no ventilation and, like, asbestos, so fresh air was all they needed to feel better.” But he relents. “Yeah, let’s go. It’ll be nice, at any rate.”

“Your parents won’t mind?” 

“No, I’ll just have Eunyong tell them she’s taking me to the doctor because they still think I just fell and hit my head, and that I have a concussion.” Taeyong giggles a little at that. “By the time they have the chance to figure out it’s a lie, I’ll already have told them the truth anyway, so…”

“Okay,” Johnny agrees, begrudging amusement in his voice. He reaches across to grab Taeyong and pull him closer. “Hey. How long have you known that I’m sick?”

“I knew the night you got back,” Taeyong admits, somewhat sheepish. “I saw lavender in your shower, and in your trash. I didn’t want to bring it up, because I knew you’d tell me when you were ready—but now, I mean, I feel like I kind of had to let you know.”

“Yeah, probably a good idea. Though I would’ve told you anyway, I think.”

“It’s the ‘I think’ that makes me sure I made the right decision,” Taeyong remarks. 

“Shut up. Go to sleep,” Johnny mutters, and Taeyong laughs, but nods all the same.

“Okay, fine. You get some sleep, too,” he adds, and Johnny hums in agreement, the vibrations in his throat and chest buzzing lightly against Taeyong’s skull.

So, yeah, he thinks as he drifts off. This . This really . But it’s also nice, almost sweet. As much as he didn’t want to tell anybody, there’s always a great sense of relief that comes with it. He doesn’t have to hide anymore. It’s something about grief, he figures, and the need for it to be witnessed. Yes, it’s true that none of them can do a thing for him. Nothing they say can make it better. But they can be there to sit with him in it—this big, empty feeling, like a wound that won’t stop bleeding—so it isn’t so scary, so he doesn’t have to be alone. And that’s something. It’s soothing to know, and for the first time in weeks, he doesn’t dream.